#newton's spine of six and more

[epistemebabu]

NEWS: upgrading the painvalanche

She's Jharan. I'm a psychotic; schizoaffective, to delimit it. I use antipsychotics for episode manangement, and won't, otherwise; I've lost enough to zombi.

Juvenile diabetic ; related to the psychopathology ; doubt springs eternal.

The tags are consistent. Think of it like a gallery. I'll tag triggers by adding a wing, but not otherwise; #flesh contains persons absent coverings, such disassembled & drawn, music, text and some mixed-media, #microthedas has text-posts, and #spectocular has aesthetic posts, for example. This post is tagged with all of the commonly-used ones.

I can be incredibly unpleasant to interact with while psychotic (or while not, but, y'know). Please block me if I'm worsening your experience.

Ideally this would go without saying, but I don't endorse everything posted by anyone I reblog from.

I often make claims with a 'people have said' or the like; if you want sources for these, tell me, and I will retrieve them. I usually have a particular source in mind, and if I don't it'll force me to engage with the material in a more rigorous way.

If you want my contact information for other platforms, ask! I use most, though not right at the moment.

[newtonsheffield]

Darkest timeline part 2 as soon as possible Molly I beg of you🙏🙏🙏

Anonymous asked:

Darkest India timeline part 2 please Molly? We’re begging. It could be Anthony waking up and being introduced to baby Edmund or convincing Kate to move back home.. ANYTHING

Anonymous asked:

Mrs Bridgerton???? Ohh I think we need more runaway Kate AU pleaseeeeee

Okay, Once more round the block this time let's check in with Kate

And You can find Part 1 here

It had been a difficult journey, even more fraught than the one to Englands had been. Six months stuck in a tiny cabin, travelling alone this time but for Newton. No Mary or Edwina to entertain her, no one to talk to her or make her laugh when the wind whistled past and the sea grew rough.

She had looked back at London as she'd stood on the deck of the ship and imagined, just for a moment, that she could stay. That she could stay with her family and not be bothered when one day she'd read the news that Viscount Bridgerton had found a wife. That there would be nobody to interrupt this ceremony. No kangan to fall to the floor and distract him. Likely no thoughts of her at all. But she could not. It would be too painful, so she left. Looked away from the life she wanted and sat in the cabin until London disappeared into the distance and her tears littered her pillow.

Kate had tried to occupy herself at first, tried to sit on the deck of the ship and count the clouds as the passed over head, tried not to remember how the sky had looked in the country over the house she wished they stayed together, the family she wishes was partially hers. And they could have been.

He'd tried to ask her to marry him, hadn't he? While he told her he'd taken liberties with her, and she'd shaken her head because her virtue had been something she'd given freely. He hadn't taken anything from her. She had known that they could never be together, not with his near marriage to Edwina, but she'd wanted in that moment to give herself one night. One Night where she could pretend to be his, delude herself into thinking she was his wife. But when he'd offered it to her she'd known that marriage was a duty for him. And this one would destroy his family. So she'd run.

She sat in the cabin of the ship taking her hundreds of thousands of miles away wearing the clothes she'd stolen from him before she raced home, letting herself sit amongst his scent: masculine and powerful, but soft at the same time. Gentle. And she knows it will fade, in time, and she should save it for when she needs it, but what is there to be done now?

And then it starts.

She should have noticed her courses stop, she knows she should have, but she'd lost count of them, if she was honest, in the rush and the emotion of everything that had happened, and so: it is only when the nausea starts, every minute of every day that she knows.

And All she could do is cry. Cry and Cry for the child she will bare who will never know their father the same way she never knew her mother. Who will never know his soft smile, or the way his laugh sounded or the way it felt to be held by him. Would never know how she had loved him.

But her spine had stiffened, those six months on the ship, while her stomach swelled and she changed and she loved the tiny life her love had created. And she'd known that what she felt for the viscount, no, for Anthony. She'd loved the man, not his title. What she'd felt for him had not been for nothing. And by the time she departed in Bombay, she was ready.

She made her way through the city, her heart aching for the familiarity of it: went to the house, where a room had been advertised to let, and immediately, the housekeeper had eyed her suspiciously.

"Can I help you, Miss is it?"

Kate cleared her throat, she'd practiced this on the ship, again and again until it felt natural on her tongue, right down to the affectionate eye roll. "Mrs. I married in England. My husband has sent me home while he fights in France."

"You, have family here?"

"Yes." She didn't even falter on the lie, because it wasn't for her, it was for her child. For the only thing she would ever have of him. "But they have no room for a guest. I have money, and I plan to find work after the baby comes in a few months time."

The housekeeper had given her a sharp look for a very long moment before she'd sighed. "Very well, Mrs...?"

She'd trailed off, waiting for her to fill in the space with her name. smith. She'd practiced that on the ship as well. Mrs Smith. Chosen for how nondescript it was, how many people in England bore that name, impossible to trace. She would be Mrs. Smith, and in a few months, when it would be feasible that she could pass off one of the letters Mary would send her as news from her husband: She would be a widow. But when she had opened her mouth, a different name came out. "Mrs Bridgerton. I'm Mrs. Bridgerton."

She knew it was wrong, to take his name from him when he had only offered it from obligation, never the feelings she felt, but she couldn't change it now. Couldn't change the person she desperately wished in her heart she was. So she started her new life as Mrs Bridgerton.

She sent a letter to Mary, her address attached and when the time came to tell her, about the life inside her: she didn't. If Mary knew she would drag Anthony to India and force him to marry her and it would be just as bad, stuck loving a man who couldn't love her. So she stayed, and she waited for the postman to come every morning to ask if he'd any letters for the house. Snatching the ones addressed to Miss Kate Sharma before anyone could see them.

And one day. God, one day. One arrived from him. From the man whose wife she pretended to be while his child grew inside her, stronger by the day. Tears clouded in her eyes as she stared down at it, sat in the chair in her room, the envelope resting on her stomach, his child kicking at its father's handwriting. And she couldn't bring herself to open it. Not even when they arrived in bundles. She could not. Not ready to hear what he would say. That he'd married, that he loved another, that he was ready to forget her. She could not read it.

And then the baby came.

She remembered when mary had delivered Edwina: Soft screams for a few hours and done. Maybe her memory had dulled, softened by childhood but this was not like that. She had always been weak, she knew, begged for attention for love from anyone who would stand close enough to her but this was another sort of weakness. When she ached, and cried and screamed and prayed for him to come. For Anthony to burst down the door and save her. But he did not come. In the morning, his son did.

She'd wondered about the baby, of course she had, what it would look like, a girl or a boy, and in her heart she'd hoped for a boy. A boy who'd grow handsome and strong like his father, whose smile would steal hearts and his hair would curl just so on his forehead. Edmund she would call him. For the father Anthony had loved so desperately and never grieved openly. And so Edmund Bridgerton II was born. Named for his father and hers.So beautiful she could cry, did cry, her heart bursting with love. The boy who in a kinder, Better world would be a viscount. Now a Governess' son.

She had been out. Running errands, Edmund bundled in her arms as he always was, Kate too weak to be without him, to be away from him. The tiny piece of Anthony she still had, returning home in the heat of the day when she heard it

"Kate!" She barely heard it at first, thought she'd been hallucinating likely, her mind showing her the voice she had wanted so desperately to be here.

"Kathani Sharma!"

Her head shot in the direction of it this time, unable to help herself. God how long had it been since anyone had called her that. And there he was. Anthony, Ninth Viscount Bridgerton hurtling down a street in Bombay with no coat on, his shirtsleeves rolled hair wild.

"Anthony?"

He was right in front of her, his shoulders heaving as he fought for breath, his eyes wild as they raked over her face. "I love you!"

Her mouth fell open in surprise, her mind racing, struggling to put together the pieces as Anthony's own eyes widened, his eyes falling on Edmund, and he started falling, panic rising in her own chest as she darted forward, trying desperately to support his weight and keep them upright.

"No no no! Anthony!" She couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but desperately try to support them "Help! Please help us!"

The housekeeper heard the ruckus, throwing open the door, her eyes wide, "Mrs Bridgerton?! Whatever is the matter?!"

Anthony's eyes rolled back in his head, and his entire body went limp. Edmund was wailing, unsure, terrified of being jostled so much, panic rising in Kate's chest, wheeling around, looking for someone to carry him.

"Sir, please, please help us carry him inside." The man nodded, staring curiously at Anthony, at them both, at her panic but he hauled him to his feet as Kate whirled around, "Mrs. Varma, please fetch the doctor for him, please."

"He was here a short while ago, asking for a Miss Sharma."

Kate's heart was pounding in her chest, her shoulders heaving as she said, "He's my husband. That's my maiden name, he told me to use it here."

She was inventing wildly of course, but Mrs Varma seemed not to care, seemed to think there was no harm in it.

"Miss? Where do you want him?" The man said gruffly, staggering under Anthony's tall frame, and Kate tried to think no more of it as she showed the man to her room.

"It's a bump to the head, Mrs Bridgerton, nothing more. He will awaken soon."

The doctor had said, but that had been hours ago and there was still no movement.

Kate couldn't stop staring at him, her mind racing. He looked just the same, if a little care worn, with dark circles under his eyes, a little thinner, paler even than he had then.

She'd never expected him to come, even if she'd had dream after dream where he found her, swept their child into his arms and showered them both with love: She'd known he wouldn't come. And yet, here she was, unconscious on her bed while Edmund slept soundly in her arms.

Kate stood slowly, letting her hands trace over his face, just as she had that night, when those lips had moved against hers and she'd wanted. Her heart pounding in her chest as she left him, walked to her wardrobe and took out the bundle of letters he'd written to her. page after page he'd scrawled out in his masculine, cramped, hand and for the first time, she opened one.

Kate,

I know that I shouldn't address you by your given name, as you've not asked me too but I cannot call you Miss Sharma. You can never be her to me again. That was the woman I met but did not know, the woman who aggravated me, and held a mirror up to myself so I could see who I truly was, how much I needed to let go. You will always be Kate to me, and I am sorry if that offends you, but I know no other way to address the woman I know owns my heart.

I should have told you, that morning when I proposed that I was not proposing because I had injured your virtue, I do not regret what occurred between us that night, only the manner in which it happened without first expressing this: I love you Kate.

I will love you until the very last breath leaves my body, and I never should have let you go but know this: I am coming to find you, kate. For if it cannot be you, it will not be another.

I love you.

With Love and affection,

Your Anthony.

They were all the same. Signed the same, the same declaration. Some where short.

It rained today, and I thought of you and the way your Appa would read to you. When you're my wife I will shoulder this task as I shoulder all tasks of providing for you, of caring for you. Because I love you.

Some were pages and pages where he told her of the dreams he had for their future together, raising their children on his estate and by the end of the bundle, she could barely breathe

I leave tomorrow. Until then, my love.

Her shoulders heaved as tears ran down her face, sobs wracking her body as she clutched her son to her chest, heart pounding painfully for the man in the bed who-

"Kate, please don't cry."

The man who was awake.

A shuddering gasp left her body as she darted forward, her hand reaching for him of its own accord, cupping his cheek as his eyes burned into his.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was shaking, as Anthony's eyes fluttered closed at her touch, his hand covering hers.

"I've never been better than in this moment."

"What are you doing here?" She knew, she'd read his letters, but something in her needed to hear him say it.

"I came to find you." His shoulders heaved with a shuddering breath as he pressed his forehead to hers, "I love you, Kate and I never should have let you go. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you, and I have loved you every day since and I will keep on loving you until I have no more tomorrows to give you. I have never been a perfect man, but I will strive every day to be someone that you could be proud to stand beside and call your husband. I will give you the life you deserve, Kate. I want to spend every day for the rest of my life, with you."

Their tears were mingling, lips nearly brushing just as they had, all those months ago now, and she couldn't hold it in.

"I love you too. I loved you that night in the Library at Aubrey Hall, and I loved you when I told you I was ashamed to have kissed you, I'm not ashamed to love you, Anthony. I could never be ashamed of that."

"Come home with me, Marry me." His voice was so gentle, his hand on the back of her neck, sealing their lips together while her heart hammered in her chest, the salt of their tears on his tongue.

"Yes."

His smile was so beautiful, so young and handsome and carefree, eyes shining at her for a very long moment before he said, with his voice achingly soft. "Kate, Can I- Um- May I-hold the baby?"

Kate startled as his eyes fell to Edmund, eyes just opened, staring up at his father curiously, Anthony's hand hovering just over him, the shape of their eyes exactly alike.

"He's yours."

Anthony huffed out a laugh, nodding his head. "He?"

She nodded against him, placing Edmund softly in his arms as Anthony's breathing shuddered. "This is your Papa, Edmund."

Anthony's eyes shot to hers, his shoulders heaving as she swiped at his tears. "Edmund."

"He's named for your father, and mine. I thought it... I thought it was what you would name your son."

Anthony shot forward, his lips meeting hers desperately, so much emotion passing between them I love you gasped against her skin, pressed there until she believed it.

"Edmund."

"We might... have a little explaining to do when we return home."

Anthony chuckled against her, his lips curling upwards, "That is the very last thing on my mind. Let me hold my wife and son, Viscountess. I've been without you long enough."

And she didn't have it in her to correct the title that tomorrow would be hers.

And when they stepped off the ship in London once more, Edmund cradled against Anthony's chest, her hand on his arm, she couldn't have cared less about the tiny lie they told. A secret wedding (the date on their marriage certificate slight fudged), a trip home to collect her things, waiting until Anthony joined her for their honeymoon. All she cared about was him. And the tiny thrill she got when Edmund's first word was Papa

Part 3

[angelic-holland]

All Too Well ☼ 1

Missed Alarms & Maple Lattes

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x fem!reader

Warnings: anxious first meeting & flirtations

Word Count: 2.8k

Y/N accepted a job on the props team for a small rom-com never expecting her life to change completely because of a boy with blue eyes and a bright smile. But as autumn turned to winter, she found herself embracing her vulnerabilities and hoping her love didn’t end when the movie wrapped.

masterlist ☼ taglist

A/N: thanks for the kind words over the prologue! I’m glad you’re enjoying it so far and would love to know what you think of this chapter as well!

☼ ☼ ☼ 

Six Months Earlier...

“Rex, you’re hardly my boss. I’m saying that in the nicest way possible,” you grunted when hot glue burnt your finger.

“Well, if one of us doesn’t haul ass over to Harrison’s trailer to wake him up, we’re both fired. You know how shit I am at driving.” He gestured to the hot glue gun you had clutched in one hand, the other shaking to relieve the sting of the burn.

“Fine. Only because I don’t want you to crash my car.”

“Too cheap to pay assistants so they treat the interns like ones,” he grumbled, taking the glue gun from you.

“All I want is a real job after this one,” you huffed, digging your key chain out of your pocket.

“Don’t we all,” Rex echoed. 

You began to head out of the set, a log cabin snuggled inside a few acres of forest. 

“Hey! Hey!” 

You turned, raising an eyebrow at the curly haired blonde girl perched on a directors chair.

Kat Newton. She’s drop dead gorgeous. Her curly hair swept up into a high ponytail. The “no makeup” makeup look for the first scene of the movie being filmed made her look like she just woke up in the most elegant way possible. To say you had a crush on her was an understatement. 

“Hi, Kat, what’s up?” You came to a halt in front of her chair.

“Harrison’s coffee. He’ll need it if he woke up late.” She held out a cup of lukewarm coffee, and you took it with a smile, nervously looking away when your fingers brushed.

“Thanks. I’ll pass it along to him.” You raised the cup before turning and jogging out the door.

The coffee smelled amazing as it jostled in your hand.

It reminded you of a little breakfast bar you visited with Rex before the all day script reading. Chocolate chip pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup. 

Unlocking your car, you slid into the beat up Subaru, passed down from your uncle to you, it’s definitely seen better days.

The cloth seats had so many stains from your adventures on different film sets with Rex.

Coffee when an entire box of Joe broke in your passenger seat. Some type of sauce from a local Vietnamese restaurant. A burn from when Rex almost set your car on fire with a joint and blowtorch. 

You smiled at all the memories from the past few years as you started the car, pulling out of the parking area by the cabin.

It was cold, like you were well warned about before taking the position.

Ludlow, Vermont was a small town where the director owned a beautiful log cabin, apparently where he wanted to film most of the romantic comedy. 

But it was freezing. You wanted to get the heat fixed before making the drive so when you had to make the twenty minute drive to and from to your trailer every day you wouldn’t turn into an icicle, but chances of that were low. Especially with your pay. 

Instead, you opted for mittens and hand warmers at the end of August. Driving out of the parking area you began your venture down the barely there driveway that led to the poorly paved highway cutting through town. 

You drove for about five minutes before you spotted him, dark blond hair sweaty and matted to his forehead, running like he was in a marathon down the side of the road.

“Harrison?” You shouted, rolling down the drivers side window. The dark blond haired boy glanced over at you as you slowed your car to meet him on the side of the road.

“Harrison Osterfield?” You shouted once more, almost certain it was him.

He came to a halt, taking heaving breath with both hands on his knees. 

“I’m sorry, Uh, if you’re a fan, I can’t really stop to take pictures. You see I-,”

You barked out a laugh, the entire sentiment quite hysterical to you.

You haven’t really worked directly with celebrities before, but you didn’t quite expect that reaction.

He looked at you slightly bewildered as you put your car in park next to him.

“What?”

“I just-,” you paused and slapped your hand over your mouth in a sad attempt to suppress your giggles.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, jogging over to your window. He had to practically bend in half to make eye contact with you, eyes searching for any recognition of who you might be.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Props assistant for Love Me Not. I was sent to pick your sleepy ass up.”

“Really?” He nearly screeched eyes lighting up when you nodded.

“You know, I’ve been late to a lot of things in my life. But never the first scene of my own damn movie,” you huffed, unlocking the doors. “Get in.”

He jogged to the other side of your car, wiping the sweat from his forehead before clambering inside. His legs nearly didn’t fit in the space between the dashboard and his seat, cramped and shoved up to his chest.

He awkwardly rubbed his palms on the fabric of his sweatpants while he stared at him expectantly.

“Buckle your seatbelt?” 

“Oh shit! Yeah, yeah,” he swore, quickly buckling his seatbelt before anxiously tapping his knees.

“Oh yeah, uh this was for you.” You tilted your head toward the coffee cup in the cup holder of your center console.

“Was?” He asked hesitantly while you began to make a u-turn in the middle of the road.

“I may have drank some.” 

“May?” 

You both looked at the red lipstick stain on the cup and then you followed his gaze to your lips.

You ignored the heat you felt and quickly centered your stare back on the road.

“Just my compensation for driving to pick your sleepy ass up.”

“I feel like my sleepy ass should have coffee.”

“Maybe if you were on time you’d have it. Here, there’s probably about half left anyway.” Handing him the coffee, you shivered when his fingers touched yours. 

“Cold?” He asked, he watched the goosebumps raise on your arms before retreating his hand.

You gulped, nodding while your hands gripped the steering wheel.

“Here.” He leaned forward, about to turn on the heat.

“Wait!” You screeched, smacking his hand. Too late. 

Tammy, your car, shuddered to a stop in the middle of the road when Harrison pushed the button for heat.

“What just happened?” Harrison asked while you took your keys out of the ignition.

“Tammy here does not like when heat or AC is used. So we need to give her a moment.”

He looked at you skeptically, which was totally understandable. He probably has never been in a car that crapped out when you try to use the center console buttons.

“Sorry, I love Tammy.” You patted the dashboard lovingly. “But she’s basically a grandma. Can’t quite multitask anymore.”

“So we’re stuck? Shit.” 

“Well,” you tsked, rolling your eyes at the movie star next to you.

“I know, I know. If I woke up to my damn alarm I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Enjoying a lukewarm cup of coffee in a stalled car in the middle of the road with a glorified assistant?” You asked in a teasing tone.

You couldn’t blame his frustration as he scowled at you. But he looked as harmless as a bumblebee.

“You’re adorable,” you said without thinking, quickly focusing back on Tammy when you felt his stare on you.

“I was going to say I wouldn’t be getting to know a pretty girl and her shit car.”

“Hey!” You scolded him, playfully smacking his arm. “Don’t say things like that. Tammy might hear and retaliate.”

“Is Tammy jealous?”

You rolled your eyes at his question before attempting to start the car.

“Call Tammy pretty. It might do the trick.”

Harrison laid a hand on the dash and you caught a glimpse of chipped blue and yellow nails.

“Oh Tammy, I know I was complimentin’ the driver here earlier. But you are also a very pretty girl. Beautiful even. You know that coat of paint on ya is almost the same shade as my eyes.”

As if Tammy was blushing, the moment Harrison finished complimenting her and you turned the keys once more, she roared to life.

“Hey! Nice!” Harrison laughed, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window. 

“She just needed a little love is all. Hey, you look like the one who’s cold, trying to run all the way to the cabin. Here.” You stepped on the brake before turning to rummage through the backseat.

Grabbing your red scarf, you tossed it at the boy next to you.

“What’s this for?” 

“To warm you up. I don’t want them to accuse me of giving the star frostbite.”

“I’ll make sure after they cut my frozen toes and fingers off you tried everything you could.”

You huffed out a laugh as he wrapped your scarf around his neck, burying his hands and face in the material.

“What?” He whined, his voice raising in pitch. “It’s cold.”

“I know, silly. That’s what the scarf is for. Anyway, I’m pretty sure Ryan is going to be pissed when we get back so prepare for that.”

“Oh, I’m used to scornful directors. Don’t worry too much about me.”

“If you say so.” You shrugged, pulling back into the parking area.

“Thank you, by the way,” Harrison said when you parked the car. He began to take off your scarf when your hand came up to rest on his.

The warmth from his hand sent a shiver down your spine, the contrast between your cold palm was dizzying. 

“Keep it. Stay warm while you’re getting lectured about waking up on time or whatever.”

“Okay, yeah, uhm, bye then.” 

He took off out of your car before you could respond, running wildly toward the cabin with your red scarf wrapped snugly around his neck and billowing behind him with his strides. 

***

“Harrison! Over here!” 

You watched with Rex as Kat and an older man who could’ve been about a dozen people on set waved at Harrison from across the food tent.

“What is the blue eyed arrogant asshole doing coming our way?” Rex asked, echoing the joke you made earlier.

“No idea.” You shrugged. “Maybe to make me pay him back for the half a coffee I drank.”

Before you could distract yourself by pushing food around on your plate or making a snide remark to Rex about his peanut butter and tomato sandwich, Harrison sat down across from you.

“Uh, hi?” You phrased it as a question, head turning between Kat, Harrison, and Rex.

“Mind if I sit here or are you two-, oh.” Harrison’s voice dropped off when he saw how close you and Rex were sitting.

Rex snorted, his sandwich landing all over the table as he choked.

“Oh fuck you, Mr. ‘I’d date you if we were high school theatre nerds’. Pretentious motherfucker.”

Harrison looked between the two of you, both laughing to the point of doubling over.

“Okay Miss ‘I only make out with you when I’m drunk’.”

“Hey!” You smacked Rex’s arm again, inching your body away from his. You didn’t have a good response, or at least one that wouldn’t make this airy conversation turn a little too psychological after a full day of filming.

The truth was, casual was never something you could do. Meaningless hook-ups were simply not in your vocabulary.

So of course when you’re craving that physical affection but don’t have the emotional intimacy you need, you turned to your best friend.

“Sit, please. If only to make it so I’m not alone with this jerk.” You playfully shoved Rex’s shoulder before taking another sip of your coffee.

“How was the rest of the shoot this afternoon?” You queried once Harrison settled down.

He shrugged, picking over his food the same as you.

“It was okay. Willow wants me to do some work on my character without ‘taking it home with me’.” He said the last bit in frustrated quotations, angrily stabbing a piece of pasta with his plastic fork.

“You can do that, you know. Method acting usually doesn’t work too well from what I’ve experienced.”

“Y/N you acted twice. Once for fifteen minutes in a shitty one act that I wrote. And-,”

You cut Rex off. “And once as Wendla because the actress who was playing her dropped the second to last week before tech. I was her understudy.”

“Yeah, and I was Melchior,” Rex finished, a smug smile on his face.

“So as you can see. Not method acting is how I got through that show with this one.” You pointed the back end of your fork at Rex who doubled back in fake shock. 

“Maybe the two of you can help me, then?” Harrison asked hopefully, his blue eyes twinkling with the desire to learn. 

Rex barked out a laugh before you smacked him. “Sorry. I don’t get paid enough for that. Plus I could never do as good a job as Y/N could.”

“Only for the ego boost of being a makeshift acting coach for a famous actor.”

Rex couldn’t make another joke before one of the hair and makeup people interrupted you. 

“Harrison? You’re needed in hair and makeup for reset now.”

He grumbled for a moment, looking at his hardly eaten plate of food. “Can I bring this?” 

“Let’s eat and walk,” she said, ushering him up from his seat.

Harrison was swept off with a shy and awkward wave back at you. 

“You’re crushing on that blond haired, blue-eyed beauty, aren’t you?”

“Stop talking like you’re in a Disney show and eat your food.” Your tone, although you didn’t mean for it to be harsh, came off slightly cranky.

Rex ceased the conversation, pushing around the food on his plate while you angrily stabbed at the salad on your plate with your plastic fork. 

“Y/N!” 

The man standing with Kat earlier grabbed your attention as you and Rex had quickly made up and finished your food.

“Uh, hi?” You asked hesitantly, moving Rex along with your eyes and a quick nod.

“Dean Willow. Acting coach. You’re Harrison’s assistant, correct?” 

Rex snickered when you shook your head.

“what are you then?” He asked as you shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.

“Uh, part of the props team. Like assistant to the assistant to the assistant to the props designer. I just have my list of props for each scene and make them look nice.”

“And you went to school for this?” He asked, not so much condescending as curious.

“I did theatre tech and acting as a minor. Just wasn’t my thing.”

“I couldn’t help but overhear what you and- who was it? The guy with the weird name?” 

“Rex.”

“Right. Rex. Talking with Harrison about Meisner. I know he was saying he didn’t think it helped but you sort of talked through how it made sense to you and how it worked for your production of- what show was it?”

“Spring Awakening. Lots of eye contact, lots of chemistry work with people you might not normally have intimacy with.”

The Meisner technique wasn’t the best for every actor nor did it help with every production or scene. But it was useful when it needed to be and you much preferred it over other acting techniques.

“I want you to work with him.”

“Isn’t that your job?” 

He laughed, “normally yes. Kat would do the technique with him and they’d work together to form that bond. But as you know she has to work with two leads so splitting her time between the two of them is difficult. We were discussing having someone he already has chemistry with helping ease him into the technique while she works with Jacob.”

You flushed at his comment before straightening up.

“Chemistry?”

“His body language said it all. From when he walked onto set this morning relaxed by your side. He’s calm around you. Not jumpy. I think he’s a terrific actor but an anxious boy. He’s not anxious around you.”

“I’ve known him for like a few hours.”

“And?” Dean asked, as if that meant nothing to him.

“Would I really be the best person to help?”

Dean nodded in understanding, running a hand through his grey and thinning hair. “I’ll make a deal with you. Next movie I’m doing is huge. Bigger than this rom-com. It’s in Hollywood, we need an assistant to the props master. You help me, the job’s yours.”

“I already offered to help him. You don’t need to bribe me.”

“Ah, but I know this extra motivation will make sure you put in your best work.”

You looked back toward the door and Rex, who was leaning against the wall and watching you with a ridiculous smirk.

“Okay. Fine. But I’m leaving. I’ve got a billion and a half years of sleep to catch up on.”

Willow chuckled, nodding understandably. “Let me know if you have any questions. Kat is also a great resource to bounce ideas off of.”

***

Just as you were about to roll over and bug Rex about getting drunk instead of sleeping, your phone buzzed.

Meet me in my trailer? - the blue eyed asshole

***

Taglist: @ifilosemyselfagain​ // @youremusicinme​ // @tombob2005​ // @hazmyheart​ // @softholand​ // @seredipitous-amor // @buckybilal // @calhtlland // @sunshinepeterparkr // @viagracex​// @thenoddingbunny-blog​ // @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh​ 

[thatshankcallednewt]

TMR High School AU - Newt: Unexpected

As requested by anonymous, a Newt/Reader pairing in a high school AU (I made it a boarding school, hope you don’t mind) where Newt is a bad boy with a bad rep, however, is soft around the reader. I hope you like it!

You were just finishing up an hour of study at the library. It had been a long day of classes, and you had several assignments to finish by the end of the school week. You were fairly studious and put a lot of effort into keeping up with the work, however, your friends were probably not the best influence on your study habits. Though, you cherished them lots.

You were supposed to meet Teresa and Brenda in fifteen minutes for coffee… but you knew you’d be a little late. They wouldn’t mind so much, and you’d just text them that you wouldn’t be on time.

You still had a few books to put back, so you grabbed the small pile of hardcovers and made your way through the high aisles, stacked with classic literature and history books. It smelled a lot like dust and old paper, but it wasn’t a smell you hated. You were just putting back one of Poe’s short story collections when you heard someone at the end of the aisle cough.

You turned, glancing in their direction. A boy about your age held open a hardcover from the poetry section, though the author on the spine was too hard to recognize from where you stood. The boy was dressed in the same uniform as your school’s uniform, dark blazer, and button up shirt, trousers, and clean shoes, though his tie was missing, and his collar was opened up. After hours, so it wouldn’t matter too much, though if one of the teacher’s caught him like that, he’d have a telling to. Especially, if he rocked up to dinner with his shirt open.

You blinked, eyes widening a little, when you realized who he was. You felt your cheeks pinken and you quickly slotted the book away in the shelf, tidily. You had to take a few steps closer to him to return your other books, though you suspect he’d be too busy to notice your existence—

“Poe, hm?” he asked, without even looking up from his book. “Depressing fellow, don’t ya think?”

You stared at him a moment before answering, only realizing a good few seconds after that he was actually speaking to you. “Uh, yeah, I suppose.”

Newt closed the book he held, it snapped shut, and he dropped it into his bag. He was eyeing you as he zipped his pack up, “Suppose you wouldn’t tell on me, eh? I hate having a restriction on how many books I borrow and when.”

“Sure…” you said, though, you were completely unsure.

He slung the bag so that one strap sat over his shoulder, and he stood up straight again. He was a lot taller, now that you stood so close. He ran a hand through his golden, messy curls, and squinted at you as if taking another look. “I know you.”

“Yes,” you said, quietly. You put your last book away with the romantic poetry.

“Teresa’s friend, right? Uh, Y/N…” he glanced at the book as you put it away. “Aren’t we supposed to be hanging out at Little Blue in…” he glanced at his watch, “ten minutes?”

You nodded, your grip on your bag tightening. His brown eyes held yours so confidently, it made you nervous. You were always a little intimidated by the guy, ever since you met him. He was one of Thomas’ friends, and Thomas was Teresa’s boyfriend, so oftentimes you would all hang out together after school.

Thomas was nice and so was Minho, but Newt had a sort of reputation for not taking shit from anyone… and starting it.

“Well then,” he said off-handedly, “we better be off, otherwise we’ll get our asses kicked for turning up so late.” He turned from you and exited the dark aisle, walking toward the library doors. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at you when he noticed you weren’t walking beside him, and he stopped in his tracks, “You comin’?”

You walked fast to catch up with him, your heart beating a little faster than normal. You never really spent time with Newt on your own, only with everyone else. You were sort of surprised that he’d even remembered your name. You never once imagined you’d catch him in the library, of all places, and walk with him to the coffee shop your friends hung out at so often.

You both exited the library and clambered down the stone steps. The air was a little chilly, so you hugged your blazer tighter to your body to combat the small gust of wind. Noise of traffic and people bustled about out on the street, which was such a contrast to the quiet whispers in the old library.

Newt wasn’t hurrying about anymore and instead fell back into a slow, casual walk. Apparently, it didn’t really matter to him if you were both late. He fished around for something in his blazer pocket and he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one with ease and glanced at you, “Want one?” he mumbled with the thing sitting between his lips.

You shook your head and watched your feet as you walked on, occasionally glancing up to check your surroundings and Newt. He puffed out smoke with his next few breaths, obviously not caring that he was smoking a cigarette out in public while still dressed in the school uniform. You weren’t surprised.

You both rounded a corner in silence when a group of more boys from your school appeared, lounging around a park bench. You recognized them immediately and felt the nerves in your stomach explode. It was Gally, a tall, thickly built senior with broad shoulders and piercing eyes. Word was that he and Newt had it out for each other, so did his whole group of friends with Newt’s friends too. You often got the gossip of it all from Teresa.

“For fuck’s sake,” Newt breathed and ditched his smoke, stomping it out with a little twist of his foot. He eyed Gally as he and his friends approached Newt.

“Ah,” Gally sighed, standing right in front of the pair of you. “Look who it is, the reptilian and his—” he eyed you once over, quickly and mostly without interest, though you knew he recognized you from the way his eyes blinked, “his hostage, probably,” he glanced at his friends and laughed, and they laughed with him.

Newt shook his head, smiling with venom, “Reptilian? Get some new material, mate. I’ve been waiting all year for you to give me something fresh.”

Gally rolled his eyes, “Who’s this then, your next victim? Poor girl probably doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

You glanced between the pair of them nervously, hugging yourself tighter against the wind, as if your blazer would protect yourself from the explosion that was bound to happen. It always did with these two. Newt would get snippy and Gally would yell and then punches would be thrown. Usually, Thomas would be one of the boys to rip them apart, with the help of Minho, except neither of them were around now.

“She’s just fine, thank you, and definitely doesn’t need someone like you swooping in to rescue her. I’m escorting her to—”

“Escorting, huh? How gentlemanly,” Gally laughed in Newt’s face, and then looked at you. He was taller than Newt, though you’d seen Newt bruise him up good a few times despite the size difference. “I’m warning you now, he might seem nice but he’s definitely going to leave you in a deep, dark ditch somewhere when he’s got what he wanted—”

“Speaking of yourself there, Galileo?”

Gally went red and an angry tone crept up into his voice, “You better watch it, Newton—”

“Or what?” Newt challenged, his brown eyes flashing with mischief. This was the part that always got him in the end. And now that they weren’t on school grounds, it was unlikely someone would come to split them up. “You’ll pummel me into the ground with your girly pals, six against one, and a poor innocent girl to witness?”

Gally thought about this a moment, glancing at you again. His nostrils were flared but the redness in his face and the anger in his voice seemed to dissipate quickly enough, “Fine. But next time I see you, I won’t hesitate.” And with that, Gally and his gang rounded the corner you’d both just passed, his friends leering and glaring at him as they disappeared out of sight.

“Right tosser, he is.”

“You stir him up, though,” you said, matter of fact. It was true.

He looked at you, as if surprised at your honesty, but there was a small smile on his lips. He readjusted his collar and started walking along the footpath again, “Well, he riles me up, too.”

“Then how about ignoring him?”

Newt laughed, “That would be no fun.”

You rolled your eyes, and he noticed, but again it only brought him amusement. You were starting to wonder why he hadn’t clobbered you yet or told you to fuck off like he usually did with everyone else. Maybe it was because you were Teresa’s friend and he didn’t want to piss Thomas off.

You walked a little way more in silence and then you said, sort of out of nowhere, “I was a little surprised that you remembered my name.” You would be at the coffee shop soon enough, and it felt like you’d never get another chance to speak to him one-on-one again.

His brow furrowed at this, “But we see each other often enough—”

“Yeah but… You’re you. Busy and complicated, a lot going on—”

“Busy and complicated?” he almost laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know,” you urged, unsure how to put it. “You.”

He shook his head and took his hands out of his pockets. He climbed up a stone wall that bordered the front of a house you were passing on your way, and he balanced on top as he continued walking in the same direction. He stopped and when you caught up to him, though your feet still firmly planted on the ground, he dropped to his bottom and sat on the ledge, his feet dangling off the edge. He wasn’t super high off the ground, but you still had to lift your face a little to look up at him.

“I’m surprised you have an opinion of me,” he said, quietly. He brushed a few curls out of his eyes and lit another cigarette. “Usually you just stick your nose into a book or stare out a bloody window.”

You felt your cheeks blush at this, skin hot. You turned away from him so he wouldn’t see it, but he saw it alright, and he grinned without you knowing. You stared out into the street, hard, your nose beginning to feel cold. “Well, I—” you started, turning back to him once you were sure your pink cheeks had faded in color.

He was watching you, his head tilted, occasional puffs of smoke drifting out from his lips.

“It’s not that I haven’t noticed your existence or anything…”

He snorted, “Just ignoring me, then.”

“No,” you retorted, a little angrily. “I just…”

“Don’t want talk to me,” he finished your sentence, taking another drag of his smoke. He looked out onto the street behind you.

“That’s not true.”

“You were practically in shock when I suggested we walk together!” he argued, referring back to the library earlier. “I saw it on your face, your mouth was open a little and your eyes were wide, like I’d suggested we bloody go off and shag or something.”

“I was not—”

“I had to stop and ask you to follow a second time, Y/N.”

You sighed, exasperated with his behavior. “Like I said,” you started, calmly, your voice even again, “I was just surprised.”

He nodded slowly, his brown eyes staring off into the distance. You were walking a street on a hill, so the stone ledge had given him a clearer view of the town below. He jerked his head to the side, indicating to the space next to him on the ledge, “C’mon up here.”

You stared at him a moment, unsure. You were already so late to meeting up with your friends, but still, he didn’t seem to mind it one bit. No wonder he was as chaotic as he was. You gave in, realizing he probably wouldn’t move his ass of the ledge until you’d done what he had asked. So, you lifted yourself up onto the stone, a little less gracefully than he did, and turned so that you faced the view of the hills and the town below. You smoothed out your skirt. It was beginning to draw closer to dusk now, so there was a hazy sort of glow in the sky. But you could still hear all the traffic and people about.

You could see the small coffee shop from here; it wasn’t much farther away now. You spotted your friends huddled inside, sipping hot chocolates and coffee alike, talking animatedly to each other.

You readjusted your blazer, feeling the chill grow steadily colder with the apparent night air seeping in over the town. Newt glanced at you, then the view. He puffed out another breath of smoke. He fiddled with the cigarette in his fingers.

You finally looked at him, “So?”

“So?” he mimicked, an amused grin spread across his face. You suddenly wondered if you’d ever seen him smile like that before, and it took you by surprise. He shook his head, “So, what?”

You pursed your lips, looking away. You willed the blush on your cheeks to vanish, to stop being so embarrassed and nervous around the boy. He wasn’t as dangerous or dodgy as everyone let on, at least, not around you. “Why are we sitting here?”

He laughed. He took another drag of his smoke, “Because, my little bookworm, you spend too much time doing things that have a point to it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you turned your head, brows furrowed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” he said, putting out his cigarette; he scooted closer toward you, his face inches from yours, and you felt a sudden urge to leap from the wall, “you need to stop for a moment and watch a fucking sunset.”

You searched his brilliant brown eyes, which were so close now, since he hadn’t bothered to scoot backwards yet. You were holding your breath and your heart was racing. He turned his head so that he could see the view again, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from him. His shoulder touched yours, and his hand was splayed over the stone, his pinky finger on yours.

You shook your head, supposedly at him but more at yourself for being so freaked out by him. You glanced at the pinkening sky. “Didn’t take you for a ‘stop to smell the roses’ kinda guy,” you said, honestly.

“Maybe you just inspire me,” he answered, without looking back at you.

���You hardly know me,” you scoffed.

“And isn’t that exciting,” he said, eyeing you in the pink and orange glow of the now setting sun.

Newt wasn’t the kind of boy to watch sunsets with girls. Newt wasn’t the kind of boy to walk girls to a coffee shop. Newt wasn’t the kind of boy to—

You were trying to remember how much of an idiot, bad boy this golden-headed classmate of yours was when he leaned in close, his hand on yours, and pressed his lips to your lips.

He tasted like smoke and coffee. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t enjoyed the feel of his heated kiss, but you were to quick to end it. With a jolt of shock and realization, you practically jumped away from him, landing on the footpath. You straightened your blazer, looking around wildly, everywhere except his eyes.

He got down from the stone as smoothly as he had gotten up there. He eyed you a moment, a tug of a smile on his lips, and then he started forwards towards the shop where your friends were crowded. You watched the back of his head, keeping a few good steps behind him.

You were trying to process the fact that he had kissed you when he stopped in his tracks and turned around to face you. His hands shoved into his blazer pockets, the sky beginning to darken. He stared at you.

“What?” you asked, bravely.

“You’re hanging back like you’re scared of me,” he frowned, “I don’t bite, you should know that—”

“You kissed me,” you said, heatedly.

“Correct,” he answered.

You glared at him. Your hands tightening into fists, they hung by your sides as you said, “You don’t just go around kissing people, at least I don’t—”

He blinked, “I just thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” you interrupted. You sighed out of frustration and peered over his shoulder to see the coffee shop at the end of the street. “And if you go around kissing people like that, then maybe what they say about you is true—”

You kicked off from the pavement and maneuvered past him. But he caught onto the sleeve of your blazer with a tight grip and yanked you back, which almost tripped you up with the sudden change in direction. You stumbled a little but shook him off, glaring up at him with furious, big eyes.

“I don’t go around doing that,” he said, softly. There was no anger in his eyes or in his voice. This boy, who you’d seen clobber any and every guy from your school, even students from neighboring schools, was calmer than you’d ever seen him in your life. “You can think what you want,” he started, “but I want you to know that that isn’t true. Not a bit.”

You were still staring into his eyes, even after he’d finished his defense. You sensed honesty and earnestness in his voice, in his face, his eyes.

You nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “I guess, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled. “You just…”

“Surprised you?” he finished, raised brow.

You laughed a little, shaking your head, “Guess so.”

He smiled a little. You both made it to the front door of the coffee shop and saw your friend’s faces inside, all confused that you were showing up together since you rarely talked to one another.

Newt glanced at you, “I won’t do it again,” he said, honestly, referring to the surprise kiss you had. He reached for the door, and finished, “Not unless you want me to.” And with that, he entered the shop and greeted his friends with a shout.

You were almost stunned into silence. This boy, who wasn’t supposed to be so gentlemanly, who was the talk of the town, who didn’t care about anything or anyone—

And you, you were falling for him.

[dweemeister]

NOTE: This is the third film released theatrically during the COVID-19 pandemic that I am reviewing – I saw Raya and the Last Dragon at the Regency Theatres Directors Cut Cinema’s drive-in operation in Laguna Niguel, California. Because moviegoing carries risks at this time, please remember to follow health and safety guidelines as outlined by your local, regional, and national health officials.

Raya and the Last Dragon (2021)

As Raya and the Last Dragon, directed by Don Hall and Carlos López Estrada and written by Qui Nguyen and Adele Lim, made its theatrical and streaming bow, the United States was grappling with a wave of highly-publicized hate incidents towards Asian-Americans in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic. This spike in racially-motivated verbal abuse, assaults, and homicides began with the pandemic and, frustratingly, had only been receiving national attention in these last few weeks. Despite the nation’s racist origins entwined with chattel slavery of black people and its continued unequal treatment of minorities including Asian-Americans, I am not qualified to say if the U.S. is “more” or “less racist” than other countries. But I can hardly think of any other people that interrogate racial inequality and oppression as much (and as publicly) as Americans – an undeniable strength. There was no way Raya and the Last Dragon’s cast and crew could have anticipated the film’s fraught timing, but the film provides a much-needed, positive, and heavily flawed, action-adventure romp drawn from Southeast Asian cultures.

The very notion that Walt Disney Animation Studios was attempting to craft a film using an amalgam of Southeast Asian cultures stoked my excitement and dread. Southeast Asian cultures – including, but not limited to, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Thailand, and Vietnam – are often lumped into those of East Asia (China, Korea, Japan), which dominate Asian-American depictions or Asian-influenced media in the United States. What gave me pause is that Disney’s track record in films featuring non-European-inspired characters and places inspired by non-European cultures is mixed. Aladdin (1992) and Pocahontas (1995) are aggregations of (and indulge in stereotypes towards) Arabs and indigenous Americans alike, especially in their presentations of “savagery” (Pocahontas in particular is guilty of false equivalences).

Cultural aggregations in fictional settings are not insensitive, per se. Yet, Disney’s stated intentions on this film are undermined by a voice cast ensemble almost entirely composed of actors of Chinese and Korean descent – you can bring up Adele Lim’s response to the voice casting controversy all you want, but her response contradicts the film’s promotion. Amid its gorgeous production and character design, Raya manages to avoid the worst mistakes of its Disney Renaissance predecessors. But its hero’s journey is too cluttered and too littered with the anachronistic and metatextual jokes plaguing the last decade’s Disney animated features.

Five centuries before the events of Raya and the Last Dragon, the land of Kumandra saw its people live in harmony with dragons. That relationship, however, would be devastated by the appearance of the Druun – a swirling, purple vortex that turns living beings into stone. In the conflict against the Druun, the last dragon, Sisu (Awkwafina), makes a fateful sacrifice to save Kumandra by concentrating the dragons’ collective power into a magical orb. Soon after, Kumandra’s five tribes – Fang, Heart, Spine, Tail, and Talon (named after parts of a dragon) – fight amongst each other for control of the orb (Heart eventually gains possession of it), effectively partitioning the land. In the present day, the Heart tribe’s Chief Benja (Daniel Dae Kim) proposes and hosts a feast-summit to discuss and heal Kumandra’s divisions. Benja has taught his daughter, Raya (Kelly Marie Tran), the ways of a warrior and the necessity for Kumandra’s tribes to realize their oneness. At the feast-summit, Raya befriends Namaari (Gemma Chan; Jona Xiao as young Namaari), the daughter of Fang Chief Virana (Sandra Oh). Predictably, Namaari betrays her new friend in an orchestrated ploy to pilfer the dragons’ orb for Fang. Just as the Druun make a surprise invasion of Heart, the botched heist sees the orb break into five, and each of the tribes makes off with part of the orb. It will be up to Raya to recover the other four pieces of the orb, lest Kumandra succumb to the Druun.

The film’s screenplay is, charitably, a mess. Though Qui Nguyen (primarily a playwright) and Adele Lim (2018’s Crazy Rich Asians) are the credited screenwriters, Raya’s phalanx of story credits (mostly full-time, white employees at the Disney studios) suggest studio interference. Raya seems as if it is trying to cleanly differentiate certain tribes as based on a certain Southeast Asian nation. Instead, it comes off as a brew of mish-mashed parts (this problem extends to the otherwise stunning animation). With the exception of those from the militant Fang, the bit characters from the various tribes do not behave any differently from the members of other tribes. The partition of Kumandra, five hundred years before the events of Raya, feels like as if it had never existed for lengthy stretches in this film.

After Kelly Marie Tran, as Raya, narrates the mythology and history of Kumandra in the opening minutes, the film’s structure tethers itself predictably to the monomyth. The fracturing of the dragon’s orb into five parts sends Raya onto a tedious adventure: the physical travel to a new part of Kumandra, introduction of a sidekick (all of them are comic reliefs), an action setpiece involving a necessary assist from new sidekick, and the integration of that sidekick into Raya’s ever-growing party. Lather, rinse, repeat. To squeeze the four other tribes into the film’s 107-minute runtime and set up a climax and resolving actions results in a frantically-paced movie. Almost all of the film’s dialogue is subservient to its structure, the hero’s journey. This disallows the viewer to learn more about our lead and her fellow adventurers. In arguably the most important example in how the dedication to story structure undermines the characters, take Raya’s repeated mentions to her newfound confidants that she has difficulty trusting others. Six years have passed since the day of Namaari’s betrayal and Raya’s discovery of Sisu. How has Raya’s sense of distrust evolved over time, and how does it manifest towards those of other tribes? Does it appear in moments without consequence to her quest, in gusts of casual cruelty? In terms of characterization, Raya is showing too little and telling just the basics – a dynamic that also applies to the film’s most important supporting characters.

Ever since Tangled (2010), the films of the Disney animated canon have increased their use of metatextual and anachronistic humor (e.g. Kristoff’s comment about Anna’s engagement to a person she just met in 2013’s Frozen and Maui’s Twitter joke in 2016’s Moana that still makes me gnash my teeth when I think about it). Invariably, the success of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) has seen its brand of pathos-destroying humor bleed into the Disney animated canon and Star Wars. Like so many films in the Disney animated canon, Raya takes place in a fantastical location in a never-time far removed from the present. From the moment Raya meets Sisu, the circa-2020s humor is ceaseless. For Disney animated movies set in fantastical worlds, this sort of humor suits films that are principally comedies, such as The Emperor’s New Groove (2000) – a work that owes more to Looney Tunes than anything Disney has created. Instead, Raya’s comedy will suit viewers who frequent certain corners of the Internet, “for the memes.” Do Disney’s animation filmmakers believe the adults and children viewing their films so impatient and unintelligent about human emotions? That they will not accept a scene that deals honestly with betrayal, disappointment, heartbreak, or loss unless there is a snide remark or visual gag inserted within said scene or shortly afterward?

Raya seems like a film set to portray its scenarios with the gravity they require. But overusing Awkwafina’s Awkwafina-esque jokes and a DreamWorks- or Illumination Entertainment-inspired infant causing meaningless havoc will subvert whatever emotions Nguyen and Lim are attempting to evoke. These statements are not arguing that Raya and Disney’s animated films should be humorless, that Disney should stop casting an Awkwafina or an Eddie Murphy as comic relief. Instead, Raya is another case study in how Disney’s brand of ultramodern humor is overtaking their films’ integral dramatics. Raya is noisy, clamorous – no different than anything Disney has released in the last decade, save Winnie the Pooh (2011).

Production designers Helen Mingjue Chen, Paul A. Felix, and Cory Loftis have worked on films like Wreck-It Ralph (2012), Big Hero 6 (2014), or Zootopia (2016). Each of these films feature glamorous, near-future metropolises or sleek digital worlds. Where the tribespeople of Kumandra might not be behaviorally-differentiated, the color coding, lighting, and biomes of each of the five lands comprising Kumandra ably distinguishes Fang, Heart, Spine, Tail, and Talon from each other. As if taking cues from the production designs of Big Hero 6’s San Fransokyo and, to some extent, The King and I (1956), it is difficult to pin down specific influences on the clashing architectural styles within the lands, in addition to the unusually empty and cavernous palaces and temples and varying costumes. As picturesque as some of these lands are, the art direction does not help to empower the characteristic of the tribes and their native lands. Nor does James Newton Howard’s thickly-synthesized grind of an action score, which prefers to accompany the film’s excellent combat scenes rather than stake a clearer thematic identity for its own. Howard uses East and Southeast Asian instrumentations and influences in his music, but, disappointingly, they are heavily processed through synthetic elements and are played underneath the film’s sound mix.

Character art directors Shiyoon Kim (Tangled, 2018’s Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse) and Ami Thompson (2017’s MFKZ, 2018’s Ralph Breaks the Internet) embrace the (generally) darker and varying skin complexions of Southeast Asian peoples. The skin textures are among the best ever produced in a Disney CGI-animated feature, and the variety of face shapes – although still paling in comparison to the best hand-drawn features – is a pleasure to witness.

The number of films starring actors/voice actors of Asian descent (all-Asian or majority-Asian), animated or otherwise, and released by a major Hollywood studio makes for a brief list. Raya and the Last Dragon joins an exclusive club that includes the likes of The Dragon Painter (1919), Go for Broke! (1951), Flower Drum Song (1961), The Joy Luck Club (1993), and Crazy Rich Asians (2018). Among those movies, Raya is the only entry specifically influenced by Southeast Asian cultures. Its cast may be headlined by Kelly Marie Tran (whose skill as a voice actor is one of the film’s most pleasant surprises), but most of the roles went to those of Chinese or Korean descent. No disrespect intended towards Gemma Chan, Sandra Oh, or veteran actress Lucille Soong, but the majority East Asian cast only serves to further monolithize Asians – as the amalgamated story, plot details, and production design have already done. I will not second-guess any fellow person of Southeast Asian descent if they feel “seen” through Raya. What a compliment that would be for this film. How empowering for that person. But the life experiences of those of East Asian and Southeast Asian descent are markedly different. Disney’s casting decisions in Raya – all in the wake of the disastrous Western and Eastern reception of the live-action Mulan (2020) – have revealed a fundamental lack of effort or understanding about the possibilities of a sincere attempt at representation.

To this classic film buff, the discourse surrounding Raya strikes historical chords. When Flower Drum Song was released to theaters, the film was labeled by the American mainstream as the definitive Asian-American movie. Opening during the height of the American Civil Rights Movement, the film (and the musical it adapts) looked like nothing released by Hollywood (and on Broadway) at that time. In that midcentury era of rising racial consciousness and the lack of opportunities for Asian-Americans in Hollywood, the marking of Flower Drum Song as the absolute pan-Asian celebration was bound to happen – however unfair the distinction. Even though Rodgers and Hammerstein (two white Jewish men who made well-meaning, problematic attempts to craft musicals decrying racial prejudice and social injustices) composed the musical and zero Asian people worked behind the camera, those labels remained. With some differences in who wrote the source material, The Joy Luck Club and Crazy Rich Asians have followed Flower Drum Song’s fate in their categorizations. Will Raya? Time will be the judge, the only judge.

Before time passes judgment, we have some present-day hints. Though not released by major studios, the quick succession of The Farewell (2019) and Minari (2020) point to an experiential specificity that Raya attempts, but never comes close to achieving. Whether through aggregation or specificity, Hollywood benefits from the perspectives of underrepresented groups. Widespread claims that Raya too closely copies Nickelodeon’s Avatar: The Last Airbender (2005-2008) reflect that dearth of East Asian and Southeast Asian representation in American media. For too many, ATLA is the Asian fantasy. These simplistic observations and bad-faith criticisms (one could rebuke Disney’s vaguely-European princess films on the same principles, but I find this as lazy as the bad-faith ATLA criticisms) also suggest a lack of understanding that Asian-inspired stories are drawing from similar tropes codified by Asian folklore and narratives centuries old. If one reads through this reviewer’s write-ups, you will find an abiding faith in the major Hollywood studios – past, present, and future – to be artistically daring and to genuinely represent long-excluded persons. Many might see this faith as misplaced. But even in the major studios’ flawed attempts to depict underrepresented groups, like Raya, they concoct astonishing sights and form moving links to the cinematic past.

Assuming you have not skipped to this paragraph, the write-up that you have read may seem scathing to your eyes. Raya is no Disney classic – there has not been one for some time. However, I thoroughly enjoyed my first viewing of Raya. After a few weeks’ worth of keeping my agony private over the recent uproar over attacks on persons of Asian descent in America, it was a surreal experience to see even an amalgamated celebration of Southeast Asian culture. Over this last year, we have lost people and things that emboldened us and ennobled us. In this season of unbelonging and otherizing feelings for Asians in America, Raya’s timing is fortuitous. It is emboldening and ennobling.

My rating: 6/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[xavieremix]

SCP-5620: Rainbow Drinker

A few facts!

Fact #1: I have a job in tech support! In a business building. There’s not much to do.

Fact #2: @crustybagelbites​ was making SCPs based off of Homestuck characters.

Fact #3: I have no self-control.

Item #: SCP-5620

Object Class: Euclid(1)

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-5620 is permitted free access to any part of the facility that she had access to during her life; however, she is not allowed to leave the facility without certain requirements; see Document #5620-00 for details. When residing inside a facility, SCP-5620 is to be given lodgings closely resembling a proper researcher’s dormitory; however, the walls must be lined with steel (or some other form of metal) capable of resisting a force of [DATA EXPUNGED] Newtons, in case of a shift into “feral state”, hereafter referred to as SCP-5620-A. The entryway must also be capable of being remotely sealed off with a similar wall, for the same reason.

Procurement: SCP-5620 was once a researcher for the SCP Foundation by the name of “Kanaya Maryam”. She was quite acclaimed, having worked her way up through the ranks due to her keen eye, expertise in the subject, and absolute loyalty to the Foundation, and has even managed to build up a rapport with SCP-[████] despite the latter’s incapability of human language.

However, during the events of the breach of SCP-[██████] (documented in Incident Report 3321), Kanaya was one of several to fall in the line of duty while trying to contain the rogue SCP. Due to the lack of staff on site, the breach (combined with several other incidents) cascaded into what could have required deployment of MTF Nu-7 (“Hammer Down”). However, during a showdown between the escaped SCPs, Kanaya appeared out of nowhere, somehow alive and displaying anomalous properties, and singlehandedly neutralized two of the rogue SCPs before destroying SCP-[██████]-1 with her bare hands and killing SCP-[██████] by means of [DATA EXPUNGED]; further details are documented in Incident Report 3520, although additional clearance may be necessary to access it.

After the surviving SCPs were re-contained and the site was re-secured, Kanaya submitted herself for containment and SCP classification, and willingly complied with all tests.

Description: SCP-5620’s is a humanoid entity that goes by the name of “Dr. Kanaya Maryam”, and insists on being referred to as such in all documentation and conversation that doesn’t regard her SCP status. She is [██████] tall, and of [█████████] ethnicity; for almost all other intents and purposes, she is psychologically and physiologically identical to a regular human being. However, she has five anomalous properties:

SCP-5620 is capable of outputting strength far superior to any normal human of her size and muscle mass, capable of bending steel, and even destroying other SCP-related artifacts. She can also heal from injuries that would prove fatal to most others - though she feels pain, she heals at an accelerated rate.

Related to the first property, SCP-5620 has a hole through her stomach, with a diameter of approximately six inches across. The tissue around the edge of the hole has scarred up, and SCP-5620 functions just fine despite the apparent lack of spine or organs that would have passed through that area.

SCP-5620 is capable of emitting light from her skin, at a level of 1,500 lumens - approximately the equivalent of a 100W light bulb. The glowing is mostly voluntary, although she tends to glow more based on the intensity of her emotions. During a state of SCP-5620-A, it can increase to almost blinding levels - exact details are still to be calculated.

The most anomalous property of SCP-5620 is her pseudo-vampirisim. She requires approximately one liter of blood to stay sated, although two cups at an absolute minimum will be enough to avoid a state of SCP-5620-A - during this time, however, she will be quite irritable, and should be confined to her room to stay on the safe side until her requirements are met. SCP-5620 has a strict preference for human blood, although other sources of blood will do in a pinch to reach the full liter. She seems to have a preference for type B Positive, and as such that type is supplied when possible.

The final property is SCP-5620-A: her “feral state”. When under intense duress, or when not supplied with a sufficient quantity of blood for an extended period of time, SCP-5620 becomes almost mindless, and all her actions revolve around resolving whatever triggered the state. For most incidents (ie, a lack of blood), this is resolved by SCP-5620 hunting down the nearest living humanoid and [DATA EXPUNGED], draining them of 90% of the blood in their body in the process. After at least two liters of blood are ingested, this process can repeat up to six more times before SCP-5620 gets sluggish, eventually falling into a comatose state and remaining as such for approximately eighteen hours. After waking up, SCP-5620 claims to have no memory of her time spent in this state - although she tends to avoid contact with close acquaintances of those she killed.

Document #5620-00 (Transportation Protocols): Due to the volatility of SCP-5620’s mutation, it is unwise to let her roam free. However, since she has proven such a valuable asset to the Foundation, the need may arise to transport her to another facility - temporarily, or permanently.

Unless the situation is an emergency, the request to transport must be approved by two researchers and one site director, from both origin and destination. SCP-5620 must be escorted by a temporary task force of no fewer than sixteen (16) individuals, which must contain at least eight well-trained security officers, four medical personnel, and two D-class personnel. Both D-class will be given a “Dead Man’s Switch”, and are instructed to only release it if the rest of the escort team is dead or incapacitated, in the instance of a state of SCP-5620-A. One of the D-class is to be used to feed SCP-5620 in that scenario; their switch is a dud. The other D-class will have a functional switch, which will send a distress call to dispatch MTF Alpha-9 (“Last Hope”) to subdue, restrain, or - if there is no other option - terminate SCP-5620.

Footnotes:

1: There have been requests - both submitted by SCP-5620, as well as a few other site administrators she’s worked closely with, to reclassify her as Thaumiel due to her assistance in locating, cataloguing, and containing other SCPs. These requests have been denied, though there has been continued discussion on the topic.

[areiton]

Happy 300th episode, Supernatural!

I'm not watching tonight but I'm super excited and so happy for our boys and fandom! So here's 14 (one for every season!) of my favorite SPN & Destiel fics to celebrate!

~

Nintey-One Whiskey by komodobits

In the spring of 1944, the 104th Medical Battalion of the United States Army is disbanded, and its men reassigned to various infantry companies in preparation for their invasion of occupied France. For First Lieutenant Novak, this is less than helpful, as he has so far met his platoon’s designated medic a grand total of twice, and has both times found Sergeant Winchester to be the optimum combination of reckless, arrogant, and downright insufferable so as to make cohesive platoon function near impossible. When the time comes to move out, however, Castiel has to reconcile himself to the fact that men are going to go down and trust that Dean Winchester may well be the only person who can put them back together again. WW2 ETO infantry AU.

~

A Turn of the Earth by mishcollin

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

(Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline preseries and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

~

Still Life by @catchclaw

Dean'd always thought that falling in love was a capital letter kind of thing, an Important Event you carved into the calendar of your life and never, ever forgot. But with he and Cas, it wasn't that simple.

~

Breathe Lightly by nhixxie

"To my first love, and my last, Dean Winchester. These are the things I want to tell you: the human body is 60% water. The number of neurons in one person is the rough equivalent of the number of stars in a small galaxy. There is 0.2 milligrams of gold in your blood. The heart is an elaborate engine. I love you."

~

The Unwavering heart of a Winchester by @violue

There’s no point in mincing words. Sam is dead, and without him Dean is a drunken shell of who he used to be. When he finally pulls himself out of a growing pile of whiskey bottles, Dean finds it hard to go back to his life. With one flippant comment from a friend, Dean thinks he might finally have a way to make peace with the loss; Sam was an organ donor, and Dean’s going to find the recipients, talk to them, and see how their lives are better because of his little brother. For the first six stops on his road trip, things go mostly according to plan, and then he meets the man who has Sam’s heart. Dean had hoped he might find peace on this trip… he never expected to find love.

~

Stray by Morgan

“Dean’s always been the type to pick up strays, even though he knows he can’t keep them. Most strays you just patch up and feed before you send them on their way.” One day he runs into a stray he might actually want to keep.

~

Gravity vs Velocity by PaperAnn

Newton's law of universal gravitation states that any two bodies in the universe attract each other with a force that is directly proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between the two bodies.

Dean swears he feels an honest-to-goodness gravity (not any scent-true-mates-bullshit) pulling him to a mysterious omega and makes the worst mistake of his career... he only has one thing to say...

Fuck science.

~

Ad Astara by nhixxie

One day Cas says, "Stars died for you, Dean Winchester", against ruffled hair perched atop sun kissed skin and sleepy eyes.

Dean stirs, moving to spread his palms against the contour of Cas’ back, tips of fingers languidly strumming the indentations of his spine. One, two, three, four, he counts, the closest he could get to scientifically studying the anatomy of the human body.

"Is this some physics crap again?" He frowns with eyes closed.

Cas smiles softly. "Far from it."

Dean’s fingers play at the base of his back, ninth thoracic vertebrae, Cas notes.

"Then tell me all about it."

~

The Inexhaustible Silence of Houses by Askance

Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh.

But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

[Dean/Cas Big Bang 2012 - masterpost with artwork can be found here on livejournal.]

~

All Things Shining by Askance

Something in the world is waking up.

It isn’t long before it’s brought to the attention of the Winchesters and Castiel: miracles are spreading across the country, the paranormal seems to be shrinking back on itself—and it all has something to do with the missing prayer book of a traveling preacher who died over a century ago.

Dean is convinced it’s all the lead-up to another Apocalypse; Sam and Castiel aren’t so sure. Regardless, it sends them out on a less-than-typical road-trip, following the Mississippi and remnants of a very old story that seems increasingly to call to them. And along the way the trio learn much more about themselves—and the consequences and origins of love—than they’d ever have anticipated.

~

The Cold Fusion Job by @la-rubinita

Castiel Milton is a brilliant electro-chemist at the peak of his career. He’s developed the ultimate energy source, the science behind it promising to revolutionize the world energy market and combat climate change in a way few could have ever dreamed. He’s proud of his work, but he’s grown restless and is more lonely than he realized. He’s ready for a change.

Dean is a thief and mercenary by trade, on a mission of absolution with his rag-tag family. But when the nastiest skeleton in Dean’s closet rears its ugly head, Dean is put between a rock and a hard place: steal Castiel’s research or Sam dies.

It’s all downhill from there. Dean is not the only thief after Castiel’s work, and no one is pulling any punches. Castiel ends up along for the ride, stepping up time and time again, as determined to save Sam as he is to protect his life’s work.

Dean doesn’t know what to do with Castiel and his too-blue eyes that see more than they should, or the growing affection he has for him that, like everything else about this wild night, is completely out of control.

~

Take the Long Way Home by @catchclaw

How do you know that somebody loves you? When they kiss you? When they come back? When they stay? Or is it only real once you hear it, once they say it, that thing that's always been true: I love you.

*AREI NOTE: this is Wincest, give this a pass if that's not your cuppa.

~

Path of Fireflies by @museaway

How do you know that somebody loves you? When they kiss you? When they come back? When they stay? Or is it only real once you hear it, once they say it, that thing that's always been true: I love you.

After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

~

Domo Arigato (Mr. Roboto) by @destimushi

Even as civilization is falling apart around him, Dean’s personal losses inspire him to create new beginnings and a second chance at happiness. Playing God isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and Dean soon finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place: do the right thing or cling to the ghost of a past life?

[rmfaye-blog]

application

tw: violence, death 

Ruin is a potent word. Evocative enough. Visceral. It’s a slipknot of a syllable, and only one at that. On better days, something more palatable. Pill-sized.

And it is that small. Nearly mundane, to the point of being thoroughly unremarkable. I’d rather spare the details I wouldn’t mull over myself—be it the meticulous choice of language. The sheer drama of metaphor. Whatever.

Whatever.

Ruin is enough.

The first thing that comes to mind is “hereditary.” Two expats with flight abilities who remain landlocked on an island south of the Malay peninsula.Two people that couldn’t cave to the pull of the compass needle and instead remain two feet planted firm. Two parents that decide that there’s joy in confined, domestic spaces: a three-story Newton condominium built off of exploited labor. Milk spoiling in the fridge. Baby teeth kept in a jar.

I was fine, at first. Great, actually. Nothing I liked more than the security of four walls. Marked territory in its own right. The ticker had been the second I’d turned thirteen, when something flicked on in my brain. Warped. Uncertain. Then it went haywire. Television snow for vision, but it’s soaked red to the last pixel. Every nerve pulsing.

Had anyone had taken my skull and cracked it in two, they might’ve seen it then. Right inside the fleshy, worm-pink of the cerebrum: an unusually large amygdala, perhaps. A shriveled fold where the prefrontal cortex resides.

My parents, however, had the misfortune of knowing too much and understanding too little. Animal-based mutation runs in the family, but mine was a whole different kind of breed.

I have to give it to them. They tried their hardest. Home schooling until they couldn’t at fourteen, a false diagnosis for intermittent explosive disorder in case I raise hell. But even the most patient forms of love can wear thin.

In some cases, neither patience nor love can do anything at all.

Gumi is a conundrum of a memory. If I wanted to be the poster girl for their PR department, I might have hailed it as the “sanctuary” for folks of our sort. But that’s not a position I’d gun for. I’m self aware at least. Self aware with a crippling habit of looking at the mirror and thinking vanish. Vanish.

Vanish.

I took to Hellion, Hellion took to me. A straight shot that hit bulls’ eye. Their dorm building allowed for some semblance of normalcy, that much was reassuring.

I can’t tell you about what happened on those hunts. The island. Inside the cage. Again, details. There are two people who have long graduated, but they have the teeth marks to show for it. Along their spine, back of the neck, the inner flesh of their arms. Battle scars, for the times they can glow with pride.

A few reminders out of many, on all of mine.

It’s funny how the little things turn you inside out. A shift in position. A loose strand of hair. A single malign cell.

For me, it’d been a phone call.

That’s another time I don’t speak of either. Neither does the one who was with me that night. People speak about their childhood terrors, the shadows that creep along their walls, of the hollow judgement that echoes in the word of raw guilt. And all I can say is, talk to me when you know grief.

Talk to me when you know about the way it crawls, tears into your ribs. When it scratches through the walls, the wood of the headboard, and when that isn’t enough it’s the skin of another person and then your own—but it’s not your own, that’s not your nails that claw into muscle, the screams that stun the hall into silence—and it isn’t enough, enough,

Enough,

Enough.

ENOUGH.

“What’s your damage?” Is what my therapist of six years likes to ask me in lieu of a greeting, tongue-in-cheek, demure smile pressed into the heel of her palm. And I laugh. Or smile. Depending on the hour, the flux of my mood. Call-and-response. For someone who’s gone through so little I talk way too fucking much.

Some days it’s about how the daffodils in my window box have bloomed earlier than expected. Or I’d seen a white cat run with a fledgling limp in its mouth. Other days, an infomercial on salvation during breakfast spurs a monologue on how God now requires collateral. Investment. (”Well you’re my project here too, Faye.” “As if I don’t know that, Jinah.” Then we’d laugh.)

The previous session had been about DNA. How my father, with FLIGHT sewn into his atoms was overtaken by one that commanded ROT. My father, uselessly stubborn as he was patient.

A mutant defeated by a mutation of all things. The irony stings, a hard slap to the cheek.

I had to take a gap year before returning to my graduate studies. A year that led me to everywhere and nowhere—the pillow held to my mouth in the solitary confines of my room, hands reaching for the peak of Kilimanjaro on an entirely different continent.

I don’t know what I was trying to hold in, let alone was searching for. I must’ve succeeded in both endeavors to have returned.

It’s that, or that fat sum of money for my PhD that had me leave my poor mother behind in Hong Kong to crawl back to Incheon.

Whatever helps me sleep better at night.

An ‘I’ in ruin. An 'I’ to personalize, hold to the rapture like a flame. It’s the most dangerous pronoun.

For: I stand next to you in ruin.

Ru(i)n (I) run I run

So I run.

Feral mind is an ability where the user is thrown into a state of pure violent, animalistic fury. During this time, one’s most primal instincts are kicked into high gear, namely the fight or flight dichotomy—the former a more common occurrence when compared to the latter. The pupils dilate to a disturbing degree, and any last bit of human conditioning (language, socialized behavior, rationale, etc.) ceases to exist. In its place, more creature-like tendencies take shape, be it through body language or nonverbal sounds such as hissing and growling. Familiar faces are rendered prey, and the damage that follows is often critically irreversible. Traits such as strength, stamina and reflexes are also enhanced—what was once impossible to break with average human ability is done almost effortlessly.

This ability can only activated by some form of trigger; with Faye, it’s anything that causes an emotional/mental imbalance, be it by forced or natural means. Her time at Gumi has allowed her to fine tune the ability to initiate this power at will—focusing on a negatively charged memory usually does the trick. Bringing Faye back to her “ground” state proves to be difficult even to this day, though it has significantly improved since the power first manifested. Hours of meditation, intensive emotionally-focused therapy and anger management have allowed for some improvement. In cases where her enraged state don’t cease, tranquilizers have been used as a last resort (she keeps a few on her person, just in case).

WEAKNESSES

Episodes of rage last between twenty minutes to two whole hours, depending on the emotional intensity and  physical condition of the user. Naturally, the longer one remains in that spell, the more weakened they’ll become in the aftermath. cases of sudden burnout, fainting and collapsing are not uncommon.

Weights up to five times her weight (~500-600lb) can be lifted with ease—anything that exceeds that amount will only increase in difficulty, with 1000lb (about one-fourth of the total weight of a car) being her absolute limit. Even then, such amounts can only be held for about 15 seconds or less.

Running speeds go up to twice the rate of the maximum human rate, averaging in around 30-35mph, with distances lasting up to only 2-5 miles.

Users with strength, speed, and tranquility-based abilities could wear down and potentially overpower those with feral minds.

Incapable of deflecting injury. Any that are received do carry over, regardless of the degree of severity. This also applies to how one’s ability use: in that state, running over 20 miles an hour is a walk in the park, but the soreness will be present long after they’re returned back to “normal.”

The more frequently feral mind is in use, the more prone the user is to mental and emotional stability in their normal state. The probability of mood swings and emotional outbursts do increase, as do the chances that their “human” personality might slip from them entirely.

[noloveforned]

no love for ned on wlur – july 30th, 2020 from 1-3pm

artist // track // album // label mick trouble // do nothing till you hear from me // (bandcamp mp3) // (unreleased) courtney love // baseball bat // one last kiss compilation // spinart hits // bottom feeder // sediment seen cassette // paisley shirt unrest // six layer cake // live in newcastle- august 2, 1993 // teenbeat the sofas // nothing major // chop water cassette // jurassic pop illuminati hotties // freequent letdown // free i.h: this is not the one you've been waiting for // (self-released) * portabella // lovely in my spine // portabella cassette // paisley shirt cloud nothings // right on the edge // the black hole understands // (self-released) spelling bee // sodium // caterwaul // pancake productions magik markers // machine // isolated from exterior time: 2020 ep // drag city * liquids // piece of my heart // one hundred percent shit // (self-released) dream wife // so when you gonna… // so when you gonna… // lucky number * idle ray // fire ants // demo ep // (self-released) robert scott // might c u later (demo) // the drop bear's song- an australian bushfire relief album compilation // aquarium drunkard yo la tengo // james gets up and watches mourning birds with abraham (wednesday) // we have amnesia sometimes // egon * jon collin // fifth // interval music cassette // winebox press joëlle léandre, myra melford and lauren newton // whisper four // stormy whispers // fundacja słuchaj! tim stine trio // fads // fresh demons cassette // astral spirits charles mingus // prayer for passive resistance // mingus at antibes // atlantic roscoe mitchell quartet // odwalla // come and see what there is to see // the label kamaal williams featuring lauren faith // hold on // wu hen // black focus martin kohlstedt featuring sudan archives // auheja (sudan archives recurrent) // auheja (sudan archives recurrent) digital single // parlophone spacebomb house band // kickflip // library music ix- the best played lands // spacebomb alice ivy featuring swsh // my turn // don't sleep // last gang * chaka khan // i feel for you // i feel for you // warner bros. tops // direct sunlight // i feel alive // musique tops jonathan bree featuring princess chelsea // kiss my lips // after the curtains close // lil' chief * karl blau // spin around // children of all ages // (self-released) the shaggs // yesterday once more // shaggs' own thing // light in the attic annie the clumsy // you bastard // split cassette w/ boys age // paisley shirt pianosaurus // thriftshoppin' // groovy neighborhood // rounder franz charcoal // feminine panic // great scraps ep // sub pop

* denotes music on wlur’s playlist

[epistemebabu]

Manifold thanks to the Witch-and-Sister, that pertussigants might metronome my flesh as the infirmity takes me.

Bounteous thanks to the Sister-&-Witch, that lhabitistic thirst might be bound by worm or bird.

Artifice and spite to the Mother Mary, beheld and beholding. DATY, or so I have heard, though lillitum are bot around.

[jamesgraybooksellerworld]

Pierre GASSENDI  (1592-1655).

Opera omnia: in sex tomos divisa, edited by Henri-Louis Habert de Montmor [ca. 1600-1670].

Lyon: Laurent Anisson and Jean Baptiste Devenet, 1658.     $20,000

6 volumes bound in 3 heavy folio volumes, 36 cm. Volume One: Books 1 and 2. [lvi] 752 [14] pp.; [viii] 860 [10] pp. Volume Two: Books 3 and 4. [xliv] 662 [2] pp.; [viii] 536 pp.; Volume Three: Books 5 and 6. [xiii] 740 [34] pp; [xii]  545 [3] pp. Engraved portrait; woodcut diagrams and tables.  Titles in red and black, engraved portrait by Robert Nanteuil in Volume 1, numerous woodcut diagrams and tables, especially in Book 4.  Text printed chiefly in double columns.

This  set is bound in contemporary vellum with gilt arms of Johann Jodocus Schmidmair von Schwartzenbruck; library numbers inked out on spines, embossed stamp and ink deaccession stamps on titles. Vol. 5, leaf Dd4 margin torn and repaired, generally sound otherwise; bright pages firmly bound with wide, clean margins.

  First collected edition of Gassendi’s works, including many texts first published here.  Chief among these is his important Epicurean treatise on logic, physics, and ethics, the Syntagma philosophicum, which occupies the first two of these six volumes. It includes the correspondence with Brahe, Campanella, Queen Christina of Sweden, Descartes, Galileo, Grotius, Hevelius, Kepler, Kircher, Peiresc, Schickard, and other celebrated scientists of the day.  Volumes 3 and 4 collect his scientific writings, most notably his important astronomical works.  Volumes 5 and 6 present additional material relevant to the study of astronomy, including his lives of Brahe, Copernicus, Regiomontanus and other notables, and his correspondence with Brahe, Campanella, Queen Christina of Sweden, Descartes, Galileo, Grotius, Hevelius, Kepler, Kircher, Peiresc, Schickard, and other celebrated scientists of the day.

    Born in Provence, Gassendi was one the leading lights of the scientific revolution. As Richard Popkin notes in his history of skepticism, Gassendi had “an extremely important intellectual career, whose development, perhaps more than that of René Descartes, indicates and illustrates … ‘the making of the modern mind.’” Introducing an atomism drawn from Epicurus into the mainstream of European thought, Gassendi offered an empiricist alternative to Aristotelianism and Cartesanism, and was the first to articulate the mind-body problem. Molière and Cyrano  

de Bergerac numbered among his students; Newton, Boyle and Barrow were among those who expressed their debt to Gassendi. His argument with Descartes over ontology and epistemology represented one of the great intellectual feuds of the day, a battle between giants. Edward Gibbon praised Gassendi’s work by styling him “le meilleur philosophe des littérateurs, et le meilleur littérateur des philosophes.”

  It is as an observational astronomer that Gassendi is best celebrated today.  The large lunar crater Gassendi is named in his honor.  He was the first person to describe the transit of a planet across the Sun. Kepler had predicted the event, but it was Gassendi who first observed it in 1631, with a telescopic apparatus borrowed from Galileo that projected images on a sheet of paper.

Besides his work on the transit of Mercury, volume Four of the Opera Omnia collects Gassendi’s general treatises on astronomy as well as his analyses of Copernicus and Brahe, and his careful observations of a wide range of phenomena, including eclipses, comets, lunar coronas, planetary distances and orbits, parhelia, and other celestial topics.  The volumes also present Gassendi’s contributions to other realms of science, including his reports on measuring the speed of sound, the rotation of the earth, the creation of vacuum, and the principle of inertia. Recent scholarship has focused on Gassendi’s correspondence, collected in volume Six, as an important source for understanding intellectual networks during the scientific revolution.

This is a handsome example of a rare and important work, represented in only a handful of institutional collections (the vast majority of listings in OCLC are microforms or facsimile reprints). The gilt arms embossed on the cover are those of Johann Jodocus Schmidmair von Schwartzenbruck (1611-1647), but given his dates we think it more likely that the book was acquired by his wife, Anna-Maria or possibly his son, Johann Friedrich Schmidmair von Schwartzenbruck (1624–1669).

Turner & Gomez, Pierre Gassendi, 116; Carli & Favaro, Bibliographia Galileiana, 260; Houzeau & Lancaster, Bibliographie générale de l’astronomie 3404; Brunet Manuel du libraire, II : 1499; Krivatsky Catalogue of 17th Century Books, 4572

An Impressive Set of the Works of Gassendi Pierre GASSENDI  (1592-1655). Opera omnia: in sex tomos divisa, edited by Henri-Louis Habert de Montmor .

[sciencespies]

Remora-inspired suction disk mimics fish's adhesion ability, offers evolutionary insight

https://sciencespies.com/physics/remora-inspired-suction-disk-mimics-fishs-adhesion-ability-offers-evolutionary-insight/

Remora-inspired suction disk mimics fish's adhesion ability, offers evolutionary insight

Credit: New Jersey Institute of Technology

More

Remora fishes are famed hitchhikers of the marine world, possessing high-powered suction disks on the back of their head for attaching themselves in torpedo-like fashion to larger hosts that can provide food and safety—from whales and sharks to boats and divers.

Key to the remora‘s adhesion are the disk’s well-known capabilities for generating suction, as well as friction created by spiky bones within the disk called lamellae to maintain hold on its host. However, the factors driving the evolution of remora’s unique disc morphology have long eluded researchers seeking to understand, and even engineer new devices and adhesives that mimic, the fish’s uncanny ability to lock on to various surface types without harming their host or expending much energy, often for hours at a time under extreme oceanic forces.

In a study led at New Jersey Institute of Technology (NJIT), researchers have showcased a new biologically inspired remora disc capable of replicating the passive forces of suction and friction that power the fish’s ability, demonstrating up to 60% greater hold than has been measured for live remoras attached to shark skin.

Using the disc model to explore evolutionary drivers of the remora’s disc, researchers say the study’s findings provide evidence that today’s living species of remora have evolved a greater number of lamellae over time to enhance their holding power and ability to attach to a broader range of hosts with smoother surfaces, thereby increasing their chance for survival.

Opisthomyzon glaronensis fossil featuring six lamellae (top) and dorsal view of a modern remora disc with more rows of lamellae (bottom). According to Brooke Flammang, professor of biological sciences at NJIT, while scientists have shed some light on the origins of the remora’s modified fin structure, fundamental aspects of the disk’s evolution have largely remained unclear. Credit: Matt Friedman, University of Michigan and Brooke Flammang, New Jersey Institute of Technology

More

The study, featured in Bioinspiration and Biomimetics, indicates the disc model may be used to inform the design of more effective, lower-cost adhesive technologies in the future.

“The beauty behind the remora’s adhesive mechanism is that biological tissues inherently do most of the work,” said Brooke Flammang, professor of biological sciences at NJIT who led the study. “The most significant aspect of this research is that our robotic disc relies completely on the fundamental physics driving the adhesive mechanism in remoras, allowing us to determine biologically relevant performance and gain insight into the evolution of the remora’s disc. This was previously not possible with past designs that required a human operator to control the system.”

Diverging from many of their closest scavenger-like ancestors, such as cobia (Rachycentron canadum), the remora fish (of the family Echeneidae) is believed to have first begun attaching to hosts with rough surfaces, akin to sharks, after having evolved its suction disc from dorsal fin spines nearly 32 million years ago. The disc of living remoras today now features a fleshy-soft outer lip for suction while the disc’s interior houses many more linear rows of tissue (lamellae) with tooth-like tissue projections (spinules), which the fish raises to generate friction against various host bodies to prevent slipping during hitchhiking.

According to Flammang, while scientists have shed some light on the origins of the remora’s modified fin structure, fundamental aspects of the disk’s evolution have largely remained unclear.

Demonstration of the remora-inspired disc model and lamellae functionality. Credit: NJIT

More

“The evolution of the remora’s disc is largely unknown,” said Flammang. “There is one fossil remora, Opisthomyzon, in the fossil record that has a disc with fewer lamellae [than today’s remoras] without spinules towards the back of the head.”

Flammang says this raises two questions: “how” and “why.”

“The ‘how’ is from the dorsal fin, although the intermediate evolutionary stages aren’t known,” explained Flammang. “If you look at a phylogeny of remoras it shows that those species that are thought to be more derived have more lamellae … the ‘why’ has been assumed to be for adhesive performance, but that was never tested before this paper.”

To learn more, Kaelyn Gamel, the study’s first author and former graduate researcher in the Flammang lab, designed a remora-inspired disc from commercially available 3-D printed materials that could autonomously maintain attachment to various surfaces and be modified by adding and removing lamellae, enabling the team to investigate the performance of increased lamellar number on shear adhesion.

Image of the team’s bioinspired remora disc with modifiable lamellae, constructed using resin-based 3-D printed materials. Credit: New Jersey Institute of Technology

More

“Our disc’s capability to add and remove lamellae while acting as a passive system allowed us to change the amount of friction along with the ambient pressure within the disc,” said Gamel, now a Ph.D. researcher at the University of Akron. “We were able to compare the difference between no friction, some friction and a lot of friction based on the variation in lamellae number.”

In collaboration with Austin Garner, a researcher at the University of Akron, the team conducted pull-off tests with their model disc underwater, experimenting with the model’s lamellar number (up to 12 lamellae) to measure the shear force and time it took to pull the disc from silicon molds with surfaces ranging from completely smooth to those exceeding shark skin roughness (350-grit, 180-grit and 100-grit).

Overall, the team found that their disc’s adhesive performance was strongly correlated with an increase in the disc’s lamellae, observing a “sweet spot” in suction power between nine and 12 lamellae. When modified to 12 lamellae and 294 spinules, the team’s disc weighed just 45 grams and withstood 27 N (newton) forces for 50 seconds—almost three times the force that would typically pull a remora from a shark. The tests also revealed a minimum of six lamellae—the number coincidentally found on the 32-million-year-old fossil Opisthomyzon—were needed to maintain adhesion.

“What is most striking about these results is that for a given disc shape, there is an optimal range in which the friction and suction phenomena are balanced, and [as their disc size has gotten longer] remoras have evolved to maintain this sweet spot of high-performance adhesion,” explained Flammang.

The team now says their remora disk model will be used for future evolutionary studies to learn whether suction or friction predominated attachment in earliest remora ancestors and how evolution of disc shape affects adhesion. The disc may also have engineering applications in everything from medical biosensors and drug delivery devices to geo-sensing tags for ecological studies and tracking marine life.”One of the greatest advantages to our design is that it operates autonomously because it relies only on the physics of the system for operation,” said Flammang. “This makes it easily scalable for a multitude of new technologies, both for medical and scientific purposes.”

Explore further

Remora robot able to adhere quickly and strongly to underwater objects

More information: Kaelyn M Gamel et al, Bioinspired remora adhesive disc offers insight into evolution, Bioinspiration & Biomimetics (2019). DOI: 10.1088/1748-3190/ab3895

Provided by New Jersey Institute of Technology

Citation: Remora-inspired suction disk mimics fish’s adhesion ability, offers evolutionary insight (2019, September 4) retrieved 4 September 2019 from https://phys.org/news/2019-09-remora-inspired-suction-disk-mimics-fish.html

This document is subject to copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study or research, no part may be reproduced without the written permission. The content is provided for information purposes only.

#Physics

[tomb-of-ash]

Another exclusive Angel of Darkness document from Murti Schofield, the writer of the game. The document reveals more details about Morgau Vasiley, one of the planned characters from the game.

MORGAU’S PHYSICAL MAKE UP – A SUMMARY.

What Morgau has become defies easy summation. It is certainly something other than human – possibly the name Lilith would have been appropriate after all. [in Game II someone makes the mistake of taunting Morgau with this name and pays the price.]

Her skin is albino pale. Her body slender. Her eyes milky blue, until something triggers her latent psychic powers when they become translucent. This is the time to beware as it is also the time when her tendency to erupt into frenzied Hulk-like violence is nearest the surface. 

Physically Morgau is a mass of contradictions. It is almost as if her body is at war with itself, attempting to tear itself apart. Though immensely strong and fast she is at the same time incredibly vulnerable being dependent on the specialised elixirs that keep her functioning at such a high peak. Her torso is encased in an armoured corselet or cuirass, not entirely dissimilar to that worn by Eckhardt. Whereas the Black Alchemist’s chest plates and metallo-mesh bodice is to hold his physical form together after the ravages of his centuries long confinement Morgau’s is there to deliver the alchemically derived elixirs and bio-essences that maintain her life. 

Beneath the corselet Morgau’s torso is semi transparent. Close examination would reveal her internal organs functioning as if viewed through a murky X-ray screen. Her spine is exposed along its length each vertebrae being welded to rows of bone, silver and ivory rods which in turn are interwoven with carbonite threads anchored to her entire skeletal structure. The corselet-prosthesis delivers the necessary life support through a network of fine tubing. 

Despite inhabiting a physicality that is so flawed and at war with itself these augmentations mean that Morgau is incredibly fast, strong and preternaturally quick to heal. [for more details see: Morgau Vasiley Hope Or Peril.] 

On one occasion she led an incursion team into an enemy LV base in Russia but in the heat of battle her unpredictable psycho-fury became triggered, possibly by proximity to an LV Adept. Whatever the cause she erupted into a maelstrom of slaughter, killing the Adept, the opposing forces, her own squad members and destroyed much of the surrounding building. When she returned to the Strahov with nothing to show Eckhardt was incandescent with fury and was only dissuaded from punishing her brutally by Karel. The Shape Shifter was delighted with the way this unique asset was shaping up and he convinced Eckhardt to send Gunderson out with her out on more missions to test the extent to which she might be controlled. Morgau and Gunderson were constantly at each others throats, which suited Eckhardt’s way of keeping the Cabal from engaging in plots to overthrow him. Divide and rule – a favourite strategy of another megalomaniac who threw Europe and the world into bloody conflict for six years in the 1940’s. 

MORGAU IN THE FOLLOW ON GAMES

A brief summary of how Morgau encounters Lara Croft and Kurtis Trent in subsequent games is found in other documents. 

At this stage Morgau exchanges mutual hostility with all members of the Cabal and lower ranks – everyone  she comes across really. She defers only to Karel, or Karel-as-Eckhardt as he first appears to the reformed Cabalists. When the Eckhardt charade is finally dropped and everyone accepts that the Black Alchemist really is dead and dust and that Karel is now numero uno Karel keeps Morgau in check by promising her that there might be at least a partial remedy for her dependencies. 

There is an ancient Mayan equivalent to a modern genome sequencer that could unravel the damage done to her body. Utter nonsense of course but by this time Morgau’s body has shown an alarming tendency to erupt into weird metallic extrusions, similar to the grotesque semi-crystalline growths witnessed on Bouchard’s man in Paris. Morgau is inclined to seize any chance of a remedy with fists bleeding if she has to. If left untreated she would be suffocated by her own monstrous extrusions. And so she toes the line and carries out Karel’s bidding…for now 

Karel is delighted at the way things are progressing. He even assists her in gaining possession of a genuine LV weapon, the Culcrys, something no one else can wield without losing limbs and body parts they want to remain intimate with. 

He sees Morgau as a foil to the young adventuress Croft, who refused his offer of a place in his plans for a new world beginning at the end of AOD. In his eyes Morgau is a shadow Lara, the perfect deterrent against the Amazonian threat. Morgau will also be a match for the Lux Veritatis Trent, matched as they are with LV Irenwaepn.  Chirugai –v- Culcrys what a grudge match that would be. 

Suffice it to say that as The Lost Dominion kicks off the first contact (as far as the three key antagonists know) between Lara, Kurtis and Morgau is characterised by violence on an epic scale. Yes, extreme warfare, arcane combat and pyrotechnics will be the order of the day. 

No one is interested in spending time trying to empathise or ‘understand’ anyone’s damaged childhoods. None of them are inclined to consider their adversary’s point of view. There is little time for anything except kicking the bejabbers out of the f***er who is currently trying to kill you. It is vicious, merciless conflict with no prisoners. 

Kurtis is looking to re-establish the Lux Veritatis along its original enlightened path, an obligation laid on him by Karel in the previously unrevealed ending to AOD. He sees Morgau, initially, as a prime obstacle to that goal. The fact that things shift and he comes to an uneasy alliance with his erstwhile foe would unfold in Game III. It is not an easy association with someone so seriously damaged as the barely human Vasiley – but it might just work. 

Lara meanwhile is beginning to unearth evidence of how something of Eckhardt’s work seems to have had an astounding influence on her own roots, her family, her bloodline and that of many prominent figures throughout recorded history. 

The emergence of the truth behind the Sangreal legends and others such as the Calix Immanis (Savage Cup) offers a disturbing possibility that something or someone is responsible for many of the ‘enhanced’ individuals that have marked the pages of history with their achievements, right  up to and including the present day. Is there something to the theory of a shared ancestry for all the heroes we admire and know so well? Who knows. 

NB See reference to Philip Jose Farmer’s WOLD NEWTON UNIVERSE in the document ‘Eckhardt and Breeding.’

  Discover more exclusive Tomb Raider - the Angel of Darkness content

[mrhotmaster]

March TV Guide 2020: Star War & More On Netflix, Amazon

March TV Guide 2020 For Netflix, Hotstar & Amazon: Star Wars, Ozark, Westworld & More

Androids, money launderers, super-parents, terrorists and others.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine season 7 and Narcos: Mexico season 2 were the huge names in February on TV, with the two shows giving fans what they were searching for. The previous proceeds with all through March; it show Mondays on Comedy Central in India. Discussing continuous arrangement in March, there's the eighth and last period of Homeland, which will stop Carrie Mathison's circular segment. We likewise have John Oliver's news parody show Last Week Tonight, which itself became news in India after Hotstar decided to extract a scene that was reproachful of PM Modi, as sure an indication of star government control you'll ever observe. 

February likewise gave us the little-known and forgettable Indian arrangement Taj Mahal 1989. Walk has more to offer on the neighborhood front — from or including any semblance of Karisma Kapoor and Neeraj Pandey — yet whether any of it sticks is not yet clear. With the late March appearance of Disney+ on Hotstar, the greatest name will (expectedly) be the Star Wars arrangement The Mandalorian. Somewhere else, we have the arrival of Westworld and Better Things to anticipate, notwithstanding new shows from Steven Spielberg, LeBron James, the maker of The Wire, and the executive of Ex Machina. 

Here's our March 2020 TV control, which remembers appears for Netflix, Amazon Prime Video, Hotstar (destined to be Disney+ Hotstar), Apple TV+, ALTBalaji, and Zee5.

Castlevania

At the point when: March 5

Where: Netflix

One of the greatest unique energized arrangement for the world's greatest gushing assistance keeps on extending as it moves into its 10-scene third season. (There were only four scenes in the first, and eight in the subsequent season.) It guarantees "more riddle, murder, pandemonium, and vampires than at any other time", with essayist Warren Ellis calling season 3 "hallucinogenic repulsiveness". That looks good. All scenes on discharge date.

Amazing Stories

At the point when: March 6

Where: Apple TV+

In 1985, Steven Spielberg made this Twilight Zone-impacted compilation science fiction arrangement that won five Emmys during its two-season run. Thirty after five years, Apple is resuscitating it with the assistance of Once Upon a Time makers Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz. The cast incorporates any semblance of Josh Holloway, Victoria Pedretti, and Dylan O'Brien. Five scenes on discharge date.

Better Things

At the point when: March 6

Where: Hotstar

Maker, author, star, and executive Pamela Adlon comes back with the main show about a single parent (Adlon) and her three children — apparently — that is currently in into its fourth year. Topics incorporate absolution, harmony, and "separation is infectious", as Adlon said on a web recording. Silicon Valley co-maker Mike Judge is a visitor star. Two scenes in the principal week, at that point week after week.

Devs 

At the point when: March 6

Where: Hotstar

Tired of movie studios, Ex Machina essayist chief Alex Garland goes to TV with this tech spine chiller miniseries about a product engineer (Sonoya Mizuno) who researches a quantum figuring organization she works at, trusting it's behind her sweetheart's vanishing. Scratch Offerman (Parks and Recreation) stars as the leader of the quantum firm. Two scenes in the principal week, at that point week by week.

Mentalhood 

At the point when: March 11

Where: ALTBalaji, Zee5

Karisma Kapoor has returned from another acting rest as the lead of this parody show that follows six "supermoms" — there's one "superdad" in there, for what it's worth — who attempt to adjust the outlandish desires for their children, their accomplices, and their own. Shruti Seth, Sanjay Suri, Dino Morea, and Sandhya Mridul likewise star.

Pushpavalli 

At the point when: March 13

Where: Amazon Prime Video

Sumukhi Suresh's semi-self-portraying arrangement, about a lady who quits any pretense of everything and moves to Bengaluru to stalk her new sentimental intrigue, was appropriately contrasted with Crazy Ex-Girlfriend upon its debut three years prior. Where will it go in its subsequent season? All scenes on discharge date.

Westworld 

At the point when: March 16

Where: Hotstar

About two years after it last disclosed, HBO's inventive, marvelous science fiction arrangement from spouse wife couple Jonathan Nolan and Lisa Joy returns for its third season. Not every person is presently in the amusement park, with the modern Los Angeles the setting for Dolores (Evan Rachel Wood) and Aaron Paul's new character, while Maeve (Thandie Newton) travels through Nazi-time Italy for no good reason. Show week after week.

The Plot Against America

At the point when: March 17

Where: Hotstar

Imagine a scenario in which an enemy of Semitic flight saint and xenophobic populist had ran against Franklin D. Roosevelt for US President in 1940 — and won? That is the inquiry posed by this six-section miniseries from The Wire maker David Simon, in view of Philip Roth's 2004 novel. Winona Ryder (Stranger Things), Zoe Kazan (The Big Sick), John Turturro (The Night Of), and Morgan Spector (The Mist) head the cast. Show week by week.

Special Ops

At the point when: March 17

Where: Hotstar

Neeraj Pandey is — as maker, chief, and maker — in charge of what resembles a low-lease Bard of Blood, in which Kay Menon (Shaurya) commits two many years of his life to get the genius behind the absolute greatest psychological militant assaults in India, from 26/11 in Mumbai to Parliament in 2001. (The occasions are genuine; the story is fiction.) Hopefully, Pandey will show improvement over Netflix did. All scenes on discharge date.

Self Made: Inspired by the Life of Madam C.J. Walker 

At the point when: March 20

Where: Netflix

Octavia Spencer stars the main business visionary who got one of the main female African-American moguls in mid twentieth century, while conquering bigotry, adversaries, accomplice, and family. LeBron James is an official maker. Garett Morris (2 Broke Girls), Tiffany Haddish (For Girl Trip), Blair Underwood(For L.A. Law), and stand-up comic Bill Bellamy likewise star. All scenes on discharge date.

Ozark 

At the point when: March 27

Where: Netflix

In spite of two periods of average audits, the Jason Bateman-starrer wrongdoing dramatization is back for a third that discovers Marty Byrde (Batmena) further slip into the void as he ponders the new force dynamic with his significant other Wendy (Laura Linney), while the young little girl of a nearby lawbreaker (Julia Garner) rubs elbows with the Byrdes. Tom Pelphrey (For Iron Fist), Madison Thompson (NCIS), Jessica Frances Dukes (Jessika Jones) are new to the cast. All scenes on discharge date.

The Mandalorian

At the point when: March 29 (anticipated)

Where: Disney+ Hotstar

With Disney+ advancing toward India with the beginning of the 2020 IPL, fans ought to at last have the option to get their hands on the first-since forever Star Wars live-activity arrangement. We state "should", in light of the fact that Hotstar says it knows nothing, even at this point. Set five years after Return of the Jedi, it follows a solitary gunfighter (Pedro Pascal) in the external ranges of the system. Spoiler: you may know it as the show that gave us Baby Yoda.

Past March

We'll have an itemized gather together of up and coming TV shows every month, except we do know a reasonable piece about the future as of now. 

Home Before Dark/April 3, Apple TV+

Money Heist: Season 4/April 3, Netflix

Insecure: Season 4/April 13, Disney+ Hotstar

Run/April 13, Disney+ Hotstar

What We Do in the Shadows: Season 2/April 16, Disney+ Hotstar

Defending Jacob/April 24, Apple TV+

Penny Dreadful: City of Angels/April 27, Disney+ Hotstar

 For Regular & Fastest Tech News and Reviews, Take After TECHNOXMART on Twitter, Facebook, and Subscribe Here Now. By Subscribing You Will Get Our Daily Digest Headlines Every Morning Directly In Your Email Inbox.             【Join Our Whatsapp Group Here】

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[outstandingcatfacts-blog]

1. Cats are the most popular pet in the United States: There are 88 million pet cats and 74 million dogs.

2. There are cats who have survived falls from over 32 stories (320 meters) onto concrete.

3. A group of cats is called a clowder.

4. Cats have over 20 muscles that control their ears.

5. Cats sleep 70% of their lives.

6. A cat has been mayor of Talkeetna, Alaska, for 15 years. His name is Stubbs.

7. And one ran for mayor of Mexico City in 2013.

8. In tigers and tabbies, the middle of the tongue is covered in backward-pointing spines, used for breaking off and gripping meat.

9. When cats grimace, they are usually "taste-scenting." They have an extra organ that, with some breathing control, allows the cats to taste-sense the air.

10. Cats can't taste sweetness.

11. Owning a cat can reduce the risk of stroke and heart attack by a third.

12. Wikipedia has a recording of a cat meowing because why not?

13. The world's largest cat measured 48.5 inches long.

14. Evidence suggests domesticated cats have been around since 3600 B.C., 2,000 years before Egypt's pharaohs.

15. A cat's purr may be a form of self-healing, as it can be a sign of nervousness as well as contentment.

16. Similarly, the frequency of a domestic cat's purr is the same at which muscles and bones repair themselves.

17. Adult cats only meow to communicate with humans.

18. The world's richest cat is worth $13 million after his human passed away and left her fortune to him.

19. Your cat recognizes your voice but just acts too cool to care (probably because they are).

20. Cats are often lactose intolerant, so stop givin' them milk!

21. Basically, all cartoon cats lied to us: Raw fish is off the table for cats as well.

22. The oldest cat video on YouTube dates back to 1894 (when it was made, not when it was uploaded, duh).

23. In the 1960s, the CIA tried to turn a cat into a bonafide spy by implanting a microphone into her ear and a radio transmitter at the base of her skull. She somehow survived the surgery but got hit by a taxi on her first mission.

24. The technical term for "hairball" is "bezoar."

25. Female cats are typically right-pawed while male cats are typically left-pawed.

26. Cats make more than 100 different sounds whereas dogs make around 10.

27. A cat's brain is 90% similar to a human's — more similar than to a dog's.

28. Cats and humans have nearly identical sections of the brain that control emotion.

29. A cat's cerebral cortex (the part of the brain in charge of cognitive information processing) has 300 million neurons, compared with a dog's 160 million.

30. Cats have a longer-term memory than dogs, especially when they learn by actually doing rather than simply seeing.

31. Basically, cats have a lower social IQ than dogs but can solve more difficult cognitive problems when they feel like it.

32. Cats have 1,000 times more data storage than an iPad.

33. It was illegal to slay cats in ancient Egypt, in large part because they provided the great service of controlling the rat population.

34. In the 15th century, Pope Innocent VIII began ordering the killing of cats, pronouncing them demonic.

35. A cat has five toes on his front paws, and four on the back, unless he's a polydactyl.

36. Polydactyl cats are also referred to as "Hemingway cats" because the author was so fond of them.

37. There are 45 Hemingway cats living at the author's former home in Key West, Fla.

38. Original kitty litter was made out of sand but it was replaced by more absorbent clay in 1948.

39. Abraham Lincoln kept four cats in the White House.

40. When asked if her husband had any hobbies, Mary Todd Lincoln is said to have replied "cats."

41. Isaac Newton is credited with inventing the cat door.

42. One legend claims that cats were created when a lion on Noah's Ark sneezed and two kittens came out.

43. A cat can jump up to six times its length.

44. A house cat is faster than Usain Bolt.

45. When cats leave their poop uncovered, it is a sign of aggression to let you know they don't fear you.

46. Cats can change their meow to manipulate a human. They often imitate a human baby when they need food, for example.

47. Cats use their whiskers to detect if they can fit through a space.

48. Cats only sweat through their foot pads.

49. The first cat in space was French. She was named Felicette, or "Astrocat." She survived the trip.

50. Cats have free-floating clavicle bones that attach their shoulders to their forelimbs, which allows them to squeeze through very small spaces.

51. The hearing is the strongest of cat's senses: They can hear sounds as high as 64 kHz — compared with humans, who can hear only as high as 20 kHz.

52. Cats can move their ears 180 degrees.

53. They can also move their ears separately.

54. A cat has detected his human's breast cancer.

55. A cat's nose is ridged with a unique pattern, just like a human fingerprint.

56. Cats have scent glands along their tail, their forehead, lips, chin, and the underside of their front paws.

57. A cat rubs against people to mark its territory.

58. Cats lick themselves to get your scent off.

59. When a family cat died in ancient Egypt, family members would shave off their eyebrows as they mourned.

60. They also had elaborate memorials that included mummifying the cat and either burying it in a family tomb or pet cemetery.

61. Cats were mythic symbols of divinity in ancient Egypt.

62. Black cats are bad luck in the United States, but they are good luck in the United Kingdom and Australia.

63. Most cats don't like water because their coats do not insulate them well enough.

64. However, a cat called the Turkish Van does not have that insulation problem and LOVES it.

65. The Egyptian Mau is the oldest breed of cat.

66. This breed is also the fastest pedigreed cat.

67. The Egyptian word for cat is, in fact, "mau."

68. Only 11.5% of people consider themselves "cat people."

69. Cat people are also 11% more likely to be introverted.

70. Still, cat people are more open to new experiences than typical "dog people."

71. Cat owners who are male tend to be luckier in love, as they are perceived as more sensitive.

72. Cat owners are 17% more likely to have a graduate degree.

73. Cat people are 25% likely to pick George as their favorite Beatle.

74. A cat's carbon footprint is similar to that of a VW Bug, whereas a dog's is more like a Hummer.

75. When your cat brings home a dead mouse or bird, it may do so to show you that you suck at hunting.

76. Cats have inferior daytime sight, but during the night they need seven times less light than humans to see.

77. The largest litter of kittens produced 19 kittens.

78. Eighty-eight percent of cats in the U.S. are spayed or neutered.

79. Only 24% of cats who enter animal shelters are adopted.

80. Cats are really cool.

81. They are also very soft.

82. If you want to adopt a cat, you can visit your local Humane Society or check out petfinder.com.

[epistemebabu]

People! If you've ever wondered what it's like to be schizophrenic, wonder no more. It's like obligately playing disco Elysium, in realtime. As tou might imaginez, this can sometimes be stressful.