#with a regrettable American accent

[david-tennant-in-chairs]

Sexy Rexy is on the case!

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group D Round 3: #D8 vs #D2

#D8: Singer idol android goes back in time to save humanity

#D2: Prophecy girlie, hyper cellphone, and gamer cat get silly

Details and poll under the cut!

#D8: Vivy: Fluorite Eye’s Song

Summary:

When highly evolved AIs set out to eradicate mankind, the carnage that ensues fills the air with the stench of fresh blood and burning bodies. In a desperate bid to prevent the calamity from ever occurring, a scientist bets everything on a remnant from the past.

Turning the clock back a hundred years, AIs are already an integral part of human society, programmed with specific missions meant to be carried out for their entire course of operation. Vivy, the first ever autonomous AI, is a songstress tasked with spreading happiness through her voice. In a theme park where she hardly ever gets a proper audience, she strives to pour her heart out into her performances, bound to repeat it day after day—that is, until an advanced AI from the future appears before her and enlists her help in stopping a devastating war a hundred years in the making. With no time to process the revelation that flips her world upside down, Vivy is catapulted into a century-long journey to avert the violent history yet to come.

Propaganda:

Most first think that this anime is an idol show. I promise you, it is NOT. Quite far from it. Vivy is regrettably underrated despite having great animation—just watch the fight scenes. It has the best of songs that will get stuck in your head for a long time. Character growth for characters - you will adore them. It even won some recognition from anime awards, yet no one talks about it. You have to watch it at least once and appreciate how this anime is made with love as it talks about experiences that make us human. You will be surprised how well the storytelling is.

Trigger Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Suicide

#D2: God Troubles Me (Hanhua Riji)

Summary:

Su Moting, the daughter of a god and a monster, is the supposed Chosen One set to fix the balance of the universe, but unfortunately, she’s just barely living as it is. Only just told of her great fate, Su Moting couldn’t care less as she juggles her social life, work, and her new duties (which she doesn’t take seriously). Alongside Moting are Star Tianji and Star Dikui, a god and a monster out to help our protagonist with her grand mission. They, too, are also struggling to figure out life on Earth, as Tianji is an immortal who doubles as the god of Su Moting’s personal cellphone and Dikui is a cat monster immortal more concerned with lazing about. Somehow, they make things work as the best worst roommates of all time.

Propaganda:

Four-season donghua (Chinese anime) that’s so recent and seeped in American pop-culture that I needed to do a double take when a literal cockroach said “Run, Forrest, run,” in English with a heavy Chinese accent. There’s a cat who plays video games (he’s very good at it), a phone who’s the worst kind of hype man, a sentient air conditioner, a guy who can shapeshift into any vehicle, off-brand Super-Man but jerky, a high-ranking god that collects anime figures, and the mega ultra cool protagonist who is a normal human girl fresh out of college and always low on money. It’s great

Trigger Warnings: Animal Cruelty or Death, Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Flashing Lights, Racism, Self-Harm, Suicide.

All the TW’s above are done for comedic effect, but they come in fast and hard with the humor. Better safe than sorry! The biggest things I remember are one or two “blink and you’ll miss it” racist jokes, characters joking about killing themselves out of embarrassment (no one goes through with it), and there’s a LOT of self-harm via stupid decisions. Stupid things like tying a loose tooth to the back end of a sports car sort of stupid. The protagonists have 3 brain cells collectively.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

[danicabaxa]

Blog Post 3 (Week 1)

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close - Movie

The film "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close," centered around the events of 9/11, echoes discussions from both the documentary we watched and our classroom conversations. It vividly portrays the immediate aftermath of the attacks, illustrating the emergence of stereotypes directed at Islamic individuals. Following the tragic events of 9/11, there was a prolonged period during which members of the Islamic community faced discrimination and prejudice. This societal response led to heightened security measures, particularly in airports, as precautionary measures against future threats. Regrettably, even today, lingering stereotypes persist against this group due to the actions of Islamic extremist factions on September 11. The documentary similarly delved into the impact of the attacks on Hollywood films, illustrating how the events shaped narratives and perceptions both at the time and in subsequent years.

Fresh Off the Boat - TV Show

TV series "Fresh Off the Boat" resonates with the documentary we viewed on March 27th due to its portrayal of stereotypes encountered by Asian actors and actresses. Focused on a Chinese-American family, the show delves into the pervasive stereotypes prevalent in portrayals of Asian characters across different films and television shows. Just as the documentary shed light on the typecasting of Arab actors as antagonists or villains in Hollywood productions, "Fresh Off the Boat" highlights the recurring depiction of Asian individuals in similar roles. Through its depiction of this family's experiences navigating cultural identity in America, the show parallels the broader discourse on representation and diversity in the entertainment industry. In essence, "Fresh Off the Boat" serves as a relevant example of the need to challenge and subvert stereotypes while advocating for more authentic and inclusive portrayals of marginalized communities on screen.

Modern Family - TV Show

In the TV series "Modern Family," the character of Gloria has faced criticism for perpetuating stereotypes about Latina women, portraying them as passionate, hot-tempered, and overly sexualized. Isabel Molina-Guzman, author of "Latinas and Latinos on TV: Colorblind Comedy in the Post-racial Network Era," observes that while Gloria embodies a stereotypical persona, the character also exhibits unexpected depth and complexity. This mirrors themes explored in the documentary, where Arab women are often marginalized and relegated to stereotypical roles in Hollywood films, such as belly dancers, emphasizing their physical attributes rather than their humanity. Both instances highlight the challenges of representation and the need for more nuanced portrayals of diverse ethnicities in mainstream media.

That 70's Show - TV Show

"That '70s Show" shares similarities with the documentary where individuals of a particular ethnicity are often typecast into specific roles across different television shows. One notable example is Fez, an immigrant character in the U.S. whose origins remain undisclosed throughout the series. Referred to as "Fez," an abbreviation for "Foreign Exchange Student," by his friends due to their inability to pronounce his name, he faces recurring ridicule for his foreignness. This includes mockery directed at his accent, nationality, and unfamiliarity with American culture. The character's portrayal underscores the challenges and stereotypes often associated with immigrants in media, reflecting broader themes of cultural assimilation and acceptance within society.

[ellarohrer]

The Influence People Have On Others' Because Of The Language They Speak

How are people treated because of their language? When I think of languages I think about the endless list I could make of all the different languages such as English, Spanish, French, Chinese, and so many more. I have recently discovered through work, such as Amy Tan’s and Vershawn Young’s, that it is possible for there to be different languages within one language. For example in Tan’s essay Mother Tongue she talks about “broken” English, and in Young’s essay Should writers use they own English he talks about Black English. These are two great examples of how there can be other languages within one language. Since there can be other types of English spoken, people are often ridiculed if they do not speak standard English. I want to challenge how people are treated because of the English that they speak. I contend to prove that if standard English is not spoken by a person, then they will be treated poorly by a person who believes their language is incorrect. 

In Amy Tan’s essay Mother Tongue she talks about how she had grown up Chinese-American and how she had viewed her mothers English as “broken” or “fractured” along with everyone else. She talks about how her mother had constantly been mistreated all her life because of her English, so Tan had to take the ropes at a young age and act as her translator. Tan had told the following story about her mother: “My mother had gone to the hospital for an appointment, to find out about a benign brain tumor a CAT scan had revealed a month ago. She said she had spoken very good English, her best English, no mistakes. Still, she said, the hospital did not apologize when they said they had lost the CAT scan and she had come for nothing … She said they would not give her any more information until the next time and she would have to make another appointment for that. So she said she would not leave until the doctor called her daughter … And when the doctor finally called her daughter, me, who spoke in perfect English- lo and behold- we had assurances the CAT scan would be found, promises that a conference call on Monday would be held, and apologies for any suffering my mother had gone through for a most regrettable mistake” (Tan, 1990, p. 7). Tan’s mother had been mistreated and not given the service she deserved just because of her “broken” English, and this is proven by the fact that Tan’s mother had been given what she needed once her daughter with standard English could advocate for her. In comparison to Tan’s essay, in Melissa Hogenboom’s article What does your accent say about you she dives into the mistreatment people can face when their accent is “non-standard” compared to people who speak standard English. Hogenboom states that “those with Mexican or Greek accents were perceived as less intelligent or professional than those who speak standard US English” (Hogenboom, 2018). Hogenboom has demonstrated another great example of how easily someone can be mistreated if their language is perceived as wrong. We as a society are conditioned to look down on anyone who doesn’t meet our standards and it needs to be stopped. My senior year of high school I was enrolled in a Spanish class that taught me how to speak the language, while also teaching fluent Spanish who recently moved to the US how to speak English in return. It was a great experience for me and it is something everyone should encounter because it demonstrated that we could speak standard English while they could speak standard Spanish. No language should be deemed incorrect, instead it should be taught that we are all equals when it comes to the language we speak. In Jenny Liao’s article she talks about a very similar subject. In her article Forgetting My First Language she talks about how she grew up speaking Cantonese in Brooklyn. Her parents had encouraged her to learn her English because they had believed it would be the key to success for her in America. Although she was quick to learn English, she still encountered problems. Liao wrote the following: “I learned that there was also significant social currency in adopting English as a primary language. Outside of E.S.L. class, I encountered the first of many ‘ching chongs’ shouted my way. ‘Do you know that’s what you sound like?’ a kid asked, laughing” (Liao, 2021). Liao had been mistreated based on her native language, and her imperfect English. There is nothing that makes a language incorrect unless it is incorrect to someone else. 

Tan, Hogenboom, and Liao had all demonstrated that any language compared to standard English is ridiculed by others and they have to live by these repercussions day by day. These excerpts from the authors have helped me to prove that if standard English is not spoken, then they will be treated poorly by a person who believes their language is incorrect. These actions that these writers have witnessed or dealt with are not just coincidences. These actions occur constantly because people are given the power to believe they are a step above someone else. You are upset because you cannot understand someone? So you believe you have the right to treat them poorly? Well guess what? It turns out that you are not speaking their standard language either, but they still have to deal with your actions. No language is incorrect, but if you believe someone else’s is compared to yours then it turns out that you’re just the one who is incorrect. I have challenged how people are treated because of the English that they speak. Now I want to challenge you to not fall victim to these actions.

[rookie-critic]

Don't Worry Darling (2022, dir. Olivia Wilde) - review by Rookie-Critic

Don't Worry Darling was not anywhere close to as bad as I've been seeing people say it is. I'm not sure I would say it was necessarily good, but I just wanted to say up top that it isn't bad by any means. Now, a lot of what I'm saying here is pretty much what a lot of the critics are saying, so it might sound a little echo-y in here, but it is how I really feel.First off, what I like about the film was that, from a technical standpoint, it was fantastic: lighting, editing, directing, production design, cinematography, it all looked gorgeous and in that way it is a very pleasant viewing experience. The first 2 acts are gripping and entertaining and the acting, especially from Florence Pugh and Chris Pine, is phenomenal. Pugh, at times, is almost single-handedly carrying the film on her back, and just continues to prove how much of a talent she is with every new film she puts out.

Ok, now let's talk about what I thought didn't work. Harry Styles, regrettably, is the one acting weak point in the entire film. His accent work in this is beyond strange. At the start, it feels like he is attempting, poorly, to do an American accent. As the film progresses, it feels like his accent slips more and more into British, but not even his natural British accent. It more sounds like an American poorly attempting a British accent. Without saying too much about the plot, there are arguments people could make as to why that is, but this really didn't feel intentional. Maybe it just stands out because everyone else is doing a real bang-up job and Pugh, who shares a lot of her screen time with Styles and is also British, is doing a flawless American accent.

The other big problem, the biggest I would say, is the ending. I'm not even talking about the big reveal of the answer to the central mystery, I had no qualms with that, but the last 10-to-15 minutes of the film is, frankly, just a giant mess. There are multiple plot lines that feel shoe-horned into a conclusion in an attempt to wrap up all loose ends before the final moment, while there are other subplots that don't get closure at all. In fact, there is one in particular that is incredibly confusing, and made to raise more questions from a narrative perspective than it answers. I hate that this wasn't good. Olivia Wilde is a wonderful filmmaker (or, at least, her first film, the hilarious coming-of-age comedy Booksmart, was wonderful), and by all accounts this film and its message are incredibly well-intentioned. Sure, it is a conversation that many a film before this one has had with its audience, but it is one that is incredibly important and, sadly, still needs to be had. I really wanted to like this despite all the bad press and the drama, but the truth is that, for me, it couldn't stick the landing on a very promising premise, and ended up just being ok overall.

Score: 6/10

Currently streaming on HBO Max.

[mariocki]

Patrick Troughton interrogates the Saint as an unnamed Buenos Aires police inspector (perhaps an ancestor of Ramón Salamander...?) in The Saint: The Romantic Matron (2.18, ITC, 1964)

[tonytonwy]

It's 2am and I want to kiss you

iwaizumi x f!reader

summary: American frat parties aren't too bad with a hot guy.

You stumble on the balcony, letting your legs hang between the white pillars of the famous frat building. You let your drowsy head lean on the cool stone, taking a deep breath. 19 years into your life and you still couldn't control your alcohol. You take notice of the plastic yellow bucket and bottles of water in the corner and laugh, at least they were prepared this time. You feel your bra dig into your ribcage, your jeans tight against your stomach and you remember why you hate dressing up.

You also remember why you hate parties. Everyone is vomiting, your friends with their other friends and you're here, outside in the cold air. You feel a beep in your pocket and quickly check.

guyss he's taking me to his room, hope this dick is good aye.

You snort, and quickly type pls use protection, taking notice of the time; somehow 2:01 already. You loved your friends, you really did, but sometimes the relentless jealousy would rise up. They had boyfriends, girlfriends and experiences you never had. You wanted to have those stories, those stupid regrettable stories you would tell your kids one day.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know someone was here." You hear a nice voice behind you ask. You nod, looking at the night view of Birtwhistle University, small lights of thousands of building decorating the dark night. You decide to throw your wallowing pity away for another night. "You okay?"

"M' okay. Just letting the air hit my face a bit," you sigh deeply, the cool air going through your body. "Had one too many sohju shots."

"Ah, been there," his accent makes your eyes widen as you look back and see a familiar face, Iwaizumi, who lives in the same exchange building as you, actually right next to you. He was known, for being the quiet and incredibly hot exchange student basically. Iwaizumi is leaning on the doorframe, his eyes closed, enjoying the soft breeze, a glass bottle of apple cider in his hands. He's wearing a grey hoodie with matching shorts and a par of slides, you wish you had his comfort.

You've said 'hi' countless times as you pass each other in halls, libraries and classes and you even helped him with an English quiz but you've never actually fully spoken to him.

In your fantasies? Now that's a different story.

"Ah, Hajime? Oh sorry, Iwaizumi, right?" He gives a small smile and nods, you notice how his cheeks are flushed and you're glad you're not the only one a bit fucked tonight.

"Yeah, I'm used to being called Hajime though," you nod, wondering if you should use your Japanese class to it's potential.

"Feel free to sit," you pat the spot next to you. You quickly realize why you drink at parties, your shy exterior is peeled off to show someone who can be just as fun as her friends. You're not quiet, awkward or easily embarrassed when the alcohol runs through your body. You turn and see his eyes widen and the tip of his ears get pink. He nods and hesitantly sits next to you, his legs hanging next to yours and thighs touching. You can't help but peak at his muscular thighs, defined and tough muscle ripping through the soft grey fabric.

God, this man was built like a true Greek god.

You didn't really consider yourself someone openly horny, and perhaps it is due to the alcohol, but Iwaizumi is just about one of the hottest men you've seen in your life. Maybe it was his respectable energy, or his weird obsession with Godzilla-themed items. His arms definitely had something to do with it. You weren’t sure but the amount of times you were in the gym with him coincidentally there (5 so far) made you realize how badly you wanted to make out with Iwaizumi.

"You liking America?" He asks, his voice slightly slurring however still deep and rumbling through his throat.

"It's okay, it's not as bad as I thought it'd be. However, it’s only been two weeks so," your comment makes him laugh and it's fruity yet deep in his chest. You chuckle, the drunk honesty flowing through your veins. If he asked you, ‘y/n do you find me hot and if so, do you wanna kiss?’ you would wholeheartedly answer back ‘why yes Iwaizumi, I’ve been waiting to smash my lips against yours and to touch your arms at least once.'

“I have to agree with you, it’s not too bad with you here,” he laughs, clearly the cider starting to have it's delayed effect. You reminisce on his words, the back of your neck suddenly feeling very warm. The air feels drunk and maybe it’s in your alcohol-influenced head or your Iwaizumi-infected heart but maybe, just maybe, he could be flirty.

"You a heavy weight, Iwaizumi?” You ask, this may be the only time you actually talk with him so you plan to enjoy every second of it.

“Good question,” he slightly leans into you and you’re not sure if he’s a sleepy drunk or impossibly flirty, however it appears to be more the latter. “Yes, everyday.”

You try to not laugh as he completely misheard what you said but you honestly can't be bothered asking again.

"What's your favourite memory from childhood?" His head lays on your shoulder, you can feel his hair on your collarbone, it's almost ticklish as Iwaizumi hums a tune you can't quite figure out. He whips out his phone, and you can't see what he's doing before showing you a picture of him as a kid. He has a paper hat, a stick and he's on top of a man, you only assume it's his dad.

"I liked catching cicadas and freaking my mum out with it," you laugh as he says this because you realize that the photo has zero correlation with this story. You were getting to know him better, Iwaizumi wasn't just a simple hot guy built like Achilles. He was a boy who did goofy things, like terrorize his mother with bugs and use his dad as a horse for photos.

"Did you kill them?"

"Nah," you realize the song he's humming is 'Party in the U.S.A' by Miley Cyrus. "They have a short lifespan so I let them live."

"How noble," before you can ask another question, his drunk face stares at you, deep in thought over probably nothing.

"Why did you come to America?" You tilt your head, slightly confused over his question. His ears go slightly red as he looks away, eyes glued to the big trees. "I overheard you talking about how you should've gone to Japan instead of America."

You felt embarrassed, cheeks heating up more with his eyes on you, however you take a deep breath.

"Do you want the honest," you tip your drink with his to clink, "drunk truth?"

"Is there any better kind?" He clinks his drink with yours, smiling. God, he smelt good, the sweet cider bubbling through a soft cologne that reminds you of freshwater river weirdly enough.

"I got a scholarship, I entered on a whim and got accepted. Plus, my friends really wanted come here," you say, slight sadness running through your voice. Oh god, here comes the emotions. "I didn't want to be the party pooper to say no, so…”

"Here you are, with me," he says, almost breathless. His star-struck eyes stuck on yours and you realize, holy shit, you are talking to Iwaizumi Hajime. The guy you've been thirsting over for the past two weeks, the guy who helped you when your books dropped all over the floor. The guy who apparently just stares at you sometimes.

"Why don't you talk to him?" Your friend slightly nudges you, smirking.

"Are you kidding? He's too hot to approach," you sigh, walking past the lounge room where he's playing Mario Kart with some friends, clearly a life-or-death situation with how loud they are. You can't help but let a smile escape as you see Iwaizumi's toothy grin as he wins, lifting his muscular arms up in glory and triumph.

"Oh, come on, y/n," your other friend groans, "we keep telling you he just sometimes stares at you, as if he wants to talk to you."

"And I keep telling you that you're getting my hopes up for nothing!"

"Here I am, with you," you give a small smile. Perhaps coming to America wasn't such a bad idea. You lean back, ignoring how his eyes slightly ogle at your chest. Your hand is dangerously close to his much bigger hand. You try to hide the loud thump in your heart as Iwaizumi puts his hands on top of yours. You whip your eyes to his soft, olive green eyes, slowly sobering up with each enamored second he's with you.

Okay, this is happening. You thank whatever God that allowed you to have this moment. This experience of a lifetime, you can already imagine it.

"I cured cancer and diabetes!"

"Oh yeah? Well, I got to hold hands with Iwaizumi Hajime!"

"I can't believe I am talking to you," he says, suddenly laying on the floor, looking at the stars in disbelief, his hands hiding his sudden red face. You try to hide your disappointment as his warm sturdy hands are no longer on you. His hoodie slightly lifting, revealing a six-pack that you know you will never forget.

"What do you mean? I should be saying that to you" You say laughing, deciding to lay next him. The stars are slightly dimmed by the house's lights but still look mesmerizing. You wonder what good deed you did in your past life for this to happen, for a hot guy like Iwaizumi to approach you.

"I always found you interesting." You turn and give him a look of disbelief. He stammers, clearly seeing the error in his words.

"Interesting to look at?" You let out a laugh as his face reddens, he stubbornly groans.

"No, of course not. I just, liked looking at you."

"Iwaizumi," You laugh, his words making zero sense in your head, "What happened to the honest drunk truth?"

He huffs, almost like he's mad, cheeks still red.

"You would do anything for your friends, I could tell you were that type of person. You helped me with that stupid quiz even though I made you stay up until midnight to teach me stupid English. And you're so pretty," His rambling makes your stomach feel warm, your lips shake with how much he's noticed you. Your mouth is open in shock, you never thought anyone had noticed you, not in that way. Why would anyone notice you? You thought of yourself as plain, boring and awkward.

"My shitty friend from Japan told me to just get drunk and do it. But I really couldn't find the bravery to talk to you." Iwaizumi sits up and seems out of breath when he finishes. He's not looking at you, ears burning with embarrassment. God, he's shy and hot.

"Until now," you also sit up with him, eyes staring at him. You give a small smile and lay your hands on his, maybe this was the adrenaline feeling your friends were looking for when they did dumb things. This sudden boost of euphoria and excited nerves over a new experience, over a story for the future.

“Until now.” He gives a bashful smile, clearly expecting you to be disgusted with his 'drunk truth'. “And now I’m here.”

“You’re here, with me,” you say, both softly laughing. You feel Iwaizumi lay his head on your shoulder, however this time it feels heavier

"y/n?" His voice sounds so soothing, saying your name casually.

"Yeah?"

"I think I moved around too much and too fast," you know that face too well as Iwaizumi puts a hand to his mouth. "I'm gonna throw up," your eyes widen but you act on pure instinct and experience as bring the bucket just in time as he hurls. Your friends were messy drunks, not to say you didn't have your share of vomiting stories. You quickly turn to get a bottle of water.

"What happened to being a heavy weight?" You smile, rubbing his back, you can see how he frowns confused before widening his eyes.

"I meant," he chugs the water bottle, his frown slowing going away, "lifting heavy weights."

"Oh," you can't help but laugh as Iwaizumi gives you a soft smile before laughing with you.

You hear the loud knocks and groan loudly, your head heavy and legs glued to the bed. You somehow find the strength to walk to your door and open it.

You see Iwaizumi with a pair of glasses and two coffees. He's wearing sweatpants with the same hoodie from last night.

"I'm so sorry," you smile as you see his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "I am so sorry you had to watch me puke, clean my face and drop my sleeping corpse to my room."

You laugh while taking a coffee as Iwaizumi leans on your doorframe, to hungover to fully use his legs.

"Yeah, you owe me big time, heavy weight." He tilts his head, giving a small glare over his new nickname, small smile still escaping through.

"Coffee isn't enough?"

"Ha! You wish," you take a sip and give a sigh of relief as you feel the warm drink energize every joint, muscle and bone in your body. "I expect a Japanese tutor now, at least."

"Done deal, also," he nervously rubs his neck, "I've got tickets for King Kong versus Godzilla, if you wanna come."

You scrunch your face, giving a deep thought.

"Well, I'll go since it's obvious that King Kong will win," you try to not laugh as Iwaizumi lowers his glasses, glaring at you. You feel you can read his mind as he's probably trying to remember every counter argument he can think of.

"Never mind, forget I even asked."

Notes: Did i write the 'helping iwaizumi with english' drabble but then decided to expand on this instead?? yes???? do i love the idea that iwaizumi is a late bloomer?? yes.yes.yes

however, I feel this fic hasn't achieved it's true potential (anyone get that reference?) so I'll probably do some minor editing here and there:)) I do that with all my fics tehehehe

[sunsethillshq]

 welcome  home  soleil  ,  we’re  so  excited  to  have  you  here  at  sunset  hills  !  before  we  give  you  the  keys  to  your  new  place  ,  make  sure  you  go  over  this  checklist  to  make  sure  everything’s  all  squared  away  —  we’ll  give  you 24  hours  to  come  by  the  leasing  office  ,  please  let  us  know  if  you you  need  anything  at  all  !

✿ * · (  kennedy walsh  ,  cisfemale  ,  she/they   )   a  little  birdy  told  me  soleil marcus  just  moved  to  sunset  hills  .  have  you  met  them  yet  ? they  look  somewhere  around  twenty-two ,   if  i  had  to  guess  !  pretty  sure  i  heard  them  driving  down  the  street  playing  kool girl  by  seasalt  ,  they  sounded  a  little  pitchy  but  they  had  the  spirit  !  must  be  their  favorite  or  something  .  hey  …  it  looks  like  they  just  moved  into  neighbourhood  .  have  you  heard  about  what  they  do  for  a  living  ?  someone  told  me  they’re  a  music production major  ,  but  who  knows  if  that’s  even  true  .  guess  we’re  just  gonna  have  to  wait  and  see  .  nervous  ? maybe  you  should  be  .  sunset  speaks  just  posted  about  them  …  apparently  they're  resident  id  21  ?  between  you  and  me  ,  i  think  that  might  spark  some  things  in  the  community  …  but  what  do  i  know  !  you  guys  might  get  along  just  fine  !  (  ryan  ,  they/them  ,  24  ,  est  .  )

she has a band called peachshift, where she plays guitar and sings. they’ve got a similar sound to mitski, the beths, & the regrettes. 

sol was born in lyon, france. she moved to the states when she was fifteen to live with her rich aunt since her parents were deemed unfit to raise her. she’s got an accent that she tries so hard to smother with an american accent.

she rollerskates! soleil can be seen skating across campus to get to her classes or back to her place.

extras :

nailea devora would be my second choice!

pinterest / playlist

[polishksiezniczka]

Monsignor | Camerlengo Patrick McKenna x Reader

You meet il camerlengo for the first time at Mass, and he soon becomes captivated by you.

My first full-length oneshot! Sort of a slow burn but with some delicious fluff at the end. Please let me know if you have any requests or ideas for future works! 1.8k words

You had recently moved to Rome, your next diplomatic assignment being the US Embassy to the Holy See. The new challenges of your position were taxing, but you were proud of the work you did for your fellow citizens.

Being the good Catholic you were, you went to Mass as often as you could. And when in Rome—which boasted more than 900 churches—it was your goal to visit as many as you could. Although you had been living in the city for only a week or two, you had visited several parishes closer to your apartment to see if one appealed to you.

Today you decided to go to St. Peter’s Basilica for early morning service, hoping the crowds wouldn’t be as large. Aware of the Vatican’s strict dress code, you decided on a lovely vintage chiffon dress you had recently scored at a chic consignment shop. Its light coral color brought out the Y/E/C hues in your eyes, and it elegantly graced your figure while still leaving much up to the imagination. You paired it with sensible pumps and a loose white cardigan. You were feeling springlike today, it being a warm Sunday in April.

While you had visited the Vatican several times already on official diplomatic visits, you hadn’t yet as one of the faithful. As you silently made your way to the chapel, you marveled at the beautiful art surrounding you—the work of masters.

You chose to sit near the center aisle a few rows from the altar. The chapel quickly began to fill up; in a matter of minutes, you were surrounded by a trio of devout Italian nonne, clad in all-black, and a gaggle of starry-eyed Korean tourists.

As the processional music began, you felt your body ease into a state of peace. The ancient rituals of the Church always soothed you; they had not changed since you were a child and so provided a sense of comfort amidst an unpredictable world. You sang along, losing yourself in the beautiful melody.

When the hymnal ended, you lifted your gaze from your songbook to the altar. Your heart stopped as your eyes fell upon him—quite possibly the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.

He was young, no more than 40 years of age. His hair was a rich auburn color, swept neatly into a well-groomed combover; you couldn’t help but admire how perfectly it framed his handsome face. His eyes, a lovely shade of blue, were mesmerizing. They reminded you of cerulean pools, clear and bright. His brows were furrowed in concentration, making him appear serious. His jawline was set in a strong, dignified way, sloping attractively down to his chin; there you could just make out a slight cleft. For all you knew, he was one of the marble statues carved by the same masters who had designed the basilica you were standing in.

Who was this man? That’s Father to you! you scolded yourself. You were in Church. And not just any Church—the Church! You tried to suppress your nascent infatuation, but you quickly succumbed to it, your eyes selfishly dragging down the rest of the priest’s body. He wore a white surplice over his black robes, highlighting the alluring musculature of his shoulders. His collar was a burst of white at the base of the column of his throat. His hands were clasped together in prayer in front of his chest, and you watched his eyes squeeze in concentration as he prayed along silently with the cardinal who stood beside him. His whole demeanor radiated safety, comfort, and protection.

You couldn’t help but stare, the chants of the prayer fading into the background. You couldn’t even look away. Even when he turned to look at you. You observed his eyes widening ever so slightly, his brow arching in curiosity. Regrettably, he seemed to catch himself after a few seconds, quickly averting his eyes away from you and back to his superior. The moment was so brief, you seriously doubted its authenticity. But there he was.

Mass passed by in a haze, your attempts at concentration all but shot. You tried to restrain yourself, but somehow your gaze always settled on him. It wasn’t until the pews ahead of you began to slowly shuffle toward for Communion that you momentarily became sensible again. As you stood and made your way toward the altar, your hands began to perspire. You ran through the expected response over and over again, worried you might choke on your own heart, which had invariably lodged itself in your throat.

Just as you had expected, he was even more beautiful up close. Like an angel. You were so taken by his handsomeness, his kind smile, his spellbinding eyes that you felt your chest tighten. Your eyes suddenly found the marble floor inexplicably fascinating.

He held up the thin wafer. “Il corpo di Cristo.”

You peered up at him from beneath your lashes and met his kind cerulean eyes again. They beamed down at you, joy and curiosity radiating from them. You quickly lost your ability to speak, momentarily dumbstruck. He must have sensed this, as a smile quirked the corner of his lips; you thought you were imagining things when the faintest chuckle reached your ears. If only you knew what he was thinking!

“Amen,” you whispered hurriedly, accepting the wafer in your trembling hands. You bowed to him and quickly stepped aside to genuflect before the altar. As you made your way to back to your pew, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance over your shoulder at him. As you expected, he was dutifully administering communion to the remaining parishioners. You sighed softly as you retook your place and knelt down.

Of course that’s what he’s doing! you scolded yourself. For the love of God, he’s a priest—why would he have feelings for you? Silly, foolish girl.

Your thoughts consumed you for the rest of Mass, even during the last processional hymnal. If only you had noticed the young priest’s longing glance at you as he walked past.

After the processional ended, you prepared to leave, but your shame got the best of you. As a penance you knelt and said five Hail Mary’s to atone for your distraction.

As you left your pew, you noticed how quiet the church had become. A few people remained, some finishing their prayers, others snapping pictures of the ornate altar. As you walked to the back of the chapel, you observed a small group of parishioners clustered near the back, no doubt socializing among themselves. You had planned to walk around them, but the group suddenly parted, putting you directly on course for him. The priest who had awoken in you a reaction so powerful, so complete, you couldn’t even think clearly.

The two parishioners he was speaking with said their farewells; then, he turned and noticed you. As your eyes met for the third time that morning, his face broke into a radiant smile. You approached him slowly, a blush creeping up your cheeks. You did your best to hold his gaze and maintain an air of confidence after your embarrassing conduct during the liturgy of the Eucharist. You stopped just short of a foot away from him, subconsciously holding your breath.

“Buongiorno, signorina,” he said. His voice was so velvety, so delightful, it practically overwhelmed your senses. Being so close allowed you to better study his chin’s adorable cleft, making you swoon. “Non ti ho mai visto prima a San Pietro. Stai visitando la nostra bellissima basilica mentre sei in vacanza?” His presence was oh so alluring—you couldn’t help but relax as air suddenly filled your lungs.

“Buongiorno, monsignor,” you replied carefully. “ No, ma sono nuovo a Roma. Vedi, mi sono trasferito qui due settimane fa. Lavoro per l'ambasciata degli Stati Uniti.”

He smiled knowingly, his eyes alight with intrigue. “So, you are an American?” The soft, gentle lilt of his accent sent a shiver up your spine. How was it possible that this man’s normal pleasantries were enough to provoke such a response in you?

“Yes, I am.”

“In that case, may I be the first to welcome you to Vatican City.” He bowed his head slightly in deference to you. “I am Father Patrick McKenna, il camerlengo to his Holiness. May I ask your name?”

“Y/F/N, Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The camerlengo’s smile widened, and you momentarily glimpsed his dazzling white teeth. “Y/N…” he repeated thoughtfully. You cherished the way your name rolled off his tongue. “How lovely. Named after Saint Y/N if I am not mistaken?”

“Yes, Father,” you shyly responded. “I was raised in a very devout home.” You quickly averted your gaze to the floor, worrying that you had revealed too much about yourself. You certainly weren’t prepared for the camerlengo’s next remark:

“I…I hope to see you next weekend.” He spoke softly, tenderly.

Your eyes shot up to his face, eagerly finding his own. The camerlengo’s eyebrows were raised expectantly; a gentle smile graced his handsome features.

“Of course, Father. It was such a lovely Mass.” You tried to convey as much sincerity as you could with your voice.

He took your hand in his and cradled it, making your heart flutter even more rapidly in your chest. “I’m glad you thought so. In the meantime, do not make yourself a stranger.” For a moment, his eyes were expectant, and he nodded solemnly—as if holding you to a serious pledge—but his fervent expression quickly melted back into one of compassion again. “You are welcome anytime.”

Your cheeks took on a lovely pink color at his words as you beamed at him.“Grazie, Padre.” Reluctantly you added, “I believe I should be going now...” Your eyes flashed over your shoulder, subtly indicating a group of nonne eager to speak with him. “I would not want to keep you all to myself.” You shyly lifted your gaze to the camerlengo again.

He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with mirth at your remark. “May God bless you, Miss Y/L/N. Arrivederci.” As he said this, he traced the sign of the cross on your forehead, the scent of him filling your nostrils briefly. He smelled clean and masculine with a delightful hint of spiciness, which you immediately recognized to be frankincense. You savored the warmth of his skin on yours.

“Addio, monsignor,” you whispered breathlessly.

You found the courage to look into the camerlengo's spellbinding eyes once more before you turned to leave. As you exited the sacred space, you smiled to yourself, his words reverberating within you: do not be a stranger.

"Never, Father," you whispered. ¤

Translations

nonne = "grandmothers"

Il corpo di Cristo = "the body of Christ"

Non ti ho mai visto prima a San Pietro. Stai visitando la nostra bella chiesa durante le vacanze? = "I haven’t seen you before at St. Peter’s. Are you visiting our beautiful basilica while on holiday?"

No, ma sono nuovo a Roma. Vedi, mi sono appena trasferito qui due settimane fa. Lavoro con l'ambasciata degli Stati Uniti. = "No, but I am new to Rome. You see, I recently moved here a few weeks ago. I work for the US Embassy."

@seraferna @lemairepstuff

[isfjmel-phleg]

Off to bed at 7:15 one night, up till 1 AM the next talking about American regional accents. I am baffled. And not getting any work done, regrettably.

Tomorrow night there’s a possibility of entertaining more visitors and baking cookies (again) so not going to hold my breath for any writing time then.

Of course if I get any writing time, I will immediately cease to have any desire to write.

[aromantictendi]

Picard s2e1 thoughts

Overall I enjoyed it. It's too early to know for sure, but the tone feels different this season (thought it is to be expected with a new showrunner), it feels a bit lighter and a bit more fun. Honestly I hope that keeps up.

I'm not sure how I feel about Yvette having a British accent. She had an American accent during her brief appearance in TNG, so this is more consistent with the rest of his family, but I hoped if they'd updated any of Picard's family they would have let them be French.

Speaking of French, I'm going to have Non, je ne regrette rien in my head all night (not really a complaint).

I'm not sure how I felt about Agnes last season, but we're one episode into this season and I'm already really enjoying her.

I'm glad they established there was an investigation for killing Maddox and why she was cleared. I think that was my biggest issue with her story line last season.

Guinan!! I love that her eyebrows are still shaved.

The Borg have always been my favourite Trek villain, they can come back as often as the writers want to keep bringing them back and I'll love them every time.

I appreciate the show choosing to age Guinan and Q up, I always find the de-aging software unsettling to watch for long periods.

I hope Soji still features in this season, I'm a bit worried with her off to do diplomacy things.

Anyways, solid first episode. I'm curious to see where it leads.

[leon-scott-kennedy]

So Covert, I Hardly Knew Him

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Part V: Evacuate

Files flashed past on the screen, the download stalled at 94%. Close, but not quite. Leon needed a few more minutes, but Ada hadn’t followed him back to the lab. He cursed and glanced back at the screen just as new info flitted across the screen, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

“No...” Leon choked. “That’s not- No-”

A shrieking alarm blared, the grating sound echoing through the cursed halls. Surprisingly, the emergency light over the busted door flashed red in a steady pulse of danger.

Leon growled. “Fucking Ada. That’s my move.”

“All personnel, please evacuate the facility,” a soothing voice instructed to an empty wasteland of death, destruction, and decay. “Unauthorized access has been detected. The facility will self-destruct in 7 minutes.”

For a moment, Leon stood mesmerized by the comforting flicker of familiarity of the ridiculousness of his emanate death until Ada sprinted past the door at full speed. Not even a cursory glance in his direction. Typical.

“7 minutes? What’s wrong with the standard 10?” Leon said. Breaking from his stupor, he spun back to the screen. The computer had progressed a few percent. “Come on. Come on!”

If the information gleaned could be trusted, then Leon’s unscathed escape had jumped the priority queue. The situation now proved to be more significant than initially assumed. Wilson’s betrayal had been one thing, but this? Even the tiny fraction of information Leon learned threatened the entire foundation of democracy that his government was built on.

DOWNLOAD COMPLETE

“... self destruct in 4 minutes...”

“Fuck.” Leon none too gently snagged the drive out of the port, shoved it into the front zippered pocket of his leather jacket, and sprinted for the door, fumbling with his phone. He nearly dropped the phone, but he managed to tap a few commands and slip it back into his jacket while at a full run. “That elevator better be working.”

An enraged roar echoed through the halls. Leon’s heart stuttered in his chest. Dark hallways. The stench of decay. Screams and moans of the living and dead. Racoon City. That terrifying roar never left Leon’s nightmares.

“Oh fuck,” Leon wheezed. “Not again.”

Leon raced after the retreating mercenary, not daring to look behind him as he retraced their steps through the maze of corridors until he hit the main juncture. The lights above the elevator door slowly and steadily blinked down. Ada stood beside the door, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the lights like she alone had the power to speed them along.

“What did you do!” Leon skidded to a stop beside the elevator and jabbed at the up button in righteous fury until Ada smacked the back of his hand like a child.

“So quick to lay blame,” Adad said, but her attention wasn’t on Leon. It was back down the hall they’d fled.

Another roar echoed through the building. This time closer.

“God damn it, Ada!” Leon followed her stare to the end of the hall. In the shadows, a lumbering, hulking outline of one of the Tyrants from containment, fully animated and extremely pissed off. “Oh, what the hell.”

Leon jabbed frantically at the elevator button as if he could magically speed up its descent with his urgency, and this time, Ada didn’t stop him. The elevator dinged. Only one of the doors slid open and barely enough for them to squeeze through, but they both scrambled into the lift. Ada immediately darted right, but Leon nearly fell through the massive hole cut in the bottom of the elevator car. He flailed for a moment, arms windmilling before he caught his balance and collapsed into the side of the elevator and abused the close door button. Ada’s backdoor wasn’t quite a mystery anymore.

The Tyrant sprint down the hall, growing alarmingly closer at an increasingly worrying rate. The door started to slide closed, but the Tyrant was close enough for the pulse of its deformed heart to be visible through the shrinking gap in the door. The elevator shuddered and jerked into motion, smoothly rising.

The grating tear of the metal doors below being ripped open echoed through the shaft. Both Leon and Ada peered down through the gaping hole in the floor at the Tyrant clawing its way after them, then at the tiny lights above the door that blinked with each sub-level. At this rate, they weren’t going to make it.

“Self-destruct in 2 minutes.”

The elevator jerked violently, knocking Leon back into the wall as the gears and motor ground against the force pulling them down. Suddenly, the car dropped several inches, and the emergency brakes screeched to a halt, locking them in place. Metal creaked and strained. Together, Leon and Ada pried open the elevator door to find the car about four feet short of the main floor.

Leon eyed the short wall of concrete. “I really don’t fancy getting cut in half.”

“Would you prefer the alternative?” Ada holstered her handgun and stepped up.

A crack echoed through the shaft. A quick glance down at the Tyrant climbing the elevator shaft was enough to have Leon drop to his knee and boost Ada up through the shrinking gap. One last look down, Leon hoisted himself up over the ledge with minimal help from Ada seconds before the elevator car shuddered and slipped another few inches. A large deformed hand grasped through the hole, pulling the car further down.

Relief at avoiding being cut in half by seconds is brief because Leon was up and running, sprinting after Ada in the darkness. He caught up to her halfway across the factory floor, grabbed her arm, and urged her faster as the timer ticked down.

Ada was first to scramble up the rubble that blocked the door.

“6 -5 -4 -3 -”

Leon hauled himself up through the narrow gap, again grateful he’d never been one to hit the gym, and threw himself out of the factory, tackling Ada to the ground as a deep rumbling boom erupted behind them. The heat of the explosion ripped across him. He tugged his leather jacket up over their heads to shield them best he can from the bits of debris that rained down.

As the smoke cleared, Leon noticed they weren’t alone. A string of troops armed with assault rifles stared them down from the treeline.

“We’ve got company.”

The team was well organized. Guns held tight at the ready like they expected Leon and Ada to suddenly rush them, the men approached in close formation.

Leon slowly climbed to his feet, silently drawing his weapon and strategically placing his body between the advancing men and Ada. The men wore no identifying markers. Just simple black tactical combat gear, helmets, and goggles.

“Drop your weapons,” a man yelled. He stood at the center of the group, the only clue that he held any position of power in the small militia, and more alarming, he had no accent. No discernible accent. Just American.

“Fuck,” Leon cursed under his breath, and then louder, “we don’t want any trouble.” But he wasn’t stupid enough to drop his weapon. So instead, he let it hang loosely from his thumb as he slowly raised his hands in surrender.

A sharp pain shot through the base of Leon’s skull. He clutched the back of his neck and spun just in time to watch Ada lower an empty syringe. “Ada.”

The betrayal wasn’t what shocked him. He knew Ada would try to take the data from him. He knew her priorities, but what he didn’t expect was for her to casually step over him as he staggered and fell, his vision growing foggy with every passing second.

Momentarily, Ada paused to dig through his pockets for the thumb drive. Once again, he found himself at the mercy of Ada Wong. His vision swam. Ada was already on the move before he could even form a protest or think of fighting her off.

“Thank you, Ms. Wong,” the masked commander said. “Your help has been invaluable.”

“The money?” Ada asked. She continued casually past the armed troops towards the tree line. The whirl of a chopper overhead broke the eerie stillness of the forest.

“Already transferred. I’d ask you for the research files.”

Ada didn’t break stride as a harness dropped from the chopper above. “Consider it my bonus,” she said.

Leon clawed at the ground, trying to climb to his feet, to follow her, but his body felt heavy, his muscles vaguely cooperative. “I was the job.”

Ada looped her arm through the harness and tugged, testing the integrity. “It’s just business, Leon.”

Two men grabbed Leon under the arms and hauled him upright. His legs gave out. “It always is,” he slurred, head drooping.

“Have fun, boys.” Ada waved cheekily as the chopper lifted her into the air.

The last thing Leon saw was Ada Wong dangling from a helicopter over the treetops as he struggled feebly against two armed men. They wrestled him to the ground far too quickly and pinned him so whatever concoction Ada had injected could take full effect. He could only hope it was a sedative because a replay of Spain wasn’t high on his list of priorities; the eggs hatching, the constriction of organs, the loss of control as his nerve system was hijacked. Regrettably, he didn’t find out because the butt of a rifle smacked him in the back of the head.

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[quinbi]

More thoughts on Marwan/Luca movies. Spoilers included. Movies mostly found on Tubi (free with ads).

Wolf (2013) - I couldn’t finish this one either, but due to the dubbing, which I will rant on further.

I was rather excited to find this one on Tubi. I suppose one advantage of so many streaming platforms being created is that we’re encouraged to watch a lot more non-USA/Hollywood productions that are getting more prevalent on Netflix and the free streaming services. I will pay for Netflix, even though it is still an evil corp, just because I’ve had it for ages and I’m lazy. But I refuse on principle to pay for all the others too.

But regarding the movie. Regrettably, it was very much spoiled for me by the dubbing. While I don’t watch much with subtitles - I like to be doing something while watching a movie which means being able to look away from the screen - I prefer them to dubbing. But I was willing to put up with dubbing for the sake of watching Wolf.

As it turns out, I cannot at all get over dubbing when I know what one of the actors actually sounds like. It was just so wrong. PLUS, all the dubbing voices sounded like the basic white, American, frat boy accent. The inflections were just so wrong for all the characters and did not match with what was happening on the screen at all. Seriously, even the people supposed to be people who immigrated later in life had the same early 20′s white boy overemphasized Hollywood accent.

I have no actual knowledge of the ethnicities of those doing the dubbing. It just did not match and did not reflect the scenes at all. The few women who had speaking lines were similarly poorly dubbed (though some of the emphasis and expression matched the scene a little better).

What I did watch of the movie was intriguing. It is in black and white (I thought that was just a thing for the promotional images) which was an interesting choice. Someday I will try to find a subtitled version so I can watch it in full.

[ffamranxii]

So as usual tumblr got me into a new show. I don’t like anthology horror (I very much disliked American Horror Story) and was disappointed when I found out that The Terror Infamy was one, but decided to give it a shot based on one extremely captivating gif set of George Takei’s character reuniting with an old friend.

The Terror is the name of the series, and Infamy is the name of its second season. I checked out the first and it didn’t interest me so I skipped it. The second season is set during WW2 and largely takes place in a Japanese internment camp. I’ve seen George Takei be very vocal about internment camps on twitter and citing his own experiences in one over the past few years, and was pleased to see that he was a consultant for the season. George Takei was four years old when he went into the camps and didn’t leave until he was eight or nine. I really wonder how shooting some of the scenes affected him emotionally.

His character doesn’t play a large part, for which I’m both grateful (I dislike when big/more familiar names are cast in a more unfamiliar group just to attract attention) and upset (because I love him). The season has two major storylines - the obvious one in the struggle of being forced into an internment camp and the horror one. Tbh I really wasn’t interested in the horror one. I do like Asian horror (it’s mostly psychological and relies on uncanny valley and little to no jump scares or gore usually) but I’ve never seen a network tv show with multi language script, with one of those languages being Japanese, nor have I ever seen anything about the Japanese internment camps, so I was more interested in that. The horror story was a pretty common one in Japanese horror and folklore, of a vengeful mother, and was done very well. I was worried that they would Americanize the trope — remember all the gore and jump scares in AHS? — but they didn’t and I really liked that.

They also didn’t objectify the female characters. One, a Latina, is the love interest of the main male character, and has three different scenes in a bed with him and is never naked or blatantly sexualized. Another is literally in a bath scene and she gets out she’s immediately covered in a yukata and we get a blink and you’ll miss it shot of her back, with no butt visible. There’s also an important subplot involving another woman with the male warden and I am relieved that she was not raped, and he never showed a sexual or romantic interest in her — she was literally kidnapped by him and nothing of that nature was even suggested. I feel this has a lot to do with the fact that the director was a woman.

I loved the internment camp plot. Of course the horror storyline took center stage so it couldn’t be as developed as I’d hoped, but the director and the script took great care in how they portrayed the camps and Japanese culture. The Japanese weren’t living in squalor but they weren’t living the high life either. The first camp looked to be little more than a long building containing multiple chicken coops (at least that’s what they looked like) with no doors, peeling paint, and rotting straw on the floor and the Japanese were separated by assigned numerical order; the last camp was a series of buildings separated by gender that crammed multiple families into one room. They had very few belongings and were liable to be searched at any time. The subplot between the character Amy and the warden especially did a good job conveying the powerlessness of the Japanese towards the white guards — Amy is seen by many as the warden’s favorite because she’s his secretary, but she’s unable to even attempt to exert influence over the man, and the one time she tries she’s vowed by his erratic behavior immediately, fearing his change in demeanor spells something bad for the Japanese. The character Henry also does a great job portraying that powerlessness before the Japanese are ever even interred.

There are white cast members but they are not the focus (as so often regrettably happens in mainstream POC-driven stories) and none of them are included in the opening credits. Most of the show is firmly set on its Japanese cast — all of whom ARE Japanese (which was surprising, given Hollywood’s propensity to shove any person of Asian descent into a movie and simply say they’re whatever ethnicity they’re supposed to be), with a small handful of Hispanic/Latinx characters (I don’t know which term is correct, I’m sorry), and I’d say about 60% of the dialogue is in Japanese. (There was also a significant amount in Spanish near the end.) Entire scenes took place in Japanese and when the characters did speak English it never felt like it was forced for the benefit of the show’s white American viewers. Many Japanese immigrants (and first gen immigrants in general back in the 20s-40s) didn’t teach Japanese to their children and gave them white names/took on white names to better fit into American society. The first gen Japanese characters all spoke with accents, and some of them were on the heavy side, which was surprising, but at no point did it feel like they were being belittled or used for entertainment value by the script for doing so.

The very last episode had some very touching credits, showing in a split screen the families of cast members who had been interred. The main character as well as a handful of secondary characters all had multiple family members who’d been put into camps, and so did the director and another crew member. George Takei and the man who portrayed his character’s old friend were both in camps themselves. It was extremely moving and I actually cried.

I binged the season in one day and really enjoyed it, and I highly recommend it.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Graham Russel  *Supporting character Voice Claim: (Joel Courtney) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTEwJ676D_c

Partner(s): None.   Parents: Tony and Bethany Russel. Kids: None Siblings: None. Age: 14 (2020) Birthday: 30th of June Height: 168 cm. Body type: Skinny, but with a bit of muscle tone. Eye color: Light blue with brown around the iris.

About: ~ Adventurous, open-minded, casual, playful, sloppy, friendly, social, cheeky, naive, outgoing, random, athletic, lonely,  daring and stubborn. ~ Surfer. ~ Sexuality, Gay. ~ Has brown half-long hair. ~ Still a teen, so hasn’t fully developed his personality yet, and is a bit all over the place, trying to figure himself out. ~ Born to American parents, but grew up in UK. Has a slight British accent on some words, otherwise speaks with an American accent. ~ Ran away from his parents, cause they didn’t want a gay son. ~ Lives on the beach in a bungalow, his friends, Sylvester, Walter, Zuri and Isla. ~ Doesn’t speak with his parents. ~ Used to be homeless. ~ Considers Walter his big brother although they aren’t related. Walter found Graham on the streets when he was just 12, and decided to take him under his wing. ~ Loves the surfer life. ~ Dreams of becoming a famous surfer. ~ Would like to travel the world. ~ Spends a lot of time at the beach, and if he can’t be found there, he’s probably at home watching Netflix. ~ Doesn’t attend school anymore. ~ Smells like ocean, the beach, salty skin and energy drinks.  ~ Can’t cook. ~ Smokes weed. ~ Can binge Netflix for days without leaving the house. ~ Would love to learn how to play guitar. ~ Often seen in bare feet. ~ Gets into fights when people have a problem with him being gay. But is trying to learn not to fight back. ~ Has a huge crush on the actor Luke Evans. ~ Loves Surfing, swimming, diving,bonfires, Netflix, Luke Evans, Cinnamon Rolls, pizza,  gummy bears, popcorn, energy drinks, cake, scented candles, Christmas, smoothies and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.  ~ His style is pretty casual, usually some sort of loose fitted tank top and shorts. ~ Is very close to Walter.

Graham’s tag Graham’s house/home Graham’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One gif to describe him:

One song to describe him:  Alec Benjamin - Boy In The Bubble Personal Playlist: 1. Soja - Jah Atmosphere 2. Jimmy Cliff - I Can See Clearly Now 3. John Mayer - New Light 4. Beck - Up All Night 5. Tessa Violet - I Like (the idea of) You 6. The Regrettes - Seashore 7. Jack Johnson - You Can’t Control it 8. Beach Bunny - Prom Queen 9. Childish Gambino - Feels Like Summer 10. Chelou - Out Of Sight 11. Boy Pablo - Feeling Lonely 12. The Revivalists - Wish I Knew You

[cblgblog]

Imagine that dumb AU where the Griffith lesbians (TM It's a cult okay?) accidentally sort of overhear Angie with who they assume is her girl until the accent they hear is definitely 100% American and not British and oh oh no is Angie cheating? What is this nonsense? Obviously we need to PI this bullshit... No, no cheating, Peggy's just being an asshole with accents because if she switches suddenly she can surprise Angie and get cursed at in Italian while Angie sees stars.

Couple of things here before we start. Peggy realizing after like a weekend, at most, that while Angie was bashing all her other possible lodging choices and talking up the charms of the Griffith, she forgot to mention that it’s a lesbian cult. Not that Peggy is averse to this, the woman talked about stealing her headmaster’s wife’s knickers, but God, Angie. If I’m going to be in yet another lesbian cult, at least let me know.

Also, does Ms. Fry know she’s running a lesbian cult? Is she oblivious? Or does she think she’s sparing the rest of New York by gathering all the deviants in one place, kind of like a prison island or a leper colony? Is Miriam Fry secretly Gay Rights? Is that why she has the rule about no men above the first floor?

That should’ve been the real mystery of season 2, not this nonsense about zero matter or whatever the hell we got.

Anyway.

Angie getting cold-shoudered by various girls and some comment to one of them finally about who woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

“I wouldn’t throw stones in that department, honey.”

“What department?”

“The bed department.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.”

Meanwhile Peggy is getting slipped all this extra food at breakfast. The stuff these hungry lesbians usually steal for themselves, to fuel their own sexual escapades? Peggy gets it. She gets breadsticks, she gets bacon, she gets eggs, she gets pastries. This is too much food even for Peggy. Has someone died? Has someone died at more than the usual rate at which people tend to die around Peggy? There’s usually not this much food involved unless someone’s died.

Finally, when Carol with the chicken pocket sewn into her sweater actually tries to give her the aforementioned whole chicken, Peggy asks what’s going on. Carol gives her a sympathetic look, pats her shoulder, and says that her door is always open, should Peggy want to talk about what’s going on. Peggy is baffled, and Angie fumes over these vulture lesbians suddenly trying to horn in on her girl.

And then there’s Dottie, both a spy and a voyeur, who knows exactly what’s going on, and that Peggy Carter is not, in fact, being two-timed, and that Angie Martinelli is, in fact, annoyingly in love with her. As such, there is no need to give Peggy Carter food, but Dottie can’t let on that she knows that. If she doesn’t blend in, these women might suspect that she is a murderous Russian terrorist. Or, even worse, they might think she’s a Straight.

Unacceptable.

So, regrettably, Dottie gets up to give Peggy her extra muffin. The things she does for her country, man…