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#I love putting these two in harrowing. life altering. and/or traumatic situations so they can finally just be mother and son
tenorbox0-blog · 4 years
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Modifying the world will take heart.
The three years since hentai flash games's original release, I have thought about this nearly every day. Its luxurious style gracefully captures its own spirit of rebellion and breathes life to its own lively combat system. The evocative, slamming sound track perfectly encapsulates the e motion of every minute. The down-time spent Tokyo together with your pals delivers you nearer to all these, and invigorating your combat for what is appropriate. These properties feed right to some fearless story that unapologetically puts its foot down towards the injustices which signify our own culture. Even the extended version, free online sex games, brings the heat all around. But beyond an array of fantastic gameplay refinements and characteristics that improve an already-rich RPG includes a momentous fresh narrative arc hammered over the initial storyline and paid down in full at the end. 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Beyond an array of superb gameplay refinements and capabilities that improve an already-rich RPG comes a more straightforward new story arc seeded over the unique narrative and paid in full by the end. Palaces contain some smaller but smart alterations in P5R, as well. Re-arranged dungeon designs accommodate Joker's brand new grappling hook, so letting you swing to brand new places. They often lead to May Seeds, a collectible that replenishes SP and mildew into useful accessories. Returning people may also see that some dungeon designs are streamlined, producing mining smoother. Mementos, the Metaverse's collection of procedurally generated floors, also has some much-needed overhauls. Transferring around to progress within such twisted subway depths as the Morgana bus had been book, but grew repetitive from the game. P5R yells in fresh mechanisms such as collecting blossoms and stamps to cash in for items that are useful and perks to improve struggle benefits. And essentially the many welcome change is that, as an alternative of exactly the exact same song all through, fresh tunes play at deeper degrees. Aside from stealthily browsing these surreal dungeons, you'll be spending a bunch of time engaged in P5R's lively turn-based overcome. It is swift and fashionable, and builds on the sturdy foundation of Shin Megami Tensei, which has you focusing on exploiting elemental weaknesses and bringing extra turns. Typical enemies might also be fodder the moment their affinities are vulnerable, however rougher ones, mini bosses, and supervisors tap to combat's insecurities. P5R levels more onto battles, like the absurd Showtime strikes that possess two party members companion up for a high-damage combo that initiates in clutch circumstances. Even the powered-up Baton move mechanic is much more essential as it can certainly promote damage and rejuvenate H P and SP. And boss battles finally have different phases that pose brand new, demanding problems that require one to feel subtly, testing your hands of their combat procedure. The winding swagger of this all extends to the eloquent and effective UI which can help maintain up combat's speed that is fast. Every thing unfolds in such a quick and ridiculously stylish manner you can not help but fall in love with it as well as the Phantom intruders who pull all these flashy moves. Even in another variant of the match, executing onscreen attacks and viewing them unfold hasn't lost one piece of its charm. Never has a turn-based beat technique been so thrilling. hentai flash games is many things: some collection of little motivational tales, an ambitious harrowing travel with some fantastic friends, a magnificent visual and sensory encounter, a resounding call to actions. But P5R is not right here to merely look pretty. Under the mask of its own unrelenting style and magical silliness are the friendships that you inherently form and encourage you to adhere to along with struggle through to the best conclusion. In their persona awakenings to this minute that you view them completely comprehend their targets, your fellow Phantom robbers eventually become your journey die within this heavy-hitting story. In concentrating on perpetrators of sexual assault, worker exploitation, and vile authoritarianism,'' hentai flash games draws a crystal clear line from the sand--people like this have zero place in our society and also deserve no mercy. That is no middle ground, no compromise to be made, so no more both sides-ism. Your crew's personal drama occasionally escalated to the wider concept, but perhaps not without illustrating why you're fighting so tough to change things. Even when doubt about their vigilante ways begins to creep incharacters work , stick to their own beliefs, also understand that there was not really a choice in the situation. Admittedly, P5R is often subtle like a brick. It truly is simple to nit pick wherever its producing falls into being overly simplistic or perhaps a bit rote--but it's improved in several instances , it can still be primitive sometimes. It's not particularly nuanced in its storytelling, but but it cann't have to function as. In staying evident day in its storyline, the messages and characterizations are unmistakable. Additionally, it is so crazy for me personally that the match's almost-caricature villains have become significantly less and less far-fetched in only the three years because the original release--the blatant abuse of power, so their wrong-doings laid nude, and the masses shrouded in seeing them confront consequences. In conclusion to the original storyline arc only strikes differently now, and the game's magnificent battles have become increasingly cathartic. Transitioning into the Royal-exclusive next session, there's a tonal change that's effortlessly executed. Stranger things start to occur, at a strangely unsettling method, specially during the seemingly merry winter. Here, P5R takes a twist toward genuine moral quandaries. Within this semester, there is somewhat more to learn about your buddies, also there's one final Palace . Which can be, without a doubt, the optimal/optimally one in the entire match. These new incidents have been beautifully captured with fresh Royal-exclusive tunes that shorten what has been an iconic, yet genre-bending sound-track. The mysteries within just will shock youpersonally, and fascinating revelations about characters propel them very well outside that they introduced themselves to really be. The pace at which it has educated and the way the collection of occasions have been styled paint hentai flash games in a brand new, attractive light while staying true to its original soul. This fresh story arc reaches an expansive sense of scale and finality, nonetheless captures a intimate, personalized tone. Also it all builds around what's also the greatest boss combat all the game, compelling your battle abilities for their limits. P5R efficiently simplifies among the original's shortcomings: its own somewhat surprising end. From the vanilla variant, even after in excess of 100 hours, it still felt like there is still a missing bit; P5R has that missing piece. There is 15 about 20 hrs worth of excellent content which takes hentai flash games in an alternative management when traveling all on its best characteristics. It supplies a dramatic, magnificent ending despite the initial bombastic, overthetop finish. These new incidents have been attractively recorded with brand new Royal-exclusive tunes that shorten what has been already an iconic, yet genre-bending sound track. I always understood"existence Will transform" and"Rivers From The Universe" as flawless examples of how hentai flash games uses its own new music to depict precise emotions of this moment--tunes which exude the contagious confidence of the Phantom intruders moving into take a corrupted soul. In the instance together with all our old favorites, the new evocative jams eventually become a powerful narrative device. "I Think" stands being a bold recollection of the lengthy, hard fought travel which dissipates into one final battle, even though"Throw Off Your Mask" conveys the sign of jealousy involving a battle of ideals. The brand new Tower's theme has a wistfulness that illuminates the situations that unfold. Music is inseparable in your Persona adventure --the show thrives because of itand some manner P5R delivers to make an even more profound impression.
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Thus, exactly like in the initial, the tune"Sun Set Bridge" brought my period with P5R into your detailed friend. It's really a bittersweet tune which is used throughout the game to signify a moment of clarity for its own characters. But whilst the last history before needing to leave the sport behind, it became my personal moment of emotion, realizing just how much I've treasured my own time here, and now for many explanations. Since P5R comes to a close, it attempts to ease you into the end together with budding scenes, a few fresh and some recognizable. But in doing this, it merely makes it more difficult to say goodbye again. free online sex games is lots of things: a collection of little inspirational testimonies, an ambitious harrowing journey with a few decent pals, a stunning visual and sensory encounter, a resounding call to activity. By optimizing what was great and building on its own best qualities using a brilliant new story arc, hentai flash games asserts itself as a memorable and enabling RPG that should be recognized as one of the best matches of the time.
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contessabrewer · 6 years
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Hurricanes: It's Personal
No reporter wants to cry over a story, much less, cry publicly. But I’ve done it, recently. Three hurricanes in less than a month have given me more than enough opportunity. I felt myself getting emotional when the top executive for Crowley shipping in Puerto Rico began crying in his interview with me, so incredibly frustrated over the logjam of life-saving supplies stuck at his terminal in the Port of San Juan, with no drivers, no diesel, a shortage of passable roads to move essential goods to the suffering families who needed them most. I felt incredible anxiety riding along with my photographer, Victor Calderin, as we drove across the length of the island and finally began to look for his sister. He didn’t know whether she was alive. No one in the family had heard from her. Hurricane Maria had devastated the landscape. Lush mountainsides were now barren and brown. Street signs no longer stood. We stopped four times for Victor to ask directions to his childhood home. Finally, he exclaimed, “There it is! I see it.” We’ll pulled the Jeep into the driveway, outside a locked gate, and Victor yelled for his sister. We waited. A few seconds of silence seemed to last agonizing minutes. And finally we heard her, “I’m coming.” I cried as she unlocked the gate and embraced her brother. But we left her and Puerto Rico with no power, little running water and disaster, though not insurmountable, a far cry from the situation in Houston or Irma. When I arrived in Houston- I was astonished at the flooding. It took my team hours to find a way past flooded highways into downtown. And my first day reporting was filled with stories that were hard to comprehend. Two minutes away from my live shot for CNBC, I waited, watching a stream of people crowd through the doors at the George R. Brown Convention Center in Houston. Three days after Hurricane Harvey made landfall, the resident population at the mega-shelter downtown was skyrocketing. Lines of volunteers made the chaos at the door seem even more overwhelming. My eye was drawn to two children, boys with bright-red curly hair, about seven years old. Twins. As the mom of twin boys myself, I always watch with curiosity the way other twins interact with each other. These children were accompanied by a woman, presumably their mother, carrying a big bag of clothing. I watched as one of the twins gazed around this noisy, crowded place and his face just crumpled and he began crying. So did I. My photographer watched and said, “Keep it together. Take a deep breath.” So I did. I kept the tears from spilling but felt only a tenuous grasp on my composure. Carl Quintanilla introduced me from the studio and I said only one sentence before my voice broke. I stepped to the side of the camera - directed my photographer to show the scene at the door and tried to explain what I’d seen, why I was reacting so emotionally. But I had to take long pauses, because my voice was quaking and the tears were close to spilling. I made it through the live shot but felt deep chagrin at succumbing to my feelings. My theory is that reporters are there to document reality- to capture stories at a certain moment in time and allow viewers to feel whatever the story sparks in them. But as standard practice, we ignore what the story sparks in us, in part, because our feelings are not the story. In part we ignore our inner turmoil because we have a job to do- more live shots, more interviews, more broll. And even at the end of the day, typically, there’s an early call the next day and fresh assignments. And yet - sometimes the story is so big, even veteran journalists become emotional. That morning, before the incident with the twins and the near-crying on tv, I met a family who had come into the convention center in the wee hours of the morning. They’d been rescued from their home in the outer suburbs of Houston, ridden several hours in the back of a box truck and were soaked to the bone, including the little children. That morning before I came so close to breaking down, I interviewed an 18-year-old woman with four children, all younger than three. She recounted her harrowing tale of water rising… escaping to the attic, being rescued by helicopter. But there was only enough room for her, her one-year-old-son, a seven-month old nephew, two-year-old nephew with a heart condition and a three-year-old niece. So this teenager wrapped her arms around all four children and rode in a swinging helicopter basket to safety and a crowded convention center. She left behind all the other adults in her family, in an attic, with a power saw. As three children slept, I took the baby in my arms and the young woman borrowed a cell phone from other evacuees, hoping to make contact with loved ones. That morning, before I felt myself at the breaking point, I met a man wandering outside the convention center. He told me he was looking for his sister-in-law and her four children. He would take them from the convention center back to his home, to safety. Half an hour later, I noticed little twin toddlers- and their mother who was trying to wrangle two slightly older children too. She was wearing an expression I know all too well. Frustration on the edge of a despair, the sheerest veneer of control. “Can I help you?” I asked. “I’m the mom of twins too.” “Yes, please.” She answered, “My ride’s here but trying to get them outside is like herding cats.” I took the twins each by a hand and she followed with a bag of clothes and the two other children, while a shelter volunteer reprimanded me for leaving the media pen. I ignored the reprimand and walked outside the convention center. Her “ride” was the same man I’d been talking to before. Perhaps it’s not surprising that my own feelings had surfaced. My own heart is first-and-foremost a mother’s heart. I want to solve problems, mend boo-boos and generally fix things. In daily life - I’m a fighter, not a flee-er and frequently intervene in other people’s problems on the streets of New York City. And yet - this was more. Ten thousand people packed into one shelter - each one of them with a story to tell… some with near death experiences, many of them, now homeless. That day ended with a ride-along in antique military vehicles through flooded neighborhoods where I saw homes that looked as though they should’ve been condemned as uninhabitable decades ago. For people who live in that kind of poverty, a flood of this magnitude is a life-altering event. Actually, even for people with means and resources, a flood is a life-altering event. Late that night, when I finally made it back to the safety and comfort of my downtown hotel, I FaceTimed my husband and began telling him about my day. I began sobbing. And so did my husband. And something clicked. I lost my own home in Hurricane Sandy in 2012, which wasn’t even an hurricane when it made landfall. I was anchoring on NBC New York as the storm surge washed through my neighborhood and filled my apartment with five feet of water. While I was on the air for hours-long shifts that week, my husband trekked to Lower Manhattan and didn’t return for 18 hours. When he rejoined me at the midtown hotel serving as our own shelter from the storm, he put his face in his hands and cried. “Everything is gone, Contessa. Everything.” I said what so many people say after natural disasters, “It’s just stuff. We can replace it.” “No…” my husband countered, “All the stuff in those bins… letters from your great-grandfather and your childhood dolls. All your photo albums. They all got ruined.” Five days after the storm hit, I was finally able to visit my apartment. My furniture was piled in a trash heap on the street outside. Inside, the water was gone, but the muck remained. It was overwhelming and discouraging. I did a story on my neighborhood - and included my own loss. As I recorded a standup about what the flooding- the irreplaceable momentos now in a trash heap- I began to say “It’s just stuff…” But I choked up and fought back tears. Because losing your stuff, stuff you think is important, losing your home which represents safety and privacy and the intimacy of family hurts. It’s traumatic and emotional and scary, even if you have resources, a support network and a safety net to help you recover. It took us 16 months to return to our apartment - another year before it stopped being a construction zone. We fought with the insurance company, got pregnant and delivered twins and redesigned our apartment to accommodate babies. Apparently- we’re not over the trauma. I was back from Houston for less than a week before I left for Florida for coverage of Hurricane Irma. My mom and three uncles all live in Florida. Uncle Bob operates a wildlife refuge at the edge of the Everglades. It was decimated in Hurricane Andrew and, watching the track of Irma, I worried about the animals, but especially about my uncle and his very ill wife. At the height of the storm, in a hot, humid hotel with no electricity - I got texts through to check on them. Safe - but with significant property damage. I saw it first hand when I stopped to check in on them on my way to the Florida Keys. Rising rivers forced flooded my Uncle Joe’s neighborhood days after the storm passed- and he refused to evacuate and leave an elderly neighbor and the neighbor’s cats alone. Driving through the Florida Keys was haunting… so much devastation in a place where so many people have made happy memories. Restaurants, hotels, marinas, RV parks, private homes, boats, businesses - wiped out. Cell phones, electricity, sanitation, running water, the basics we all take for granted had taken a big hit on the island chain. Monroe County Sheriff’s deputies manned checkpoints to keep evacuees away from their homes, where the infrastructure couldn’t yet support an onslaught of returning residents. When I talked to them, I mentioned my cousin, Misty, only six months older than me. She was a Monroe County deputy when she was killed in a car crash on Highway 1, on the job, in 2010. The deputy at the checkpoint, reached out to pat my shoulder and tell me, his sergeant knew my cousin well and had taken her death particularly hard. He told me where to look for her highway memorial, to come back to the checkpoint tomorrow and maybe I could get through to Key West to do my job. Just outside Key West- on Stock Island, we stood before a home that had been peeled apart my Irma’s winds. The roof and exterior walls were gone, exposing the kitchen, like a television or movie set. As my photographer tried to get enough cellular bandwidth to set up a liveshot - a man approached me with an aggressive posture and his teal shirt unbuttoned to his beer belly. “Who do you work for?” He demanded. My cap was emblazoned with my employer’s name. “You should not be here. You should not be shooting this. You people are going to make it look like -this- is all of Key West. This is NOT the story!” He was invading my personal space. And I explained that I had seen the roads cleared in Key West… the people sitting on Duval Street enjoying a beer. But this family no longer had a home. “It’s one individual example!” “No sir. It’s up and down throughout the Florida Keys and all over south Florida. There are thousands of families with hurricane damage.” He pulled out his cell phone to begin recording me, and I turned to walk back to my news truck. Just then a woman approached and told me in Spanish, the destroyed home I was standing near was hers… that she’d lost everything, including clothes and shoes. She asked, did I know how to contact FEMA. “Oh great!” Yelled the aggressive man. “Now you really have your story.” No sympathy. No expression of human kindness. Just concern that I might disseminate what he considered fake news. He continued recording me as I flagged down police officers and asked them to help the devastated woman standing with me. “Fake news” has become a commonplace accusation. In that darkened hotel lobby during Hurricane Irma, I overheard two men discussing the news coverage of the storm. “I saw it on CNN,” one insisted. “Well, CNN. That’s fake news” the other countered, with no obvious sign of humor or sarcasm. A Gallup poll conducted last December, after the presidential election, asked respondents “Rate the honesty and ethical standards of people in these different fields”— and then listed the usual nurses, doctors, insurance salespeople, lawyers, car salesmen. 41% of respondents ranked journalists’ honesty and ethical standards as low or very low. Bankers and lawyers scored better. Members of Congress, as a profession, scored worse. And yet- those who ranked journalists’ ethics as very high or high has remained fairly steady over the past decades. Perhaps it’s because some Americans truly believe that we cannot have a functioning democracy without a free press. Perhaps it’s because some Americans have a deep love of current events, of the stories reporters bring them from around the globe and around the corner. Perhaps it’s because some Americans know personally a reporter, know the heartbreak and the drama that reporters encounter on the job. Those experiences enrich journalists, bringing a complexity to our coverage that we rarely explain to our viewers, listeners or readers. Interviewing parents who have lost a child has always been gut-wrenching to me. But now, I too have lost a child, a son who was born too early. That colors my view of bereavement and loss. Being unemployed myself has influenced the way I see the struggle for jobs, adding to my understanding, for instance, why laid-off workers in coal country wouldn’t go through job retraining and switch careers. And, yes, losing my home has affected the way I perceive natural disasters that wipe away entire landscapes. Years ago, when I first began at MSNBC, our nation was engaged in the Iraq war and patriotism was running high. Everyday on our programs we would profile a service member and talk about where that person was stationed. One day, our rundown included the story of a member of the armed forces who was killed in battle. The script included a letter the man had written to his unborn child. In preparing for my newscast, I’d read the script and the letter several times, welling up with tears each time. I thought I was fine. And yet, when it came time to present the story, I choked up again, my voice breaking. I struggled through long pauses before finishing. After the show, I got a call that our editor-in-chief wanted to see me in his office. I was terrified of the scolding I would get for allowing my emotions to cloud the objective presentation of the story. Jerry Nachman, who the New York Times described an old-style newshound in its obituary of the legendary news editor, sat me down and said, I know you probably feel bad about choking up on the air. Don’t. Today you showed our audience a journalist with heart. You’re young. You’re going to cover a lot of stories. Don’t ever lose your heart.
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