#the water cooler makes it even better modern art

[theleastprofessionalchef]

Is there an abundance of people who want to sail on the ship? Im just now starting to take in interesting in tall ships and it seems that there are very few like the lady washington, compared to how many people must want to be on ship it seems like demand must be way over supply.

Well, that's an interesting question with an interesting and nuanced answer.

So most people, everyday people living their 'normal' lives, don't really think of sailing on traditionally-rigged vessels as like. A thing anymore? It kind of exists in their mind as an old-timey thing, or something that's so niche and small that it may as well not exist anymore. It just doesnt occur to them- especially if they live in a more land-locked region, where they don't see even modern boats super often. There's only so many places that get the right wind and currents to sail like that, after all- the coasts, and the Great Lakes. Everywhere else is just too small for anything bigger than a personal sailboat, and wouldn't really drum up enough business to be worth it to bring/build one there.

The west coast also has much, <em>much</em> fewer tallships/similar vessels to her name compared to the east coast, or even the Gulf of Mexico (note: all I say is US-biased, since that's what I know about. I've heard there's loads of tallships around Europe though! Hell, all over the world- just go looking!). I don't know what it is about the waters here, but there's only a few scattered up here in the Puget Sound, and a few more down in SoCal, with not much else between. Meanwhile, if you pop over to the east coast, you can't spit without hitting a private schooner or windjammer in need of crew.

If you want an easier time getting into the field, the east coast would definitely give you a higher chance of being hired. A warning, though, because you can't have something good without the cons: since they're privately owned vessels and for-profit companies, they're a bit more vicious when it comes to what they demand of the crew, and, depending on who's running things, how they <em>treat</em> said crew. Lots of horror stories from people coming over from the Main Windjammers. I'd ask around other blogs for specifics, I'll toss this in the appropriate tags to see if anyone wants to warn you off, but yeah.

Honestly? Tallship sailing is a dying art. You don't get into the field because you want to be paid well, because you want to build up savings. And with more and more of living life requiring a hefty paycheck you just can't get onboard without several licenses under your belt, more and more people drop off for land jobs with better security and higher pay. It's hard work, and sometimes it isn't rewarding, but sometimes it <em>is,</em> and it can be the most fulfilling thing ever.

Definitely a job I recommend anyone able to, to give a shot at if they can. Even if you don't end up staying around, sailing and being part of a tallship crew is an experience that changes you. It broadens your horizons, gives you skills, and honestly makes you cooler for it. Who wouldn't want to say they've crewed on a (shudders as I say The Forbidden Words) pirate ship?

So yeah. Hope that answered your question in some way!

[healthandfitness789]

Transform Your Home's Exterior with Textured Paint for Concrete Walls

When it comes to giving your home a fresh, modern look, the exterior walls are a great place to start. Traditional paint can offer a clean, uniform appearance, but if you're aiming for something truly unique and visually striking, textured paint for exterior concrete walls is the way to go. This versatile option not only enhances the aesthetic appeal but also provides several functional benefits.

Why Choose Textured Paint for Exterior Concrete Walls?

Aesthetic Appeal: Textured paint can transform plain concrete walls into works of art. The variety of textures available allows for endless creative possibilities, from subtle sandy finishes to bold, stucco-like appearances. This can significantly boost your home’s curb appeal and make it stand out in the neighborhood.

Durability: Exterior walls are constantly exposed to harsh weather conditions. Textured paint is designed to be more durable than regular paint, providing a protective layer that can withstand rain, wind, and sun, thus prolonging the life of your concrete walls.

Concealing Imperfections: Over time, concrete walls can develop cracks, chips, and other imperfections. Textured paint is excellent at hiding these flaws, giving your walls a smooth, even appearance without the need for extensive repairs.

Insulation and Energy Efficiency: Some textured paints come with insulating properties, helping to keep your home cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter. This can lead to energy savings and increased comfort inside your home.

Types of Textured Paint for Exterior Concrete Walls

Sand Texture: This type of paint includes sand-like particles that create a rough, gritty finish. It’s perfect for a subtle, understated look that adds a bit of dimension to your walls.

Stucco Finish: If you’re aiming for a Mediterranean or Spanish-style aesthetic, stucco-textured paint is ideal. It provides a thick, plaster-like finish that’s both elegant and durable.

Smooth Texture: For those who prefer a less pronounced texture, smooth textured paint offers a more refined look. It can still hide imperfections and provide a bit of visual interest without being too bold.

Marble Finish: This luxurious option mimics the appearance of marble, adding a touch of sophistication to your exterior walls. It’s a great choice for creating a high-end, polished look.

How to Apply Textured Paint to Exterior Concrete Walls

Prepare the Surface: Start by cleaning the concrete walls thoroughly. Remove any dirt, grease, or loose paint. Repair any significant cracks or holes to ensure a smooth application surface.

Prime the Walls: Applying a primer is crucial as it helps the textured paint adhere better to the concrete. Choose a primer that’s compatible with both the concrete and the textured paint you plan to use.

Choose the Right Tools: Depending on the texture you want to achieve, you might need different tools. For example, a trowel or spatula can help create a stucco finish, while a roller might be better for sand texture.

Apply the Textured Paint: Follow the manufacturer’s instructions for mixing and applying the paint. Work in small sections to ensure even coverage and texture. Allow the paint to dry thoroughly between coats if multiple layers are needed.

Seal the Paint: Once the paint is completely dry, consider applying a sealant. This will add an extra layer of protection against the elements and help preserve the color and texture of your walls.

Maintenance Tips

Regular Cleaning: Keep your textured walls looking fresh by cleaning them periodically with a mild detergent and water.

Inspect for Damage: Check your walls regularly for any signs of damage or wear. Promptly address any issues to prevent further deterioration.

Reapply Sealant: Depending on the weather conditions in your area, you might need to reapply the sealant every few years to maintain the protective barrier.

Conclusion

Textured paint for exterior concrete walls is an excellent way to enhance the beauty and durability of your home. With a variety of textures to choose from and numerous benefits, it’s a worthwhile investment that can transform your living space. Whether you’re going for a rustic, modern, or sophisticated look, textured paint offers the flexibility and functionality to achieve your desired aesthetic.

By following the proper application techniques and maintenance tips, you can enjoy the stunning effects of textured paint for years to come. So, why settle for plain concrete when you can elevate your home’s exterior with the rich, dynamic appeal of textured paint?

[waterdispensers12]

Redesign Your Hydration Involvement in Pure Water Superior Water Cooler

Admittance to spotless, reviving water is fundamental to the general public, while being hydrated is a higher priority than at any other time. With their very good-quality water coolers, PureWater.sg, a famous Singaporean provider of water arrangements, lifts your experience of remaining hydrated. We should see how buying a water cooler can change how you stay empowered and revived.

PureWater.sg Water Coolers' Comfort

PureWater.sg knows about how essential comfort is in the speedy universe of today. Their water coolers provide an issue-free method for having quick access to chilly, unadulterated water. Water coolers ensure that you're constantly hydrated, whether you're working, at the rec center, or at home.

State-of-the art Filtration Innovation

The modern filtration innovation of PureWater water coolers is perhaps of its best quality. Current channels in the water coolers proficiently dispose of poisons, pollution, and disagreeable scents. This ensures that each drink you take is free of any trace of unsafe fixings and is also reviving.

Eco-Accommodating Hydration Choices

The water coolers from Pure Water are an indication of their obligation to maintainability. Buying a water cooler helps cut down on the waste created by single-use plastic containers. Pure Water earth-dependable methodology is in accordance with the worldwide trend towards a more economical and environmentally mindful approach to everyday life.

Customized for Every Circumstance

Pure Water makes a variety of decisions to meet your singular requirements, be it a water cooler for your home, office, or some other climate. Their contemporary and smoothed-out plans give a bit of refinement and assurance that you generally approach clean water. They mix impeccably with any setting.

For Your Water Cooler Requirements, Why Pick PureWater.sg?

1.Unrivaled Quality: The name PureWater.sg is a maxim for greatness. Their dependable water coolers offer a manageable solution to your hydration needs.

2.Extraordinary Client Assistance: The PureWater.sg team enjoys incredible and remarkable client assistance. They are focused on ensuring your water cooler runs as effectively as could be expected, from establishment to support.

3.Affordability: PureWater.sg offers low costs, making excellent water coolers open to a wide assortment of clients, even with their top-notch highlights.

To summarize, buying a water cooler from PureWater.sg is an interest in a helpful, eco-accommodating, and top-of-the line way of life that goes beyond essentially remaining hydrated. With a PureWater.sg water cooler, you can further develop your hydration experience at the present time and begin down the way to a future that is better and really reviving.

[ssashealthcare]

Creating a Healthier Workplace With Office Plants: The Importance Of Biophilia

Introduction

Biophilia is the innate human need to connect with nature. It's also the name of an exhibition at New York's Museum of Modern Art that explores this phenomenon. At its core, biophilia explains why we feel so much better when we're surrounded by plants and other living things.

Studies show that having plants in your workspace can make you happier, healthier, and more productive--and they don't even cost much!

The Benefits of Office Plants

Office plants can improve air quality, enhance productivity and reduce stress in the workplace.

Improving Air Quality: Plants help to filter out pollutants in the air, such as carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, and formaldehyde. They also remove volatile organic compounds (VOCs) from the environment which are linked with allergies and asthma symptoms.

Enhancing Productivity: Studies have shown that having plants around you while working can increase productivity by up to This because a distraction-free environment where employees can focus on their tasks without being distracted by their surroundings or other people around them who may be talking loudly on phones or moving about constantly throughout meetings etcetera; all things that can make it difficult for some people's brains to concentrate properly when trying hard at work!

Popular Office Plants

There are a few popular office plants that you can use to create a healthier workplace. These include:* Snake Plant (also known as Mother-in-Law's Tongue) - This plant is very hardy, and it doesn't need much light or water. It's also ideal for people who have pets or children because it doesn't have any poisonous leaves or berries.

Spider Plant - This plant is perfect for hanging baskets on your desk because it can grow up to six feet tall! The spider plant thrives in indirect sunlight and prefers moist soil with good drainage. It does not like cold drafts so make sure you keep an eye on where your hanging basket is placed if you want this plant to thrive inside your office space!

Rubber Tree - The rubber tree has been around since ancient times; its name comes from the fact that its sap was used by early European explorers as "rubber" (a term used today). If you're looking for something unique but still easy to care for then consider adding one of these beauties to your workspace today!

Maintenance Tips for Office Plants

Watering

Sunlight

Pruning

Fertilizing

Pest Control

Health Benefits of Office Plants

Office plants can help you create a healthier workplace. They have been shown to reduce sick days, improve concentration, lower blood pressure and boost mood.

There are many benefits of office plants that go beyond just making your office look nicer. They help keep employees healthy by reducing stress levels while increasing productivity at work.

The Impact of Office Plants on the Environment

Office plants have several benefits for your business. They can help you to reduce carbon dioxide levels, lower pollution levels and increase oxygen levels in the office environment. All of these factors contribute towards a workspace while also helping with productivity and reducing absenteeism.

Reducing Carbon Dioxide Levels

Carbon dioxide is produced when people breathe out, but it's also emitted by machines such as computers and printers that use electricity to operate. This gas has been linked with increasing global temperatures because it traps heat within our atmosphere - so having fewer sources of CO2 around will help keep things cooler!

The Psychology of Office Plants

Plants have a way of improving morale, enhancing creativity, and providing a sense of well-being.

In a recent study conducted by the University of Exeter, researchers found that people who work in offices with plants are more productive than those who don't have them around. They also reported feeling less stressed out during their workday.

The Economics of Office Plants

Reducing Energy Costs

Increasing Employee Satisfaction

Enhancing Workplace Image

Statistics

According to a study conducted by the American Society of Horticultural Science, employees who work in environments with plants report fewer sick days, better job satisfaction, and increased productivity. Another study conducted by the University of Exeter found that employees who work in offices with plants showed a 15% increase in productivity compared to those without plants. Furthermore, a study by the University of Technology in Sydney found that plants in the workplace can reduce stress levels by up to 50%.

Conclusion

Creating a healthier workplace is essential for the well-being and productivity of employees. Incorporating office plants, such as snake plants and spider plants, can offer numerous health benefits, such as improving air quality, reducing stress levels, and enhancing concentration and productivity. As the statistics show, a healthier workplace can lead to fewer sick days, better job satisfaction, and increased productivity. By incorporating biophilic design elements into the office environment, employers can create a more positive and productive work environment.

[windsor-on-near]

Importance of Doors and Windows

It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get the chance to build your dream house, and will be an exciting adventure from the day the foundation is laid until the last coat of paint is applied. Naturally, there are a lot of significant turning points in the building and design process, and the installation of doors and windows is one of them. Consider a reputable company like Better Window and Door if you need high-quality products. It is a family-run company with more than 25 years of experience in the installation of home windows and doors Windsor Ontario residents recommend. Upon hiring its services, you can count on receiving high-quality products and a pleasant experience.

Better Window and Door

Your windows should be replaced if they are old and beginning to show indications of decay. Additionally, they should be changed if you observe condensation forming on your windows and they leak. The majority of windows that have been in use for a while are frequently challenging to open or close and may even rot. They might also make your property less secure if they are outdated. It's time to get in touch with a window contractor Windsor residents trust, such as Better Window and Door, if you want to replace your windows. The business provides free quotes, warranties, and guarantees.

The Climate of Windsor, ON

The semi-continental climate of Windsor features a hot, humid summer and a chilly winter. Being near the Great Lakes has an impact on the area's climate. The water from the lakes keeps the city warmer in the winter and cooler in the summer than it otherwise would. It also contributes to Windsor's oppressive summer humidity, which many locals regard to be a nuisance. Even though the city is the warmest in Ontario, the winters are nonetheless harsh. About 53 days a year in Windsor have snow thicknesses greater than 1 cm, compared to 10 days in Vancouver, 35 days in Penticton, and 65 days in Toronto.

Art Gallery of Windsor in Windsor, ON

Willistead Manor was the first location of the Art Gallery of Windsor (AGW), where its exhibitions loaned from other galleries and organizations were displayed. The museum quickly started developing its own collection after being incorporated in 1944 and began hosting exhibits and educational programs. Nearly 2500 pieces of art, including paintings, drawings, prints, photographs, sculptures, installations, and videos, are included in the AGW's holdings. All the works span from roughly 1750 to the present and are pertinent to Canada's cultural history. The collection mostly consists of paintings from Canada's later 19th-century and early 20th-century modernism. An average of 40 to 60 artworks are added to the gallery every year.

Windsor Residents Enjoy the Most Tim Horton's Espresso Shots in 2022

There's a good likelihood that if you drink coffee, you have opinions about espresso. While many people who consume caffeine enjoy espresso, some people find the flavor to be unpleasant. Overall, though, there are probably more espresso drinkers than normal coffee drinkers in the globe today. Because it is believed to have more taste than plain coffee or cappuccino, many people simply like it. The fact that it comes in so many varieties and appeals to such a wide range of individuals may be another factor in the popularity of espresso around the world. Espresso actually has a lot more caffeine per ounce than conventional coffee, making the shots an ideal energy boost. Click here to read more.

Link to Map

Driving Direction

Art Windsor-Essex

401 Riverside Dr W, Windsor, ON N9A 7J1, Canada

Take Church St to Riverside Dr W

33 sec (120 m)

Follow Riverside Dr W, Wyandotte St E and Pillette Rd to Princess Ave

14 min (9.8 km)

Turn right onto Princess Ave

Destination will be on the right

18 sec (150 m)

Better Window and Door

2947 Princess Ave, Windsor,

ON N8T 3G2, Canada

[spicykitteh]

Chill

Photo credit: Evgeny Karandaev

Pairing: Jean Kirschtein x fem!Reader, Sasha x Connie

Rating: 18+ NSFW, MDNI!

Word Count: 1.7K

Notes: Modern college AU, characters are aged up to early 20s, established relationship.

CW: Ice play, slightly rough sex -- more vigorous than rough, hint of edging, switch Jeanbo

Summary: On the hottest day of the year, Jean and his girlfriend try to find a way to cool off.

Jean sighed heavily as he punched the disconnect bubble on his phone. “Looks like we’re going to be sweating this weekend.”

“Are you kidding me? We pay this landlord a fortune every month and he can’t even bother to get over here and fix the air conditioner on the hottest week this year?!” YN plopped down on the threadbare brown sofa.

Jean had mentioned last week he had a bad feeling about the rattling the window unit had been making, shaking itself hard enough to sprinkle yellowed plastic shards and dust on the floor underneath it. This morning as the temperature climbed it seized with a deafening shriek. The four roommates tried poking and prodding at the thing though they all knew they had not a shred of mechanical aptitude. Jean spent nearly an hour arguing with the landlord but in this heatwave every repair service in town was booked completely.

“I guess the good news is Mr. Bozado said he wouldn’t charge us for the repair,” Jean offered weakly as he gulped lemonade. He swiped a hand across the sweat beading on his forehead.

“He better fuckin’ not,” Connie growled from the floor where he was sprawled out fanning himself with a hastily folded paper fan. “We didn’t break that junky thing, it was already half gone when we moved in.”

“I’m going to take a nap in the basement, it’s at least a little cooler down there,” Sasha said as she started opening windows for a cross breeze on her way to the basement steps. Connie tossed his makeshift fan on the coffee table and stomped heavily down the stairs in her wake.

YN glanced over to Jean who was draining the last of his now watery lemonade from the glass. “My room in the attic is way too hot. Is it ok if I stay in your room this weekend?”

Jean smiled over the rim of the glass and his honey eyes sparkled. “Sunshine, I don’t remember the last time you slept up there on your own since we came back from the beach.”

“Well, ok, that’s fair,” YN conceded with a wave of her hand. “It’s not like you’d let me sleep alone anyway, Little Spoon.” He set the glass on the coffee table where condensation pooled around the base and soaked the cork coaster. His knee nudged into hers as he sat down next to her and kissed her temple, tasting the salty sweat trickling from her brow.

“Just admit you can’t keep your hands off me, babe.”

“I can’t,” she turned her head to meet his lips as he bent to kiss her again. “Right now, though, it’s too hot for that.”

Jean agreed, leaning forward to peel his sweat-drenched t-shirt off. “Damnit, it’s like a furnace in here.” He scooped up his empty glass and motioned to hers with it. “Do you want another glass of lemonade?”

“Sure,” she exhaled and leaned back into the sofa. Jean strode through the archway that separated the kitchen from the living room and scooped ice cubes from the container in the freezer. YN snatched Connie’s paper fan from the table as she watched Jean filling the glasses with ice and lemonade, admiring his bare torso and amused by the way his lips curled into a wicked grin and his eyes flicked over to her, roaming shamelessly over her body. He chugged his glass until it was empty, then filled it again with only ice. He brought her cup to her and grasped her hand to pull her up from the sofa.

“I have an idea, c’mere,” he squeezed her hand as he led her to his bedroom and shut the door behind them. “It’s a few degrees cooler here since it’s on the north side of the house. Besides that, I thought you might like to get out of those clothes and try something with me.” He took her glass and set it on the nightstand next to his.

“Mmm, what have you got planned for me?” she smiled as she slipped out of her cotton t-shirt and denim cutoffs, revealing the black lace bra and panties underneath. He flashed that damned adorable crooked grin as she unclasped his belt and let it dangle to focus on unbuttoning his jeans, the soft blue denim whispering through her fingers and dropping to the floor. Despite the stifling heat in the room her core felt hotter when she palmed his hardness through his boxers. He laced his fingers into the soft strands of her hair and tilted her head back to press his soft lips to hers, sucking gently on her bottom lip, her jawline, her earlobe.

“You’re a bit overdressed for what I have in mind, madame.” He hooked his fingers under the elastic of her panties and pulled them down her thighs. She shimmied out of the material and Jean swept her into his arms and lowered her onto the bed. His touch on her skin was like fire rushing through her veins that the breeze from the ceiling fan did little to cool off. He strode over to the window, propped it open and flicked on the small fan on his nightstand. His long fingers reached into his glass and deftly plucked out an ice cube. “Can I try cooling you down?”

She nodded and he stretched out beside her, nibbling at her flushed skin, letting the ice cube melting rapidly in his palm drip down the delicate skin of her throat, onto her collarbone, pooling in the valley between her breasts. His tongue chased the droplets, leaving a trail of goosebumps raised on her flesh and confusing her nervous system with the alternating chill of icy water and the heat of Jean’s mouth dragging against her skin. She arched her back against him, crying out when his chilled fingers slipped underneath her to unhook her bra and felt a light nip against her shoulder as he dragged the strap down her arm with his teeth. She shivered as his soft lips pressed kisses into the curve of her breast, her nipple brushing against the scruff of his jawline. He licked over the pink peak, sighing as he enveloped it with his lips and suckled hungrily.

YN’s fingers threaded through his strands, pulled him closer as she thrust her hips into him. His cock had already breached the fly of his boxers and pressed against her bare leg, the heat of him like a brand against her thigh. She traced a finger up the length of his shaft, her fingertip circling his sensitive tip and tracing over his slit. An airy moan broke the seal of his lips around her nipple.

“Oh fuck, honey,” was all Jean could manage between pants, mouth open, jaw jutting forward. His weakness ignited a primal urge in her to pounce on him, and she did. He easily rolled to his back with the press of her hand against his chest, watching her through heavily lidded eyes.

“Aren’t you hot with so much clothing on, baby?” she smirked and teased her forefinger under his waistband. He quickly discarded his boxers over the side of the bed. “That’s better. My turn now.”

She scooped an ice cube from his glass, tilting her head back but maintaining eye contact with him as she dropped the ice into her mouth, allowing the melt to trickle down her parched throat. She leaned over and kissed his neck lightly, then parted her lips just enough to blow chilled air over the sensitive skin behind his ear. Jean closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp, quavering gasp. “God, that feels good.”

She continued her trail of kisses down his throat, pausing to lick at the hollow just above the center of his collarbone and relishing in the salty tang of his skin. She pushed what remained of the ice cube along with her tongue until it had melted into a small pool on his chest. With one finger she pushed the droplets over his burning skin to scrawl in lazy arcs, her art punctuated with a kiss to his nipple. A whispery breeze through the window sighed in tandem with Jean, followed by the low rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance. YN pursed her lips and blew lightly across the pooling liquid, fascinated with the way his skin responded in goosebumps and how he gasped at the temperature change. She continued mapping every inch of him, the ridges and valleys of his abdomen, his sensitive navel, the smooth valley where his hip joined his pelvis so tantalizingly close to his tower of a cock.

“Please,’ he panted, “baby, I can’t take any more teasing, please!”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please, please fuck me,” he tossed his head side to side on the pillow, his soft hair damp with sweat now mussed and sticking up at wild angles.

“You started this game, are you giving in so soon?” she sat back in amusement, enjoying how worked up Jean was for her.

“You’re driving me wild, babe, I need you,” he huffed impatiently.

She grinned and dropped to all fours, straddling his thighs and grazing her nipples up his torso until she was face to face with him. “Then come get me.”

Jean lost no time bucking up into her at a frenzied pace, his hands grasping desperately for her bouncing tits, her waist, her hips rocking in rhythm with his.

“Jean! Jean! Oh fuck baby,” she cried out with each powerful thrust of his hips.

He was too lost in his lust-clouded mind and could only respond with a whine, his long eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks. She was at his mercy now, hanging on helplessly to his shoulders while he fucked her through wave after wave of powerful orgasms until he came deep inside her with a roar. A peal of thunder rattled the pane in the open window, followed by the steady patter of raindrops subsiding into a gentle thunderstorm. A cool breeze, heavy with petrichor, billowed through the curtains, much to the relief of the sweltering lovers.

Jean pulled her to his chest, tenderly rubbing her hips that were bound to be bruised under his desperate grip. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, babe.” She snuggled into his arms with a satisfied sigh.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” she giggled, “more than ok.”

The rain pattered steadily outside, answered occasionally by a soft murmur of thunder. The heat from earlier in the day finally subsided into a cool summer evening, perfect for sleeping through the night in each other’s arms.

[kaibacorpintern]

the wound

word count: ~2500

summary: kaiba has some pointed thoughts about yuugi’s recent cooking injury. platonic rivalshipping. post-DSOD

a/n: a woman has too many unfinished one-shots in her google drive so i’m making time to finish them instead of overthinking them (and never finishing them.) yes this is about cooking and yuugi and kaiba and depression. yes i have already written about this. whatever man. enjoy.

++++

Same time as usual. Two in the afternoon, on Saturdays. Same place as usual. The picnic table under the massive oak in the park, two blocks away from the Kame Game Shop and twenty minutes by subway from the station under the Kaiba Corp tower. Seto took the subway mostly out of scientific interest, taking a professional curiosity in the world Atem had wanted to live in, and because Atem had told him to enjoy it. What had he seen here, in the faded orange seats and bright pastel advertisements and the quiet scattering of human-not-Puzzle bodies? What had he felt, as the subway swayed around the curve in the tunnel, unseen in the darkness and known only by its momentum, making everyone sway with it? Hands curled around handrails and books. Fingers on phones. The train burst into daylight. The side of that girl’s head against the glass, watching Domino slide by with an equally glassy look in her eyes. Two layers between her and the city. Missing someone? Or just bored of life? 

He slunk off the subway, unnoticed and unknown, in an immaculate white hoodie and aviators, stainless steel water bottle dangling from one hand. Yuugi was waiting for him at the park entrance, as usual, wearing some kind of fashionable belted dark purple romper, with the usual tote bag full of games hanging from one hand. On the other hand, something unusual: his fingers stuck out from a half-formed mitten of gauze, giving his slender hand a clumsy, snub-nosed silhouette. He was having trouble holding his iced tea, thumb and fingers alligator-clamped around the lid. Someone had drawn a pair of flowers in pink marker across the back of the mitten, a bumper sticker of cheerful admonition: 🌺 BE CAREFUL! 🌺 Not Yuugi’s handwriting. 

“Hey,” Yuugi said. “How’re you doing? You sleeping better?”

Seto pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, over his bangs, crown-like. 

“On and off,” he said, which was true. His nights were now vast, tossing oceans of insomnia between shores of just good-enough sleep. Last night he’d simply given up trying to swim and instead, for the first time in years, read a book for amusement instead of education. Some sci-fi novel Yuugi had mentioned and Seto bought on a lark from the bookstore in the subway station. Most of his amusement came from correcting the bad science in the margins, until he woke up at dawn with his glasses bent and his bed linens blotted like calico cats with black ink. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, this?” Yuugi said, lifting his mitten-hand. “So, I was making a ceviche yesterday…”

He told the story as they walked through the park to the oak tree: the protagonist was a ripe avocado, its tough, disingenuous alligator hide concealing a soft, buttery-green flesh. The arc of the conflict: avocado against knife, a natural antagonist. The climax: the knife, ignorant of its own bluntness and made arrogant by the shine of its own steel, slid off its trajectory like a failing rocket and plunged at speed through plant skin and plant flesh straight into human skin and human flesh. The resolution: two identical cuts, a half-opened avocado and a half-opened hand. Man versus fruit. 

"There was so much blood Otogi almost fainted," Yuugi said, thumping the tote bag onto the wooden table and straddling the bench sideways. "So we went to the ER and they stitched me up, and then when we got back home I finished making the ceviche. What game? You pick."

"Hive," Seto said. He couldn’t stop looking at his bandaged hand. It drew his attention like a glitch on a screen, an inescapable aberration. “Does it bother you?”

“I mean, it hurts, but whatever, you know?” Yuugi said, digging into his tote bag for the drawstring bag of wooden tokens. He spilled them onto the table in a clattering cascade of wood against wood. They rapidly sorted them out. “It’s not my first cooking accident.”

Seto raised his eyebrows. It was a testament to the amount of time they’d been spending together lately - every Saturday afternoon for a handful of hours, until he made some excuse to leave, and Yuugi accepted it not because he was gullible but because he knew Seto had a battery and it ran low - that he didn’t even need to ask a question, and Yuugi simply provided an answer, with examples.

“So, here, I was frying onion rings for Jounouchi, and I splattered hot oil all over my arm,” Yuugi said, lifting his hand and pointing out a haphazard constellation of white scars over his forearm. “Then here - I was baking cookies for Shizuka’s birthday and touched the tray fresh out of the oven with my bare hand, like a moron, I dueled Jounouchi after and drawing my cards was like, ow - ” he waggled his fingertips - “and this one is another burn - ” a long white ink-stroke across his wrist - “from when I was making ramen for Anzu, ‘cause she was home from New York. And this one - ”

More interesting than how and what were who. This burn for Honda’s birthday barbecue, that cut for Otogi’s game night. A violent kiss between blade and fingers behind a frothy veil of soapy water, cleaning up after a movie night. Another spray of oil splatters, frying tempura for his mother. A lot of meals for her, his grandfather, Jounouchi. Every scar Yuugi showed him had a name attached, almost all of them below the elbows, as though collected there for easy reference. Seto frowned as Yuugi's fingers flew over this map of friendships and family, their routes landmarked by midnight breakfasts, lazy brunches, beautifully-wrapped bento boxes. Something about it tasted sour to him, his tongue held tight and bitten between his teeth. All of his own scars had only one name.

“You probably think I’m a klutz,” Yuugi said, with a sheepish smile, sliding one of the wooden tokens into place around their hive. 

“I told you to stop doing that,” Seto said briskly. “I’m not some dumpster for all your insecurities. You think you’re a klutz. You have no idea what I think.”

“I - ” Yuugi started, and huffed, with another smile, his chosen defense against causing offense. “Sorry, force of habit - ”

“Forget it. You don’t ever cook for yourself?”

“Duh. Of course I do. And I eat what I make with everyone else. It’s not like I make a pizza for all my friends and just sit there watching them while they eat it,” Yuugi said. “But I like cooking for people. I love... nourishing them. Knowing they’re not going to go to bed hungry or anything, and I can make something for them that makes them feel good.”

Seto tapped a wooden token on the table, under the guise of thinking about the game but really thinking about the kind of friends Yuugi made, and how he made them. Jounouchi. Honda. Atem. Himself.

“Did you ever cook for Atem?” he said, because he couldn’t help it, and braced against the soft look that came his way, with a default smile, a pre-emptive look, I'm fine. this didn’t hurt me smile.

“Yeah,” Yuugi said. “I did.”

Like what? Did he like it? Did he help cook or did he just watch? Just the two of you or with everyone else? Tell me. What did you nourish him with? What do you think he’s eating now? I ate pomegranates when I was there. Bread and honey and figs and garlic and beer. Nothing I ate makes me spend six months with the living and six months with the dead so instead I trade off day and night. Sometimes I leave for a few minutes, mid-afternoon, and I can hear my own name clattering through me as Mokuba calls me back. Seto kept all these comments to himself. There was only so greedy he could get with Yuugi’s grief; only so much he could share of his own.

He slid his wooden token into place around the honeycomb of pieces. Yuugi swiftly countered. Seto lapsed back into thought.

Yuugi took a quiet slurp of his iced tea, gave it a shake, rattling the ice until it settled, and took another, watching ducks paddle into the reeds at the edge of the pond and paddle out, a portrait of calm patience. It had taken him some time to get comfortable with Seto’s long silences. In concession, Seto made the effort to shorten them.

It was the kind of day where stepping into the shade made a difference. The air was darker and cooler under the trees and the flowering bushes that lined the park paths, while the rest of the earth baked in a cloudless dry heat. Seto made his move and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows.

“How about I cook for you sometime?” Yuugi said brightly, nudging another wooden token against the others with a single fingertip. 

Seto scowled, not at the suggestion but at the way his thoughts splintered apart, like two halves of a wooden log split by an axe. He had no doubt Yuugi would pull out the stops for him, slave and sweat for hours over some seventeen-course feast of modern art finger foods. Or maybe something cozy that made him feel like he was just nineteen instead of nineteen and exhausted. Whatever it was, Yuugi would put in the effort. But.

“No,” he said, and made sure to clarify this refusal before the clouds finished gathering over Yuugi’s face in a dejected overcast grey: “I don’t need one of your scars named after me.”

“I - what?” Yuugi said, flashing him an uneven, sideways smile, and Seto felt a flicker of irritation. Atem would’ve understood immediately. But, in fairness to Yuugi, he was being a little obtuse.

“You have a way of suffering for your friends,” he explained. “And I think part of you likes it.”

Yuugi straightened up in his seat, suddenly electric. 

“What the hell? It’s just cooking,” he said, with a stormy flash of lightning in his violet eyes. “You’re reading into this way too much. I cook because it’s fun and artistic and I like feeding people, not because I like… self-flagellating or something. Seriously, you can’t just spout off - ”

“You misunderstand me,” Seto countered. “There’s no reason to… hurt yourself on my behalf. If you want to eat together, I’d rather go to that kitschy little ice cream place down the block and get a fucking waffle cone. I don’t want you unable to duel because you burned your hand trying to pan-fry a steak for me.”

Yuugi opened his mouth, brows furrowing together… and scoffed, a surprisingly affectionate sound.  He rolled his eyes around the park, his gaze swinging across the sunlit grass, and looked back at Seto. 

“Okay. First of all, I've mastered the art of the pan-fried steak, and you should try it,” he said. “Second of all, what makes you think you’re not someone worth suffering for?”

Seto snorted, masking his inwards flinch. Mokuba already suffered enough, thank you. And for what? A ghost of a brother. A black hole, a perpetual collapsing. Things went in and they crossed the event horizon and the pressure squeezed them for eternity without ever letting them reach the center and nothing ever came back out, as much as it wanted to. The scientific term for such distortion of effort, stretched to an immeasurable length without breaking, was spaghettification. Even a black hole needs to eat! 

He slid one of his tokens back and forth with his fingertip, short, scraping jerks of wood against wood, thinking. 

“Direct attack on my life points,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you also got me pretty good,” Yuugi chuffed. “Let’s call it even. But relax. It’s just cooking. I love the process, and I love the result, and I love doing stuff for my friends. It’s not some big… metaphorical… symbol of something. This - " he lifted his mittened hand - "doesn't mean anything except I mishandled a knife. It’s not like… you and Duel Disks.”

But Seto also loved the process and the result and more than once he'd injured himself, machining parts or fiddling with wires that, like all wild living things, bit back in fear of his touch. He splayed his hand over the table, watching blood drip onto his work station, knowing he should get up, clean it, bandage it. But it was only two in the morning and there was work to do.

“The Duel Disk is a symbol of Kaiba Corp’s future,” he said, closing his hand into a fist. "I know what you've done for your friends. I’ve seen it. Doesn't that merit the same... mythology?"

Yuugi gave him a funny look, half skeptical, half knowing.

"That’s nice of you, thank you," he said, and an uncomfortable blush crawled up Seto’s neck. Sometimes he did understand. “Are you sure you don't want me to cook for you?”

Seto opened his mouth, closed it, folded his arms on the table. He felt like he was trying to explain the feeling of the color blue, or the arguments for why numbers do or don’t exist, or what it was like to dream. Well, you see, the last time I saw Atem, he told me - correction: the last time as in the most recent link in a chain of time, not the last time as in the end of the line, because he also told me we’d see each other again - he told me to enjoy this, and you know me, I never do what I’m told. And I can’t do what he told me to do because he was my friend, and if friendship is just getting caught in a great sticky web of small cuts and large cuts and burns and bruises and tears and suffering because they’re here and suffering because they’re not, then just go ahead and let the spider drink me up and dump what’s left of me in the dirt. I am so sick and tired of pain. Mine. Yours. Ours.

But he did enjoy these afternoons. He was enjoying the process of making this: he had more with Yuugi now than he ever had before. He reached across the table and took Yuugi’s bandaged hand between his own hands, running his thumb carefully over the inked warning. Yuugi's hand relaxed in his. Yes, Yuugi was wrong. It was the same as Duel Disks. In any act of creation there was pain, there was power, and there was glory. What difference was there between a hologram of a dragon and a steaming bowl of soup? Both nourished something. Both were an answer to hunger. Discovering an emptiness and filling it.

“Okay,” he said, releasing Yuugi’s hand. “Alright. Cook for me.”

“Yeah?!” Yuugi said, with rising excitement, beaming. “What should I make? What do you like?”

“Make me a steak,” Seto said, smiling. It felt good to see Yuugi smile. His hypothesis neatly undermined. See? It’s not all damage. “No. Surprise me.”

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 5: Lesson Plan: Orientation

Penny sat nervously on the train car as it began to move upwards towards the city. She’s looking down at her feet and legs, now dressed in a pair of black stockings and a pair of brown Mary Janes, her rocket boots was now sat at her side in shape of a handbag. She had gotten up early that morning to make sure she got ready on time and looked nice. She even double checked after her morning patrol but she was still absolutely terrified! But what girl wouldn’t be if the cute boy she met at an evening party, who’s life you saved, and shared an amount magical evening with agreed to be your etiquette teacher.

Penny: Is like a something out a romance novel. The perfect scenario for a modern take on the charming prince falling for the ditzy commoner girl. There’s even a twist on the trope with the prince protecting the girl not with a sword but with his wit!

Penny blushes her head fulling with different possible romance scenarios that could happen during her lessons. But soon her better judgment makes her recall why she was doing this in the first place. She takes both hands and smacks her cheeks until she’s forced the romantic thoughts out of her head.

Penny: No, no, NO! Bad Penny! These lessons are supposed to help you with the investigation. This is a meeting with comrade NOT a romantic encounter! There is simple plan in place for this mission and I am following it! I am going to take these lessons, learn to act like an Altas elite, investigate the suspects, find the spy, get “the project” back on schedule, and help protect EVERYONE! That is what I’m here to do and that is all I will do.

With that reaffirmation Penny feels motivated and gets pumped up. She starts bouncing in her seat as the car nears the station. Soon the train comes to a stop, she’s arrived at the station. Penny quickly grabs her things and heads out the doors when they open. She makes her way though the station and once she’s outside she looks for the car mentioned in last night’s message. She only has to look for few seconds before she spots man in a Chauffeur’s uniform standing outside an expansive looking black car holding up a sigh with “Ms. Polendina” printed on it. It was unbelievably, the limousine for the evening party was understandable but this was just over the top, Penny could barely process the sheer amount of shame and embarrassment she was experiencing but still she knew she has to get in. Penny hastily walks over to him once she gets close enough the chauffeur, Godfrey, calls out to her.

Godfrey: Good Day, Ms. Polendina.

Penny: Good Afternoon, Mr..?

Godfrey: It’s Godfrey, Ms. Polendina.

Penny: It’s nice to meet you Godfrey and you don’t have to call me Ms. Polendina, please just call me Penny.

Godfrey: Alright then Ms. Penny shall we be on our way?

Godfrey sits the sign in front passenger seat then opens the back passenger door for Penny. Penny gets inside, sits, buckles up, and looks around. The interior was spacious with black leather seats with a built in cooler full of bottled sparkling waters. It’s such an overall lavish scene inside and out that it’s honestly overwhelming.

Penny: Is this really necessary? A taxi would have been much more practical and cost effective. And much less overwhelmingly obvious.

Godfrey: Ready to go?

Penny:Oh! Yes, I’m ready to go!

Godfrey starts the car and pulls out onto the road. During the drive Penny looks out the window, the streets were so different from Mantle’s much cleaner and less populated, so many fancy shops, cafes, and skyscrapers, but somehow it felt unauthentic like the city itself was all for show. After an hour or so the car finally comes to a stop in The Schnee Manor driveway. Godfrey opens the door for Penny and walks her to the front door where a maid stands waiting. Once they’re at the door Godfrey tips his hat to both the maid and Penny then leaves. With him gone Penny turns her attention to the maid, the maid bows to her then looks Penny directly in the eyes and speaks.

Mary: Good Afternoon Ms. Polendina Welcome to the Schnee Manor. I am Mary Shallor, I am here to escort you to the Young Master. Please follow me.

Mary walks inside with Penny trailing behind her. After going through several hallway they arrive at one of the libraries where another maid stands waiting. The maids share a nod and Mary leaves, the other maid ups the door and guides Penny to the back of the library. As they go deeper into the room Penny spots someone sitting at by table next to a window reading a book. Once they’re close it becomes clear who it is. There he is Whitley Schnee dressed in his everyday business causal wear, sitting cross legged in an arm chair, sunlight beaming down on him, reading a book on art theory, topping his finger against leather covered spine as he reads.

Penny starts to fidget and looking around, trying her hardest to focus on literally anything besides the literal daydream come to life sitting in front of her. But she just can’t keep her eyes off him no matter how hard she tries. She can feel herself tensing up and her cheeks are starting to go red again. She tries change tactics by focusing on her mission and repeat the purpose of this meeting,

Penny: This is a formal meeting with a comrade. You are here to learn about etiquette and investigate the thefts. This young man is your instructor. This is a professional meeting nothing more-

At that moment Whitley looks up from his book, they’re eyes met, and Penny’s mind goes blank. He sets the book down on the table and gestures to the seat across from him. All while wearing a picture perfect smile.

Whitley: Good afternoon Ms. Polendina, I’ve been waiting for you. Please come take a seat.

Aaaand there goes her plans to be professional about this. Instead her head starts feeling hazy and the drumming in her chest returns as she sits down. Her legs are shaking and she can barely keep her composure. It was just so strange that one smile could make a battle android like her feel so painfully nervous.

Whitley: Now before we get start the orientation we need to get couple things out in the open. First I need you to go over the case details you already have so I can figure out which events you’ll need to attend and which families and or business groups you’ll need to focus in on. Second I need to know just how much you know about etiquette so we can make you a proper lesson plan.

Penny: W-while that’s a reasonable request, for the first subject I can not give you many specific details as the matter is still classified.

Whitley: That’s fine all I need to know is the crime and a list of suspects, nothing more.

Penny: A-Alright I can give you that much. In the past month several supply trucks carrying military equipment have been stolen while in route from the shipping facility or direct from the factories. It appears that someone in a position of high authority is divulging classified information to help facilitate the thefts.

Whitley: That’s very unfortunate. And the suspects?

Penny: Regina Holly, CEO of the Holly HighTech communications technology company, Elio Brugmansia founder and president of Mansia Mobile, Julia Primrose of Inscribed cellular, Arthur Hemlock Vice President of Hemlock Steel, Matthew Datura primary shareholder of Arum Iron and Steel, Alejandro Altissima head of Altissima Fuel, Sylas Foxglove owner of FastFox Fuel and Jospeh Speedwell chairman of Speedway Energy and Fuel. Half were suppliers of the now stolen equipment and Many of the others are also contracted suppliers but could not be ruled out as suspects. At least not yet.

Whitley: My, my, my, that is quite the list, a lot of big players and old money in there. Hmm, one more question Ms. Polendina. Why did the military contract so many different companies at the same time, especially since several are known rivals in their industries?

Penny: With the loss of global communications everything had to be bought or made locally and with most local companies being cut off from their other factories and facilities, no single distributor could supply enough material to fulfill the contract completely so the order was spilt and divided amongst several companies instead.

Whitley: I see. Now on to the etiquette lessons. How much do you know about etiquette and manners?

Penny: I’ve been taught to say please and thank you as a sign of gratitude, to not place my elbows on the table at a meal, to never talk when my mouth is full of food, to always smile when I greet someone regardless of they’re attitude, to hold the door for the person behind me when entering a building, to give up my seat for any person in greater need of it on public transportation, and to say bless you when someone sneezes near me.

Whitley: That is…not exactly what I…….Never mind.

There is a moment of silence as Whitley digest this information. The situation was not the best, too many people on one job makes things too complicated. Especially when dealing with egotistical elites with little empathy or impulse control. And with the current state of the the economy things could only get more complicated.

Whitley: Every person on that suspect list has more then enough means and motive to pull a stunt like this. Could be attempting fraud or price gouging or just a new means to undercutting their competition or something else entirely, there’s no storage of possible motives. And with the market tanking and global trade slowing to a near standstill they’ve probably grew desperate to maintain their business a float as well. (Sighs) Every suspect is the perfect suspect and their motives are endless. Ugh this investigation is going to be absolute nightmare.

Trailing off from that Whitley looks over at Penny, when her identity as a soldier and a huntress were revealed Whitley had assumed that her appearance was just a sort of camouflage to disguise her true nature but it would what seem that was not the case.

Whitley: How she could have possibly became a huntress skilled enough to be recognized by Ironwood himself and yet still retain such an childish and innocent mindset is beyond me. Still she follows orders well and speaks much more properly then I expected so it’s not completely unusual. And it’s not as though having an innocent personality is a bad thing, in fact given the situation we’re in this might make things a little easier.

Whitley stands up from his chair and walks over to Penny, he holds out his hand to her and gestures to her to stand. Instead of just standing up Penny takes his hand as she pulls herself up and out of her seat. The moment they’re hands touch Whitley suddenly feels a tingle, a sort of warm jolt his never experience before. He had held her hands before, at the evening party, but at the time his focus was on getting out of the situation and getting her to Ironwood rather then how her hands felt but right now things were different. Right now she had his full attention and something about her just made him feel so….different. He didn’t why but this one touch just felt so odd like he was burning from the inside but it didn’t hurt. Instead it feels. It feels. He doesn’t really know though some small part of him, almost desperately, wants to know. But now is not the time for this.

Whitley quickly pulls his hand back, causing Penny to pull hers back as well. There a few seconds of awkward silence before Whitley regains his composure and clears his throat.

Whitley: Since it appears that you’ll need a bit more teaching then original thought we’ll have to readjust your lesson plan. So for today we’ll just take a quick tour of the areas we’ve already prepared then you’ll be dismissed.

Penny: Un-understood.

Whitley: Good then we’ll start here. This is the east wing library. It’s stuck with numerous text on almost every topic one could think of. History, Classic literature, Science, the list goes on.

Whitley begin walking through the library towards the entrance with Penny and the maid following close behind. He holds the door for the ladies as they exit from the library and move to the hallway. From there the tour begins with the three walking to the different area in manor, Whitley gives a quick bio of the room or area, then moving on to the next.

First up, a room with a large cream colored L shape sofa paired with a glass coffee table with wood trim was a few magazines, an ashtray and a small phone, and a matching loveseat, a few paintings in walls, potted plants, and a fireplace.

Whitley: This is one of our many lounge rooms. It’s primarily use for entertaining guests or as a sitting room for business colleagues. It’s also used as a rest area for tired or inebriated guests during parties. The small phone on the table has three set speed dials 1 is our in house physician 2 is for the kitchen and 3 is for the clean up crew.

Penny raises her hand to ask a question, Whitley notices and points to her.

Whitley: Yes.

Penny: Why is necessary to have a speed dial for the clean up crew in a lounge room?

Whitley: I’d rather not say but if this investigation last longer than let’s say a month you’ll probably be here for my father’s next black and white party. And if he serves red wine and the good rum again trust me, you’ll find out.

Penny: Oh.

Whitley: On to the next room.

Next stop seems to be a studio, there some sound equipment and speakers, wood floors, and a large mirror covering the entirety of the back wall with a ballet bar going across it.

Whitley: This is the dance studio. Here myself and many others were taught to dance, walk, maintain good posture, and to greet properly. Soon you will learn the same.

Penny takes a moment to look around, she remembers seeing rooms like this in some books and magazines. She runs her hand across the bar as she reminisces about her days in the lab, training her fighting abilities and learning about human through books and old movies. She stands on her toes and does a little twirl, emanating the dancers she’d seen so long ago. Whitley lets her enjoy herself for a bit then calls her back so they can continue the tour.

Next up , a room full of instruments mainly a selection of violins and cellos in various size, a few flutes, three pianos, a record player, and several bookshelves filed with a variety of records and sheet music.

Whitley: Welcome to the music room, this addition built almost forty years ago. During that time a number of people have learned to play their chosen instruments with most advancing to an expert level, myself included.

Penny: You’re a musician?

Whitley: Yes, a pianist to be exact. In the music world I am known as the Silver Maestro of Atlas, I perform every 50 days sometimes solo sometimes with an Orchestra.

Penny: Amazing. May I come see you perform someday?

Whitley: Hmm. Given that most of the venues I play in are usually elites parties and high profile concerts you’ll most likely have to attend one during your time here.

Penny: Wonderful! I’m excited to hear your music.

Whitley says nothing and heads towards the next room with Penny and the maid in tow. While walking towards the next area they pass a large window with a view into a grand garden. They are about to pass the hall to gardens main entrance when Whitley spots Willow walks past on the other side of the glass, a bottle in hand and several more being carried by Mary most being empties. Whitley stops the two women almost trip trying not to run into him. Whitley turns around with a almost stranded smile on his face, he stands there for a few more seconds until he knows Willow has passed their field of vision then taps the window and gestures for Penny to look throughout it.

Whitley: If you look over here you’ll see the famous Schnee Manor garden, home to several hundred different types of flora and fauna, many of which can only be seen here or at the Atlas Botanic Garden. This garden was built by my grandfather Nicholas Schnee as a birthday gift to his dear daughter Willow, my mother.

Penny stares at the window in awe, her face almost pressed to the glass. There’s so many flowers in some many pretty colors. She hadn’t seen many flowers since she’d been stationed in Mantle, outside the ones in pots hung on houses as décor and the few stray wildflowers that grew in the parks so seeing something like this was just incredible. It was like field of eternal spring with roses, lilies, tulips, even some of her dad’s favorite,Yellow Snapdragons! So gorgeous she could just run inside and spend the day there, just watching, picking, and smelling flowers for hours and hours. She looks over to Whitley her eyes practically shining in excitement.

Penny: It so beautiful! I’ve never seen so many flowers in one place! Whitley could we please go-

Whitley: NO!

There was a surprised silence, Everyone, including himself were stunned, shocked by the volume of the young Schnee. It was very very rare to hear him speak so loud and when he did it was always a sigh of something unpleasant happening. Once out of his shocked state Whitley looks a bit uncomfortable and ashamed.

Whitley: I a-apologize for that, it was inappropriate of me to yell. (Coughs) To answer your question, No there’s working been done inside right now so we can’t go into the garden today.

Penny: Okay.

Whitley: We’ll go in at another time just not today. Let’s just continue the tour.

The group continues walking in complete silence. They continue going to the few more room but the mood has taken too much of a downward turn. They ended at the ballroom standing in the middle of the room Whitley gives his last speech before the end of the tour.

Whitley: This is Ballroom, a place I’m sure you’re at least a little familiar with.

Penny blushes a bit puts her head down and nods.

Whitley: There’s really no need for a lot of explanation, this room has only one use, to host all the manor’s grand events and parties. Be it evening parties, charity galas, dinner parties and so on, this is where some of the grandest parties in Atlas are hosted and only a select few get to attend this events often for others it’s a once in a lifetime experience. And with that this is the end of our tour.

Penny gives an enthusiastic round of applause to which Whitley gives a slight chuckle and a few dramatic bows.

Whitley: Thank you, Thank you, your too kind. Now since the tour’s over you’re dismissed for the day, I’ll have your new lesson plan sent to you before tomorrow morning so please remember to check your scroll for it before you return. Have good day and Ms. Polendina, Genevieve Please see her to the car.

Penny: Thank you for having me. I look forward to seeing you- You all to-tomorrow.

Penny gives a small wave as Genevieve guides her to the front door, Whitley gives her a smile and wave back. Once she’s out Whitley turns around and heads back to his room to his desk. His day has just begun and he had a mountain of paperwork and studies that need to be done before dinner. Meanwhile Penny’s back in the car with Godfrey, heading back to station she looks out window and chats with Godfrey until they get there. Once she gotten out from the car into the station, and on the train back down she looks at her scroll and realizes that it’s still quite early and she still has a lot of work to do. But despite that fact she didn’t feel groggy or groggy or deflated like most would. Oddly enough she actually felt sort of calm, relaxed and ready to get to work. When the train car finally stops in back at the Mantle station Penny gets off the train, heads outside and sits at the near bench, puts her boots back on, and gets back to work!

After another long day of protecting Mantle Penny goes home, has dinner and family time with her dad, then head to her room to get ready for bed. Sitting in her pajamas brushing her hair, Penny think back on all that’s happened today and what could happened tomorrow when she remembers what Whitley said about sending her new lesson plan. She picks up her scroll and looks through her messages to see if Whitley’s sent the new lesson plan for her or if he sent it through Ironwood instead. She looks and looks but finds nothing, it getting late and she needs to rest so she plugs herself in to charge but keeps looking at her scroll waiting for his message. She knows it’ll come before she leaves for patrol in the morning but she wants to read it the moment it’s sent to her, she wants to see his message.

Penny pauses for second and realized what she was actually doing. She was unnecessarily waiting up for a work related message just because he was the one sending. Suddenly she recalls everything she said to him today and starts to blush again. She buries her face in her pillow and starts screaming into it.

Penny: Did I really stutter that much? why did I asking so many unnecessary questions? Why did I grab his hand like that? He pulled his away so fast he must have felt so uncomfortable! How could I be so stupid!

She continues to whine and worry about how she might have come off for another hour or so, never once let her scroll go as she turns into a blushing embarrassed mess.

.

.

.

Whitley sits at his desk typing away at his laptop. He had finished his work hours ago but he still had to update Penny’s lesson plan and find an easy event for her to attend as soon as possible to help jump start the investigation. He was almost done with the lesson plan but still needed to find a more causal event with the right people in attendance to send Penny to. He’s typing away at his laptop with one hand and looking through his scroll at the local social media with the other.

With global communication gone the elites had lost most of their social media audience and now only had fraction of onlookers to watch them flaunt their wealth so the local servers had become a giant message board were young elites post about the parties they’re having, dangerous pranks they were pulling, stupid stunts, petty drama, and weekly shopping hauls.

Whitley detested using social media as it was full of amount nothing but vapid idiots looking for validation but it was the easiest way to keep up with happenings of Atlas youths so he checked it every few days. After scrolling through countless food pics, videos of people being stupid, morons screaming at each over things they don’t really understand he puts his scroll down leans back, and puts his hand on his face, completely frustrated.

Whitley: If I have to see another picture of an idiot eating dish cleaner for attention I’m going to have an aneurysm. (Sighs) Why I am even doing this we only agree to teach her and get her into events not to hand pick them for her.

He looks up to the ceilings and and recalls the events of the afternoon. She had only been in the manor for a couple of hours but he had learned quite a lot in that time.

Whitley: That girl, She’s definitely a intelligent, driven, and strong person, the way she spoke about the case was concise but clear, not hint of worry, doubt, or deception just cold facts. Her articulation and vernacular while a bit stiff were also far more advanced than I was expecting. If she learns quickly and keep her head on straight she should do fine but-

The memories of that afternoon flash in his mind, her twirling by ballet bar, the excitement in her voice when she discovered he had musical talent, her vibrant green eyes staring with wonder at the garden. A soldier she made be but that wasn’t all she was. She was sweet, innocent, excitable, and very much vulnerable. She could become a true darling in high society if trained right but right now she’s too gentle, like a hummingbird flying without fear if she gets too close to wrong flower a predator could rip her apart before she could even put up a fight.

Whitley sits back up, stretches his arms the gets back to searching. He calls for a maid to get him a cup of coffee, takes off his vest, and settles in for a long night of work.

[arch-venus25]

The Head and the Heart, Part 1

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1....You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online-- or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly--I created the title art--LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go... 

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 2770

Part One: Faced with Foolishness

         “Well, you know Tessa, she’s being Tessa,” Antha murmured into her phone as she watched her twin sister cozy up to her flavor of the month; Tessa flipped her box braids off her shoulder, the beaded ends flirtatiously tinkling against every surface they met. As if watching a photo negative version of herself, Antha mourned her nonexistent reputation. Had she not spent years hiding in her books she may have been able to rival her uninhibited doppelganger in white hot-pants.

        “Why do you let her do this to you? It never goes as planned, and next thing you know I’ll be cleaning you two up and feeding you McDonald’s at two thirty in the morning!” She didn’t need facetime to picture Doug wincing through the phone, pushing his Buddy Holly styled Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose.

        “So what you’re saying is how could I let Tessa do this to you?” She laughed, rolling her Havana twists through her fingers to fight off the June humidity. Talking to her best friend helped her forget just how long she had been holding it in line to the bathroom.

         “Ant, look I don’t like that bar—you want me to come get you?”

         “And leave her? I can’t do that—listen, if we don’t call you for a ride home by midnight just come get us. I’m exhausted and I don’t think she will party that long. Besides, you-know-who just showed up.” She watched as Franco the Flake appeared, wasting no time to linger over her sister—Tessa’s flavor of the month, forgotten within an instant. Antha’s eyes rolled like marbles as she turned away to better hear her friend on the phone; some fraternity boys nearby began fist-pumping into the air as the bartender served up a line of shots for them.

         “Ugh, the Flake… well I can hear things are getting started on your end—I’ll keep my phone on me, just don’t drive. Leave her car and I’ll get you two—there’s maniacs out there especially on Friday night.” He warned.

        “I owe you,” she groaned and hung up. Antha finally arrived in the ladies’ room, only two women away from her sweet release. She watched as the women cornered the mirror like crazed wanton things, bending and zhuzhing, adjusting their “girls” to their perkiest potential through scantily low apparel.

        “Heeeyy…” She quietly greeted the woman that exited the nearest stall. The stranger gave her a haughty elevator eye from head to toe making her feel severely underdressed for a Friday night out. When she threw on a sun dress today, she never anticipated her sister would abduct her after class and have them gallivanting across town. Tessa’s exact words were “Godamnit Ant, tonight we’re gonna have fun if it kills us!” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she floored the accelerator of her Neon, then cranked up the bass as the radio station started their basement remixes. Fun if it kills us.

        Antha stared at her white sandals, her nail polish was chipped and at least three weeks old. Then she looked to her messenger bag hanging on the back of the door. It was covered in Community College film badges and club stickers, per her friend’s preferences. Antha liked her graffitied messenger bag. Like a billboard, it made her appear she had a life outside of her graduate studies.

        She should have been at home, text books spread on her lap, feet up. She could hear Doug’s old Buick coughing its way up Momma’s drive, then fumbling outside the door, trying to knock with a third of Popov, case of Dogfish Head, and pizza in his arms. Then he would throw everything on the coffee table and announce “I brought Casablanca!” to which she would say “Oh, more white people movies?” and unphased, he would reply “Good god woman, it’s not Birth of a Nation!” Antha smiled, thinking of their weekly ritual of pretending to do research while gossiping long into the night until Zoey and Tessa would drunkenly Uber home. The distinct shamble, like the walking dead, would scrape up the gravel drive signaling their arrival.

        “Hey, you almost done in there?” An annoyed voice yelled over the door, cutting through her reminiscing. Antha could see the reds of the stranger’s eyes between the door crack.

         Instead of lounging on the couch surrounded by good beer and even better friends, Antha found herself being hustled by some Fireball-turned-up twat—all under the guise of having fun. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She replied and flushed. She tightened the belt holding in the billowy fabric of her flowy, mid-thigh, sunflower-printed sundress. It was passed down from her grandmother to her mother and so on. Looking like she walked off the set of a 90’s music video, she admitted that at least she was cooler than the other girls sweating in their skin-tight jeans and heels.

        Some pretty young thing burst through the door past the line and vomited into the trash bin next to Antha while she washed her hands. It was only nine o’clock. That was a bad omen. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she pouted just like Momma in those sorts of situations. She dampened a paper towel for the poor thing and could hear her mother’s words repeating in her head: “When you’re faced with foolishness—you take care of it.” Her mantra: Take care of it. Antha’s mantra: Do what Momma says. Tessa’s mantra: If it ain’t fun don’t do it.

        Antha applied her vanilla lip gloss as she thought on her mother. She made a promise as Momma was lowered in the ground that they would graduate. It was her dying wish that the twins became modern women with college degrees and to have options; to escape the laboring of farming and perhaps even the rinse and repeat of corporate Delaware. That’s all there was in their state: Farming or banking.

        She tucked her shoulder-length braids behind her ears; she truly missed her dreadlocks, but ever since the time Tessa’s boyfriend mistook her for his girlfriend, she cut them off. She was always the one to compromise. Not tonight she decided. Tonight was going to go her way. They would wrap up this foolishness by midnight.

        Antha sighed and knew it was time to face the havoc of the bar when a chatty patron pawed at her sundress asking if it was “vintage”. She replied, “Well it’s old as hell if that’s what you mean,” and hurried out the ladies’ room into the sweltering cacophony of nightlife.

        Fighting across sticky tile and sweaty rednecks she made a beeline for the bartender. “Mar, can I get two?” She bounced on her tip-toes to cut through the crowd huddled around the length of the tacky wooden bar. Maria motioned to the other side because she couldn’t reach through. Antha continued to fight her way through the herd. She could barely hear over the din of the 2016 campaign commercials and sportscasting when Maria slid two cocktails toward her. The southern comfort and coke cocktails reeked with vanilla syrup, Tessa’s favorite. Antha stared into the melting rail drinks and realized she didn’t know what to order herself because she was always the water-boy for her twin.

        “Hey, did you see what’s-his-face is in town?” Maria interrupted her thoughts.

        “Sure did.” She groused and tilted her head in the general direction of where she saw Tessa and Franco last. Through the bodies, for a moment, the crowd parted and the two stared.

        Stepping back from her esteemed role as the older sister, by barely two minutes, Antha admitted to herself that Tessa always looked good. Her off-the-shoulder top exposed a flawless ebony collarbone, shoulder blades, and arms. As if she was the Queen of Sheba incarnate, her tiny wrists were decorated with gold bangles. Her earrings matched the beads in her hair, reflecting light in her hazel eyes. A waterfall of thick box braids fell down her back and over her shoulders, past the tops of her thighs. Her years of dance complimented the country-chic white cut-offs that revealed just a hint of under cheek when she bent across the billiard table.

        “If I were a man, I’d pray for her to bite my head off quick and painless.” Maria laughed, her ponytail frizzing from the heat of her work; her hands rapidly dipping then shining high ball glasses.

        “But that’s not her style.” Antha replied wryly.

        “You’re both good girls. Now you keep her out of as much trouble as you can—I’ll send Kyle ‘round to your table with beers, just let me catch up here!”

        Maria was right: they were good girls. All of Tessa’s shenanigans aside, she never forgot cake for a birthday and with everyone’s break-ups she always had a bottle of Jack stashed with a shoulder to cry on. Tessa was the one that painted Antha’s nails and always lent her the best outfits when the event called for it. On occasion she was even known to deliver soup when her sister ran a fever.

        Tessa was the heart of the operation and Antha couldn’t begrudge her just because she was the head.

        For better or worse, they were sisters.

        Antha reluctantly clutched the chilled drinks and felt a pang of relief in the sweltering bar. She couldn’t see her sister at the billiard table with the onslaught of shuffling patrons, so she decided to move toward her booth. She narrowly missed being covered in appletini as the DJ scratched in one more summer top ten into his rotation. Before she could move forward a voice pinned her in place.

        “Your sister’s the worst, you know that?” A nice-looking guy glared at her. His teeth gleamed pink in the red bar lights. Antha bet he had a handsome smile on account of those white teeth, but he was not smiling now. She squinted through the hazy dance floor and recognized him as the guy Tessa arrived with before Franco appeared.

         “Hey John, don’t fret, Tessa’s just catching up with an old friend—he comes into town every so often, don’t get upset.” She yelled back at his face as kindly as she could manage over the blare of the oncoming band tuning their instruments. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe her and his chest instinctively puffed up.

        “John? I’m José!” He replied. Antha felt embarrassed for both her sister and herself. She grimaced unintentionally, realizing she had said it all with very few words.

        She tried to defend their position with a weak excuse. “José, I’m bad with names and faces—” but he stormed off before she could piecemeal a string of bullshit. There goes another Mr. Last Month.

        This was having fun. Antha doing damage control on last month’s flame, while Tessa stoked a new one. All of the nice memories of her sister evaporated in the heat of the interaction. She grumbled to herself, as she had grown tired of babysitting, not just Tessa but the men-children she dated. When she finally confirmed her party’s booth, she parted the shadowy sea of basic bitches.

        Tessa was giggling like a school girl when her sister dropped the sweaty glasses onto the ratty old table. Franco at her neck like a leech. I hate this guy, Antha thought to herself. He turned his hot gaze on her, “Hi Antha, didn’t see you there.” His drawl was thick like humidity. She thought about giving her drink to Tessa’s date, but now that she could see he was it, she plopped down and selfishly sipped one of the nasty cocktails without offering the second.

        “Oh hey Brian,” she said playfully, “where’s your camera?”

        “Ant, now you know this is Franco, stop playin’!” Tessa tore her eyes away from him for a split second, but after she threw her daggers she was back ogling him like a dog does a bone.

        “Sorry, it’s hard to keep all these blue-eyed, blond, gentlemen straight.” Antha marginally resisted saying yokel under her breath.

        Tessa had a type. Beyond all logic, light eyes were the buckle in her knee, the hitch in her breath; and Franco was at the top of her list. Antha assumed he was the Porsche in her garage amongst a long list of Ford’s, but she honestly didn’t know the whole story. All she knew was that Franco showed his face sparingly and only after dark. He would disappear for weeks at a time, which earned him the endearment The Flake.

        Now, Antha hadn’t dated enough men in her young life to sort them by color and size, but Tessa had. To her credit, her tastes were diverse, she did her research and knew what she liked. No one blamed her either. With that hair and those legs, Tessa could have anyone she wanted. The great appeal of Franco didn’t add up to Antha though. She found him suspicious. She thought his truck was too loud, his jeans too torn, and his eyes much too heavy.

        Franco made idle conversation, inquiring after the twins’ classes as if he cared. His blond, three-quarter parted hair was glossy under the dim lights. When he pulled his tooth pick from the back of his ear and chewed on it, it made him look like an old-fashioned mobster—well until that Delmar twang spilled out of his hillbilly mouth. There was an allure about him; all of his parts matched, but his smile unglued those pieces. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

        Antha found herself sizing him up, drinking the disgusting cocktail faster than she wanted. I bet he has plastic zip ties and rope in his truck bed, she thought. She didn’t truly know why the image popped into her mind, it was just a feeling she got when his eyes were on her; made her feel like a snack, as if he would eat her alive right where she sat. No more Unsolved Mysteries for me this week, she insisted to herself.

        “Mmmm-hmmm.” Was the best response she could offer when he spoke to her directly. Tessa continued chatted about her business management courses as he deeply stared at her. Antha figured there was no real room for her in the conversation so she took out her world cultures text and flipped to her last page. She liked hanging out, however her final thesis was demanding all of her energy. The page fell open to vampires in the section of Egyptian mythology. She thought how ironic as her eyes shot up at the man sitting across from her.

        “So, there’s this bonfire by Slaughter Bay, I thought you ladies could come with.” Franco suggested lazily like it was too exclusive to be excited about. “You can shotgun babe and we can put Antha and her friends in back.” He eyed the textbooks growing damp on the table. Antha finished the first SoCo and started the second just to cope with him. “You could call up the girls.”

        “Zoey… Zoey... Zoey!” Tessa dramatically said into her drink and then laughed. Antha couldn’t help but smirk as Tessa explained to him her girlfriend was like Candyman and could be summoned via a pint of beer. The joke was partially lost on Franco.

        Before Tessa could agree to go Antha piped up, a little less shy now that her liquid courage had kicked in. “Sounds awfully romantic, but we can’t.” Before she could continue she was interrupted.

        “Hey girl haaayyyy!” Zoey appeared as if out of thin air and snatched one of the beers sent over by the bartender. “You goin’ nowhere without me—not after I Ubered across town!” Her two rando friends hollering and sloshing their drinks.

        “How the hell do you do that?” Antha insisted, amazed that their friend appeared.

        “Uhhhh, never you mind—we can make bonfire plans later—its ten o’clock, I’m here and Bieber is playing! GET UP!” Zoey declared, the glitter from her eyes dusting every surface.

        “Keep an eye on my friends.” Antha told Franco as she abandoned her books to be dragged to the floor. This was the moment she decided she was getting them all out of there; she didn’t like the sound of a bonfire with him and she certainly wasn’t allowing Tessa to go on her own either. She sent a pre-written text message to Doug: “Get here.” Which was their code for its really going down, I need back up.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @plastic-heart @myraiswack @wolfpawn​

[arecomicsevengood]

Seeds

Before I read it, I had this idea I could write a review of Ann Nocenti and David Aja’s The Seeds for the Comics Journal, but the book just sucked too much. It had basically nothing going for it, or even decipherable as an advancing plot. One thing wrong with it is there’s this sort of conspiracy element, or this “no one believes the news” anymore element of it, but Nocenti didn’t want it to be about “fake news.” Donald Trump has rewired the narrative, so now entire types of subject matter feed into this propaganda machine simply by being addressed. Nocenti’s best work does not shy from topicality, addressing the currents in the cultural air, but this time the modern world feels too hot to handle.

I ordered the Daredevil: Typhoid’s Kiss trade paperback, reprinting a bunch of Nocenti’s work with the Typhoid Mary character from the nineties. The longest story in there is a miniseries with art by John Van Fleet. It’s partly about post-Tarantino video-store employees turned filmmakers kidnapping Typhoid Mary to use her as the subject of a documentary about serial killers and violent media. It’s also about Typhoid Mary working as a private detective trying to track down a killer of prostitutes, who the police don’t care about, and are maybe the actual killers of themselves. Storywise, it’s a pretty cool attempt to address real-world issues of the day within a pulp context.

Van Fleet’s art is pretty boring and bad in a way that’s distinctly ahead of its time. While the miniseries itself probably wouldn’t exist without the precedent of Elektra: Assassin a decade before, (a spinoff about a female Daredevil villain created by the writer during their run on Daredevil where that character defined their run) all the photoreference that’s probably actually just photo backgrounds run through filters sets a precedent for the Alex Maleev/Matt Hollingsworth Daredevil stuff to come a decade later. And it’s frequently annoying on a page design/panel background level. Like in terms of how the panel borders sort of default to grid shapes so there ends up being things that “read” as panels but that don’t actually do anything for pacing. It’s just fitting the narrative into regimented design choices.

This maybe only happens the once. But the art is also just super-stiff throughout, with a very chunky line that eliminates any real nuance. There’s a bunch of characters, but a lot of them are indistinguishable from one another, and that’s because the linework is about as muddy as the color palette — It kinda seems like he’s working with models and photo reference but also doesn’t have that many models to work with so he’s having them play multiple roles, but also his work basically seems more like photoshop filters than actual drawing? There’s a bunch of stuff that I think sucks, basically. But you can also draw a direct line from what Van Fleet is doing in Typhoid to what Aja does in The Seeds. All these choices that are meant to be classy and dignifed, a move away from the excess of superhero comics. The covers of Typhoid are just portraits of the main character, interchangeable from one issue to the next, which was a move that again, was ahead of its time: This is what so many Marvel covers in the 2000s looked like, the Tim Bradstreet Punisher covers probably being the go-to example. It’s pretty dull but it’s nice they’re not super-sexualized.

While the choices arguably suit the subject matter in Typhoid, which is at least partly about movies, in The Seeds, the story doesn’t really make any sense because the visuals seem so steeped in unreality. The premise is that a tabloid has photographed an alien, proving aliens are real. There is really nothing within the context of the story that explains why the news outlet would have enough gravitas to be convincing and have this be an actual news story. And the book is drawn in Photoshop, which is itself a photo-editing software, so the “reality” of the book is defined by the very medium that people recognize as why images can’t be trusted. This contributes a level of irony that could maybe be worked with if the book itself wasn’t so ugly and dull. The whole thing looks like some Banksy bullshit. Outside of word balloons, text appears in the large all-caps typeface of image macros. I don’t have scans of The Seeds because I gave my copy away on account of there not being any reason to keep it around.

The book is beyond dated at the time of its release. Partly this is due to the speed the cultural conversation has been moving for the past five years.  It’s been a difficult time period to work on a work of fiction about the news, certainly, and not only has the comic been a long time in the making, the writer has also been away from making comics for decades now. If the authors had been able to make this as a serialized monthly comic, it might’ve stumbled into timeliness, or the predictive, but as it is, the reading experience feels like a bunch of different, disparate ideas that do not really cohere into a narrative. Leaving aside how the book seems to emerge from a general cultural gestalt of the the 1990s, when The X-Files and Weekly World News were objects of discussion, every major plot point or news story chosen for thematic resonance is approximately fifteen years old. I believe 2005 was when I started to hear about colony collapse disorder. This bee metaphor has been lapped by a Honey Nut Cheerios campaign at this point. (A few years back, boxes of cereal came with seeds of wildflowers you/children could plant.)

Darin Morgan’s episode of The X-Files revival “The Mengele Effect” ably addresses all the issues with how cynicism and conspiracy theories feel different now, all the issues that Nocenti seems terrified of and hopes the audience doesn’t think of when reading her humorless X-Files throwback comic. That episode’s great.  Much of The Seeds seems like it was better done in the decidedly not-great Transmetropolitian. There’s something so dated and sad about this comic’s idea of a cool journalist protagonist: People barely smoke cigarettes anymore! I know no one wants to draw people vaping, but the imagery this book wishes meant “cool, urban, woman” reads as nostalgic affectation in 2021. That so much of the commercial landscapes of our cities has been replaced by vape shops was one of the biggest clues we were already living in a dystopia three years ago.

Nocenti, when she was working regularly, got to be a pretty effective writer for having a monthly deadline wherein she could speak on the issues of the day as they were happening. In the absence of a regular gig, this rare chance to speak her mind gets hampered by how much there is to talk about, and how complicated it all is. If it’s too complicated to address in an ongoing superhero comic, a one-off graphic novel with vaguely commercial ambitions turns out to be a worse space for it. It’s so much sadder than anything in this dream-of-the-nineties comic that the authors were given the grace to make something only under the conditions that doom it to failure. Real people made this work of fiction, and I don’t know what the fuck they’re even talking about, and that’s a more complicated narrative than the journalists in this comic who… stumble upon a story and then need to take to back because it’s too important or something? I don’t understand what this comic is about. It’s clearly gesturing at being about a bunch of different things, but what they get from being in juxtaposition with one another, I don’t know.

In interviews in advance of the release of The Seeds, Nocenti talked about how this was the first time she got to make a comic that didn’t have to have fight scenes or conflict in it. But reading Typhoid it’s clear how conflict ties the story’s disparate threads together. But also while reading Typhoid I kept on thinking about how visually, the Steve Lightle shit that preceded it is so much cooler! Here he is, bifurcating a page so two narrative threads can be told with different approaches to stoytelling:

People sometimes talk about how crazy it is that Nocenti started her Daredevil run immediately following up the Miller/Mazzucchelli Born Again run with a fill-in drawn by Barry Windsor-Smith. But I don’t think anyone has pointed out that, since these Typhoid Mary team-up comics appeared in Marvel Comics Presents, she’s basically following up Barry Windsor-Smith’s Weapon X, and Steve Lightle is totally capable of doing that! Even if these comics are kinda whatever narratively, Nocenti comes up with dense enough narratives to give him shit to do. She’s a good writer within the context of the harsh strictures of early nineties mainstream comics. Which I know seems like a harsh diss! But being a writer that makes work that consistently gives a comics artist something interesting to do is a difficult job that many people are just not interested in doing for various reasons, so it should be recognized when it’s attempted and accomplished.

It’s also interesting that the whole visual approach where both Steve Lightle and Barry Windsor-Smith shine is dependent on flat color. The changes in storytelling made to accommodate the shifts in visual language in full-color mainstream comics didn’t really benefit anyone, and now needs to be outsmarted. In The Seeds, we’ve got this pretty dull reading experience that superficially in its two-color print job and nine-panel grid, looks like it might be influenced by Mazzucchelli’s work in Rubber Blanket and City Of Glass. And we’ve got a black and white Barry Windsor-Smith comic coming out from Fantagraphics in a few weeks that I really hope blows it out of the water.

[murfeelee]

TS4 Werewolves - Rant Alert

I got this one comment that sent me off on a whole tangent, so I decided to reply to it separately.

slade-the-neko replied to your photoset “The Wolves:This world is slowing down How can I fight it? How can I?...”

Dang Murf, that's very impressive! Really makes me wish Sims 4 had werewolves. I'll definitely try porting the Skyrim model to TS4 if they ever add them.                    

Y’all know TS4 is my trigger -- wtF is EA even doing over there? That Tiny Living Stuff Pack was a JOKE, like....seriously? o_O For as much money as they’re swindling y’all for TS4, EA’s Sims team is creatively BANKRUPT. ZERO innovation, intuition or inspiration.

EA just takes popular concepts/crazes like the Tiny House Movement, Baby Yoda, and Harry Potter, and waters it down to the barest of minimums: tiny homes with huge AF Murphy beds instead of bunk beds or convertible futons/sofa-beds; a decorative Baby Yoda you can’t even interact with; no school of magic sims can go to (and no magic for kids YET). I’m so tired of them!

People keep comparing RoM to TS1′s Makin Magic, and I keep going WHERE? I said in my initial trailer reaction for RoM that it made zero frikkin sense for the RoM magic land to have that perma-nighttime full moon, without even bothering to have werewolves in the so-called realm of magic.

RoM would’ve been the PERFECT chance to add werewolves. What better way to have a magical pack than to also introduce werewolves as the local denizens of Glimmerbrook’s forests. Missed opportunity, EA. (－‸ლ) 

They could’ve added a werewolf household living in the woods, that your sim either befriends or gets bitten by, so your sim goes to the Magical Realm to either find a cure for lycanthropy (for the werewolves or for THEMSELVES if they’re bitten and are gonna turn in a couple days), or wolfsbane poisoning if one of the wolves is made sick by the brand new harvestable Wolfsbane *cough cough!* (Wolfsbane comes in the Vampires GP, but they could‘ve totally made more types of Wild Wolfsbane, Yellow Aconite, Purple Monkshood, etc.).

Either one would give your sim a REAL impetus and incentive to go learn magic and talk to the RoM residents and mess with potions & alchermy. Which is another reason I said (I’ve BEEN saying) I wanted HEDGE WITCHES, who could do HERBOLOGY. U_U

The RoM Game Pack NEEDED to be its own Expansion -- it wasn’t a realm at all; it was a Diagon Alley ripoff and everybody knew it. HELLO, EA! Part of worldbuilding is creating a EFFING STORY that gives your game a FRIKKIN PURPOSE. EA didn’t go the distance at all; they did the mere basics of adding magic to TS4, with a lot of style but not much substance. But ironically they did the same with the mermaids, which did get their own EP, and everyone agrees that TS4′s Island Living was worse than TS3′s Island Paradise, so wtf. (－‸ლ) 

But I doubt werewolves would get their own Game Pack like the Vampires & Spellcasters -- EA would do Faeries/Elves before wolves, I suspect, cuz faeries are in a sense easier. Wings, mushrooms & flowers, glittery magic, LOTR-esque art nouveau inspired furniture, etc -- everyone knows the standard faery.

But if TS4 werewolves got a pack all to themselves it would force EA to effing give a crap about lycan culture & lore, and the complexities of things like pack dynamics (alphas, betas, omegas, etc), moon cycles, transformations, lupine physiology & locomotion; diet & hunting (adding new flora & fauna), etc.

While heavy in gameplay expansion, with werewolf-specific abilities, interactions & animations, what other stuff could you stuff into a werewolf stuff pack? Y'all saw how in TS3 the Supernatural EP didn’t give wolves a single bloody thing other than their CAS stuff -- for build/buy mode wolves got ZILCH. We didn’t get busted furniture or shattered windows or blood splatters or more fur patterns -- NOTHING. Everything in build/buy mode was for witches & faeries--all wolves could do was tear the crap up with their claws.

And even their CAS stuff was lackluster - no hairy skins, makeup or tails, but we got body hair & face sliders, claws, fangs, etc.

I like TS1's werewolf design from Makin Magic the most, since their heads/skins looked like wolves.

TS2′s was the biggest downgrade in terms of the LOOK of werewolves, in that it was just a skin.

If EA does do wolves for TS4, I’d hope they make it so the werewolves look like effing WOLVES. At least let them turn into animals, like the ones in TS2 PETS. (WHY TF was TS2 the only time Sims had ACTUAL magical pets!? >_< TS3 has dogs! TS4 has dogs! DO IT ALREADY.)

Considering the cartoony PG13 angle EA insists on keeping TS4, I don’t imagine they’d EVER make wolves look like @camkitty2​’s amazing werewolf mod at MTS:

And certainly not the scary Skyrim werewolves that I converted.

Or even the ones from EA’s other property, Dragon Age (which are effing ugly, IMO).

(The ugly anthropomorphic bipedal version, btw, not the more wolf-like version.)

TBH, If TS4 did werewolves at all I BET YOU MONOPOLY MONEY the template EA’d use would be a lot like Bigby Wolf’s design from the Wolf Among Us video game:

Bigby goes through 4 phases, from man to gradually being an actual wolf in his 4th phase/Final Form. His 3rd phase has a face that not really wolf-like so much as Jekyll/Hyde; beastly enough that you pretty much know Oh that’s a werewolf they’re doing, without it actually looking like any animal.

It’s big and scary with muscles & claws & hair, but cartoony enough that it’s not drastically different from a regular sim. EA’s wack enough to pull something like that, rather than going the extra mile to give us the kind of Skyrim-esque werewolves many simmers want.

Or the full-shift magical WOLF that I personally want.

Don’t get me wrong; Bigby has a great design for Wolf Among Us, made by AA developers Telltale (who do The Walking Dead video games). But Electronic fArts is a AAA developer, with billion dollar budgets, massive teams & bookoo resources. But by god EA’s the laziest AAA company around; just the kind of twats to do AA level work with AAA finances, as we’ve seen in TS4 and TS3.

Bigby’s 2nd phase is basically what TS3 did for werewolves, with the scrunched up brow/nose, pointed ears, hairier face, etc.

This kind of werewolf design is fine, but it leaves A LOT to be desired, especially if it’s the only form you see in certain werewolf franchises. It reminds me too much of how Teen Wolf makes werewolves -- basically as hairier vampires from Buffy (which makes sense). But come on EA, go the distance; go FULL WOLF SHIFT or go home.

In Eastern Europe werewolves ARE vampires/witches -- they’re connected to nature magic, druids & wicca, neopaganism, etc: magic runes & symbols, stones & metals, scyring, bonfire festivals (having Celtic holidays would be so cool!), enchanted woods & nemetons & ley lines, the effect of moonlight on water #TuckEverlasting style, shamanistic sacred animal totemic power and such. Tap into that tribalistic Slavic, Norse & Celtic lore on werewolves, EA, you effing COWards!

In TS1′s Makin Magic and TS3′s Supernatural, witches and werewolves came in the same pack, and had gameplay elements tied to each other -- in TS1 it’s the Beauty & the Beast charm that magical sims can use, and in TS3 werewolves can be used as witches’ assistants to Gather harvestables/collectables used in alchemy potions. So for TS4, having werewolves in RoM would’ve made SO MUCH sense. Hell, they could’ve fit into the Vampire GP, too -- why was wolfsbane even IN that pack? o_O

So if TS4 adds werewolves, I hope they add something NEW to the lifestate, and do more research into other portrayals & iterations of werewolves.

Everyone knows about Norse Berserkers (were-bears), but less attention is given to the Wolves of Odin, the Ulfhednar/Ulfhedinn (werewolves). A lot of Nordic neopagans are into them nowadays.

A werewolf GP would make it so EA would have to flesh out werewolves -- if they live in the woods, give them woodland build/buy mode CC. Let them live OFF THE GRID as technophobic naturists, cuz electronics like tvs, PCs & radios hurt their sensitive eyes & ears. They could be more modern, sure, but it would be so much cooler to have sims who only use well water and hot springs and compost toilets and woodfire ovens.

Bring back hobbies/skills like bone/woodcarving, gem cutting, basket weaving & looms, soap/candle-making, pottery, horticulture, tree-cutting/tree-hugging, animal husbandry (could you imagine werewolf shepherds? XD), sparring, (arm) wrestling, boxing, hunting, bird watching and more. Basically: fullblown medieval-rustic hunting lodge aesthetics: animal pelts, antlers, mounted taxidermy, COME ON, EA, stop being boring!

[kai-keda]

Thoughts on DBS: Broly after seeing it in theaters, taking a break from Dragon Ball all together for a long while there and then returning:

Yeah I watched Return of Cooler and Wrath of the Dragon with my sister before we watched DBS: Broly all in the same night back to back to back and I can successfully say the hype train for DBS: Broly for me is FINALLY done because I was FINALLY able to point out things I didn’t like.

Especially after coming right out of watching those two movies from Z that same night as well as watching a few episodes of the original Dragon Ball series with her a few nights prior, Goku seemed so very out of character. I was actually getting upset at him and was reminded of why I left the DB fandom in the first place.

(I’m really really sorry but I can’t put a read more here cause mobile on iOS is STUPID and I didn’t expect to throw up so many opinions and words ahhhh I’ll tag it with ‘long post’ though so I hope that’s okay)

Dragon Ball Super Goku is not in character. And the movie version highlights this weird luke-warm attempt, for me. Like the writers were trying but what they ended up coming out with was a weird watered down version of the IDEA of who Goku is supposed to represent in the modern understandings of his character rather than any actual attempt to get his character consistent with everything that came before BoG.

It was as if the writers involved (including Toriyama) just took each other’s word for it as far as who Goku is. So we come out with this “child-like wonder that never grows up.” character instead of the mature result of a completed coming-of-age story.

And yeah sorry everyone but after watching and geeking out at the animation in the previously mentioned Z movies (especially the storyboarding and camera movements for Wrath of the Dragon) just an hour or so prior to watching the fight with Broly, I have to say that said fight in the latest movie was all about trying to be as flashy and fancy as possible (including this weird but admittedly ballsy attempt to go with a Broly POV akin to an FPS for a short period of time) without actually putting any care in the world to making it easy to follow and understand as an audience member.

The art style is nice, but nothing in the animation really stood out to me as especially impressive without flashy effects being involved.

In fact, there were quite a few scenes where I felt like they overdid it on the amount frames it took to get from pose A to pose B and I just. didn’t. like. it.

And look, hot take, the scene where Goku’s trying to convince Vegeta to fuse with him - when I first saw it in theaters I was sure that I agreed with everyone that the animator involved could do no wrong and that the art style shift was necessary to the animation style.

But the reality is - it just wasn’t. As far as the movement was concerned, none of the characters in that particular scene did any movement that was especially exciting to me or even that different from the rest of the film. It was all pretty basic to Dragon Ball Super: Broly to me. They just were off-model. I’m sorry.

I know this community worships the ground that animator works on but I just didn’t see anything especially exciting. My sister can attest to this - while we were watching Return of Cooler and Wrath of the Dragon I was geeking out. With the former, it was the use of anticipation and settling while with the later it was the storyboarding. Like when Vegeta fights Hirudegarn there’s a sequence where the camera stays on Vegeta as he moves around the beast before it eventually zooms in on him and ahhhhhhhhhhh it’s so nice just thinking about it.

That sequence that I’m referencing is the kind of storyboarding style that I whole-heartedly believe Toei was trying to go for the ENTIRE fight in DBS:B but it was just too much too fast. I’m not saying it was impossible to follow but anyone who says the other previously mentioned films had fights with storyboarding on par or even worse than the fight in question either doesn’t know what they’re talking about or is straight up lying.

And I’m gonna say it - I’m gonna say it - STOP ZOOMING IN ON EYES AND MOUTHS SO DAMN MUCH HOLY SHIT IT JUST KEPT HAPPENING CAN YOU LITERALLY DO ANYTHING ELSE IN YOUR STORYBOARD?!?! Things like that are supposed to be a novelty used either to make the audience member uncomfortable or laugh depending on the overall tone of the scene but when you do it over and over and over and over again it loses the rarity that gives it that effect and it just becomes annoying.

I tried keeping my mouth shut over it the first couple times but by the fifth or sixth time it happened I just - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it ticked me off, man. Like - ticked off the animation part of my mind the way Goku’s character writing ticked off the analysis part of my mind.

It was annoying af.

Okay but back to the writing.

I loved everything that came before the time jump to “modern day” (for lack of a better phrase coming to mind) despite what others might say.

I’ve heard, understand and respect all the criticisms of Minus and even the added parts with little Broly and Paragus, but I just can’t bring myself to be bothered by those things. I don’t necessarily disagree with the more widely accepted complaints but that doesn’t mean I agree with them, either.

I see both sides of this so I guess you could say I’m neutral? But at the same token I do REALLY enjoy it all so I can’t bring myself to think of myself as entirely neutral on the subject, either.

Vegeta and Raditz being as tiny as they were made sense but also kinda weirded me out though, not entirely sure why.

Anyways, I think that’s pretty much all I wanted to say.

Feel free to send me asks and stuff about my thoughts on this. I’m not letting myself get angry over it anymore.

I just enjoy sharing my thoughts on these types of things and apprently Dragon Ball is the only series to REALLY inspire this deep kind of analysis while everything else I’ve attempted to write up in this style just kind falls flat.

Not entirely sure why that is but maybe that’s a set of musings for another day.

I’m Kairi Yajuu and I can’t speak or read Japanese.

[some-mad-lunge]

Interstellar Bitch

Because an Alex and Isobel friendship is on my must list for season 2.

**************

Alex had always leaned more towards having women as friends, that is after Kyle had disowned him before high school. Suddenly he was without a best friend in the shark infested waters that was public education.. Thankfully Maria, with her kind heart and Liz with her keen eyes that missed nothing, welcomed him with open arms. He wasn’t as free spirited or as studious as either of them, but it worked. He never thought of it as a cliche, it was just nice. 

He grew up in a house that suffocated him with male testosterone. No one wanted to listen to his ideas or hear his music. No one wanted to know him. Honestly, Alex thought his Dad would like him more if he just whipped out his dick and measured it, gave him something tangible to prove his son was a Manes man.

Maria and Liz (and Michael), they’d been the bright spots in this town. The escape from home and the loneliness, the white noise that cancelled out the voice in his head that made sure he knew he’d never be good enough.

He’d left them behind but he’d never forgotten. Emails and texts, you grow up and people fall away. Overseas he learned how to be friends with men, not needing to posture up, to prove he could give a punch and absorb a hit to be taken seriously. Still he missed his companionship with women. He missed the warmth of Maria’s hug, Liz’s sharp tongue that never failed to make him laugh. The way he used to feel understood, at least a little, for the first time in his life.

Coming home to them (and Michael), it was as if nothing had changed. A decade didn’t dull who they’d been to each other. Alex didn’t know if it was them, or this town, but they were connected. They were family.

Or they had been, but now there was a space between them, and he couldn’t get past it. He’d lost all three of the people he’d love most in one fell swoop. He vaguely wondered if there was something poetic in that. He’d run away to learn to be himself and lost the people who accepted him wholly for who he was in the process.

Maybe it would be easier if there had been some big scene, angry words and spilled drinks. Instead it was Michael and Maria holding hands, Liz begging him with her eyes not to make her choose. That in itself was a choice wasn’t it?

He’d made his own choice a decade ago and they had made theirs a little over three weeks ago. One thing Alex had to learn quickly was how to drink alone. To be fair he was getting pretty good at it, practice makes perfect. He had Kyle back, sort of, but there was still the bravado Alex felt he needed around his old friend. Maybe they’d buried the hatchet but scars run deep, and habits can be hard to break.

He’d planned his Saturday sitting on his porch, drinking some beer and wallowing in his own self pity. It was the only reason he was buying alcohol at 10am, most of the town still asleep or avoiding the heat. The last person he expected to run into, sunglasses hiding her face and two bottles of red tucked under her arm was Isobel. 

He couldn’t really remember ever having a conversation with her. He knew how much she meant to Michael, but did she know what Michael had meant to Alex? It was better not to think about it. Instead he nodded her way and attempted to side step around her in the aisle. It appeared she had other plans.

“You look more pathetic than I feel, and that’s saying something.” It stopped him in his tracks, had him turning slowly to take her in. She slid her large glasses up onto her forehead, her eyes were red but there wasn’t a hint of sadness in them. No, he saw what could only be described as understanding, maybe even fellowship and a hint of something else. Something he recognized.

Barely contained rage.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. She was a hard one to read, perfect facade that had all come crashing down. He didn’t feel like his pain could even hold a candle to hers. Maybe she’d been an uppity bitch back in high school, head held high to balance her prom queen crown but she wasn’t that person anymore. No one deserved what Noah has done to her, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

It was painful enough losing someone’s love, but learning you never had it to begin with? That was anguish.

He turned away and went to the cooler, hoisting the case of beer under his arm. He also snagged a bottle of tequila as he headed to the register. He didn’t see Isobel anywhere, hoped she found whatever she was looking for at the bottom of her bottle. Alex had yet to find answers in the bottom of his.

Instead he found her leaning against his Jeep, bags on the ground at her feet. She had her hips pushed out, braced for a fight. Alex, meanwhile, wasn't looking for one.

“I need a ride home.” It wasn’t a request but a command, and last Alex checked she wasn’t his superior officer, even if she had a sneer like one.

“And that’s your vehicle located northwest, you know, across the street.” It was early so there was no limit to his stride as he made his way closer.

He watched Isobel’s veneer slip, the swagger that was so much like Michael it made him ache disappeared.

“He bought it for me, I just realized. Anniversary gift. I never want to drive it again.” She said it like that was a good enough answer and for Alex it sure as hell was. Instead he jerked his head as he pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked his passenger door and opened it for her. He was still a gentleman, and he wasn’t above simple kindness.

She climbed in, but put a hand on his arm.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Alex almost laughed.

“Neither do I.”

She nodded her understanding, they both had some broken hearts beating simply to pump the anger through their veins. Analyzing that fact wasn’t going to change it. Instead he shut her door with a click and made his way around to his own side.

They drove in relative silence, every corner causing the bottles at Isobel’s feet to clank and rattle. He knew where she lived, Isobel had been made for suburbia, even if she was from another planet altogether.

He pulled into her drive and shut off his car.

“Not going to lie, wasn’t sure how safely we’d get here, you being down a limb and all.” 

This time Alex did laugh, because Isobel didn’t wear kid gloves around him and dammit if he didn’t enjoy that. It was nice for someone to look at him with something other than pity.

“Come on. We’ll be less pathetic if we get wasted together.”

The inside of her house was just as one would imagine, modern furniture, tasteful art and a large pile of men’s clothes heaped in the middle of the living room. Isobel flicked her hand at the mound as she headed for her kitchen, “Help yourself.”

Alex turned his nose up at the idea of cast offs from a serial killer and followed Isobel into the kitchen. He placed his bottle of tequila down on the counter. She handed him a corkscrew and he got to opening a bottle while she grabbed large wine glasses and a cutting board. He poured them each a glass as she cut up cheese and grabbed a package of crackers.

He blinked at her as she rolled her eyes, “We can be civilized about it.” She balanced the board on her hand as if she’d been serving patrons her entire life and grabbed her glass. Alex followed her again, wondered for a second if he would always be just two steps behind an alien when it came to living his life when she surprised him. She slid her patio door open and took a sip from glass. 

“After you.”

********

“What was it like?” 

“What was what like?”

“Seeing the world?”

“I was in Iraq and Afghanistan. I saw sand and death and children going hungry. Sorry I didn’t send any postcards.” Alex leaned forward to refill Isobel’s glass.

“Don’t be, Roswell has never been worth the postage.”

He touched his glass to hers in agreement.

**********

“Admit it, you like this song!” Isobel twirled as she shouted, pop music thumping so hard Alex should be annoyed. Instead he’s laughing as she swished her imaginary skirt, shooting him a come hither look. 

He just shakes his head and leans back, but he gives in eventually and sings along. Even holds out his hand and lets her grasp it as she dances around him.

*********

Letting an intoxicated Isobel paint his nails sparkly black was not Alex’s wisest decision. Then again, also not his worst.

“Hey, I’m doing a good job.” She sticks out her tongue as she steadies her hand and does one final stroke. “Ta-da!”

She blows on his fingertips, and passes him the bottle. “Now do mine!”

Naturally his work is better than hers.

*********

Alex isn’t sure how he ended up on the floor, but Isobel had tossed him some cushions and he’s shaded from the setting sun. He’s comfortable and relaxed, and holding a glass of tequila and ice to his forehead.

“I envied you in high school.” Isobel is using Alex’s good leg as a headrest. He can’t remember the last time someone was this close to him, happy being in his space, wanting to be there. Well he did, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Sure. Gay emo kid with an abusive father, what’s not to love?” There is no bitterness in his voice though, you can only be angry about the past for so long. Also his buzz is making everything easier to bear. “I wish I could have walked down the halls flipping my blonde hair.

“Fuck you. I didn’t walk, I strutted.”

*********

Somehow they’d ended up in the living room, each with a pair of scissors, cutting up Noah’s expensive suits. Alex wasn’t sure they should be using such sharp objects, but then again, he’d done a good job cutting out a star in a cashmere sweater.

“Should I feel bad that I could have donated these? I mean, there are people in need.” She sounded sincere but the swish of her scissor blades doesn’t stop. “But I don’t know if Tide gets out murderous alien germs.”

He hears her sniff and glances up, but her face is set hard. He lets her have that one.

“Or, we could burn the lot.” He likes the idea, is a little proud of it. 

Isobel’s smile is slow and menacing, “I have marshmallows.”

*********

His fingers are sticky and his stomach hurts from laughing as he watches Isobel try to lean out of her chair to grasp her drink. She’s going to fall and for some reason it’s ridiculous. The whole day has been.

She sits up and pouts.

“Come on, you have ET powers on your side. You got this, Evans.”

It takes a few minutes and her face gets flat and serious. Then the glass skitters across the pavement to bang against the leg of her chair. 

She picks it up with a flourish, all he can do is applaud.

********

“No, you have to shoot, use the A button!” Isobel is useless at this and he’s willing to sacrifice her to the cause. Leave no man behind doesn’t count when they’re this bad.

“Which one is A?”

“The one with an A on it! Dammit!” The screen goes red, they’re both dead. Alex drops his controller and drinks straight from the bottle. All sense of propriety went out the window around 2am, so he holds it her way so she can take a sip. 

She can handle her liquor better than most of the men he serves with. He’ll never tell her that though.

*********

“You know you could use your mind meld skills to get someone to bring us pizza.” The fact that Roswell doesn’t have a take out place open past 11:00pm is the greatest shame of the century.

“Or I could use my mind meld skills to get you to grab the Pop Tarts out the freezer.”

“You keep your Pop Tarts in the freezer?”

“You’ve never had a frozen Pop Tart?!” When he shakes his head she scrambles off the sofa, nearly trips over her own feet. “I am about to rock your world.”

It’s no blow job from Michael Guerin but it’s a close second.

********

Alex isn’t sure if it’s the pounding on the door or the pounding inside his head that wakes him up. He could do without both, and a healthy does of H20. He feels legs tangled with his own, knows they must have passed out head to toe on Isobel’s large sectional. He realizes he hadn’t removed his prosthetic and that is going to hurt later. Instead he wiggles his socked foot in Isobel’s face. It’s her house, he’s not answering the door.

Also if he gets up he just might die.

She squirms but it’s too little too late when the door bangs open and her brothers storm in with their girlfriends hot on their heels.

He hears Max’s huff and Maria’s laugh but they’re both drowned out by an unimpressed, “What the actual fuck?!”

Great. Michael’s here.

Isobel wraps her arms around Alex’s leg and snuggles into it. So it looks like she’s leaving him to deal with the Alien scout patrol.

“I repeat, what the fuck?”

Alex finally opens his eyes and is met with Michael’s hard and unimpressed stare. As if he has a commodity on messy hangovers or something. He kicks his foot again and Isobel huffs, but it’s enough to get her sitting up, hand pressed to her forehead.

She pushes Alex’s legs so he has no choice but to follow suit.

“You snore, Manes.”

“I know.” Michael says it before Alex can, the silence afterwards almost deafening. Max coughs as Alex shoots Isobel a look. It results in them bursting into giggles and leaning into each other on the sofa. To be fair, Alex's not sure how either of them are semi upright at this point anyway. No one else seems to get the joke.

“They’re okay guys, maybe we should let them sleep it off.” Liz is smiling but also glancing between Maria and Michael. There’s an issue there but it’s none of Alex’s business, just like he is none of there’s.

“You don’t answer our calls and Max finds your car deserted in town. We’re worried sick and you’re here passed out with him.” Michael isn’t letting this go and Alex almost stands up, squaring for a fight. Isobel puts a hand on his knee to stop him.

“It’s called a bender Michael, you of all people should understand that.” She attempts to rise and makes it halfway before she falls back, half in Alex’s lap. He catches her and rights her again. She pats the top of his head in thanks.

“Water?” Isobel is ignoring everyone else, Alex is keen on the idea.

“God, yes please.”

Alex leans back into the sofa and rubs at his temples. He can feel Michael’s frustrated gaze on him, even more so when Isobel hands him a cold bottle. He opens it, reaches out to tap it against hers and downs the whole thing in one go. 

No one is saying anything and Alex isn’t about to be the first. Last he checked he and Isobel were adults, but the eyes Liz is making at Max don’t seem to be doing the job.

“So, I’m alive, we’re alive. Any other questions or is the interrogation over?” Isobel seems revived by the water and the weight of Michael’s disapproving eyes. No one says anything. “Great.”

She leans down, grabs Alex’s hand to help haul him to his feet. Somehow his leg is working and he’s not limping. He’s starting to wonder if this is all a weird fever dream. Then Isobel tucks her arm into his and leads him to the door and past the army of interlopers.

“You owe me one.” It’s whispered as she presses her cheek to his in a mock kiss, like they’re high society and didn’t murder three bottles of wine and all the tequila that didn’t end up on the kitchen floor.

He thinks he might love her. Platonically but reverently, the twinkle in her eye leads him to believe he’s not alone in the feeling. 

“Until Saturday, ma’am.” He gives her a smile and a tiny salute, which became a thing last night, though for the life of him he can’t remember how.

“Of course, I’ll bring the limes and the hot sauce. Now run while you can.” She shoots him a wink and he makes his escape. The last thing he hears as the door shuts is Michael’s frustrated shout of, “What the hell is Saturday?”

Alex swings his keys around his finger and heads for his Jeep.

After a much needed shower and something greasy to settle his stomach he crawls into his own bed. As he lays there his phone beeps twice.

One is a message from an unknown number that says, “It's unfair this polish looks better on you than me.” He saves the number under the name Interstellar Bitch and makes a mental note to show Isobel later on. She’ll get a kick out of it.

The second is from Michael that’s four simple words, “We need to talk.”

He only replies to one, types out “It’s an emo thing.”

Then he presses his face into his pillow and laughs.

[ad-ciu]

Celts in Pop-Culture: Extra Mythology, Part #1

So, in a likely feeble attempt to ward off the slowly crawling insanity and self-doubt fueled primordial terror of an Old Irish exam today, I have decided to spend this evening doing something I have been promising to do for months now: discuss the Extra Mythology video titled: ‘Celtic Myth: the Island of Destiny.’

Now, before I get into the specifics, I would like to preface this discussion with the fact that I did reach out to the people behind this project and let them know there were issues with the material and offered my assistance to revising or helping provide research for a corrections video if it was of interest to themselves. I was informed that they were drawing on the works of Peter Berresford Ellis, a journalist who is very notably not a trained Celticist, and were comfortable with their choice as it showed the variation in the stories, and that I would look forward to the corrections episode. As it has now been eleven months since the initial video’s publication and no correction video has arrived, I want to start my commentary on it.

Oh, and before we begin, thanks to Thrythlind for transcribing this video and the next one so I can comment on them more easily.

Now, the issue with the version of events presented by Extra Mythology, drawing on Ellis, is that it is primarily absolutely totally and factually made up. Which, you know, bad start. But, lets start in the big picture and then break it down. The events described in this text are a segment of Lebor Gabála Érenn, the ‘Book of the Taking of Ireland,’ (henceforth LGE) and Cath Maige Tuired, the ‘Battle of Mag Tuired.’ (henceforth CMT) These are two exceptionally interesting texts, and a great place to start when introducing someone to Irish saga material as Extra Mythology intended to do! However, there is a large problem: the version of events told by Extra Mythology is only loosely based in these texts.

As you can see here and here, there is not actually a tremendous amount of variation between the extant versions of these two stories. LGE has four medieval versions, each of which I have had the pleasure to read (and you can too! Volumes 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5!) and CMT has one medieval version which is one of my favorite texts. I highly suggest reading it, and you can find it here.

So, as we can see, right off the bat we are not dealing with a huge amount of variant texts with a bunch of differences. In fact, there are very few versions of LGE that are very consistent in this relevant section, and CMT has no variants. (There is a Early Modern version, but nobody has ever translated it... or really worked on it. Or done anything with it.) So, I would like to initially begin by pointing out that while Extra Mythology has explained to me that they chose this version of the text to show the different versions, there are none, and the version they used does in fact offer alternatives that are not authentic, not medieval, and made up by Ellis.

Now, to begin.

Void became form and form became Earth and out of the Earth sprang a tree. It was the mighty oak, watered by the river of Heaven, the Danu. And from that oak fell two acorns from which sprang the first of the gods: The Dagda and Brigid. They were the first children of the Danu. And over time the Children of the Danu grew and built four great cities on the banks of the sacred river.

Well, that’s all fictional. The ‘Creation of the World’ for Irish mythology is the Book of Genesis, these myths (if we can call them that, see: Ireland’s Immortals by Mark Williams) are set within a Christian world and a broader Christian cosmology. There is no tree, there is no ‘river of heaven’ named Danu since Danu is a person, in theory (as we never see her ‘on screen’ and might even be dead before the events of these stories), and there is certainly no gods coming out of acorns. And the Four Cities are on islands to the north of Ireland, they are not built along a sacred river.

Now! Where is this coming from? I presume this is Ellis trying to connect Danu, the ancestral figure of the Túatha Dé Danann with the Danube River in Germany which might have a linguistic connection, but no evidence to exists to suggest they were believed to be connected by the time of LGE.

Those cities flourished and in each of them was crafted a great artifact. In one was the Stone of Destiny which would shout with joy when a righteous ruler set his foot upon it. In another was Retaliator, the greatest sword ever forged. In the third could be found the Red Javelin which once thrown would find its mark no matter how its foes hid. And, finally, in the fourth city, lay the Cauldron of Plenty which could feed all the Children of the Danu and still never empty.

Now, this section is rather interesting as it is getting some things correct and then absolutely dropping the ball elsewhere. Let us compare this statement with the actual text of CMT where this description of the Four Treasures of the Túatha Dé Danann are named and described! (Using quotation marks to make it less confusing than if I used block-quotes for both the video and original texts)

“From Falias was brought the Stone of Fál which was located in Tara. It used to cry out beneath every king that would take Ireland. From Gorias was brought the spear which Lug had. No battle was ever sustained against it, or against the man who held it in his hand. From Findias was brought the sword of Núadu. No one ever escaped from it once it was drawn from its deadly sheath, and no one could resist it. From Murias was brought the Dagda's cauldron. No company ever went away from it unsatisfied.“

So, what is wrong here? Well, most of it. Lets go treasure by treasure.

The Stone: Extra Mythology claims that the stone would shout when ‘a righteous ruler set his foot upon it’ where as the actual text says it would make a noise when ‘beneath every king that would take Ireland.’ There is zero moral judgement here, the rock is just a prophecy stone that says when someone will be King of all Ireland. Very different.

The Spear: Extra Mythology calls this the ‘Red Javelin’ which is a name I have never heard before, and claims that the spear is unerring. In reality, the spear is just described as the spear that Lug had, and its function is far cooler in that battles cannot be won against the wielder. Pretty.... massive difference to tell the truth. (I think Extra Mythology via Ellis is talking about The Lúin, a colossal spear that distorts reality to always hit and always kill from an entirely different story)

The Sword: Extra Mythology claims the sword is named ‘Retaliator’ and it was simply the greatest sword forged. The reality describes this as the Sword of Núadu (who Extra Mythology will call Nuada) and that no one ever escaped from it, and no one could resist it when drawn. Vague, but way more detailed than what Ellis has informed Extra Mythology with. Furthermore, ‘Retaliator’ is a different sword, one named Fragarach (translated as Retaliator) which is Manannán mac Lir’s sword which can command the wind, cut through any armour, and will always kill someone it wounds. Super weird call there.

The Cauldron: Extra Mythology presents this as ‘The Cauldron of Plenty’ and that it can feed all of the Children of Danu. The reality just calls it The Dagda’s cauldron and that ‘no company ever went away from it unsatisfied’ which probably sounds very similar, but the difference is important. In a culture with such heavy emphasis on feeding and hosting as medieval Ireland, the importance I would put here is not just on the cauldron’s ability to feed everyone, but to satisfy everyone. There won’t be honour arguments over who got better food, there won’t be violence over issues of disparity, everyone will be satisfied and the host’s duty will be completed.

So, they got the treasures wrong. In fact, they just subbed out two of them for totally different magical items from different Irish sagas, and then sort of misrepresented the other two. Anyways, continuing.

But one day, The Dagda called the greatest of his children from all the cities and told them of their destiny. For it was not for them to remain by the sacred river Danu but to head to an island where the sun set. Before they went, though, Brigid offered them a warning. They would not be alone on this island. Others would try to make it theirs. With this warning, the Children of the Danu set out for their new home. Bringing with them their four great treasures for protection.  Unsure of what they'd find on this Island of Destiny. Or so some say.

None of this happens,the only person who says this is Ellis I presume as it is not at all found in any of the medieval texts. We never get an explanation of why the Túatha Dé leave the Four Cities for Ireland, never gets explained. 

Some say they came in a dark cloud from origins unknown and alighted on a mountaintop. Others still say they came from strange cities across the sea.  Where they learned science and magical arts and when they arrived they burnt their ships behind them. Wagering all on the conquest of Ireland.

Oh, this is true! Our first factual bits of information here. So, yes, the variation here is actually mentioned in texts! That either the Túatha Dé arrived in ships of mist, or that this was just people misunderstanding that they had burned their ships when they arrived. Though, in both versions they still come from The Four Cities.

As they started to explore the misty plains of Inis Vale they encountered a curious people already living there: the Fir Bolg.

Also known as: relatives of the Túatha Dé Danann, and also the native people of Ireland at this time. So, the Túatha Dé have arrived, and found a bunch of native people living in the island they want, I am sure they will be very polite and get along well. Yeah? Well no, of course not, the Túatha Dé Danann are conquering colonizers, they’re not good people.

The Danu asked for half of Ireland to be theirs to settle and they could live in peace. But the Fir Bolg refused so battle was decided upon.

Firstly, ‘the Danu’? No. That would be like calling the Romans ‘The Romulus.’ Secondly, the Túatha Dé demanded half of Ireland from the Fir Bolg who, understandably, were not entirely okay with just giving up half of their land no questions asked to a foreign bunch of randoms who just rolled up and burned their ships.

LGE says, “They demanded battle or kingship of the Fir Bolg. A battle was fought between them, to wit the first battle of Mag Tuired” which if I am reading this correctly is consistant through the versions. So! The Túatha Dé rolled up, went ‘we demand either that we are in charge of you all [and your lands] or fight us about it.’ Very different.

But just to be clear, battle back then was a lot different to the way we think of it now. This was a matter of honor. The Children of the Danu made spears for the Fir Bolg to use. And the Fir Bolg crafted javelins for the Children of the Danu. They agreed on how many soldiers each side would bring. And where they would do battle. They even agreed on how many days they would fight for.

This is a weird misunderstanding or misrepresentation of the facts. Bres mac Elatha and Sreng meet each other and exchange the demands for Ireland, and then exchange spears with each other in a very homoerotic scene after handling and inspecting each other’s spears. 

At this point we start getting into a long description of a battle which I’m going to pick specific things out of to discuss rather than going word for word.

Until the leaders of both sides, Nuada of the Children of the Danu and Sreng for the Fir Bolg, met in the center of the melee.

Sreng is the champion of the current high king of the Fir Bolg at the time, he isn’t the leader of the Fir Bolg. The Fir Bolg king at this time was Eochaid mac Erc.

Then, Sreng landed a titanic strike. His blade cleft through Nuada's shield and severed his right arm in one stroke. Nuada stumbled back, dazed. It looked as though the end had come. Then The Dagda himself intervened and spirited Nuada away.

Yes, Sreng cuts off Nuadu’s hand (or arm. Lám in Old Irish could mean either), but The Dagda isn’t even mentioned in this scene. That’s a super weird detail for Ellis (presumably it was him and not Extra Mythology) to make up.

They took him to Dian Cecht; God of Healing, Lord of Physicians; who crafted him a new arm of pure silver that moved like an arm of flesh and blood.

Also Creidne the smith. Everyone always forgets Creidne and I won’t stand for it.

Now you might think that the Children of the Danu would have quavered at the sight of their leader fallen in front of them. That they would break as their king was smote by the Fir Bolg champion. But, no, Bres, Warrior of the Danu, quick of mind and beautiful of form seized the king's right arm and raised it aloft. Angered by such a sight, the Children of the Danu swore vengeance. And plunged into the Fir Bolg ranks.

This is literally all fictional and I have no idea why Ellis would even make this up.

Finally, the Fir Bolg were all but defeated. 300 Fir Bolg warriors remained. Led by Sreng, their great champion. They took counsel and decided to fight to the last.

So this is sort of weird a) because we are glossing over the fact that in this version the Túatha Dé have essentially committed genocide here, and b) because other Fir Bolg escape this battle.

They quickly chose Bres as their leader for his valor and charm of mind.

So firstly, we don’t mention that now we are dealing with an entirely different text? Well, okay. And also sadly CMT is more misogynistic than this as CMT explains: “There was contention regarding the sovereignty of the men of Ireland between the Túatha Dé and their wives, since Núadu was not eligible for kingship after his hand had been cut off. They said that it would be appropriate for them to give the kingship to Bres the son of Elatha, to their own adopted son, and that giving him the kingship would knit the Fomorians' alliance with them, since his father Elatha mac Delbaith was king of the Fomoire.”

So, bit more complicated and has inter-tribal strife along gendered lines in reality.

But Bres was half Fomorian, a name we've not heard tell of yet in this tale. But we soon will. In his rule he acted more as a Fomorian than as one of the Danu. But, the reign of Bres and the war against the ancient and strange Fomorians is a story for next time.

Okay, again, still, ‘the Danu’ just catches my ear and confuses me every time. Bres has come up in this story before and is an entirely reasonable person, and like, most of the Túatha Dé big-names are part Fomorian. The Dagda, Nuadu, and Ogma are all Bres’ brothers and also sons of Elatha of the Fomori. And, ‘acted more as a Fomorian than as one of the Danu’ is just such a loaded statement. Yes, the Fomorians are raiding slavers who exploit less powerful tribal groups for personal wealth. The Túatha Dé are, shockingly, raiding slavers who exploit less powerful tribal groups and we have just seen them slaughter the indiginous population of Ireland and regulate them to a small portion of their original land. There is no moral connection here, the Fomorians and the Túatha Dé are just supernatural peoples hanging out in Ireland. One isn’t good and one isn’t bad.

Anyways, that’s the end of the first of two videos put out on this. Hopefully I shall do the next one this weekend.

In conclusion, what we see here is just a very strange misrepresentation of the events of LGE and a bit of CMT. Entire scenes are made up, ‘the Danu’ as a sacred river is... absolute nonsense. The idea of a world tree and gods born from acorns is fictional. So much of this is just fictional, an outright lie, or very misleadingly represented that I really cannot recommend this as an introduction to medieval Irish saga literature. I am disappointed that so little care or research was put into this by the Extra Mythology series, where when the original texts are available for free and in translation they instead chose a fictional version of the story made up by a journalist. It is incredibly irresponsible in the least, especially that when contacted the concerns on the accuracy and validity of the story they had told to their audience was brushed away.

Oh well, on to the second half of this story.

[lamaestramendez]

en route to fascism

Ok, class.

I am angry. I am words I cannot use on this blog out of the very remote possibility my actual students google me.

Our 45th president (henceforth known as 45 because I refuse to give him the name recognition that he wants) is a fascist pig. Let me teach you about this terminology so that you understand my full meaning.

Let’s begin with “pig” as it’s a more commonly known term than “fascist.”

Pigs, also known in English as hogs, swine, etc. Let’s look at my favorite the Oxford English Dictionary for a literal definition.

Notice that the 1st definition in the noun section is a literal definition, “an omnivorous domesticated hoofed mammal with sparse bristly hair and a flat snout for rooting in the soil, kept for its meat.” I’ve been told that pigs are delightful creatures with higher intelligence than many other small mammals. That is NOT my meaning. In defense of the pig, I share share some pictures of its beauty for you, class, to enjoy.

Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/skeeze-272447/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1507208">skeeze</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1507208">Pixabay</a>

Look how clean they are! Want some more cuteness before we get metaphorical? Check out this pig swimming with a bird!

Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/larsen9236-47917/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=171908">Lisa Larsen</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=171908">Pixabay</a>

Okay, now to all pig-loving friends, I beg your forgiveness. I cannot come up with better word choice. Pigs are not despicable creatures. I’m even somewhat fond of them. However, the only other terms that convey my full meaning when I say “fascist pig”, are inappropriate for my real life students to be reading when they inadvertently google me and stumble upon this post. I love them too much to expose them to that kind of English.

So when I say “fascist pig,” I am not referring to the many, many good qualities of the wild boar’s descendent. I am referring to those characteristics which humans find repugnant because we are wired differently than pigs are.

Yucky traits I am referring to with the term “fascist pig.” (Feel free to skip this section if you have a delicate stomach).:

Pigs, for instance, do not sweat, so they cool off by covering themselves in mud. Clever idea, right? Modern humans from my culture wouldn’t do that because the mud would dry out and stick to your hair; there could be something nasty in it; and dry mud under your nails is unpleasant. We also sweat, so mud as a cooling technique is rendered unnecessary. 

Pigs are not picky eaters. My dad is the son of a large animal vet. When I was a kid, he told me about how farmers have pigs go into a cornfield after the cows have finished the post-harvest leftovers because the pigs will eat whatever unprocessed corn is left from the cow’s droppings. Needless to say, the image stuck what me.

Due to the rooting through excrement habit, pigs stink.

Now on to the word, fascist. Following is a screenshot of the Oxford English Dictionary’s definition for the term “fascism.”

The screenshot demonstrates that the definition of fascism is, “an authoritarian and nationalistic right-wing system of government and social organization.” The next line explains a way the term is used generally to mean “extreme authoritarian, oppressive, or intolerant views or practices.”

Examples of 45′s fascist behaviors:

Children separated from their families in concentration camps. I have second-hand knowledge of this. The Gestapo Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) locked up a friend of mine for 45 days. He was taken from his uncle. He was 5 years old. Here’s his story: https://youtu.be/Xa6NYkQWF4I . It’s also been documented by many reputable news sources. https://apnews.com/9794de32d39d4c6f89fbefaea3780769

Children and adults placed in hieleras (ice boxes/coolers). I know people from multiple Central American countries who have suffered this at the hands of ICE. What happens is , the family turns themselves into ICE to apply for asylum. ICE locks them up and turns the temperature down to just above freezing. ICE lets them go within 3 days. There is no benefit to these families making up this story. Being from different countries, they did not know one another before telling me the exact same story. Here’s a similar story that happened to another family from a reputable news source: https://www.nbcnews.com/think/opinion/trump-s-family-separation-policy-never-really-ended-why-ncna1025376

Flint, Michigan still does not have clean water. Yes that’s more in the hands of state government officials but I don’t see 45 using any political clout to help mitigate the situation. https://detroit.cbslocal.com/2020/07/30/michigan-supreme-court-rules-flint-class-action-can-proceed-over-lead-in-water/

45 is violating court orders in regards to DACA. ***Side note: Just like Andrew Jackson. Can we please take him off the $20 bill and replace him with Harriet Tubman already???*** https://www.npr.org/2020/07/28/896334928/trump-administration-will-reject-new-daca-applications-administration-official-s

Journalists are arrested and manhandled by law enforcement when covering protests which is a clear violation of the 1st amendment. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/29/arts/television/cnn-arrest.html

He’s attacking his own citizens. https://www.npr.org/sections/live-updates-protests-for-racial-justice/2020/07/27/895713277/tear-gas-fired-on-protesters-again-during-overnight-protests-in-portland

He thinks Kim Jong Un is awesome. https://www.npr.org/2017/05/02/526520042/6-strongmen-trumps-praised-and-the-conflicts-it-presents

He’s trying to lengthen our border wall - again, shades of North Korea. https://www.npr.org/2020/05/25/861837314/trumps-border-wall-would-go-through-laredos-historic-downtown

140,000 deaths from COVID keep getting minimized. Steps to mitigate the pandemic keep getting minimized. https://www.npr.org/2020/07/19/892787298/some-young-people-have-the-sniffles-trump-downplays-the-coronavirus-severity

I’m starting to work myself up into a state with this list. In order to preserve my sanity, I’m skipping the rest of the reasons and going to the most salient one.

45 is advocating for a delay of the 2020 presidential election. See this screenshot from twitter?

Delay the election?????????? A delay would inevitably extend the length of 45′s current term, no matter the election’s outcome. That’s not how a republic works. It’s how a fascist who is trying to make it look like he’s operating in the people’s best interests, steals absolute power for himself.

Post-Nazi Germany, Germans often said, “We didn’t see it coming.” I say that is a bunch of baloney. I say, Hitler’s contemporaries did not WANT to see what was happening, so they lied to themselves to make their own reality more comfortable.

You should not be comfortable right now. You should be sick with worry.

Get the word out about the evil that is happening in America. Our own citizens are victims of 45′s fearmongering. Do not let them be comfortable with his actions. If you are silent, you are complicit. Do not be complicit. A true American pulls all the stops to make this country that we LOVE a better place. Staying silent in the face of fascism has the opposite effect.

Oh, and in case you forget, today’s learning objective is to understand why I am correct when I describe 45 as a fascist pig.

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 44-45: Bakura‘s Back for More of This Nonsense

Man, I can’t believe we’re closing in on the 4th season of this show (still in shock I’m still able to make these.) Seems like just yesterday I felt like I had no idea what was happening, and now I’m like “they put in freakin Sans into Smash but not Bakura???” I’ve become one of those people now.

It’s been interesting how, because I have slowed down to watch these, I think I’ve been able to have a much more positive experience with the show. People have been talking about how binging has kind of changed TV from a place where fandoms could chat to a place where...you just watch it all in a weekend and hope no one spoils it and then wait for the next big thing to consume a week later.

But, when you’re watching a 15 year old anime you don’t have to worry about any of that. So it’s like a kind of nostalgic experience of a pre-streaming era despite the fact I’m totally streaming this.

But back to the show, now that the deep and reflective moments for Marik are over, my favorite storyboarder went home and left the rest of this to the night team who are clearly in a real rush to get this all finished. Again, the Yugioh whiplash is going from that high of “damn this is so goo-” then to the reality that the rest of the art direction in this show is “-acceptable. I meant to say acceptable. It’s perfectly acceptable”

Yugi Muto is still strung up by weird shadow magic restraints that must also be around his legs for some reason. I mean...it wouldn’t be so kinky if it wasn't also around his feet. More bits and pieces of Our Boy have been removed over the course of this endless card game, and he’s doing pretty good considering.

Joey has decided he’s had Enough Of These Damn Ghosts.

And so Marik decided that he’s been shamed by Joey Wheeler enough that he will just go away like Joey asks. This may be the only person who was actually bothered enough by Joey Wheeler to walk away in all of Yugioh.

(read more under the cut)

They....

Legit no one told her what had just happened.

They........

Just want to note that while Yugi’s leg burst out a stream of weird purple gas and Yugi screamed in pain, when his crotch disappeared, he did nothing but patiently look over at Pharaoh, who awkwardly winced. I guess the animation team knew better than to animate gas exploding out of that one particular spot, but it is still a rather funny contrast.

Marik has achieved his final form of so many veins, and it is a still frame every time it’s on screen. You cannot animate this. You cannot.

On the other end of the field, Odion has somehow made it down these extremely steep stairs, only to look up and see so many more stairs.

And back on the field is so many cards. So many cards, including the Card Poem. This awful Card Poem I tried so hard to forget.

Bro brings up that maybe this poem sounds way cooler in Japanese but like...I doubt it, right? Like this was a poem that the writers threw together in 5 minutes and were like “we’re never going to actually say the shame poem, right?”

But anyway more cards things happen but why talk about cards when this eventually happens.

I feel like Pharaoh was attempting to use Shadow Magic on Marik like just a few episodes ago so he could have done something now but...maybe he forgot? I dunno. Pharaoh didn’t feel like participating in this particular fight, maybe because his alter ego is holding on to life solely by having extra long emo bangs to count as lifepoints.

and so, Odion gives Marik a pep talk--and I kid you not, this is all Marik needed the entire time.

Yeah.

That was it.

Like maybe Odion had to be awake since Odion has a spell or whatever on Marik but still it’s like...all you had to do was say “This guy is not even a person, Marik--you are the person, just nix him and we’re good”

And so the two alter ego’s fight with eachother in the same body and that must have been a treat for everyone watching.

Man, it’s a good thing Mokuba already has so many PTSD situations under his several belts up to this point, because otherwise I’d be somewhat concerned about this very young kid who is privy to all this type of magical abominations every time his brother just wants to play cards.

and then...Yugi plays a bunch of cards and...um......

......don’t ask me what happened........

After the big group hug, Marik and Marik switch places.

This was because bad Marik was fused with a monster card--which turned bad-Marik into...the definition of a Monster.

So, if you kill the monster card then you can...

...switch places with your alternate half...

...yes...

Basically it’s a more complicated version of what Pharaoh did to Ryou and Bakura in S1, except in S1, Bakura played Ryou as a card and Pharaoh just slammed his hands on the table and was like “Screw it, Bakura! I’m so tired of this! We’re all so individually tired of this! I’m just going to use my Shadow Magic and switch you with Ryou and then we’re all going the HELL BACK TO BED!”

This time it just had to be so much more complicated although we have seen Pharaoh willy nilly switch souls before just two seasons ago.

So, just like Bakura did to his evil side in S1, Marik banishes his evil side to the shadow realm in a card game.

Which worked super good last time, amiright?

I guess we’re all just going to assume that this works now? Even though this absolutely did not work in season 1? Like Bakura went right back to a life of murder immediately?

Then again, Bakura’s an actual dude, and Marik’s alter Ego was a figment of his anger or something?????? Maybe that’s the difference? Maybe that’s why we can be rest assured that this works now?

Maybe they’re just tired of the Marik plot line and are like “listen, he’s kind of hard to draw and we don’t want to do it anymore. He’s dead now.”

For realsies though, from what I’ve been told, Marik never goes cray again and gracefully exits the show. But, if they ever want to continue Yugioh back in this direction, you can just have him snap at any time you feel like, we all know this type of exorcism is wholly reversible.

Anyway, the clouds are lifted and we are reminded that it is still hardly even lunch time.

It is at this point that Marik turns to his Brother and his Sister, who all three have no world skills outside of scamming museums and filtering sewer water, and waxes long about all the great times they’re about to have in the future.

Like what future though? You have to go to 20 years of actual real deal school, Marik, you can only read one Egyptian text. Hell knows how many people you possessed in order to get that motorcycle permit. You for sure aren’t ever allowed to play cards ever again. Like what are you going to do, Marik?

...dude what if he just goes back on the boat and just sails away for the rest of his life with his cultists who are equally unqualified to live in the real modern world. OMG what if that’s the real Marik’s Boat Time all along?

Ah. 

I almost forgot about you, Bakura.

Just in time for the British Bake Off to start updating episodes on Netflix, just in time, Bakura.

And following this is actual real thing that happened which, if you told me about, I would have just assumed was a joke or an edit to make it appear like this is happening. But no, it’s strip time.

the hell?

Yo can you believe that like a week ago I was like quoting “One Week” for kicks in these recaps and then this week Marik is, indeed, “in the history of taking off his shirt” ?

Anyway, Marik reminds us that his only purpose in life is to uh...be a book. A book that no one can read because Pharaoh didn’t have the foresight 5000 years ago that no one would be speaking Egyptian anymore and also that his reincarnation would be a 14-16 yo Japanese boy who’s entire brain power is used for selecting cards and selecting matching belts.

I just...Pharaoh’s mind must have been in a real place 5000 years ago and that was before he ever became a ghost.

Also, it is kind of amazing how many times it has come up how illiterate Pharaoh is over the past season and he still hasn’t decided to do anything about it. Like, he’s just kind of hoping that someone else (probably Kaiba) will feed the answer to him like a baby because that’s just how this show has been up to now.

In this case he has a one-ness moment with the tablet and gets the sense of “It’s fine, we’ll figure this out later” which um...

I’m really happy that in this scene, Pharaoh is still tripping balls but everyone else is so used to him doing stuff like this, they just completely ignore it.

So glad I had 2 seasons to build up this back tatt in order to figure out that Marik’s back didn’t help Pharaoh at all. The tablet yes, the back tattoo--no, completely unnecessary. Congrats, Pharaoh’s mole people servants, you screwed up and did this weird ass ceremony on 12 yo’s for 5000 years trapped underground for NO REASON.

Anyways, preteens rejoice, Marik without a shirt is randomly 10 lbs more buffed now, which I’m pretty sure was never a thing when he was wearing that itty bitty pink hoodie. Like maybe the animators are just used to really buffed anime and this is them toning it the hell down, but uh...no actual 16 year olds will ever look like this, sorry to break it to you, preteens.

Man, the horny line running through this show lol.

Letsee, Yugi now has the puzzle, Ishizu’s necklace, the Ring, the Rod, the...

...where’s the freakin eyeball?

Did...where is it? Where is the nastiest of the golden objects?

Did Bakura never bring the eye with him to this trip? Like...is it just hanging out in his desk at home near his secret stash he super hopes that his Mom doesn’t find?

Guys, where’s the eyeball?

Anyway, now that Mokuba has decided Seto can feel joy and smile again, he gives Seto the A-OK to blow the hell out of this moneypit island that has already been violently blown up just a few years previously.

Like this begs the question, why even build this tower if you wanted to blow it up? But then again, that is the equivalent to a small child that builds block towers just to knocks them over, right? Like that part of Seto just never grew up?

So........

My bro, while looking this over, gave me the best spicy bro headcanon I’ve ever heard, and it’s absolutely too ridiculous for this blog that is mostly about what actually happens in the course of this show, but I’mma gonna share it with you anyway. I’m pretty sure this isn’t a common headcanon, but if my bro got it from some random fic he read off Ao3, I don’t know any better. So bro kinda squints at Roland, Seto Kaiba’s most incompetent bodyguard (if “bodyguard” is even an accurate description for the weird fake not-a-job that this guy has to do) and is like “do you feel like Roland has Noah’s hair color?”

and I was like “Bro, if you are suggesting that Roland is the illegitimate son of Gozobura because his hair is the same shade as the darker parts of Noah’s hair, that is one wild headcanon and I love it”

So--using Bro’s logic, lets say Gozaboro had a really stupid illegitimate son he had to hide from his wife. So he just...gives him a fake job. Considers “maybe I can use this son on A.I. Noah?” but Roland ends up being too much of a dumbass to intimidate Noah, so instead, he keeps Roland around on low-tier jobs so he gets keep an eye on him, torture him, etc.

And as the company falls out around him, Roland gets slowly promoted, as Seto and Mokuba fire basically everyone who worked with Pegasus and the Big 5. And Roland, who is just so bad at everything, forgot to attend the Pegasus coup (and would have no idea what is ever happening), so when the Kaibas returned from Pegasus’ island they still have Roland...sitting there at that long table covered in 4 identical idiot salads and orange juice he laid out for them in his patchy green moustache and his huge Gozaburo shoulders, they’re like “well.....I guess we have to take care of him now.”

And that’s the story my brother has in his head now every time Roland is on screen. It’s not canon at all that Roland is the secret 4th Kaiba brother but damn. What if he’s just the 4th Kaiba brother but has no idea, and Mokuba and Seto do, and that’s why they drag him all over the world with them? Hilarious.

I mean...Seto and Mokuba fire everyone. But they don’t fire Roland, their biggest dumbass. What a headcanon. (and if this joke ends up being real I’ll be very happy)

ALSO, new thing, the necklaces around their necks with the cute picture of eachother that they had up till now to remind eachother of their forever brotherly love--also keys used to blow up things very violently.

I should have expected this.

Anyway, lets check up on Mai---oohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Y’all this was WEIRD.

WHAT. THE. HELL.

So after that extremely insensitive joke that made us doubt if bringing back Mai was a good thing, lets have a reminder that we brought back someone else even worse, who, like a parasite, was devouring everything that they love.

(Bakura’s font color has been changed to blue stripes because before he was just too similar to Joey’s yellow and my white. Eventually I will find the right system for coloring everyone’s font legibly, although I know that the patterns are sometimes harder to read for people that aren’t colorblind.)

Ah, local nasty boy is back. I’d love if they had shown more of the food he ate, but they wisely decided to crop that huge spread out of frame. Bakura eating all of the donuts is canon though. Somehow every donut aboard this blimp fit inside of that small boy’s endless stomach.

PS Kaiba Corp makes their own milk. At some point, Seto Kaiba was just leaning back into his work chair, Mokuba on the couch watching TV, Roland completely unable to reload the Keurig, and Seto was like “But what if...I made CHEESE.” (BECAUSE YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THESE KIDS LOVE CHEESE) and Mokuba was like “OMG you could sell the company back to them at 2 times the price for each share” and he was like “I KNOW.”

and so he marched down to the nearest cheese fields to buy some cows, only to find out that the agriculture market is so strained you can’t sell the shares at a times-two profit now and he‘s like “Ah dammit! I have to do real business! This freakin blows!”

Makes you think.

Anyway, then Ryou throws some shade at us about “PS, I was in Hell! I love you, too!”

Anyway, so it’s about time we ended this season, so how about it? How about we take off, watch it all blow up as a symbolic representation of all the hopes and dreams Kaiba had at the beginning of this tourney, and end this crazy ass season?

Oh wait, that relies on Roland being able to do even one thing competently.

So, that’s where we leave off.

Really truly, honestly, we need to get everyone on this show matching cuff radios because the number of times they’ve needed to call Kaiba is insurmountable. Could have solved so many problems. Really surprised that Roland can’t like...call the Kaibas right now, but now that I think about it, we clarified several episodes ago that Mokuba forcibly kicked Roland off of the radio because he was unable to work it properly.

Good job Roland, the best Kaiba son.

Anyway if you just got here this is a link to read just the Yugioh recaps in chrono order