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cannibal-witchh · 3 years

Text

Reader(Fem) X Alcina Dimitrescu

(PART 1)

Written by cannibal_witchh

⛓Trigger Warning⛓

Story contains: Gore, sexual elements, vulgar language, violence, elements of sub/dom behavior, and captivity.

Notes:

I am not the most confident writer so bare with me if theres some flaws floating around the story. I also have very minimal general knowledge to Alcina right now due just demos only being out. Please, be considerate that there's only so much information released on her so most of what I'm writing is not canon. Let's keep it positive and real, we all are thirsting after Lady D so here's a a fanfiction. Also couldn't condense it in one story so going to make this adleast a two or three parter.

It can get confusing with a lot of female characters so the reader is of course:

Y/N - your name

Her/she- i wanted to refer to the female reader in italics and bold

Y/L/N- your last name

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Thunder echoed along the well decorated corridor walls . Hints of lightning occasionally flashed between fluttering curtains. Beyond the curtains was an open window, below that was a critical drop into snow and shards of large rocks. That was definitely not worth risking. Y/N had been held in captivity for what felt like a legitimate eternity. Confinded to a small well kempt room, it seemed as though it had once been a guest room according to the furnishing. All the basic necessities of a bedroom were present here. The fabrics that dressed the bed were of a fine quality, and the boards that held all of it up were of incredible carpentry. Gentle embers flickered from the candlewicks that rose tall on the golden girandoles. Despite captivity the room was comfortable, it was illuminated with warm colors, although still dim and feint.

The door swung open, a black swarm of insects swirled infront of the door as it begun to quickly form a figure. It revealed a small vampiric woman, hooded with golden locks peaking from under it. She flashed her teeth with an enthusiastic smile, as she revealed blood stained teeth, lips, as well as her chin. " Oh, goody! You are awake. I always feel bad feeding when someone is asleep.", She shut the door as she advanced closer to Y/N. Adrenaline began to flood through her veins, hair on her body standing up, and her palms perspiring. She was covered in scabbed bite marks, and bruises - it didn't take long for her to recall the abrupt painful puncture of teeth break through her skin. The old bites began to twitch with pain at the idea a new addition would be welcomed. " I just prefer blood thats been in shock, y'know, awake? It gives it a nice acidic flavor, plus,", she towered over Y/N breathing in her aroma. " It smells wonderful.", she giggled in soft whispers. "Enough.", Y/N demanded as she attempted to cease her trembling. Her body was returning to anxiety because it was clear what was about to happen. A feeding. The vampire didn't seem to express offense, strangely her face bore amusement. "Oh ok, how about this!", she excitedly brought out her sickle and swung at her. With one swift swing the sickle hooked right under her knee cap. A shriek was released from Y/N's lips, agonizing pain radiating everywhere, and blood began to river out from the site. The vampire dragged her with the sickle through the corridor as everything seemed like a blurr from the shock. Hallways seemed like a stretched out haze, and noises seemed to be loud echoes one would hear in a juvenile cafeteria. "Whe-where are you taking me...?", she barely mustered as she felt the sickle dig through muscle and actually brush against the back of her knee cap. Fuck. The sickle was released quickly from her skin as she heard the sound of blood fly onto the ground. That abrupt removal felt worse for minutes compared to the weapon actually being present in Y/N's knee. The monstrous woman lifted the sickle to her crimson stained lips, inhaling the aroma deep, and then proceeding to lick the sickle of the blood it had collected. Sounds of ecstasy escaped her satin black lips, her eyes darted over at Y/N as she felt like she was on the verge of fainting from shock. " I love blood that has some acidicity to it. It gives it a nice kick. You know how that works? For example, your blood could still have more of that taste. One who is in a flight or fright scenario, where they are in absolute fear and adrenaline kicks in...thats when the meat and blood have a sour flavor. Mmm, thats why we are going to play a game." , she licked her lips as her eyes flickered with hunger and passion. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her body gasp from the fevered pain beating in her knee. " I propose we play hide and go seek! You already know who's hiding. I will give you to the count of 100." , her eyes shimmered from this fucked up idea, she quickly turned her back and covered her eyes. Slowly the sickle in her hand vanished within dark smoke, damn it, Y/N within fading in and out had thought perhaps of stealing that and killing her there. Not anymore. She rose up with wobbling knees, just like a new born dear barely capable of using its legs, she began to hobble as fast as she could away.

"Oh, and I can smell your blood. So hide well, Y/L/N."

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Y/N consistently looked back, watching if the vampire had cheated the game. She was indeed honoring the game, that was adleast something about this blonde one she liked. She seemed to honor things she said, " 89...70...", her voice echoed loudly through the halls. The numbers lowering as Y/N felt her adrenaline spike even higher.

Y/N managed to find a door unlocked in a different wing of the manor. She adleast went through 10 locked doors before fleeing to another location of the manor. With pure luck, she discovered this door, it was unlocked and she took her gamble and entered quietly. With trembling gore soiled hands, she locked the door, and sunk to the ground. Very little energy existed in her, she anticipated for dear life the blonde vampire wouldn't smell her here.

The sound of gentle humming danced along the walls of this room, very melodic, sad, and eerie. Lonely, perhaps. With Y/N's quick realization, this resembled a garden bath house. The windows stretched tall in this room, revealing bleeding light from the full moon, there were plants of vibrant emeralds surrounding the large mass of water that centered the room. The water was decorated with rose petals and red spider lilies. The room was architecturally structured with several stones of marble, and looked almost like a Greek bath house . Gentle sounds of rushing water followed between stones which flowed into the big pool of water. Little ripples scattered across the water causing the red flowers to bob up and down.

The humming persisted as Y/N felt her heart drop, she quickly scurried to the nearest marble pillar to conceal herself. The humming was growing louder and louder, could it be the hungry vampire? She wasn't certain if it was worse but it certainly felt like it, Lady Dimitrescu emerged from the shadows of the room, and strided to the water. She was only wrapped in the finest silk, a tight sheer white robe that hugged tightly against her hips. She definitely had a full figure, the robe delivered a silhouette of her motherly figure. It certainly complimented, the low cut of the robe teased her deep cleavage, the sheer silk revealed faint color and the shape of her puffy areolas. Even in the predicament Y/N was in, it was still hard not to appreciate Alcina's physical beauty.

Alcina continued her melodic hum for a few more moments as she admired the undulations of the floral water. " Y/N Y/L/N, you believe me to be foolish?", she broke from her tune as her eyes looked directly at Y/N. She gulped hard as she submitted to the acceptance Alcina would more than likely kill her. She continued to lay her back against the cold pillar, one hand applying pressure to her bleeding knee, the other containing the fear that was trying to escape her lips. " I could smell that delicious blood from here.", she chucked lightly, "Come here, now.", she demanded with her arms crossing. Y/N did not obey the command, she remained quiet behind the pillar. For minutes it consisted of painful sharp silence, only the sound of her terrified heart beats could be heard. Her ears burned and rung, it desperately needed the assurance Alcina was still idle. Did Y/N dare look beyond the pillar? She peeked over and Alcina was no where to be found. Consternation filled her as there wasn't even a trace of evidence to signify the direction Alcina went. Unexpectedly, Y/N felt a hard blow and collapsed on her side. Her hands releasing themselves, and a gasp of air evacuated her mouth. " Oh, I see. ", Alcina had kicked her, her foot pressed hard against her side. Her smooth leg exposed, tracing all the way to her innermost thigh. Her skin looked smooth like porcelain, but certainly felt the weight of heavy boulders as it rested on her. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her foot dig deep into her. "Bleeding out on my perfect floors. Oh, what a mess. Although, it does certainly smells of of tart berries, yes, what a wonderful aroma.", Alcina breathed in the cold air, inhaling hints of Y/N's blood. She moaned in intoxication to the alluring smell of fresh blood. Alcina removed her foot from Y/N, she gasped for air in relief, and tried to attempt to sit up. Alcina quickly lunged forward without even a blink, and her long hand wrapped around Y/N's throat. "No, I don't think so.", Alcina smirked as her hand squeezed around her throat. She fell onto her back, the large vampress towering over, her large hand pressing into her throat.She was capable of breathing but it was incredibly taxing especially with the critical condition she was in. Desperate wheezing filled the air, it burned and stung inside of Y/N's throat. Alcina stared into her eyes, a long red smile stretched upon her pale white face. "Hmm, this is quite boring already. I am quite famished too.", she released her grip, ascended and brought her arms to her bosom to cross them. Y/N began to violently cough and gag as proper air flow returned to her lungs. After several minutes of constant heaving, she finally managed to collect herself. "Come.", Alcina ordered as she turned on the balls of her feet and waltzed to the bath. Y/N submitted, too exhausted to resist any longer. She barely could stand but managed, she approached Alcina with her eyes fixed on her every move. " My little one lacks control. Just as I would suspect with her age. If she doesn't stop stabbing you, you'll die. And I really have grown addicted to your flavor as well. I really would hate for you to bleed out one day because of her reckless actions.", she expressed with a sigh of annoyance. Suddenly, a knock interrupted her rambling, " Lady Dimitrescu,", it was the blonde vampire. Alcina let out another sigh in annoyance. "Yes?", she responded with a disinterested tone, as she crossed her arms a little more snug. Revealing a distracting amount of cleavage being pressed together. " Is Y/N in there?", she sniffed loudly as she strived to rattle the door knob open. " Yes, but I require her. I will discuss with you later some important matters. For the mean time, please do not disturb me and I'll return to you soon.", Alcina said sternly as her fingers drummed the top of her arms impatiently. "Yes, Lady Dimitrescu. ", the blonde vampire responded with pure disappointment in her tone.

"Now, where were we? Oh, yes. I've decided you will become my little feeding pet. My daughters do not know how to handle food without killing it. So you are now only mine. Clear?", she lowered herself and grabbed Y/N by the face. Turning her face side to side to examine the condition she was in. Y/N nodded to the best of her abilities, and quickly, Alcina released her. "Good. I'm glad you are willing. I want you to undress now." Embarassment flooded Y/N's mind, her cheeks buzzing with warmth. Why would she even demand that? " I intend on drinking the blood thats already spilling out of you. But I won't drink it while its been dragged around by a rusty sickle and pressed against the dirty floor.", her refined side was definitely exposed. She was different from her daughters, she wanted her meals much more virtuous. " Oh, now, now. I will even join you. They say when two are bathing they are equals.", she added as she disrobed herself. Gently she slide the robe off her shoulders and down her large breasts, as the robe began to flutter down to the marble. Her naked body exposed, and remarkable. Her large breasts sitting perky, her puffy areolas a light grey, and her waist down was incredibly curvy. Absolutely, a full figured silhouette. She dipped her feet in and followed by submerging her body into the bathwater. She let out a sound of relaxation as she smirked and beckoned Y/N. "Come, now."

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To be continued...

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lilysdaydreams · 3 years

Text

Chocolates

→ Pairing: Corpse Husband X plussize!Reader

→ Request: hello i love you and your writing (firstly) i was wondering if you could write a corpse husband xfem reader who is plus size? i havent seen any of those lol but maybe she gets hate over it and wants to start eating better and working out with him?? you don’t have to if you don’t want to tho!!

→ Warnings: chubby reader, insecure!reader, Body Image issues !!! Swearing, Descriptions of Readers feeling really sad about their body + online hate comments on readers body.

→ A/N: Idk what happened with this. This past week has been hard and I've been really tired but I forced myself to write something. I dont really think its goof but I hope the person who requested it likes it :(((

~~~

You fell into bed, wrapping the blanket around you and rolling over onto your side. Work had been hard today, your manager getting mad at the smallest of things. You could hear Corpse in his streaming room, talking to the viewers. You and Corpse had been together for 2 years now, and both of you had finally decided you were ready to reveal your relationship to his fans. First, you'd simply joined him on stream, talking at some points. Then a few weeks later, he'd posted a photo of him holding your hand and tagged you in it.

Your followers had gone from your 450 friends to 53 000 strangers. And that was only on the first day. You hadn't been on Instagram for a whole week, too overwhelmed about all the attention. It was a Friday today though, so you decided you might as well.

You opened up Instagram and clicked on your profile, eyes widening as you saw the 500k written above followers.

"Five hundred thousand?" You whispered to yourself, not even being able to comprehend the number. Like sure, if you compared it to Corpses 2 million, it seemed small, but it's not as if you did anything! What reason would they have to follow you? You only had two photos posted as well, an outfit photo from your sister's weddings, and one of you drinking a bubble tea.

Quickly clicking on the bubble tea picture, you opened up the comments smiling when the first comment that caught your eye was "Woah shes so pretty." You scroll slowly, your smile growing bigger at all the love that Corpses fans gave you.

"SHES GORGEOUS"

"QUEEN WHAT THE HELL STEP ON ME"

The amount of "CHOKE ME" comments were hilarious.

You chuckled at a few and scrolled again, reading another one.

"Why did he have to pick a fat girl?"

For a second, your heart completely stopped.

"What the fuck," you muttered.

You quickly clicked on the replies, wanting to see what others had to say. There were people defending you and arguing with the user, and there were others who agreed with them.

“Yes omg do you se ever stomach? Ugh how can Corpse stand staring at that the whole day?”

“Bruh her legs 😂😂”

You sucked in a breath.

You’d never been thin, always a bit chubby and with a bit of stomach fat. You’d been very insecure in high school, always wearing baggy clothes to hide your body, but who hadn’t felt that way in high school. After it though, you’d been okay. You felt happy and Corpse always let you know that he loved your body just the way you were. You were pretty confident normally. Today though... today it felt like all of that confidence has crumbled. You kept scrolling focusing on all the comments that talked about your weight.

Throwing the phone on the bed, you got up and moved to the mirror you have in your room. Grabbing the cloth draped over it, you pulled it off, looking at yourself in the mirror. You can see every flaw the comments talked about. You can see your double chin, your huge stomach, your big thighs. You held your arms up, wincing when you see the fat on them. Your probably looked so bad when you waved bye to someone. Tears now gathering in your eyes, you moved the cloth back over the mirror and then went back to bed, using the pillow to muffle your sobs.

You knew you were being a bit stupid. Random people on the internet and their opinions shouldn’t matter to you. But for some reason, the words had really gotten to you, and all you wanted to do was cry.

A few minutes later, you heard the door open, and knowing it was Corpse, you pushed your head into the pillow even more, not wanting him to look at you like this.

“Babe,” he whispered, coming over and patting you on your back.

“Baby,” he repeated when you refused to say anything and that he could hear was your sniffling. “You okay?”

You sobbed in response and he let out a “Oh” and then pulled you away from the pillow.

You looked down, refusing to look at him because you would look like an absolute mess.

“God I look so bad right now, he’s gonna see me and realise how big of a fat mess I am and leave me,” you thought.

“Hey baby, what’s wrong?” He asked again grabbing you in a hug.

“Was it work?” He asked when you didn’t answer. “or did your mom call again?"

When you stayed silent, he let out a sigh and let you go, getting up from the bed.

You immediately looked up, and asked “Where are you going?" because for a second you felt like it was true. Maybe Corpse was leaving you because of how disgusting you were.

He looked down at you, startled by your sudden question. "Just to get some chocolate and a blanket."

"No." you said voice shaking a bit from the crying, "I don't want chocolate."

"What babe, what the fuck?" He said softly, dropping back down next to you. "Baby what's going on, just tell me, I can't do anything if you can't tell me."

"You-You know your fans? They're amazing, right?" you finally said, hesitating a little.

"It's just, I checked some comments on one of Instagram posts and there's so many where they're just talking about how fat I am, or how big my stomach is, or how ugly I look," you said, your voice lowering to a whisper at the end.

A beat of silence and then;

"Oh baby noooo," Corpse whispers, grabbing you and pulling you into a hug.

You cant stop the tears from leaking out of your eyes and you bury your head into his shoulder. His hoodie smells like the bodywash he uses, making you calmer in a second.

"Sweetheart, you are absolutely beautiful," he begins, whispering into your ear. "Did you know that when I first saw you, I couldn't even speak? Like I legitimately felt like my mouth had been glued together, I couldn't form any words."

Heat rose to your cheeks as he continued on.

"You were like an angel, literally glowing, and guess what, I still feel like that whenever I see you now. When you come back home and you're wearing that huge hoodie and you just have the hood pulled up because its cold and the little pout on your face, guess what you look fucking gorgeous to me like that. And when you're in our bed, wearing shorts and a crop top with your hair in a bun waiting for me to make popcorn so we can watch a movie, god you look like an angel then okay?"

"Oh ah, when you're on your period, and seriously bloated and eating all the food, you fucking look beautiful to me then as well. Your tummy- Your tummy makes me so happy like look at this soft little baby. And guess what? I fucking LIVE for your thighs and you know that baby, like I will die for them okay? Your ass- well, we both know what I feel about that so I won't say anything." He ended with a chuckle.

You moved back a little, and he grabbed your face and rested his forehead on yours.

Taking a deep breath, he started whispering, eyes locked onto yours.

"Every single part of you is perfect. And I love it. I find you so sexy that I literally cannot breathe sometimes because of your presence. You're amazing and I fucking love you. What those people say on the internet, why the fuck does it matter huh? They obviously can't recognize the absolute fox in front of their faces."

Slowly he wiped the tears from your face, and returned the watery smile that you gave him.

"Chocolates?" he asked, still whispering.

You nodded your head, giggling as he ran to get them.

fin.

#corpse #corpse husband #corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #fluff #angst #read warnings #plus size #plsusize!reader

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arlingtonpark · 3 years

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SNK 139 Review Part I: On Eren Jeager and Genocide

Why?

Why is this happening?

Folks, I’m going to be honest here: there are no words for this. The main thrust of this chapter is completely inexplicable. It’s stupid. It’s ill conceived. FML.

Just…just the term itself is laughable.

Eren redemption arc.

Sksksksksksksksksksksk

After everything he’s done, everyone he’s killed, you’re going to try redeeming Eren in the final chapter?

Eren didn’t need to be redeemed. He was a bullheaded kid who didn’t let anyone stop him from doing what he thought needed to be done. He sees the titans outside the walls as enemies to be exterminated. When he learns that his real enemies are other humans, who have a right to freedom as much as he does, he can’t accept it and decides to just exterminate them too. That mindset led him down a tragic path of genocide.

That’s not a bad character arc!

In fact, I’d say it’s very compelling. Nonconformity and obstinance are often presented as virtues; flipping that paradigm on its head and showing the vices of those virtues was legitimately smart and provocative.

Making people rethink what traits are virtues and vices is a great moral to the story, and it paired well with the other moral of cooperation and loving your fellow people.

Then this chapter came out, and they threw all that away.

Eren’s arc once made me think of Aristotle, who argued that true virtue lied between extremes: neither too submissive nor too rebellious.

Now Eren’s arc makes me think of pseudointellectual 4chan philosophy, and dumb teenagers: “He’s not a bad guy, he’s just human!!!”

Eren’s motivations are a mess now. He had no free will, but he also had a plan, but deep down he wanted to do the rumbling no matter what, but actually he really wanted to be with Mikasa.

Oh, and B T dubs, he killed his mom too.

You can tell Isayama is desperate to make Eren as sympathetic as possible to justify making him the anti-hero because he’s throwing everything he can pull out of his ass at Eren.

Really, though, all he ended up doing was smearing shit on the character.

Eren’s plan was to kill a significant part of the human population so the world wouldn’t be as overwhelming a threat as before. Simultaneously, he planned (“planned”) for the alliance to become vaunted heroes to the world when they killed him, thus paving the way to peace.

This…makes no sense?

There is no reason Eren should have believed this would work. During the battle of Trost, Pixis asked him if humanity could unite if threatened by a common enemy. Eren said no.

Eren is a pessimist about people. He sees how much the walldians fought with each other and concluded that people would always be at odds.

And the Tybur family helped defeat the Eldian Empire, but only the Tyburs were seen as heroes by the Marleyans. That good will was not imputed from the Tyburs to the other Eldians on the continent. There’s no reason to think that would happen here when it didn’t back then.

I’m assuming, anyway, that the alliance becoming heroes is supposed to lead to a world where Paradis is safe since that’s supposed to be Eren’s goal.

I’m willing to grant that maybe this part of Eren’s plan was more of a hope on his part. Peace would come only after his death, so he can’t truly “plan” for anything afterwards.

I think it’s safe to say that killing the world’s population was the main part of his plan, since that’s the part he had the most control over.

To the extent he had any control over his actions, which brings me to the next point.

So, turns out Eren had no free will.

Can you not feel Isayama’s desperation?

After all the awful things Eren’s done, Isayama’s brilliant idea to make him sympathetic is to strip him of all agency.

This is done by two routes throughout the chapter.

The first is by building him up as a victim. Eren’s mind is fucked; he can’t really control himself. Any decent person would feel pity for him, which is reinforced by the sorrow Armin visibly feels for him.

Then, like a shotgun blast to the face, we are told that Eren killed his mother in a moment that is clearly supposed to endear us to him.

This is such a transparent appeal for our sympathy. Isayama’s desperation leaps off the page and mugs us of it.

The only thing that this revelation adds to the story is that it gives Armin a reason to take up Eren’s hand, and show him support. You can see Armin’s heart breaking for Eren in that moment.

That’s mostly why this is here: to give the mass murderer a hard luck story so our hearts melt for him.

The second route is that depriving Eren of agency absolves him of blame for what he did.

Eren beat Armin bloody, but you can’t really blame him for it. He was drugged out on the Founding Titan and didn’t want to do it. He was acting on impulse, just going with the flow, so he deserves, at the very least, some leniency.

Eren both having a plan and not having much in the way of free will is contradictory. Everyone still talks about Eren as if he’s someone who is doing stuff even though we’re told he’s not really capable of rational decision making.

I’m going to be nice and assume Isayama’s intent is that when you parse this all out, you end up in a place where Eren is not truly responsible for what he did, and in any event this all ended with the titan curse broken and the world at peace, sooooo break out the champagne everyone, we achieved world peace!

…

Yeah, bub, I’m not partying right now.

Isayama’s ploy to absolve Eren of blame didn’t work. Eren is still responsible for the people he killed and his Founding Titan lobotomy counts for shit. Turns out it helps to know how free will works when you’re writing about free will.

Free will is the quality of being in control of your actions, at least to the extent necessary to be held responsible for them.

Eren was just going with the flow (wonder what Annie thought of that…), acting on impulse, and getting dragged along by fate, but that’s not actually important.

It’s been known for centuries that current events are caused by previous events and that the current events will bring about future events in a never ending chain of cause and effect. One domino causes another to fall causes another to fall and on and on. This is called determinism.

And that’s ok because we free will exists. It exists even if we can’t do anything other than what we are going to do. It exists in spite of, or even arises out of, determinism.

This premise, that free will and determinism are not mutually exclusive, is the foundation for a family of theories about free will called compatibilism.

Compatibilist free will is the most popular theory of free will. There are a couple of variations on the basic idea, but the gist is that free will exists when your actions can be linked to an aspect of yourself that you identify with.

For example, if you had no choice but to do something, but you’re ok with that because it’s what you wanted anyway, then you have free will.

Even if I didn’t know you’d stop me in the end, I think I still would have flattened this world.

-Eren Jeager

That’s all I needed to hear.

EREN, FUCK YOU!!!!

Eren had free will, at least as much as necessary to blame him for his genocide.

Isayama threw this curveball at us and all it did was ruin Eren as a character while leaving him just as repugnant as before. Incredible. It’s the worst of both worlds.

Before this chapter Eren was a guy who believed in something and followed that belief no matter who got in his way. That was great! It was tragic and sad, but great storytelling.

Where does this chapter leave us?

What we learn in this chapter is that Eren didn’t really believe in anything. He may have free will enough to be a shithead for what he did, but that doesn’t mean he has free will enough to be an interesting character.

Eren coming to grips with him not being free, in an absolute sense, would have been so much more interesting than what we got. Eren started the series comparing humanity to cattle in a pen. He ends the series being literally sheparded by fate to his death like cattle to a slaughterhouse.

And yet we get no exploration of that at all.

It’s lame. Everything about this is lame. From a storytelling perspective, Eren was just along for the ride. Who would want to reread this series now? A story about a boy who’s quest for freedom neither ends tragically nor happily, but is just forgotten about by the end. What’s the point?

There is none.

Eren’s journey ends up lost in the author’s own ignorance of the very thing this is supposed to be about.

Unfortunately, SNK isn’t interested in 80% of the world being dead. If it were, Eren wouldn’t have gotten such a warm send off.

I was honestly shocked when I read this chapter.

I thought it had been made clear. SNK had come firmly down against genocide. I never imagined Isayama would try a 180 in the final chapter.

And, well, he did, and here we are.

SNK is pro-genocide.

To wit:

Once Eren’s abominable plan is explained to everyone, he is lavished with love and comfort by his friends.

Armin did punch Eren for being callous about Mikasa, but overall all Armin had nothing but sympathy and understanding for Eren. They held hands and hugged and gave Eren a tender farewell.

All they talk about is how great a sacrifice Eren is making.

Not the sacrifice of 80% of all people, but the sacrifice that Eren personally is making of himself.

I don’t know what deranged mindset Isayama has that made him think this was sensible, but no, Eren is not sacrificing anything. He was always going to die. We’ve known this for several dozen chapters. It’s not a sacrifice to befall the fate you were always going to suffer.

He lost nothing. If anything, he gained from this ending.

Eren died knowing he was loved and appreciated by his friends. What more could a dying man ask for?

Eren is rewarded by the story for killing 80% of humanity.

His ultimate fate was no worse than was expected even before he committed the genocide, and he went out in the knowledge that his friends loved him for it.

It doesn’t even make logical sense that his friends would be so receptive to what he did.

There is no difference between Eren’s plan and what we thought Eren’s plan was before this chapter came out.

Armin thought Eren’s plan was to murder humanity to ensure his safety, and Armin was appalled. Armin was willing to sacrifice his life to ensure Eren failed. He was truly acting for the greater good of humanity.

In this chapter, Armin learns that Eren’s plan is actually to murder most of humanity to ensure his safety, and Armin loves him.

Again, hand holding, hugging, “thank you.” No mention of the unfathomable harm caused. The 80% killed are not even a footnote in this chapter.

Even after the fact, Eren’s friends showed no qualms with Eren essentially winning and procuring their safety through genocide.

When previously the mere thought of that was what motivated them to lay down their lives to stop him.

I don’t think Isayama believes this genocide is supposed to bear on how we think of Eren. I say, having just read the chapter that’s all about Eren, in which his genocide doesn’t bear on how his friends think of him. At all.

Was that too great a leap in logic? I apologize if my rationality offends you.

Eren may have died, but he won in the end.

His friends are safe and the world looks set to conclude a peace treaty with Paradis.

I don’t buy for a second that the world is a threat to Paradis anymore, and I don’t buy for a second that there won’t be a peace shortly after the end of the story.

It’s very telling, to me, that it’s the world that’s come to grovel at Paradis’ feet, begging for peace, when previously it was the other way around.

The contours of this “peace,” if you can call it that, were made pretty clear in the epilogue. The world is in ruins while Paradis is stronger than ever, so the world sues for peace for fear of Paradis attacking further.

This is the moral of the story. Frankly, it’s been staring at us in the face the whole time.

How do you end the cycle of violence?

The answer is to win. To be stronger. More determined.

The only peace is enforced peace through domination.

Peace through the barrel of a gun.

To be continued in part II (and possibly part III)

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk 139 #snk chapter 139 #eren jeager

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makowo · 3 years

Text

Forever Deep Below Creation

This is still a work in progress, but due to my lack of posted writing in the past 3 months, I thought I'd give a sneak peek at the beginning of the fic.

Warnings: None

Characters: Naegi Makoto, Kirigiri Kyoko

Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto

Words: 3k

It’s another warm night in the woods. Cicadas cast their calls to the air, and while some creatures tuck into their nests and dens, others rise to greet the darkened sky. Wing and hooves and fingers and claws grazing the sky, Brushing against the stars and cupping the face of the moon.

And here Makoto is, prepping dinner in the cottage he calls a home. His home. Their home.

He pulls out a knife from the block by the counter just as he hears the front door’s lock click. He can almost feel the burst of warm night air flooding their living room, though it is little to the warmth of the stove as it works to bring water to a boil.

He blinks, dropping his focus to turn towards his wife with a grin. “Welcome home honey!”

“Honey?” Kyoko echos, placing her bag on the coffee table. She leaves her holstered gun beside it, walking into the kitchen to check on him. “It’s unusual for you to use pet names.”

“Only if I wanna tease you.” He chuckles, and she does it right back. “Unless you prefer stuff like “babe” or “sweetheart”?”

Arms wrap around his waist, Kyoko resting her chin on his shoulder. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

She avoids the question, and he saves that tidbit of info for later. Avoidance is not a no, after all. “Yakisoba.” He nudges the noodles around with a spoon, half-focused on it as he leans back against his wife. “Thought it might be good to have something quick tonight, y’know?”

Kyoko merely hums, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “Shouldn’t you turn up the AC? You’re cold.”

“Means I can cuddle up to you to stay warm tonight though.”

“As if I’ll let you do that.” She scoffs. He can feel her smile against his skin.

“Ohh?” He goes through the motions of prepping their dinner, Kyoko stumbling along with his hasty steps with a steadfast grip. “And how are you gonna stop it?” Even if they’re on opposite ends of the bed, they always wake up with one clinging to the other. Hard not to cuddle.

She takes a minute to ruminate on it, before managing an answer. “Heater. Right between us.”

Makoto laughs. “Won’t that burn?”

“If it keeps your ice hands from touching me at 2 in the morning, then ‘m fine.”

His whine of objection couldn’t be more fake. “That’s mean.” He quickly nabs the pair of bowls set aside early on, tracing the grooves of their rims with his thumbs as he sets them out side by side. “You’re mean.”

Finally, he’s released from his lavender-scented prison as Kyoko reaches for one of the bowls, unsubtly nudging him in an attempt to get him out of the way. He stays still however, nudging her right back. “It’s still hot, Kiri-san! Gotta let it sit for a bit.” He warns with a frown.

“It can sit for a bit in my bowl.” She replies deadpan, still urging him away. And he relents, because it isn’t that big of a deal anyway but he doesn’t want to watch Kyoko burn her mouth while trying to eat again. Or just forget about it while she works.

“Then eat with me in the living room.” Makoto grabs his own bowl, getting what yakisoba she leaves behind in the pan. “And after it, we go straight to bed.” He’s not risking his work going to waste, after all.

Even with these tough terms he’s set up, Kyoko lazily nods, most likely due to still suffering from sleep deprivation. Maybe she’ll decline when she’s woken up a bit, maybe she won’t. Makoto decides to settle down on the couch and put on a movie that might distract her from it anyway.

It’s more background noise than anything, though; something about an escape room? Pretty sure he put on a sequel movie too, which turns their interest only to one another. Not that he minds.

“Would you like to go on a trip sometime in the next month?”

“Mmh, yeah?” He replies through a mouthful of food, quickly swallowing it before continuing. “What case has you going out of the country this time?” It’s not odd for Kyoko to ask if he wants to travel with her if she knows it’ll take too long for Makoto to bear.

She shakes her head, taking a bite of her food before answering. “I mean as a vacation, actually?” She replies with a tone implying that she’s questioning her own words already.

“Vacation?” He can’t help but echo, because… well, Kyoko never takes vacations! He can imagine she has a lot of days saved up because of that, but it never seems like she plans to put them to use other than for emergencies. Guess he read her wrong on that part, even if this is the first time she’s planning a legitimate vacation herself in the four years she’s been working as a detective again.

“Is it a bad time?”

“No, no!” Makoto shakes his head, not daring to let this slip by. “I’d love a vacation! It’d be nice to get out of the house.” He doesn’t really have much going on anyway, since the whole school idea didn’t really pan out. He’s just a stay at home husband now, and since Kyoko still makes enough money to support them both, he’s not actively seeking a job right now. Thus, he’s perfectly free.

Kyoko smiles. “Good. I’ve made sure to go ahead and clear up a week for ourselves, but I need to know what you might want to do.” She glances at him curiously, before quickly adding on. “Preferably not something that’s outside of Japan, I’d have trouble paying for that right now.”

Well that’s a no brainer for him, but it does narrow down his options significantly, which he happens to be thankful for. “Do you have anything in mind?” For a fleeting moment, Makoto recalls his dinner, taking a bite of it before he looks away from it and thus forgets it even exists. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t really have anything in mind…” Never been one to aspire for once-in-a-lifetime thrills, like skydiving or something. He’d be happy just lounging at home the whole week, despite his earlier comment.

“I thought we could go to a nearby city then, and go sight-seeing.” Kyoko spares a glance towards the movie playing, before interest in it is once again immediately lost “Maybe in Seoul? There’s a large cave system there as well, and they’re open to caving this time of year.”

“Hm?” Makoto tries to recall what exactly that is, but he’s drawing blanks. “What’s that?”

“Well, Seoul is-”

“I know what Seoul is.” Makoto deadpans, though completely understands why she thought that was what he was talking about. He’s not the most educated person, what with the whole memory loss thing. “”I mean caving! I’ve never, uh, heard of that.”

“Ah.” Kyoko nods, setting down her bowl on the coffee table. “Apologies. It is rather self-explanatory however; we just go and explore a cave system with a small group.” She shrugs, stifling a yawn. “I thought it might be fun to do something like that together. It’s rare for a person to do, wouldn’t be too dangerous, and we’d be together the whole time.”

That does sound pretty cool, he’ll admit. He’s never really gone into a cave before, if he excludes the ones that they’d have to hide in during… ah, well, it’d just be nice. Doing something kind of thrilling. He imagines it’s thrilling, at least.

“I think it’d be fun!” He finally chirps, leaning over to rest his head on Kyoko’s shoulder. “It’s been a while since we’ve done something together, I’m sure it’d be a good time for us both.” And he’s pretty sure they don’t have any trauma tied to caves, which is a definite plus! Unless they count claustrophobia? Neither of them have shown signs of that though, so they’ll hopefully be fine. Hopefully.

As if she were able to sense his worry (which he doesn’t doubt that she can), Kyoko places a hand on his leg, stopping its worried bouncing. He hadn’t even noticed it doing that. “Are you sure?” She asks lightly, brow furrowed with worry. “”It can be dangerous, you know. There’s only so much a tour guide can do to make naturally made caves safe to enter.”

Makoto frowns, now actually worried. “Then why would you recommend it?” He asks, very quietly.

Kyoko takes a while to respond. In fact, she doesn’t respond until she’s actually finished her dinner, as well as his. It was getting cold so he may as well let her have it. “Do some looking, and if you have a better idea, tell me.” And then she heads to bed, because that’s just. A perfectly fine way of ending a conversation.

Makoto trudges on after her after about an hour of thinking (mostly lack thereof, with the television being such a terribly convenient and easy distraction) on the couch. Unlike most nights though, where the room is pitch black, her back turned from the door so as to not catch the stray rays of lights that he’s forgotten to turn off, it’s… actually still pitch black in there. But after a moment of letting his eyes adjust, he catches Kyoko’s alarmingly bright gaze cutting through the gloom.

“Can’t sleep?” He mutters as he stumbles through the dark, going off of his recollection of the room’s layout, reduced to something of barely any use through the haze of sleepiness tugging at his being.

“I can.” She replies slowly, watching him not unlike how a cat would watch their owner. Not that she or their relationship in general compares to that; she just has that… “look”. Like she knows everything. “Was just waiting for you to come to bed.”

If he’s being honest, it’s kind of exciting. It’s the look she gives when her interest is upon him entirely, something that earns a flattered blush every time. “Thank you then.” He chirps, before crawling into bed like a lizard wriggling beneath the warm sands of a desert, except much less gracefully.

He almost expects nothing to happen, oddly enough. He should have known Kyoko was waiting for a reason.

A warmth presses up against his back, and a hum against his ear. “Don’t have to go in until noon tomorrow.” Kyoko huffs. He can just sense her smile when he shivers. “So… we could…” something presses between his legs, and teases just the right spot, “have some time to ourselves, maybe…?”

Makoto is a weak man, and especially weak for his wife. And thus, all he can do is scrounge up what remains of his energy, roll over, and let the franticness of their motions do the rest. ------------------------------------

It’s quite a hike to get to the cave they’ve been looking at. The route is safe, spacious, and short for the most part; it’s apparently a tour “good for beginners”, and while Makoto believes their caving adventures will begin and end with this one, it’s nice to know that this place doesn’t have any curveballs. Or spike-filled areas. Or tunnels one can only crawl through. Or maybe even fractures.

“Stop worrying.” Kyoko demands, his thoughts coming to a harsh stop. He manages not to be totally thrown off, following hastily after his wife as they trudge along a pebble-filled path.

He sighs when he catches up, glancing around. Just west there’s Tokyo, bustling with life, but it’s far enough only to serve as a backdrop to the hill-covered fields they’re in. They follow a path lined by thin ropes tied to sticks in the ground every other step, as despite the lack of actually dangerous areas nearby, there’s a lot of… well, area. The Tragedy changed a lot of the landscape, more so than most would believe.

Stopping his mind from wandering too far again, Makoto directs his attention ahead. They have a few other people with them, much more diverse in their body type than he assumes the average would be for much more difficult to traverse caves. They talk amongst themselves, all of them clearly going with someone they know for the trip. Ahead of them, the tour guides walk, though he can’t tell what they’re doing. He doubts it to be much at all, really.

“Are you excited?” He finally asks, careful not to speak loudly. He doesn’t want to draw much attention from their peers here, they’re lucky enough to have only garnered a few curious looks.

“Of course.” Kyoko replies, just as quiet. “I’m sorry it had to be delayed so much, cases just kept piling up.”

Makoto scoffs. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re able to help people.” Adjusting to keep a good hold on his backpack, he reaches over to grasp Kyoko’s hand. She’s changed her gloves today. Much rougher. “Even if it’s not another year until we get a chance like this again, I’m satisfied.”

He hopes for a smile, or the most likely quirk of the lips she gives when beyond the walls of their home. He earns neither.

“I’m not.” She tightens her grip, tugging him forwards. “Come on. We’re falling behind.”

Makoto nods, silent as he follows her up the steep incline, and silent still until they come to the entrance to the cave.

He can only think of an open maw when he sees the entrance. It sits neatly above the ground, embedded into the side of the hill’s peak, moss creeping over the exposed rock. Various plants and flowers bloom from cracks in the walls he can see, reaching out towards the sunlight beyond. But as he looks upon the entrance, the teasing glimpse it shows of its surely vast depths, he can’t help but think they’re trying to escape the dark rather than gain any sunlight.

The heat must be getting to him.

“Alright everyone!” One of the guides chirps, clapping their hands to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s do a quick check to make sure everyone has what they need!”

Makoto remembers all their supplies, and part of him knows that he has everything, but anxiety urges him to check once more. Plus, he needs to actually put some of it on now. That too.

He crouches down and pulls his backpack around, trying not to focus on the cave. Instead, he mentally lists off each item as he finds it; helmet, gloves, boots, first aid kit, and a flashlight. Not much really, and he’s more than happy about that fact.

Makoto sighs, putting on each item he needs and putting away the rest. He’s careful about the gloves in particular as he puts them on; the helmet may have a light that could break if he’s not cautious, but Kyoko picked these out for him specifically before this trip. She has very strong opinions about them, and apparently these are the best pair for this sort of task that she could find. And they must be, they’re very comfortable! A perfect fit even, despite the fact that she gave them to him on the way here without any warning. He can’t imagine what they must have cost.

After checking for his caving suit and quickly realizing that he already put it on before making this trek, Makoto shoves his old shoes and socks into the back, hopping back up just as everyone else seems to be handed something.

“Now, before we head in, I want you all to get a good look at this map.” The guide says as they hand a sheet of paper to each group. “Even if this is a short trip, and we know this place like the backs of our hands, there’s a few turns here and there!”

Kyoko takes the map they’re given, Makoto peering at it from over her shoulder, having to crane his neck to get a good look. It doesn’t seem like too much, thankfully; there’s a meander or two, but none on the main path, thank the gods. He’d prefer not to have to do any crawling during this!

“It’s a straight shot, huh?” He comments absentmindedly, resting his chin on his wife’s shoulder.

She merely huffs, reaching back to thread her fingers through his hair. Despite the unsatisfying feeling of the gloves she’s wearing right now, he eagerly leans into the touch. “Yes. I’ve seen pictures of the cave as well, and it appears to not be very dangerous, unless one was actually being reckless. Should take about twenty minutes, at most.”

Makoto grins, wrapping his arms around Kyoko’s waist. She makes another sound, something like a noncommittal grunt, but doesn’t nudge him away as he expects. It’s nice. “And after this we go eat at Stellar Cafe.”

“We ate there last week.” She quickly reminds him, paying only a partial bit of attention to what those in front of them are saying. Something about the first aid kits, nothing very important.

“Too bad.” He gives her a quick peck on the cheek. “I like their food, and the service is nice.”

He can hear her stifle a laugh as she pulls away. “You like their curry. There’s perfectly good curry elsewhere.” She reaches into her own backpack, pulling out a walkie talkie. “Now get your radio out.”

“Don’t you think this is kind of overboard?” He pulls it out anyway of course, making sure his is connected to hers. “They never recommended these for caving, at least not on the sites I looked at.” Seems that most of the time people are expected to stay together anyway, if there’s more than one person at all. He’s surprised Kyoko decided to do this.

“Can’t ever be too safe.” Is all she says, before looking to the cave. “It’s time to go.”

Makoto follows her gaze, and sees the rest of the group already clambering over rocks as they enter the hole. “Ah.” He pauses, choking on nothing for a moment so fleeting he can’t even react. “Yeah.”

If he showed any hesitation, Kyoko does not acknowledge it. Instead, she walks ahead, and with heavy steps he pretends are eager, Makoto follows her into the dark.

------------------------------------

and that's it! quite a bit, and definitely not the best writing in the world, but im very proud of it so far! if you can then please rb this and give your thoughts, i do this for free but there's a reason i post my fics at all, which is validation <3 basically what keeps me going and able to continue writing at all, actually.

#danganronpa #makoto naegi #naegi makoto #kyoko kirigiri #kirigiri kyoko #naegiri #writing #fics #this has taken. a While #ofc this isnt the final product but this cuts off right before the horror parts start. which im very excited for #this fic has been a long time coming and im SO excited to do it <3 aaaaa

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passionate-reply · 3 years

Video

youtube

This week on Great Albums: Soft Cell’s 1981 debut, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret! The first great gay synth-pop album, and the one that walked so that acts like Bronski Beat, Erasure, and the Pet Shop Boys could run. Yeah, “Tainted Love” is cool, but have you ever heard “Sex Dwarf”? Full transcript after the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today’s video tackles Soft Cell’s 1981 debut, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret. While “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret” is not necessarily a household name, this album did produce one track that I can just about guarantee that you’ve already heard, assuming you have any familiarity with Western popular music.

Music: “Tainted Love”

“Tainted Love” is one of those classics that’s almost too big for its own good, with an enormous shadow in popular culture. Few compositions from the 1980s, from the general arena of synth-pop, or, indeed, in the popular music canon, have quite as much of a legacy. As an introduction to the significance of Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret, it’s not an awful start, but it does have a bit of an “obvious single choice” feel--not only for that huge hook, but also for how tame, even quaint, it starts to feel compared to the other stuff here. “Tainted Love” is a gay song, sure, but it’s only expressing that idea in an abstract manner--it is a cover, after all. What the remainder of the album lacks in “DUN DUN,” it makes up for in frankness and remarkably candid handling of sexuality, which still manages to be a bit shocking, even as this album reaches its 40th birthday. Could anyone but Soft Cell’s Marc Almond really have sold us the raw, lurid raunchiness of “Sex Dwarf”?

Music: “Sex Dwarf”

Beyond the outrageously explicit nature of “Sex Dwarf,” its most noteworthy characteristic is just how playfully, cartoonishly devilish it is. I’ve always read it as a work in the grand tradition of the queer community reclaiming the trope of the camp gay villain, seen so often in popular media. In its purest form, this gay villain archetype is the ultimate expression of chaos and disorder--their rejection of social norms of gender and sexuality and their threat to the status quo go hand in hand. While it’s reprehensible to simply equate queerness with evil, there’s a long tradition of reclaiming that same imagery, turning the lavish power of such transgressor figures into a badge of strength, and that’s how I tend to interpret “Sex Dwarf.” That said, for as much as tracks like these seem to almost force a specifically gay reading of the album, it also seems interested in themes of sexuality and sin, more broadly. Take the track “Seedy Films,” for example, a more playful number full of slinky clarinet, teasing rattles, and breathy, almost gasping female backing vocals, seemingly suggestive of a more heterosexual vantage point.

Music: “Seedy Films”

I like to think of each track on Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret as coming to us from the perspective of a different anti-hero, each as unreliable and capricious as the last. Another key track that complicates issues of perspective and identity is the album’s tense opener, “Frustration.” “Frustration” delivers on its title musically, with a stubborn refusal to ever resolve its constant melodic tension at any point during its runtime, making it legitimately fatiguing and stressful to listen to. Its lyrics might be interpreted as a critique of the boredom lurking behind mainstream society’s “ideal” life of suburban safety, and a send-up of the alleged appeal of fitting in and being normal. But we could interpret it equally well, as a song that’s less about being “straight” in the sense of “square,” and more about being heterosexual--perhaps as the lament of a closeted gay man, tormented by an incommunicable internal struggle, despite all the material comforts in the world.

Music: “Frustration”

Either way, “Frustration” can be compared to “Secret Life” on the flip side, which focuses on the idea of a divide between one’s external facade of a respectable and ordinary existence, and the darkness of one’s internal, deviant, carnal desires.

Music: “Secret Life”

Whether their narrators are parsed as gay or straight, their songs are certainly tense tales of repression and release. And they’re also mediated by the idea of being trapped in a tame, and particularly middle-aged existence. The clearest expression of the theme of getting older, and possibly more and more constrained by the need to put on airs of respectability, is, naturally, “Youth”:

Music: “Youth”

The stale, conservative lifestyles of the middle-aged certainly don’t seem like the most natural subject matter for a debut album by a pair of twenty-somethings, but I like to interpret this fixation as a bit of a memento mori. The urgency of enjoying life’s pleasures, now, is checked by the fear of a future in which that window of opportunity is closing. As I said earlier, all of these tracks are narrated by some character or construct, and in that sense, the real identities of Marc Almond and David Ball matter fairly little. In the world of Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret, nearly everything feels constructed or artificial--it’s all just an act, as much as “Secret Life”’s narrator puts on a respectable front. The superbly campy “Entertain Me,” which wouldn’t feel out of place in some cult musical, engages most clearly with the idea of performance, bringing in a giggling call-and-response choir and a chaotic clamour of percussion in its desperate attempt to, well, entertain us. Critically positioned at the top of the second side, it’s the perfect place for the album to second-guess itself as a work of art.

Music: “Entertain Me”

That track is certainly more “Rocky Horror Picture Show” than “Architecture & Morality,” isn’t it? While the synth-pop acts penetrating the mainstream before Soft Cell, like Gary Numan and OMD, had a bit of punk’s rough, low-budget, DIY ethos to them, Soft Cell were the first ones really crafting performative, self-aware post-disco synth-pop, that owed more to the swooning divahood of Donna Summer in “I Feel Love” than it did to the starched shirts and robo-rhythms of Kraftwerk. Much like disco, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret is truly a production--dense, luxurious, tweaked to perfection in a studio, and featuring several traditional instruments that are uncommon in rock, such as “Frustration”’s saxophone and “Seedy Films”’s clarinet.

The most noticeable thing about the cover of the album is almost certainly its lurid blue and fuchsia lighting, gleaming harshly against Almond and Ball’s leather jackets. It immediately takes us to the sweaty, nocturnal, and of course, homoerotic world this music dwells in. The duo stare us down, with fairly cross or standoffish posturing, suitable for an album as in-your-face as this one. There’s a bit of a narrative hook here, with Almond either producing this mysterious, almost certainly illicit package, or perhaps tucking it away. Almond’s sunglasses are a small detail, but one that I think holds a lot of contextual significance. There’s a long history of erotic art aimed at the gay male audience utilizing devices like hat-brims and shades to create a “disrupted gaze”--a sort of lightly objectifying, or compartmentalizing, manner of sexualizing its subjects. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention Ball’s snakeskin necktie, which is another classically sexy touch. Note also the neon light motif used for the text, which contributes to that nightlife feel as strongly as anything else. With a name like “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret,” it would’ve been truly sinful to write that out in anything besides this warping neon, and it’s the perfect title to accompany an album that’s as insistent and gleefully tawdry as they come.

Earlier, I had contrasted Soft Cell with other major players in synth-pop who came before them, and I think that context is vital to understanding why this album is so indispensably important. Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret is, quite simply, the first great gay synthesiser album. Growing up in America, the rock and roll heartland, it’s hard to escape the understanding that electronic music is inherently gay-coded. But that’s an impression you won’t get from that first generation of artists, who presented as unpretentiously butch, and were more interested in singing about factories, spaceships, and telephone lines than about sex or romance with anybody. The deep relationship between queer culture and the music synthesiser simply wouldn’t have blossomed the way it did without Soft Cell, and the unforgettable worldwide success they achieved with “Tainted Love.” Without that foot in the door, the rise of groups like Bronski Beat, Erasure, and the Pet Shop Boys later in the 80s would’ve been unthinkable. That alone makes Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret a piece of essential listening for anyone seeking to understand the history of electronic music.

While Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret remains Soft Cell’s great masterpiece, and they never reached the same heights of commercial success again, they went on to release two additional studio LPs before disbanding in the mid-1980s. Marc Almond went on to have a fairly successful career as a solo artist, bagging a few additional hit singles in the UK, and David Ball became half of the house duo The Grid. The pair did re-unite in 2002, to produce a rather serviceable LP called Cruelty Without Beauty, which explores many of the same themes of their earlier work, albeit through a lens of Information Age dread.

Music: “Caligula Syndrome”

In 2019, we were told to expect the true final report of Soft Cell, in the form of a grand farewell concert entitled “Say Hello, Wave Good-Bye”--a title pulled from one of the singles off Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret. But, for all of the hype, it looks like that really won’t be the end for them after all, as Soft Cell have announced yet another reunion in 2021, and another new studio album in the works. So we’ll have to see what else these two have in store!

Overall, my favourite track on Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret is the single “Bedsitter.” It’s all about questioning whether the life of hedonistic excess is really worth it in the end. It’s about those moments one spends between benders, binges, and flings, gripped by emptiness and self-doubt. Therefore, the presence of “Bedsitter” adds some nuance, and undercuts a lot of the easy, simple conclusions we’re tempted to make, from a surface-level reading of the album as a free-love bonanza. With languid and melancholy verses clashing with a disconcertingly anthemic refrain, it’s filled with tension from within, and despite its lack of external conflict, it comes across as one of the more unsettling tracks we have to choose from. That’s all for today. Thanks for listening!

Music: “Bedsitter”

#music #great albums #album review #album reviews #synth-pop #synth pop #synthpop #soft cell #marc almond

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narcisocacoplex · 3 years

Text

The Pizza Cutter Feedback Loop

I used to attend a camp for young writers, which says a lot, perhaps, about how much fun you're allowed to make of me. I met the first peer who would eagerly talk about their strengths as a writer there. They claimed at one point that their biography would be titled Crying, Dying, Dead, on account of those being the three kinds of scenes they did best. I believed it.

They were the first of us to get published. It was a three-book series, two books deep when I decided to invite them to my grad cohort's lit festival. I delivered a glowing introductory speech about how we'd studied together, and how much I'd looked up to their example in the intervening years.

And then they read, and I realized that nothing about their craft fundamentally changed since we were teenagers. They were still using the setting their group had come up with at camp. But I bet the tragic deaths were still a cut above the rest of the work.

Another story: in that same grad program, there was a student who loved to write nauseating scenes. VR sex dreams glitched to hell. Improvised corpse disposal. More cannibals, catholics, and dubious consent than you can shake a stick at. The scenes themselves were excellently vile; they did precisely what they were meant to.

I never once grasped where the stories they were part of were supposed to be going. The plots, whatever there was of them, existed to string together grotesque vignettes like rosary beads.

There's this thing that happens to journeyman writers sometimes. It's often someone used to being a big fish—but not the biggest, necessarily—in a small pond, with a relatively deft hand for description and a couple of people (fans, friends, instructors) who'll happily read everything they write. It goes like this:

Our writer friend has a new story. They're venturing somewhere darker than usual. People will suffer. Horrors will ensue. Because they are, as established, pretty solid compared to their peers when it comes to banging out an evocative sentence with a strong sensory charge and stringing them together in a way that sustains the mood, whatever that suffering is, whatever chilling thing happens, it leaves an impression. In workshop, everyone rallies around how that shot of pathos or dread was a high point, if not the high point, of the piece.

Whether the mood at the keyboard is peaking or troughing when the scene comes together, the moment of confirmation that your story did something to someone—the intended thing, even!—beats the hell out of cocaine. It's the sort of thing that drags you back to your MFA workshop all year for reasons beyond the sunk cost fallacy.

For this writer, this first shot of wow, this made me cry or I was legitimately creeped out or I had to stop midway or I'd have thrown up is the biggest shot in the arm they've had since the moment that convinced them the written word was their Calling. It gives them an idea:

the purpose of storytelling is to shake up a person's feelings.

And from this they derive a certain nascent aesthetic and politics. If they want to be a better writer, they have to shake people up more. More times, in bigger ways, from more angles, crossing more lines. If for no other reason than that you've got to keep wringing that hit out of your audience and you expect them to expect you to top yourself all the time.

This has three effects.

1) the obvious one: the writer falls deeper and deeper into a dependence on Edge. Misery porn, torture porn, hey-look-at-this-fucked-up-guy as genre—to keep the hits coming, the writer obliges themselves to mine darker and darker veins. It's possible to work this path from a warm and fluffy angle but frankly it's way, way harder. Wholesomeness is hard to do and even harder to sell in a workshop environment.

2) the writer eventually convinces themselves that since evoking a dramatic reaction from a reader is an a priori good, questions or criticism regarding the means they use to get there are beside the point. At best, the critic in question doesn't Get It, and at worst they're acting in bad faith or posturing as a Censorious, Pearl-Clutching Moral Authority—regardless of how legitimate a grievance may have arisen from the boundaries the writer has chosen to cross or the clumsiness with which they've handled sensitive and hazardous material.

In late stages, this metastasizes into an attitude where their work is of incredible value and significance when no-one's crying foul and totally ineffectual when it becomes the object of criticism for its place in the social scheme of things.

3) the sneaky one. Because our hapless writer has convinced themselves they have figured out the Most Important Thing about writing, they become markedly more likely to tune out criticism of anything else so long as the most recent piece still wrings that gut-level reaction out of the audience. Things like structure, plot, and characterization become inconsequential compared to Getting The Reaction, stunting the development of the writer's other creative skills.

The result of this process is pizza cutter writing—all edge, no point, consumed by suffering for suffering's own sake. If you read the synopsis of A Little Life or ROLL OVER AND DIE: I Will Fight For An Ordinary Life With My Love And Cursed Sword! and go "why the fuck would anyone write this?" wonder no more.

And if you should wonder why this approach has such a universal foothold—litfic or light novels, the pressures are the same wherever you look—remember that people who sell books are concerned first and foremost with literature's power as a device to sell more books, and delivering a swift, novel, and powerful shot of feeling in the midst of a suffocatingly anodyne reality is a good way to maintain a base of customers.

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wedge-hitch · 5 years

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ADHD Meditation

As some of you may know, the path I am on has, of late, been tending towards the druidic, and druidic paths, being shamanistic, involve, for lack of a better term, a heck of a lot of meditation. As some of you may also know, I also happen to have combined Inattentive-Hyperactive type adult ADHD, which makes meditation really hard. So I thought I’d write a little primer of meditation techniques that I use. Whether you have ADHD or just can’t get the hang of meditating, I hope these techniques are useful to you! Meditation: The ADHD Nightmare

The point of meditating is to -- well, to be meditating. When you do it right you reach a “meditative state” (duh), and my understanding is that something wack happens to your brainwaves when this occurs. I don’t know, I’m a writer, not a neuroscientist. Either way, a “meditative state” is a real thing with real effects on your mind and wellbeing.

There are a couple of different ideas of how to get there. “It’s clearing your mind!” people will shout. “You should be sitting there without a thought in your head!” Other people retort, “No! It’s not clearing your mind, it’s sitting and observing everything around you as an impassive observer!” Then yet others say, “No! You observe your breathing and body in order to become one with it!” Like -- look, there are tons and tons of different kinds of meditation. And yeah, these are legitimate techniques used by different spiritual traditions. They also have the drawback of being boring. Like, rip-your-brain-out-through-your-nose-and-stomp-on-it, oh-my-god-please-let-me-do-something BORING. Of course not everyone’s going to agree with me, and I am willing to admit that these techniques are valuable and useful to certain people. In fact, once you’re used to meditating, you can transition into some of these meditations -- I’ve done a few of them and they are quite pleasant.

But if you’re like me and not having any stimulation makes you want to creep out of your skin backwards, but you just really, really want to meditate -- well, here’s a couple tips. Walking Meditation

This was the first meditation I ever did, because sitting meditations made me want to die. I personally use a walking stick because it helps emphasize the rhythm of your stride, but you can do it without one, too. Most Zen walking meditations recommend you pace back and forth along a smooth, straight path. And while the Zen Buddhists are probably much better at this sort of thing than I am, I find that technique to be brain-rippingly boring (not to mention impractical in my present living situation) and I do mine in outdoor open spaces, such as winding nature trails or along lakeshores. The only thing I’d recommend is that you don’t do it anywhere too strenuous -- you want to be focused on the meditation, not on avoiding falling off a mountainside. Here’s what you do -- start walking. The trick here is the rhythm of your stride. Rather than just letting your brain do whatever the fuck it wants, count your steps like they’re a musical bar (one-two, one-two, one-two, or maybe left-right left-right), focusing on the sensation of the ground beneath your feet with each step. Whenever your mind starts to drift, which it definitely will, just guide it gently back to your rhythm -- one-two, one-two. Don’t go hitting errant thoughts with a mallet -- just redirect them, like sheep broken off from the flock, to the count. If you find you’ve lost pace (you’re saying “left” when your right foot goes down), stop, take a deep breath, and start again. My favorite way to do this meditation is with a walking staff, one, because it makes me feel like Gandalf, and two, because it goes down with my right foot (on two, every time) and helps me clearly delineate one “bar” from the next. The vibration of the staff also gives you something else to focus on rather than the soles of your feet -- I tend to wear heavy hiking boots on my walks, and the sensation of the staff hitting the ground actually gives me more of a sense of being grounded than my feet do. Just do whatever works for you.

“Good For You, But I Wanna Sit”

But what if you can’t do a walking meditation? That’s fine, there’s tons of reasons why it might be unfeasible for you, from space concerns to ability concerns to even stuff as simple as “yo, it’s blizzarding”. That’s cool -- I have some tips for “regular” meditation too! Just know this: You’re not going to be able to “quiet your thoughts”. Hell, if your brain works like mine you’re not even going to be able to “impassively observe”. You won’t be able to focus on your breathing without wanting to scream (”Ok, we’re alive,” says brain, “Cool, still alive, got it. All right, breathing is a thing we are constantly doing, who cares let’s GO.”) All of these tips involve a focus of some kind -- something to bring your brain back to where it needs to be in order to get to that meditative state. Looking Meditations

I do this one with a candleflame because fire is sick as hell and also interesting to watch. You could probably also do it with fish or something, or really anything you would be cool with staring at for minutes on end. This is the same basic principle as the walking meditation, except here, you’re sitting quietly -- it doesn’t have to be in a lotus position if you don’t want. I’ve meditated sitting in an office chair, kneeling on the ground, sitting criss-cross applesauce, and lying down. Whatever is most feasible and comfortable. In the walking meditation the Focus was your stride. In this case the Focus is whatever you’re looking at. Rather than bringing your thoughts back to the rhythm of your steps like we did in the walking meditation, you’re herding your errant brainwaves towards the visual focus.

Here, as in many still meditations, you’re going to want to control your breathing as well. Personally, making breathing my focus is a losing proposition, but you’ll meditate more easily if you’re breathing slowly and deeply. Mantras “I don’t like looking at stuff,” you might say. “I am literally blind,” you might also say. Cool! So find a mantra! (This term might be appropriative in some way but I can’t find a good substitute -- let me know if someone knows one). This could be a saying, or a phrase, or even a prayer. Whatever it is, I find it most useful if the mantra actually has some symbolic meat to it -- not just “rubber baby buggy bumpers” but something that you’d be able to write a short paragraph about, at least. I personally use Welsh triads (because druid). Once you have your mantra, repeat it, aloud or in your head. Forever. (Or as long as it takes you to start meditating). Again, breathing is really important here, as in all sitting meditations. Try to breathe slowly and deeply. I frequently find my breathing will begin to match up with the ebb and flow of the mantra, and that’s fine. Just keep that oxygen flow going in a steady rhythm (you don’t have to track the rhythm-- that’s an entirely different meditative technique!) You might notice something weird will start to happen after a bunch of repetitions. At first this might take a longass time, but it gets shorter the more you practice. You’re thinking about the phrase without really thinking about it -- it starts to take on depths and dimensions that you never would have seen just thinking about it -- congrats, you’re meditating! (In fact -- you’re meditating on the mantra -- in case you had no idea how to do that, here you go!) Do this as long as you feel like it and then return awareness to your room. Don’t just hop right up -- sometimes meditation fucks with your coordination for some reason -- give yourself a few seconds and then go make yourself some tea. You’ve earned it. Next Steps

In shamanistic practice, achieving a meditative state is often a jumping-off point for journeying or intense visualization. Meditation can be used in concert with these, or it can stand on its own as a daily or weekly practice. Don’t get discouraged if you don’t “get” it the first time! The thing to remember is not to force it -- meditation is born of relaxation, and forcing it will only hinder you. Once your brain is trained to enter the meditative state more easily, you might find it comparatively simple to transition into more traditional Zen meditations (”CLEAR UR MIND!!”). The trick is practice! Happy meditating!

#meditation #pagan #witchblr #druidry #spirit work #astral #witchcraft #druidism #obod #heathen #adhd #neopagan #spirituality #add

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niennavalier · 4 years

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So I’m sure no one cares but

I’ve recently discovered genderbent Frozen covers and animatics and honestly I love these? Like, a lot?

(Rambly thoughts under the cut, because I got invested in talking about Disney movies and ways they write characters and generalizing stuff, despite writing this all on a whim and doing not much research but hey, that’s what this blog is for. Random thoughts about movies and stories and Youtube comments)

I mean, I’ll admit that I’ve never been a big fan of Frozen - nothing against the story (cause it is good and for all I will criticize Disney for not generally being particularly uh...keen on taking any risks, I do appreciate the way they do break the mold here) or the music (it sounds like a Broadway musical, hell yeah) - but tbh Let it Go far overstayed its welcome and yes, I’m glad kids enjoyed the movie, but we heard it nonstop for way longer than we should have. The song honestly never felt like it went away for, what like, 2 years? I can listen to songs on endless loops, and this was still too much for me. Granted, I never hated it (my brother did, possibly still does, so I didn’t mind listening to it for the sole purpose of tormenting him) but still. It sorta turned me off from the franchise. I didn’t need to hear it every time I walked into a store.

And I’ll also admit to never being big on genderbending. Nothing against people who enjoy it, but it’s never been my thing, and the few fics I’ve read with it never felt like it used the swap for any sort of message or to explore anything particularly interesting. Which I would’ve preferred, because otherwise, I didn’t see the reason for the swap, personally. (and to be fair, I turned off of this pretty quickly, so I’m sure there are good ones out there, but it’s really just never been something I’m big on)

But like...okay. There is this animatic for Show Yourself, but with the audio dropped into the male vocal range and I love it so much. It’s wonderful and adorable (and the song is legitimately very good, so I’ve seen that part, despite never having actually watched Frozen 2). And also a handful of actual covers, which are absolutely amazing. And now I’ve found the same sort of thing with Let it Go (which I’m now okay with - I guess it just takes 7 years for me to get over the oversaturation of that song in society) and like holy shit, friends. Big fan.

Scrolling through the comments also gets all the “can we please get a Disney Prince movie” thoughts and hey, I’m so on board with this. I know, there are movies with princes (Aladdin, Hercules, Lion King, etc), but it’s less that plain fact of having a prince, and more of the arc for the character? Basically, I wanna destroy the trend of having male-oriented movies be more action-adventure-y. Let boys be soft and have feelings, that’s all I ask. Make that the character arc, have your main character be male and need to discover himself, all of the fears and insecurities included, I am begging you.

(Sidenote because I did see some other interesting mentions: I haven’t seen Hunchback, back from what I’m aware of with that movie, that one probably fits closer to what I’m talking about. Also Treasure Planet, because honestly, that really is exactly the kind of arc that I’m talking about, and there’s a reason I love that movie with all my heart, it’s amazing, and go watch it if you haven’t. But like, it’s a coming of age story with some good ol’ found family and no romance! And while Jim is really smart and has some bad-ass moments, I love when we get insight into his emotional state. But I could gush about this movie forever, moving on. The one thing about these is not the lack of royalty (for me), but just...box office? I don’t know the circumstances for Hunchback, except that the numbers apparently aren’t great, and to my knowledge, someone over at Disney just didn’t want Treasure Planet to do great, and this goes to show what marketing does. Apparently, they did the same to Emperor’s New Groove, which isn’t entirely relevant, but my point is, whoever did this to these movies, screw you, they’re wonderful)

(Apologies for the tangent)

Anyway, I’m not saying remake Frozen, but doing the genderbend works really well here, I think? Obviously, I love that Elsa’s arc is entirely her own, and stories about opening up to family and accepting yourself have messages that everyone needs to hear, regardless of any barrier. So this isn’t a criticism, just a thought. Because (granted, I’m not doing research to write this, and I’m admittedly not 100% caught up on Disney movies) it feels to me like female characters do tend to have the more emotional arcs. Talking Disney Renaissance, this feels true in the female-lead movies, especially if you compare to the respective princes. In male-lead movies, it’s not entirely true, and I’m not calling the characters flat or emotionless, but that’s not the main thing going on in the movie. (ie, Simba has his reservations about returning and so he talks to Mufasa, and that’s a big scene and its important, but it feels more like it’s just a step to ultimately taking down Scar - tbh, compare the screentimes there). Again, the Renaissance movies are fantastic and I love them, but I just want to make some comparisons. And I don’t want to delve too deep into the more recent ones, because I haven’t seen them all, but the focus seems much more on the strong, independent female-lead (again, not a criticism because we can always do with more strong ladies who don’t need no man - I am just saying).

But anyway. Frozen. I like the idea of keeping Anna as herself, because the Hans twist and more slow-burn-y development with Kristoff is good - that accomplishes the idea of breaking down tropes. But Elsa as a male character is really interesting to me? Having an arc that centers on fear that’s born of isolation, and ends with self-acceptance and familial love, is something that I don’t recall seeing in male characters very often (not never, but not often)? But I can think of tons of male characters who appear confident and charismatic, even if that’s in their own way, and then even if we do peel back to find trauma and pain, I can think of more instances of it presenting as bitterness or anger rather than genuine fear (or at the very least, we as the audience don’t quite see that fear). I want to see a male character who was forced to repress who they are and has real fear as to who their true self is. I want this character to discover who that is and have a hard time coming to grips with it, and all that stuff because I honestly just really like writing a lot of self-deprecation. Won’t deny that. And then pairing that with magic is also just interesting IMO. I don’t know how magic tends to fall with regard to this sort of thing, but just the fact that it’s inborn and different (akin to D&D sorcery), rather than learned and understood (like D&D wizardry, or even HP wizards), is an interesting thought to me? Maybe because the “strange and different” type of magic reminds me more of the general conception of witches (or...the Salem Witch Trials) which is also more female-leaning, but I won’t stand by that super strongly, because it’s not something I’ve looked into all that much. But it means, to me, that it would be an interesting way to sorta...turn the tables in the way magic gets used.

Point being: I just think this would be a really solid message. That bravery doesn’t have to be saving the world or killing the dragon or even the self-sacrifice story that’s become more prominent in stories now. It can also come from battling your own demons and opening up to people to ask for help. Which is obviously something everyone needs to learn, but if we’re gonna fight the submissive female character trope with some badass heroines, then I say we also do the same thing in reverse for our male characters. Just a thought

#from the mind of niennavalier #long opinion post thing #ill also admit that i really like this idea cause the art is so goddamn good #pretty designs and flowy clothes are my favorite things when im coming up with dnd character designs #and combine that with non-stereotypically-masculine characters and im super down #(i have favorite character types okay? fight me)#but also instagram has been giving me all the frozen 2 stills now and like #elsa is just gorgeous and i dont think i need say more #like im very ace but that aesthetic is so good #(witness me paying attention to this fandom like 7 years late lol)#also i do just wanna clarify some stuff #cause thinking with the modern disney movies #like with moana im not saying that maui doesnt have an arc and good things that happen #i like his part dont get me wrong #but tell me who the titular character is #just sayin #and ive seen a bunch of stuff about kristoff having a song where hes confused about love #and again i think thats amazing!#i need to go find that clip but i legitimately love the fact that this exists #thats good content #im just saying that isnt quite on the same level because same as above #if i ask who the main characters in frozen are #i think you all know the answer #(and my other big ask for disney is to give us a gay character but my hopes there arent super high unfortunately)#(oh and self plug but the more i think about it im kinda doing this sorta thing with one of the characters i made for my short story class #the story itself is meant to be longer than a short story and i wont go into detail here but the idea just ended up being close #even though i started watching a bunch of the clips and having these thoughts after id come up with my character)#(maybe said character is why im having Opinions on this now tho)#(and dumb sidenote but the more i look up fanart the more i realize that the people who are saying that it basically looks like anime #are totally right it really does which is really just interesting to me cause i didnt think of that initially)

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arihi · 4 years

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NaNoWriMo #21: Culture Check

YEAH, I’ve been thinking a lot about culture and how deep-seated a lot of who I am is rooted in culture, despite how ‘Western’ I am compared to the rest of my family! People often seem so intrigued when I talk about stories or things that make sense to me. So yeah, you’re getting a post about weird interesting quirks in Chinese culture (and maybe other Asian cultures generally, but I can only speak to my own experience).

Sanity checks in re: how I was raised and not-good environments for kids ASIDE, I have culture checks about Chinese culture often. It’s not that Chinese culture is bad so much as it is different - and they are less sanity checks than Western culture checks.

A few weeks ago I had a headache that lasted 11+ days. When going out for dinner, I mentioned my preference was 'nothing too fatty’. When asked why, I said “because I have a headache and fat is--this is a dumb Chinese superstition isn’t it.” because GOD. All the time. I have to run my idea and concept of health through the wringer and figure out what’s weird Chinese superstition I grew up with and what’s legitimate. To be fair it could also just be my family fucking with me growing up too, haha.

Chinese people believe that cold water is bad for your health. When pressed for WHY, my otherwise very logical and intellectual chemical patent engineer father will say something about the humors of the body, or SOMETHING I can’t really properly translate to English. The point is - it’s garbage. It has its roots in when you needed to boil tap water before you could drink it for sanitary purposes but public health has gotten better to the point you don’t need to in many places. Still, it’s kept around. It is. SO HARD. To get cold water in China.

In that vein okay, has anyone ever heard that cold water is bad for periods?? NO?? Even knowing that ‘cold water is bad for your health’ is dumb, I still had some degree of belief that if you drank cold water on your period, you’d get stomachaches because of WHAT?? It was cold and it made your blood harder to run????? Sometime in law school I examined that thought and went “wait what the hell! That doesn’t make a lick of sense!”

WeChat is China’s primary social media platform. Each emoji has specific meanings. Did you know there’s a good smile emoji and a bad smile emoji? The standard :) emoji is apparently only used when you’re secretly judging the other person. (Wha??) It has dead eyes and an empty smile. It looks down on you. (My father used it on me the other day and I spent entirely too long wondering the implications.) Who knew, a culture around emojis.

Chinese culture is pragmatic. Due to the skew of gender ratios in the population, it’s not entirely uncommon in some circles to have women ask what men can offer them in a relationship. It comes off incredibly gold-digger-ish and superficial in Western terms, but it is what it is. My cousin and his wife love one another - but he still had to have a house before he could approach his future in-laws about marrying her. (Homes and cars are far, far more expensive in China than they are here.)

China is about respect and saving face. It starts to make sense that cars and clothing are MUCH more expensive in China than the US, than you’d imagine, because brand names are important. It’s tough because they are paid less generally but these items are so much more expensive - and where people here would typically say ‘well don’t buy brand names and save money’ when finances are tight, sometimes buying brand names or luxury items is a legitimate investment. They are important in a class wealth sense, but also in respect and face. They can open up opportunities for you. Counterfeits in China can be more expensive than actual brand names in America. My mother used to buy many brand name purses and clothing to give as gifts to Chinese acquaintances because they were unable to obtain any there and it was a subtle show of class.

I lied - I’m ending this on a mental health note. So many gestures and compliments are token and empty in Chinese culture. When my parents say ‘We only tell you you’re fat because we care. Nobody else would ever tell you.’ they’re not entirely wrong. In Chinese culture everything is empty words and compliments. Someone will offer to do something and the proper thing to do is refuse it. If you take them up on it on the first offer, it is rude. (They might not even want to do it. They just offered it out of respect and dumb culture reasons.) It’s honestly something I’m constantly getting culture shock about here because I’ll tell Spider or Ally ‘I’ll do a thing’ and they’ll say ‘okay!’ and I’m a little shocked because I’ve never had anybody agree so readily. You’ll notice in just about any interaction with me in person that I’ll always refuse first or deflect compliments politely. I realized the other day I hated certain compliments because I’d never heard them in a genuine manner - only as empty token words when they didn’t want to talk about anything else with me, or actively held contempt for me. The extent of open communication was that at least family would voice their contempt for you. To me it made me associate unpleasant emotions with family. So when I get along with others, I feel a barrier of distance because getting along with somebody means I’m not close to them. Spider and Ally are kind to me. And the kindness is offputting sometimes. My mind jumps to think that I’m being treated as an outsider. I find myself being as distantly polite as possible even with Spider and Ally sometimes, and it frustrates me. It’s not something easily grown out of.

There’s so much more about China and Chinese culture - there’s the brutal haggling, the way you’ll verbally berate somebody, but in a friendly way (sort of reminiscent of Australia), there’s the fact that the smell of cigarette smoke makes me feel nostalgic. But alas - this is a Nanowrimo, and those can be shared another time.

If you like, feel free to support me, or follow me, or read more of my writings and stories at the links below!

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#AriNo #Nanowrimo #culture check #culture

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ernmark · 5 years

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A prompter who asked to remain anonymous requested:

If your prompts are still open I would ADORE a continuation of Damien on Mars with human Arum. I'd love to see a continuation of that world! I'm really enjoying Damien's internal struggles that are now more modern. I'm so curious how this would resolve into his romances.

I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing again, and this one in particular called out to me.

It’s a continuation of this snippet here.

For maybe the hundredth time that hour, the Keep reminds Arum to be careful.

He scowls at the confines of his hiding place. If it’s going to insist on micromanaging every step of this endeavor, it should have found itself a mechanical puppet so it could the job itself. But it didn’t-- supposedly it trusts him to take care of it and to send him out to do these tasks on its behalf, and supposedly that means it should trust him to do it without all this incessant prodding.

What does the Keep know, anyway?

It tells him to be careful and to take his time and all the while it can’t even hide the undercurrents of pain that fill its every thought. It might pretend to be all strong and noble, but he can feel that constant ache as if it was his own, his muscles calcifying and his skin turning hard and cold and his nerves freezing in the last signal they sent before sputtering out. It’s awful. It’s distracting. And it’s a mere phantom of what the Keep is feeling at this moment, and he can’t stand the thought of letting it continue a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

And that calls for drastic measures.

His research brings him to a small laboratory at the edge of the city’s dome, its walls reinforced with homemade fortifications to compensate where the aging shields fall short. A shiny, state-of-the-art lock stands out against the dented steel and carbon fiber of the door and the surrounding wood.

He almost snorts. That lock probably cost the scientist a fortune, and it still can’t keep him out for more than a few seconds against the Keep’s portal protocols.

Almost everything about the little laboratory seems cobbled together from spare parts, with only a few bits of shiny new equipment that seem out of place among the weathered resin and dented metal. For all its ramshackle quality, though, there’s an obvious order to it all. He would consider it more carefully, but the Keep sings a warning: someone’s coming.

He flicks off the light and hides behind a corner just as the door opens.

The door slides open, and the neon lights outside cast three long shadows across the floor: one in a wheelchair, one standing, the third obviously canine.

“So... maybe go stay with Damien for a little while?” says the first, almost wheedling.

The second scoffs. “I’m not going to stop my experiments--”

“Just for a little while,” the first says quickly. “Until Talfryn and I figure it out and save the day and...”

Arum stops listening. What that one thinks isn’t his concern. All that matters is that he doesn’t call for help.

He stays in the shadows, silent and still, until the scientist all but slams the door in the man’s face and says her last goodbyes through the crack.

There’s a long, low moment as she watches him leave through the monitor by the door frame.

“Finally,” she sighs, and for a moment her exhaustion is palpable. She flicks a switch, and one by one the outdated halogen lights flicker on, illuminating the laboratory in an unnatural yellow-blue glow. She steps past the corner where he’s hiding, too tired to notice him in her peripheral vision. Her long dark curls, once piled into a bun on her head, coil around her face like vines. Her clothes are covered in glitter and shine and flowing fabric, entirely too impractical for a controlled environment, but perfectly suited for the parties and parades that filled the city streets last night. That would certainly explain her exhaustion. Her comms sits in her ear, still alight with a dying charge.

Be careful, the Keep warns again.

He doesn’t need the reminder. He only has one chance at this.

She stops. Blinks. Turns.

“Who’s--”

He doesn’t let her finish the thought before he lunges at her. She twists out of his way, but not fast enough to save her comms from his grip.

She backs away, cowering as he rights himself.

“Get out of here,” she says, her voice shaking. “Now. I have a gun, and I’ll--”

“Do you mean this gun?” Slowly he draws her blaster from his pocket, a cold-blooded smile crossing his lips. It was easy enough to find among such meticulous organization.

The scientist stumbles, her back colliding with a filing cabinet-- and then her expression changes. “Actually, I meant this one.”

There’s no time to fumble with the stolen blaster. Just move: get out of the way, knock her down, disarm her--

But no matter how fast he is, the laser bolt is faster.

Arum wakes up with a flood of sensation: the burn of his overworked synapses around his implant, the ache of a fresh bruise where he hit a counter on his way down, the secondhand pain and fretting from the Keep, the taste of ozone in his mouth from the blaster, the smell of disinfectant, the discomfort of limbs twisted in ways they shouldn’t be and held in place by steel handcuffs.

His captor paces in front of him, cradling her comms to her ear.

“Hey babe,” she says with more chagrin than he would have expected for her triumph. “I wanted to give you a chance to say ‘I told you so’. It happened again.” The cry on the other end is so loud even Arum can hear it, though he can’t make out words.

“No, I’m not-- hey-- hey, take a second and breathe. I’m not hurt, okay? I’m fine. The backup blaster was right where you left it, charged and everything. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, he’s still here. No, I don’t want to file a police report. What do you mean, why? Because the last time I did, the whole precinct showed up and confiscated half my stock as ‘evidence’, that’s why. But I would feel better if you were around. Okay? Okay. Thanks. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

She ends the call, and he shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back against his chest.

“You can quit that already,” she says. “The stun will have worn off by now. I know you’re awake.”

He keeps pretending, just to spite her.

She huffs and rummages around in one of her cabinets. When she speaks again, her voice is immediately in front of him. “Look this way.”

She grabs him by the chin and lifts his head, and he can’t quite stop himself from opening his eyes, just in time to be blinded by a flashlight aimed directly into his cornea. He hisses and pulls back, blinking away the afterimage of the light.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums and proceeds to check his pulse. “How does your neck feel right now?”

“That’s no business of yours,” he snaps.

“You sure about that?” Two fingers under his jaw check his lymph nodes. “Because even legitimate cybernetics will malfunction after a stun blast, and the black market varieties tend to cut corners on the fail-safes. Depending on how deep it’s wired into your nervous system, it could be doing a lot of damage right now.”

As if the Keep would ever be so careless with his safety.

Arum sneers. “If you were so concerned, you shouldn’t have shot me.”

“If you hadn’t broken into my house, I wouldn’t have had to.”

“Well, if you hadn’t--” A renewed wave of pain pulses through the Keep, and Arum gasps under the force of it.

The scientist stands, her jaw set decisively. “Your cybernetic is going to keep doing that, and it’s going to keep getting worse.” She grabs some kind of mechanical device and reaches for his neck.

He jerks his head wildly to the side. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She’s patient, but impassive. “I get it. You’re in pain. The best thing we can do right now is shut down your cybernetic so we can degauss it and reboot it safely.” Her voice is so calm, so clinical, and it somehow makes the savagery of her words even worse. “I promise, it won’t hurt.”

Hurt?! Of what consequence is a little pain compared to severing his connection to his Keep? He’s never been without it, not even for a moment, not since he was a child-- what if it can’t be restored once the connection is broken?-- what if he loses it forever-- what if he can’t find his way back to it and it dies without him?--

The scientist leans in again, and he’s already planning his defense. She’s cuffed his hands, but his legs are still free. He’ll kick her legs out from under her. He’ll headbutt her if she gets too close. He’ll bite her fingers off. He’ll do anything-- everything-- whatever it takes.

But before she can make the attempt, a pounding comes on the door, followed by a muffled, frantic shout.

The scientist sighs. “Hold on.”

Before she can rise, the door slides open and a uniformed man rushes inside and descends on the scientist in a flurry of fluttering hands and babbling lips.

“Rilla!” he cries at ear-splitting volume. “My love, my light, my forever-flower-- are you hurt? I’m so sorry it took me so long to reach you, I came as fast as I could, but--”

“I told you, Damien, I’m fine.” She sets her hands on his shoulders and puts a healthier distance between the two of them. “Honestly, I’m a bit more worried about this guy. He’s got some kind of back-alley subcutaneous cybernetic, and that laser did a real number on him.”

Arum sincerely doubts that Damien heard a word of that. The moment their eyes met over the scientist’s shoulder, the police officer went pale and his eyes went wide.

“You,” Damien breathes, low and rough and far closer to the sounds he made during their fight the night before. “You-- you villain! You fiend! I let you go and this is what you do with your freedom?”

“I won that fight,” Arum grumbles.

Rilla looks from one to the other. “You two know each other?”

“We’ve met,” Arum says, in the same moment that Damien starts on another tearful tirade: “Rilla, my Amaryllis, my love, if I’d known he would come after you I never would have let him go, I swear it on my life, on my soul--”

She blinks. “Wait. So this was... what? Some kind of revenge?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Arum tells the officer. “I had no idea the two of you knew each other.” Maybe if he had, he might have looked harder for another scientist who fit Dr. Amaryllis Of-Exile’s qualifications. Bad enough when he had the memory of an impassioned knife-fight nagging at his focus; now he knows that the beautiful police officer who let him go is in a relationship, and with the woman he tried to kidnap, no less. All of this is a distraction that he doesn’t need.

His train of thought is derailed by another wave of pain from the Keep.

He doesn’t have time for this.

“Okay, then,” Amaryllis says, turning to face him again. “Then why are you here?”

“It hardly matters now, does it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Damien asks. “He came to rob you, like the last brigand who broke in here.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Amaryllis says. “The last one went in and out with as much as they could carry. This guy had time to find one of the blasters you left, but he didn’t take anything else. He was waiting for me.”

“You think he was after you?” Damien says something else, but Arum can’t hear the words over another wave of agony. When his eyes refocus, Damien is immediately in front of him, looking ill. “--swear, I didn’t touch him--”

“It’s the cybernetic,” Amaryllis kneels beside him, that infernal device in her hand once again. “Damien, I need you to hold him steady.”

Arum tries to squirm away, but callused hands close on the side of his head and keep him still.

“No!” he hisses, but it’s lost in another cry of pain. The Keep is dying, and he can feel it-- and if he doesn’t act now, that pain will be the last impression of it he’ll ever feel. “The implant isn’t broken-- the Keep is.”

Amaryllis hesitates. “The what?”

“That’s why I came here. That’s why I--” He shudders through another wave. It’s getting worse. “I need your help, or it’s going to die.”

#the penumbra podcast #second citadel #fanfiction #writing prompt

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absurdfuture · 5 years

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'How can I complain?'

An essay about mental health by musician James Blake, from It’s Not OK to Feel Blue (And other lies).

James Blake 09 OCTOBER 2019

It’s especially easy to poke fun at the idea that a white man could be depressed. I have done it myself, as a straight white man who was depressed. In fact, I still carry the shame of having been a straight white man who’s depressed and has experienced suicidal thoughts. And still, when discussing it with most people, I will play down or skirt around how desperately sad I have been; instead I emphasize how much happier I am now. I emphasize the work I had to do to get to a better place, and how it was hard work and fruitful work, and how I empowered myself by doing it. I usually focus on how I regained control and an enthusiasm for living (‘Nice one, mate!’), not on how I lost it. That is the last of my defensiveness.

I remember doing an interview with the New York Times where the interviewer asked me why my childhood was painful, and how I got to such a dark place in my late twenties. I told him, ‘You know, other kids, bullying, etc.’ – and instantly regretted my brevity. He said something like, ‘Right, so a pretty standard childhood then.’

Fuck. After all this public talk of depression and anxiety, and many albums of expressed pain, I felt exposed as a fraud, but I was relieved not to have shown my cards and revealed how pathetic and weak I must have been when I was younger. Maybe he was right. He’d probably been through worse and wasn’t complaining about it.

I picked up a resentment towards other people from school. My parents were very loving and supportive and, unusually for my generation, still together. I went to school completely unequipped to deal with certain kids who were taking their fractured and in some cases abusive home lives out on me. I know that now. I was ‘too sensitive’, and I never learned how to act. I was a baby who’d been kept away from germs, and now I was getting ill from anything and everything. (I should say now that I have many happy memories of childhood, especially of my parents and of certain friends who I could count on, and that my inability to focus on those positives probably didn’t help.)

During my school years I spent thousands of hours walking on my own with headphones on or playing piano in the practice rooms, often going there first to cry in private and then occasionally with a mind to play. I was addicted to video games from the age of twelve, rarely going out to socialize. I had a few ‘best’ friends over the years who, looking back, I didn’t know well. But I’m grateful for having had them.

I put girls on pedestals and worshipped them, but only ever remained their friend. I fell in love many times and it was never reciprocated. I had no automatic right to them of course, but they kept me around for years and allowed me to be bullied and humiliated by their friends, accidentally betraying me out of awkwardness. I resented their understandable, youthful inability to know what to do with a sensitive boy who made them laugh and feel good about themselves, but whose body they did not want.

Boys would see my sensitivity as weakness and, while I was sharp and quick-witted, I wasn’t sporty, which was my first mistake with them, I think. Again, I didn’t know how to act. I wondered for years whether I had some behaviour disorder. I still wonder. In any case, year upon year of capricious bullying and humiliation followed.

These feelings of betrayal, persecution and rejection I kept to myself. In the crude gender stereotypes I was aware of at that age, I thought I had the sensitivity of a female but in a male’s body. I joked my way through it and made sure nobody ever saw me cry. I remained a virgin until the age of twenty-two, because I was awkward and unable to be natural around women. I was afraid of the vulnerability of sex after so many embarrassing attempts at it. (The song ‘Assume Form’ is, in part, about finding the ability to feel safe during intimacy.) It seemed to me that it had taken my success as a DJ for women to pursue me, and then I distrusted them for their sudden, transparent interest, so I pushed them all away. Slowly the face of every woman morphed into the faces of the girls who I felt had betrayed and humiliated me. And the face of every man became a bully who would underestimate me and try to kill my spirit.

Becoming relatively famous, my persecution complex turned into a self-serving narcissism, and my obsession with proving my worth to people who’d underestimated me was now being rewarded financially. To those ends, my first emotional language – music – had been the vehicle. I wanted to show everyone what they’d missed out on for all those years.

To some extent I succeeded in that, but I became so self-obsessed and isolated that I wasn’t the success I seemed to be on paper. And so the chasm grew between my alias – the guy with the ‘Pitchfork best new music 8.0+’, with the uncompromising and flourishing career, who seemed in control of everything – and the man-child who for many years was hurting, spiralling, never leaving the house, wasting away in an ego prison, refusing to collaborate, allowing himself to be bled financially and taken advantage of by his friends and their extended family, playing video games and smoking weed fourteen hours a day and not taking any care of himself what-so-ever until he was in a black depression, experiencing daily panic attacks, hallucinations and an existential crisis. I was asking questions like ‘What is the point of me?’ and saying I didn’t want to live. I became afraid of the growing fog of war outside my house because of what I knew people expected of me if I entered it: a normal interaction and, even more impossible, a new album.

I wanted people to know how I felt, but I didn’t have the vocabulary to tell them. I have gone into a bit of detail here not to make anyone feel sorry for me, but to show how a privileged, relatively rich-and-famous-enough-for-zero-pity white man could become depressed, against all societal expectations and allowances. If I can be writing this, clearly it isn’t only oppression that causes depression; for me it was largely repression.

I’m still not sure I fully believe I am entitled to be depressed or sad at all, because I’m white and cisgender and male, and life for people like me is undoubtedly the easiest of any group. But my privilege didn’t make me want to stick around, and it makes me feel even more embarrassed for having let myself go.

When the delusional mental force field of whiteness finally popped (the ‘psychosis’ of whiteness, as Kehinde Andrews puts it, which most white people are still experiencing – I was still able to reap the now obvious benefits of being white, straight and male but without the subconscious ability to ignore my responsibility to the marginalized), I started having the uncomfortable but rational thought that my struggle was actually comparatively tiny, and that any person of colour or member of the LGBTQ+ community could feasibly have been through exactly the same thing and then much, much more on top of that. A plate stacked until it was almost unmanageable. For me it became embarrassing to mention my child’s portion of trauma and sadness.

Combining that thought with the normalized stigmatization of male musicians’ emotional expression in the media, I felt like I must be the ‘Sadboy Prince and the Pea’.

But my girlfriend verbally slapped some sense into me, saying it does not help anybody, least of all oneself, to compare pain. And that was good advice to hear from someone who’d been through what she has. I can only imagine how frustrating it was for this Pakistani woman to watch me – with all my advantages in life – self-sabotage and complain like I have. Fuck.

And then you look at the statistics: according to the Yale Global Health Review, ‘in 2015, the crude suicide rate [in the USA] for white non-Hispanic males aged 40 to 65 was 36.84 per 100,000 people – more than twice the rate in the general American population’. If it wasn’t already clear that we have more than enough representation, we’re huge in suicide too.

Given this, I think it’s worth examining why many privileged white men can end up feeling they have no legitimate claim to pain, and then never deal with what they can’t lay claim to.

Even while writing this I’m visited by the thought ‘Who even cares? There are much bigger problems in the world than white men who feel sad.’ (This is a bloody laughable thing to write your first piece on – get some perspective, arsehole, and put away your tiny violin.) But you know what? I’ll continue because I think we need to advance the conversation around mental health for everyone, and it’s the only experience I feel qualified to talk about.

From systemic toxic masculinity (‘Boys don’t cry’, basically) and an ostensibly homophobic fear of sensitivity being beer-bonged into us by our friends, family and the media from as early as we can remember (‘Chug, chug, chug!’) to the slow realization as we get older that the world is actually stacked towards our success, we end up thinking that our individual psychological decline is shameful.

I believe it is psychologically dangerous for our egos to be built up as much as they are; for the importance of success to be so great; for the world to open its doors more to us than to others (most of us willfully ignore that those advantages exist, though we feel them deep down, and subconsciously know that it is unfair and that we must capitalize on them).

It is dangerous for us to be made to feel we can do anything and be anything, to gain an understanding of women as a resource rather than a lesson in empathy and love – and then find in all our capitalistic and egoistic fervour that we have neglected to take care of that other muscle that enables our survival: the mind.

I for one felt like Donald Trump, starting with $413 million and ending up broke and lying about my tax records. Maybe then it’s no surprise that so many disaffected white men identify so deeply with him. (It should be noted that I absolutely don’t.) That and our shared love of doing anything we want and saying whatever we like without consequence to ourselves.

That shared love has rightly led to a debate about what white males are entitled to say and do. I believe we’re entitled to no more than anybody else, which at this point requires a lot of listening and rebalancing. I also believe everybody is entitled to pain, no matter how perceptibly or relatively small that pain is. I don’t want the shame around depression and anxiety in privileged people to become worse any more than I want it for the marginalized. Because without addressing that pain we end up with more cis-gendered white male egomaniacs who bleed their shit on to everybody (and some of them will write albums about it).

James Blake's essay is from It's Not Ok To Feel Blue (And Other Lies), a collection of writing about mental health, curated by Scarlett Curtis.

#toxic masculinity #james blake #mental health #depression #white privilege #awareness

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towhomeverthisconcerns · 5 years

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081519

AIGHT SO. Tracy and Joanna told me to write down my thoughts and feelings about Missions ‘cause I find it really hard to talk about how I feel so here it is. I got out of bed for this so CHARLES. I HOPE YOU’RE READING THIS. (He’s literally the only one who reads this stuff. LOL)

I think the biggest thing that I got out of this missions trip is that God really moves in our lives in ways we can never expect. Ever. And like I know it sounds super cliche but it’s 100% true. Here’s the thing people. I fell out of touch with God a LONG time ago. Probably near the beginning of my second year of college/end of my first year. And I really struggled with that. I was too embarrassed to admit it to my old church. (granted my old church was not the best environment to be in either... but that’s a whole ‘nother post) It was really hard for me to feel the calling to go to church every Sunday because I felt so ostracized. And like I tried talking to people about it but I don’t think they were in a position to be able to understand where I was coming from.

Anyways. Fast forward a couple of years. I’m much more open to going to church, but I know I don’t want to go back to my home church. I talk to Josh about church hopping, and he invites me to his. He offers to carpool with me, which is probably like the biggest incentive to going to a church that far. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t. LOL. But I actually was able to connect with the people at that church, and I really felt a different vibe at this new church compared to the old one. I’m not saying my old church was a bad church. I just think I grew and evolved into a different person, and my old church just didn’t suit who I became? I don’t know if that makes sense. Regardless, the point is that this new church became a church that I really wanted to invest in and it was a big turning point in my spiritual faith, because I now had a solid community I could go to every Sunday.

At this point, I’m still very weak in my faith. I mean I just started going to a church, and then I took a month break from it to go to Europe, and then I came back sparingly because Josh goes to NorCal like once every other month, and I have Tet meetings every so often that I really wish I could get out of but it’s really important that I’m there so I try my best to be there. This just all goes to show how I really didn’t feel like I was ready for Taiwan missions. I mean who am I to lead these kids to Christ when I’m struggling with my own walk with God? I felt like I didn’t deserve to go on this trip. But what can I do? My family signs me up every year unless I protest or have a very legitimate reason. I was going whether I wanted to or not.

Another thing I really struggled with was finding out I was going to a camp where I knew NO ONE. If you don’t know how Taiwan Missions for the FECA family works, basically since there’s so many schools/regions who teach at, there’s actually 4 different camp sites that the teachers live in, and each site has their own set of schools that they go to, and so we really only get to know the people at our own camp, and even then we only really connect with the ones that go to the same schools as you, because those are the people you actually spend the most time with. For me personally, it’s ideal to be in a camp with at least 1 of my family members, whether its my mom, my dad, or one of my sisters. I just really like having that support/person to complain to (there tends to be a lot of drama on these missions trips, of which I can explain if needed but for now we’ll leave it as is) So it was really hard for me to accept that I was going to a school where I would have 0 moral support from my family. I brought this up to my mom and she told me she could switch me to a different camp if I really wanted to. And at first I was like YES PLEASE. But then my mom told me to pray about it. So I did. And that was something I really struggled with because I could really feel like God was saying “Trust me, I put you in that camp for a reason.” and I was very like “Are you sure. ‘Cause I’m really not for this. Like. Can’t I at least have ONE of my sisters???” But I decided to listen to God. I’m not even sure why. I just knew in my heart that I had to go to Camp 1 by myself. And that was something that made me SUPER nervous.

I was also super nervous about people’s expectations of me. Like, they all knew I had been on missions for a LONG time. (since 2011) But I’ve been so spiritually removed from it that I felt like I wasn’t in a position to lead anyone. I hardly prepared for this trip other than that one prayer I did about moving camps and showing up for literally 1 out of 6 training sessions. LOL. But everyone would look up to me and expect me to take charge. Which was a super frightening expectation to have put on me.

Not only all of that, but also I was going Week 2. Which means all the people at that camp would’ve already formed their own friendship groups because they all went through week 1 together. Except for me. So I wouldn’t know anyone... and still be expected to lead... and just.. GAH. SO MUCH STRESS. TT__________TT

So fast forward to Day 1 of missions trip for me. I’m doing my literal best to just listen to God and do as he says. I went into this trip with more intention than I’ve ever given this trip in my life. LOL (well maybe not but it sure felt like it). I’m much more mature than I was in 2011 so it was definitely a different experience this year, because emotionally and spiritually I was more mature and in tune with myself. But OH MAN. The week went by so QUICKLY and I really truly connected with SO MANY LOVELY INDIVIDUALS <3

I’m gonna go into it chronologically but the order doesn’t really matter.

FIRST THINGS FIRST. Jo Nathan. That is the nickname he gave himself to me. Just saying. I did not come up with that for him. LOL. But yes he was a blessing from God I didn’t realize at the time. But he was also new to Camp 1. He was at Camp 3 during week 1, but they moved him to Camp 1 for week 2 and so he was just as nervous about fitting in as I was. Which is probably why we were able to connect so well to the point that people thought we were friends way before this trip. Jolene was the one who told me I could trust him, ‘cause I told her about my worries about not having someone to lean on/complain to at camp LOL. So day 1 I asked who Jonathan was, and found him and immediately told him we were gonna be friends. And then luckily we were forced to sit next to each other (since they arranged our seating by schools/class#) and thus I was able to sit next to him every time we had worship, trainings, sermons, etc. I really miss stabbing him with the Sword of the Spirit but I am so grateful he was willing to open up to me and be my friend during that week. He made me feel so much more relaxed because at least I had one person who was willing to laugh with me and at my jokes. LOL. I really appreciate the friendship we made during that time, and I can only hope it continues to grow as we move forward. (although if it does die, that’s ok because that’s also very normal in life.) SECONDLY. SAMUEL LIU. Ohmygosh. This boy is such a joy and blessing. UGH. Jo Nathan did not go to the same school as me so I only really talked to him in the evenings. But in the mornings, I was able to be as silly as I wanted to be because Samuel would always be 10x sillier. HAHA. My favorite thing about Samuel is his willingness to serve. His heart is so pure and he’s so good at words of affirmation (one of my top love languages) and he just made me feel SO LOVED. He truly is the little brother I never knew I needed. Side story: I was assigned worship leader for the morning assemblies, but I literally did not remember the dances, and so LITERALLY THE DAY BEFORE DAY 1 OF TEACHING I learned the dances as diligently as possible and found out that Samuel would be at the same school and so I asked him (and this other girl who I’ll get into later) to teach me and also go up on stage with me and HE SAID YES!!! Q____Q Just having him there made me feel so much better about leading worship. But my favorite memory with Samuel is when he asked me to share my testimony. I’ve never had someone ask me that before. I was so touched that he wanted to know. It’s such a great thing to ask someone. When I shared with him, I really felt like God was showing me that he had a plan all along, and it was through talking to Samuel that I realized I was actually supposed to be at this missions trip all along. Jesus was using me to teach myself that I am so much stronger in my faith than I believed. He gave me so much wisdom during that week. I am so grateful to have experienced that week in Taiwan. God is so amazing. So awesome and powerful. I have so many more memories with Samuel (like DEEP DOWN, OH DEEP DOWN DOWN and KTV on the bus) but I’ll have to save them for another time because this post is already WAY too long. NORA AND DAPHNE. These 2 girls are so so so precious. Daphne is really shy but has the heart of an angel. Truly she is so willing to serve and does things she’s not entirely comfortable with in the name of God and I am so proud of her for that. It’s really not easy to break out of your comfort zone, especially at the young age of 14. Daphne did not have an easy time teaching in Taiwan, but she’s already talked about going back and I’m just. What a great example of God’s disciple. She really has such a pure heart that is so willing to learn and I can’t get enough of it!! She was really hard for me to read at times because she hardly ever expressed her true emotions and is the type to keep things to herself if she’s bothered, but I know she’s working on it. My biggest fear was that I would step on her toes without knowing and she’d get upset but never talk to me about it. In the end I’m not sure if that happened or not but overall I want to say we had a good time together. I learned so much from her, and I hope I can continue to learn from her in the near future! Nora is much more open compared to Daphne (not that that’s a bad thing), and she was also willing to help me teach the dance on stage for worship during morning assembly. She was actually the one who spent the most time with me making sure I knew the choreography the night before our first day. AND FOR THAT I AM FOREVER GRATEFUL <3 Her heart to serve is just as big as Daphne’s and I’m so proud of her as well. She really did a great job teaching alongside her co-teacher. She was also willing to be silly with Samuel and I which was super fun! I’m just so so grateful I was able to witness God moving in their lives and really wish I got to spend more time with the both of them. The two were so cute in the fact that they were always listening to me. God used them to show me that he would always provide a way, as long as I was willing to listen to him. My biggest wish now is to be able to get to know them more and hangout with them. If you see this and you know who I’m talking about, please lmk ‘cause I don’t have their contact info because I’m an idiot and didn’t ask in time!! q-q

RUBY and ETHAN. Both of them were my coteachers this year and I could not have asked for a better trio. Ruby is the mother of Daphne, and right away I could tell she was an amazing mother. The way Daphne is filled with so much love, you could just FEEL that Ruby really loves and cherishes her daughter. TBH it feels weird to call the mom of my friend by her first name but I had to do it all week in Taiwan so it is what it is. Ruby was super sentimental and pointed out a lot of things to me that I didn’t notice going into this missions trip. She really relied on me to teach her about this missions trip but through her I learned so much more about what it means to be a disciple of God. Ruby and Daphne are from HK, so they speak Cantonese at home, and so they both struggled with talking to the students at times, but through their serving heart they let go of that worry and came out to Taiwan anyways. Her love for the students was also super visible, and I really think a lot of the students were affected by her presence and really felt God’s love through her. She 100% respected me and Ethan the whole week and was completely open to our ideas. I am so grateful to Ruby for being there and supporting Ethan and I as the lead teachers. Ethan, Ethan, Ethan. What can I say. He truly was like a little brother in the sense that we bickered a LOT. LOOOL. But I really appreciated his point of view and perspective because it was one I was not used to. He definitely had a more laid-back approach to teaching the kids, whereas I had a more planned out one, but in the end we made it work. There’s a funny story I tell everyone about the first time we really FOUGHT but I’ll save it for another time. In the end I was able to learn a lot about patience and letting others take the lead sometimes. Honestly Ethan is a super great kid, and he did really well leading the activities that we agreed he would lead. I’m very thankful for the different perspectives he offered, and for the blessings God used him to show me in my life.

There were so many more people that impacted me greatly on this missions trip. Christina, Jesse, Ariel (my roommates at the camp); Dorothy, Michelle, Debbie, Carrie; Brian, Tracy, and my baby sister Joanna. But the ones mentioned here impacted me the most during my week in Taiwan and I believe were the ones God really used to teach me so much during that week. TL;DR: God really used the people at my camp to teach me that 1) I’m always the perfect servant as long as I’m willing to serve him, no matter where my faith is, 2) Trust in him always, because his plan is so much bigger than I’ll ever understand, 3) He is truly an amazing, awesome, powerful, and wonderful God.

*please note. This is a really big thought dump to be doing at 3am so I apologize if there are grammatical/spelling errors, and if my thoughts don’t make sense. I plan to go over it and edit in the morning.

#personal #TWAdventures

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onimiman · 5 years

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Film Review: Watchmen: The Ultimate Cut (2009)

On the tenth anniversary of the film Watchmen’s theatrical release, I decided to rewatch the film, only this time, I would watch the film’s Ultimate Cut. Whereas the theatrical cut ran approximately 2 hours and 42 minutes (including closing credits), the Ultimate Cut ran at 3 hours and 35 minutes (again, including closing credits). Having watched this film as a teenager and loving it to the point that for a few years, I’d called it my favorite film ever, I went into watching the Ultimate Cut with trepidation; I had feared that now that I was in my adulthood, I might not look so favorably toward the film as I had when I was a teen. I also feared that if I were to still enjoy the film, I hoped that it would not stem from a blind sense of nostalgia and that I would look upon this less favorably anyway. A similar feeling came over me a few years ago when I had rewatched Tim Burton’s Batman.

So what did I think of the Ultimate Cut of Watchmen? i absolutely loved it, and what few gripes I do have with it are so minute that I wished I wouldn’t even have to mention them here. And I can say with utmost certainty that not only did this movie stand the (albeit so far small) test of time of a decade, but if anything, it made me wonder if this film would have been more successful, critically and financially, if it had been released sometime this decade, what with R-rated films like Deadpool and Logan being so successful in both areas.

But enough about all this prelude. What was it that I loved about this film? What I love about this film, as I did when I was a teenager, was something that had been simultaneously praised and criticized even at the time of this film’s release, which was its faithful adherence to the source material and making only the most necessary of changes for it to be at all filmable. The film’s strength stems largely because of the graphic novel from which it is based, as Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ Watchmen is not only considered to be one of the greatest comics of all time, it’s considered a landmark piece of English literature in general such that it, as a piece of the superhero genre, can be studied on serious thematic levels in colleges and universities (I’d cite my sources, but admittedly, I am quite lazy in that regard; but don’t take my word for it, look it up).

The film, like the graphic novel, is set in a fairly realistic world, much like our own in 1985, but with the twist of superheroes existing within it. The story showcases these heroes’ now-outlawed influence on this world, as that influence (namely from Dr. Manhattan) has led the U.S. and U.S.S.R. to the point where nuclear Armageddon is more of a possibility than even during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The plot follows the investigation of one such outlawed vigilante, Rorschach (who, btw, is one of my favorite characters in all of fiction), who is looking into the death of the Comedian, a controversial (to say the least) hero who has been mysteriously murdered. Rorschach’s investigation leads him to a “mask killer” theory that, as time goes on and the threat of nuclear annihilation looms ever so closer, gains more credence as more of his fellow heroes, including himself, are attacked by an unknown powerful figure. With the aid of Nite-Owl and Silk Spectre, two of his former colleagues, Rorschach aims to find out who the mask killer is and ultimately uncover the possibility of that killer’s involvement with the impending global doom.

The film’s plot, like the novel, is given a fair amount of focus and does get a resolution that is as satisfying as it was unexpected (something that Rian Johnson seems to have trouble with when it comes to Star Wars: The Last Jedi). However, both the film and comic’s attention on the plot itself is surprisingly minimal compared to its focus on its own character studies, which is the core strength of both the film and comic. So let’s go into our six lead characters.

1. Rorschach: As I mentioned before, Rorschach has been one of my favorite characters in all of fiction, and here, he is probably given the most faithful depiction on the silver screen. Jackie Earle Haley’s performance as Rorschach is, in my opinion, more Oscar-worthy than something like Black Panther, as it is abundantly clear just how well Haley understood this character. He portrays an incredibly damaged sociopath with an uncompromising view of black-and-white morality so well that it makes me sad that Haley never gets the respect for playing this character as well as Ryan Reynolds does for playing Deadpool, Hugh Jackman for Wolverine, Kevin Conroy or Michael Keaton for playing Batman, or Robert Downey, Jr. for playing Iron Man. My hat goes out to you, Mr. Haley. Your performance here rates 10/10 for me still. :)

2. Nite-Owl a.k.a. Dan Dreiberg: As a teenager, I had an underappreciation for both the character of Dan Dreiberg and for Patrick Wilson’s portrayal of him. While I thought then that Wilson had done a good job playing Dreiberg, I didn’t much care for the character in general as a teen, as I thought that he was just a boring everyman. As an adult, however, I found both the character and Wilson’s performance to be as important as, if not more than, Rorschach and Haley’s performance of that character. Wilson’s portrayal of a defeated, pathetic sad-sack of a human being who has an underlying anxiety concerning the threat of nuclear annihilation is an important emotional anchor point for the film (and comic, of course); as entertaining as Rorschach is, I can imagine that not a whole lot of people can relate to him on a deep level. If Rorschach is the Jack Sparrow of what I can loosely call an adventure here, Dreiberg is Will Turner; you might not like him as much as the guy who gets the attention for his craziness, but you realize you need him as the everyman if you want your story to really work.

3. Silk Spectre a.k.a. Laurie Jupiter: Unfortunately, while my opinion on Nite-Owl had changed, my opinion on Laurie Jupiter, as well as Malin Akerman’s performance, has not. I hate to say it, but she’s essentially the female equivalent of Dreiberg, and while she does have some interesting emotional turmoil going on, I don’t find the character to be particularly likable. And I think the biggest reason for that stems from Akerman’s performance; I find her to be too wooden and bland in her delivery. While Akerman does make the character more likable than in the comic, her eye candy appeal doesn’t distract me from the unconvincing performance that she delivers throughout the film.

4. Dr. Manhattan a.k.a. Jon Osterman: A character, and performance courtesy of Billy Crudup, that I gained more appreciation for, like Dreiberg and Wilson’s depiction of that character. The nihilism and disconnection from humanity that serves as the basis for Dr. Manhattan is one that is properly delivered by Crudup’s deliberately robotic performance, and as a character, he stands out as incredibly unique in fiction. As a fan of Rick and Morty, I find Dr. Manhattan to be what Rick Sanchez would be if he had less personalty and gave even less of a shit about the universe in which he inhabits. A nihilistic character can be hard to pull off without coming off as boring, yet the writing and Crudup’s performance manage to almost perfectly convey someone who maybe layered in disinterest, but who, at his core, still retains enough of a sliver of humanity that he wishes to find any reason to still be a part of it.

5. The Comedian a.k.a. Eddie Blake: Now here is a character that you probably wouldn’t see much of in the superhero genre. As unique as Dr. Manhattan is when it comes to his nihilism, Edward Morgan Blake is probably what would happen if Rick Sanchez were actually grounded in reality and his actions had legitimate consequences. Jeffrey Dean Morgan manages to play a despicable human being so incredibly well that even though he says and does some genuinely heinous things, like attempted rape or shooting a pregnant woman dead out of anger for slashing his face with a broken beer bottle because he wouldn’t agree to raise the baby that he impregnated her with, he still manages to come off as understandable and believably human. This is especially highlighted in a scene where he actually breaks down crying to someone who had been his enemy for decades. It’s a shockingly real depiction of a monster who is still all too human and it’s one that I don’t think would be depicted in the mainstream media these days.

6. Ozymandias a.k.a. Adrian Veidt - As a teen, I thought that Matthew Goode’s performance as Veidt was dull, but now, like with Wilson and Crudup’s performance of their respective characters in this film, I now consider his performance to be an incredibly strong one. While giving this character a much more sinister and menacing air than the more tragic atmosphere surrounding Veidt in the comic, I can now assess that Goode is able to deliver a performance that is quite respectable for someone who can be reasonably argued to be the film and comic’s true hero rather than its villain. I don’t find it to be nearly to the same caliber as Josh Brolin’s performance as Thanos in Avengers: Infinity War, but I’d say it’s at least within the same ballpark.

Now that we’re past the characters, I have to mention the extras that are part of the Ultimate Cut of this film and whether or not I think they add or subtract from the film’s quality overall. I can really only think of two scenes that I thought were unnecessary. The first is one early on that I thought made no sense, in which Rorschach somehow managed to survive being shot by a cop without even so much as flinching; it wasn’t even something that was from the book either, so what the hell? Also, I thought that including Hollis Mason’s death in the film was unnecessary, as it doesn’t really have a resolution, and that’s a criticism that I levy at the comic as well. However, in spite of these somewhat weak bits, I felt that the film’s inclusion of the Tales from the Black Freighter is one that lends some very interesting thematic weight to the film’s main story, just as that did in the comic. The Black Freighter sections were incredibly well animated, Gerard Butler put in a fantastic performance as the Captain, and it was a great representation of the comic-within-a-comic; I have no complaints here, but I do understand why it had to ultimately be cut from the film’s theatrical cut.

In conclusion, the film adaptation of Watchmen, as bolstered through most of the extra material of its Ultimate Cut, is not only an excellent adaptation of its source material, even if Alan Moore didn’t want his name attached to it, but it’s also a great film in its own right that I find to be incredibly underrated. I rate this movie 9.5/10.

#watchmen #watchmen movie #watchmen ultimate cut #film review #369

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years

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#5yrsago A conversation with Terry Pratchett, author of The Carpet People

Cory Doctorow and the famed author discuss building worlds, the legitimacy of authority, and the future.

Cory: You took a bunch of runs at building a world where a million stories could unfold—The Carpet People, Truckers, and, finally, Discworld. Is Discworld’s near-total untethering from our world the secret of its staying power?

Terry: It isn’t our world, but on the other hand it is very much like our world. Discworld takes something from this world all the time, shows you bits of the familiar world in new light by putting them into Discworld. Is that staying power? You tell me.

Cory: What’s the secret to Discworld’s unplumbable depths, and is there something a big world lacks when compared to one that’s smaller (in more than one way), like the Carpet?

Terry: We know about Earth; we know an awful lot about the solar system. When you do Discworld, you, the writer, can more or less change anything if you want to, if you can make it fit. It means you’re god, and that’s a great responsibility.

As a writer, you can take bits of the universe and put it in your own new universe. Working in Discworld, you use the word sandwich, and you think: Can I do this? Now I’ve got to have a reason why a sandwich is a sandwich—in our world, it was named after the man associated with its invention, the Earl of Sandwich. Can you have your own universe and still have sandwiches? You have to do it all yourself and decide if you need to open the door into our reality at the same time.

Once Discworld started moving, as it were, it started moving almost of its own volition, because I would write a Discworld novel, and that novel required that such and such should be available, or whatever, and that means that the next time, that’s real in Discworld and the thing grows. And I must say it grows to be rather bigger than a carpet—but with care, it can have just about anything in it.

I’m finishing up Raising Steam, in which the railroad comes to Ankh-Morpork, and an awful lot of things have to be made and discovered until you get to the top of that pyramid. You can’t have Vaseline until someone’s invented something else. You have to create and understand a lot of things before you can move on. And so, since I work on Discworld almost all the time, it grows because I need it to.

Cory: Do you think that there’s any way you could have kept us in the Carpet for anything like the number of books that we’ve gotten from Discworld?

Terry: I was about to say “No,” but right now I wonder. . . . If the idea had taken, I don’t know. I really don’t. But how would it be? It would be almost a kind of . . . People in the Carpet are more or less tribal. What would happen if I . . . You’ve got me thinking!

Cory: Contrariwise, I feel like Dodger could have been the start of its own saga, about any number of characters from Dickensian England—do you think the world of Seven Dials has enough material to fuel a Pratchett engine through quite so many books?

Terry: The answer is yes. Because it’s all there. The people Dodger meets are real, the places he goes are real, and all I have to do is put in that little touch of fantasy, i.e., Dodger himself. Queen Victoria was real, though it’s hard to believe—and she’s free; you don’t have to pay to use her. There’s a whole lot of people that Dodger could have met. I’m pretty certain he’s going to meet Darwin or his grandfather (more likely) at some point.

If I run with it, no limitations, I could keep it going, I think. I know a lot of the stuff. I know how they talk, I know the history. It doesn’t really matter if I put a bit of fantasy in to make the pie rise. You can go into the world of “What if?”

Cory: So much of your work is about the legitimacy of authority. You write a lot of feudal scenarios, but you also seem like a fellow with a lot of sympathy for (and suspicion of!) majority rule. The witches gain authority through cunning and compassion (Nanny Ogg), through knowledge and force of will (Granny Weatherwax). Kings rule by divine right and compassion for the land; Vetenari, out of the practical fact of his ability to control the city’s factions. The Carpet People is shot through with themes of who should rule and why. Where does legitimate authority spring from?

Terry: The people! The only trouble is the people can be a bit stupid—I know that; I’m one of the people, and I’m quite stupid.

Lord Vetinari is that wonderful thing: a sensible ruler—that’s why he’s so popular. Everyone grumbles about him, but no one wants to chance what it would be like if he wasn’t there. I like Vetinari. I don’t mind authority, but not authoritarian authority. After all, the bus driver is allowed to be the boss of the bus. But if he’s bad at driving, he’s not going to be a bus driver anymore.

Now, an interesting sideline on this is the question of the writer’s position is vis-à-vis authority.

A journalist looks at authority as a target as a matter of course. You don’t actually have to fire, but you see it as a target. Since I am tainted as a journalist, I can’t separate that out from being a novelist, and my personal view is that you look askance (at the least) at authority. Authority must be challenged at every step. You challenge authority all the time to keep it on its toes. Vetinari works because there aren’t enough people who think he’s doing a bad job; they’re all factions, in any case. So he balances the world. It’s not everyone being happy, but rather not too many of them being unhappy.

Now you, Cory, seem like a fellow with a lot to say about authority yourself. Where would you say legitimate authority springs from?

Cory: This is a question I’ve put a lot of thought into as well. I think that just authority arises from systems that fail gracefully. That is to say, the important thing isn’t what happens when the ruler does something that you agree with—the important bit is what happens when she does something stupid and terrible.

I am far more interested in graceful failure than blazing success. If you select a leader by a means that contains robust oversight, a meaningful recall mechanism, and recourse to alternatives (an independent judiciary, say) in the event of substantial wrongdoing, the authority is legitimate, because if things were going badly off the rails, you could replace her.

This is something that worries me about Lord Vetenari. He is, like all of us, imperfect. Lacking any checks on his authority (apart from civic uprising), he is likely to fail badly, even though he succeeds brilliantly.

All that said (and to your question below): the *reason* to have authority is to simplify the task of getting on together. But technology lowers coordination costs and so undermines the case for governance in some instances. I generally refuse to predict the future (on the grounds that SF writers who dabble in futurism are like drug dealers who sample the product—unlikely to come to a good end). But when pressed, I say, “To imagine the future, imagine the cost of coordination trending towards zero in more and more domains. Now we make encyclopedias and operating systems the way we used to organise bake sales. What if we could build skyscrapers that way? Airplanes? Air traffic control systems?

The Carpet People concerns itself with many questions of infrastructure and public works—another theme that has featured in many of the most enjoyable Discworld novels, especially Going Postal/Making Money. Ultimately, it comes down to the builders, the wreckers, and the free spirits. Now that we’ve arrived at a time of deep austerity, what do you think the future of infrastructure is?

Terry: To crack and fall away, I sometimes think. From what I see around me, it’s people doing it for themselves. We know the government is there, but we know they have no real power to do anything but mess things up, so you do workarounds.

On the matter of builders, wreckers, and free spirits, I’d say that Tiffany Aching [beginning with The Wee Free Men] is a builder. Moist von Lipwig [beginning with Going Postal] is a free spirit, but also a builder—I think people can go in and out of sequence. My dad was a mechanic; maybe my interest in builders starts there. You made your own catapult. You made your own crystal receiver. He encouraged in me that kind of thing. Even if it was dangerous, he took the view that I ought to be clever enough to know what I was doing.

My parents were practical people. That’s the word that is missing here: practical about just about everything. The ground state of being of practicality. Sometimes things need tearing down—and that might be, as it were, the gates of the city. But if we talk without metaphors, I would say that building is best. Because it is inherently useful.

And you, Cory? Do you want to make the case for wreckers?

Cory: Never wrecking for its own sake. But disruption, yes, I’ll make that case. There is no virtue in the fact that all of us use toilets, but only some of us clean them. If we invented a machine tomorrow that obviated toilet scrubbing, that would be an unalloyed good, even though it also obviated the work of toilet scrubbers.

That isn’t to say that a just or caring society should cast aside the toilet scrubbers. The Luddite fight is miscast as a fight against technology, but it’s not—the Luddites smashed looms over a difference of how to apportion the dividends from automation, not because they objected to automation itself.

Kevin Kelly has a marvellous “robotics curve” that goes:

1) A robot/computer cannot possibly do what I do. 2) OK, it can do a lot, but it can’t do everything I do. 3) OK, it can do everything I do, except it needs me when it breaks down, which is often. 4) OK, it operates without failure, but I need to train it for new tasks. 5) Whew, that was a job that no human was meant to do, but what about me? 6) My new job is more fun and pays more now that robots/computers are doing my old job. 7) I am so glad a robot cannot possibly do what I do.

I’m not so sure about #6: we seem to be perfecting a system that only provides a living to financiers who invest in robots. This won’t work (if the bankers have all the money, no one can buy the things the robots make). We need a system that distributes automation’s dividends or we’ll end up with nothing at all.

One thing I’ve always enjoyed about your books with feudal settings is that it seems you get something like the correct ratio of vassals to lords. I always get a sense that for every ermine-trimmed guild boss in Ankh-Morpork, there are a thousand potato farmers in a shack in a field somewhere. So much of fantasy seems very top-heavy—too many knights, not enough serfs. Do you consciously think about political and economic considerations when you’re devising a world?

Terry: I’ve never been at home with lords and ladies, kings, and rubbish like that, because it’s not so much fun. Take a protagonist from the bottom of the heap, and in the same way it’s good to have a female protagonist, as she’s got it all to play for. Whereas people in high places, all they can do is, well . . . I don’t know, actually: I’ve never been that high. If you have the underdog in front of you, that means you’re going to have fun, because what the underdog is going to want to do is be the upper dog or be no dog at all. And I’ve never felt the need to have lords and ladies as my champions, as it were.

In Ankh-Morpork there are notables, some of whom are stupid, and some of whom are useful and likeable, but it’s a mercantile place. It’s money that matters. And where do I get that from . . . ?

Cory: Damon Knight once told me that he thought that no matter how good a writer you are, you probably won’t have anything much to say until you’re about twenty-six (I was twenty at the time and he was my writing teacher, at Clarion—ouch!). You’ve written about collaborating with your younger self for the reissue of The Carpet People. Do you feel like seventeen-year-old Terry had much to say?

Terry: That’s the best question you’ve asked all day!

I think the he had a go, and it wasn’t bad. And then he was clever enough to read a hell of a lot of books and every bound volume of Punch. But when I was younger, I didn’t have the anger. I think you have to have the anger. It gives an outlook. And a place from which to stand. When you get out of the teens, well out of the teens, you begin to have some kind of understanding, you’ve met so many people, heard so many things, all the bits that growing up means. And out of that lot comes wisdom—it might not be very good wisdom to start with, but it will be a certain kind of wisdom. It leads to better books.

The Tiffany Aching series is what I would most like to be remembered for, and I couldn’t have written Tiffany Aching when I was seventeen. I just wouldn’t have had the tools.

But the question remains: As a writer of fantasy, can I be a proper writer? I don’t do literature, I do writing—you get paid for writing, for literature you just get plaques to put on the wall. I never really bother about it. I don’t think anyone in the genre does. It doesn’t really matter; it’s what you’re doing: you’re working. Writing happens; it’s what I do. I’m here; I do it. I like doing it. I like getting paid for it. I like the fun.

Being an author is not as much a job: it’s a life.

Thank you, Cory. It’s been fun.

Cory: “Being an author is not as much a job: it’s a life.”

Preach, brother!

It’s been fun for me, too. You certainly have your share of plaques on the wall and a richly deserved sword made of genuine sky-metal, but as a reader of your works, the thing that matters most to me is the books, for which I am heartily grateful.

https://boingboing.net/2013/11/05/a-conversation-with-terry-prat.html

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andrewuttaro · 5 years

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New Look Sabres: GM 66 - EDM - Numbers

Perhaps this game represents the Sabres season; at least from a standings point of view this game last night was what being a Sabres fan has felt like this season. Favorable numbers toward the start followed by an ugly decline that turns the math against you. The simplest stat in hockey is goals. In this game last night Buffalo had more of those up until the dying minutes of the second period. It ended 4-3 Edmonton. I went into this game giving some good thought to the Phil Housley criticism. I thought: You know what, this guy is in his first NHL coaching job and in spite of it being his job, you could say he still is wrapping his head around what he’s got. I was feeling very generous having those thoughts and if the game didn’t kill the good will I was trying to foster for Housley then his postgame comments did. He said his team played 55 minutes of great hockey. The other 5 were bad minutes. That would be a nice piece of analysis with a team that consistently plays well and beats the teams they should. This team does not, and that comment is stupid. The numbers that do not represent time are against those comments. Jack Eichel scored two goals in a loss. Linus Ullmark was hung out to dry as his defense let up the greater number of high danger shots. The Oilers outplayed the Sabres in every statistical category except the powerplay and shots on goal. You had me fooled, Phil! I was sitting happy halfway through this game looking at the next four to five games being winnable! Boy, am I fool! The numbers are clear. After having an 83% chance of making the playoffs at the start of December, the Sabres are now nine points out at the start of March having gone 34 games without back to back wins! The 2014-2015 Tank team that was designed to lose and drove me to watch the Rangers most of that season, that team only got as bad as 31 games in that category. This ain’t it, Phil. I don’t know who I want to replace him in any intelligent way but when he’s back behind the bench for the home opener in October I am will not be a happy camper about it. This game was the microcosm of this season and oh so appropriately that microcosm ends in a loss.

The game starts off with an unlucky shorthanded goal against when Connor McDavid and Leon Draisaitl teamed up for the latter’s 41st goal of the season. Edmonton maybe wasting Connor McDavid and will likely miss the playoffs this season but there are guys tearing it up there in spite of it all. I hate that Buffalo and Edmonton are still comparable in this way because on the very same powerplay Jack Eichel revives the home crowd with a tight net-front goal to draw the score even again at 1. If there is one big positive for the Sabres in this game it was a full display of Jack Eichel’s leadership. The rest of this first period is a vision of what we thought the Sabres would be in 2019 in 2015. Jack Eichel helping Montour get a great chance. Okposo getting a great chance. Sheary knocking at the door. Jeff Skinner was chopping at that net like a lumberjack because he wants to get Rocket Rickard trophy votes. Casey Mittelstadt broke through Mikko Koskinen with a point-blank blast at 13:19 into the first period. The primary assist on that was Scott Wilson who, only now gets his first NHL point of the season having missed the majority of it with a gruesome ankle injury sustained way back in Training Camp. The fun only continued when Jack Eichel made it 3-1 unassisted in a no-look smacker that earned his team a standing applause as they went to the locker room for the first intermission! The likes of Jeff Skinner, Rasmus Ristolainen and Evan Rodrigues all shined bright with beautiful chances in the second period too. While the pushback came in the second that lead remained into the second half of the middle frame and I began to foolishly let myself hope looking at the schedule. Oh what a fool I am.

Less than four minutes left in the second period the whole Sabres defense was caught puck watching when Zack Kassian got a McDavid assist on a one-timer snipe that made Ullmark look confused. It’s now 3-2 Oilers and the floodgates are opened. A puck squirted out of a battle on the wall to Darnell Nurse who wired it home for the equalizer. Credit where credit is due, Jeff Skinner starts taking shots from Ovi spots to try and get the lead back, but the Oiler kept pushing. Give me an intermission, PLEASE! The horn to end the period did not come soon enough and with a mere five seconds left in the second period Adam Larsson takes a shot on net from way out that trickles in past Ullmark. Evidently Kyle Brodziak tipped it in, and I have not seen Ullmark angrier than after that goal. Some folks I heard wanted a challenge for a kicking motion by Brodziak but gee, I just don’t have the energy to litigate shit like that when the Sabres are this bad. Boos came down and Carter Hutton replaced Ullmark in net for the third. A one goal deficit never looked so demoralizing for a team and the Sabres never looked like they were going to come back. Sure, like many times this season its been encouraging to just see the Sabres have legitimate rushes in on net; hell, Brandon Montour is worth the price just for his ability to pass the puck to the offense if nothing else. In spite of Jeff Skinner not getting the puck across the line behind the Edmonton netminder and Jason Pominville blocking his own tap in (?) the threat of a Sabres equalizer just never seemed real. It ended 4-3 Oil.

I legitimately had a moment last night where I sat down to write this reaction and for the first time this season doing that I just couldn’t. My wife and I were having a good night and I just said no for my own mental health. With 16 games left in this season the Sabres need to go 14-2 to legitimately have a chance to make the playoffs. Pardon my French: What the Fuck? I had to talk myself out of buying a Skinner jersey that probably wouldn’t fit me at this time in December we were all so into this team. They were gold at that point, the best team we’d seen since before the Harbor Center was built! Now I would rather watch MLS Review videos and blog about a soccer team that isn’t even playing this calendar year than watch this team take on clubs they should be beating by multiple goals! WHAT THE FUCK! So, let’s turn away from the frustrating team stats for the far less frustrating individual stats. Jeff Skinner sits at 36 goals 9 back of goal leader Alex Ovechkin. He probably doesn’t have the most goals by the end of this season but if he can get north of 40 and push near 50 in these last several games its going to do a lot for how we feel going into next season when he’s inevitable signs. He should get some MVP votes. Jack Eichel sits at 25 goals. He needs to reach 30. I say that because this season has been such an encouraging step forward for him that hitting the 30-goal mark needs to happen as a bookmark if nothing else. Casey Mittelstadt just hit 10 goals and sits at 21 points with his 11 assists. He’s probably not quite the Calder Trophy contender we thought he could be but that’s ok because he’ll be a great C2 real soon. His fellow rookie Rasmus Dahlin on the other hand should get the majority of the Calder Trophy votes in my bias opinion. Dahlin has more points than all but one rookie forward has. The lone guy ahead of him in that category, Elias Petterson, has cooled off a fair bit from the first part of the season in which he was destroying worlds with his goals. What Dahlin has done puts him in an elite company among rookie D-Men in this league already and that’s more special than anything Petterson has done. Rasmus Dahlin for Calder!

I hate pushing hard for individual awards because it feels so dirty against not making the playoffs. Then again, I still feel cheated that Artemi Panarin came in out of nowhere and stole it from Jack Eichel in 2016. Those however are the things I’ll cheer for to avoid the crushing gloom of what a missed opportunity season this has become. That and I eagerly await exit interviews to see how Jason Botterill and Phil Housley envision next season. There is an outside chance that changes Botts’ opinion of Housley prompting a coaching change, but the more likely and interesting outcome is the two of them hammering out a plan of Playoffs or bust. Their comments have grown a little bit conflicting in these late phases of the season in spite of that vote of confidence a couple weeks back. All this and the Amerks will go on a run. How many times have I mentioned that? Not enough, one more time: the Rochester Americans are going to probably win the division and make a deep playoff run. Like, comment and share this blog with your friends. The end of this Sabres season, for how disappointing the lack of a playoff berth will be, will be very interesting in terms of Front Office Palace intrigue. There will be a new Will for the playoffs in 2020 at that point and how this organization fixes to get there will be fun to watch. For now, we eagerly anticipate Jeff boy. Come on, Skin man, sign on the line!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. Columbus is my favorite non-Sabres Eastern Conference team to watch going into these last 15 games. They pushed all the chips in on a run this post-season and its not even for sure they make the playoffs right now.

#buffalo sabres #hockey #blog #nhl

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