#I saw an overcoat on youtube

[triple-pupil]

"Where tf did he get a military coat?"

He's going for a walk, don't disturb him.

[cometomecosette]

Review: Les Misérables, US National Tour, Orpheum Theatre, San Francisco (July 15, 2023) (long)

This review is very late, but better late than never.

This was my first time seeing Les Mis live onstage since 2018. While YouTube has kept me well supplied with performances in the meantime, I was overjoyed to finally see it live again.

The production, of course, is still Laurence Connor and James Powell's "25th Anniversary" production that premiered in 2009, and which is now the official "replica" production all over the world. My views on it are still the same: it can't hold a candle (or a silver candlestick) to the original Trevor Nunn/John Caird production, but it's still effective, still handsome and atmospheric, and still a good, solid way to experience the musical.

I did notice some changes from when I last saw the show, however:

*Once again, I noticed that a few costumes have been redesigned. The convicts' uniforms now feature historically accurate red smocks. Fantine's factory dress has been redesigned yet again (not to my liking – I preferred the solid turquoise dress from the previous tour). Mme. Thénardier now wears a red bodice at the inn. Éponine no longer wears her overcoat before Act II. Both Thénardiers' "Beggars at the Feast" costumes have also been slightly altered: her skirt is now trimmed with a pattern of ruffles instead of feathers, and his trousers are slightly less poofy (both improvements, IMHO – the costumes are still gaudy, but not cartoonish anymore). And in the final scene, Éponine's spirit now wears a floor-length version of her overcoat, giving her a subtly more "angelic" look, much like the train added to Fantine's nightgown.

*There seemed to be more spoken ad-libs from the cast than I remember from past performances. Not to the extent of, say, the 2014 North Shore Music Theatre production, but notable. For example, this exchange between the Thénardiers just before "Master of the House": Thénardier – What time is it? Mme. T. – Time to get to work! Thénardier – There she is! My daily reminder that you can be happy, or you can be married!

*The "Waltz of Treachery" gave comic business to Young Cosette, of all people! On "That would quite fit the bill..." the Thénardiers picked her up and held her horizontally, stiff as a board, and then on "...if she hadn't so often been ill," she dramatically went limp. It seemed as if they had trained her to play sick in this way, presumably to earn charity from rich travelers. I didn't care for it, though: Young Cosette isn't a character who lends herself to slapstick comedy.

*Grantaire didn't scream "No!" when Gavroche was killed. Instead the whole barricade went deathly silent, as they used to in the old days of the classic Nunn/Caird production. I'm not sure if this was a change in direction or just an acting choice, but I'm assuming the former, because every past Grantaire I've seen or heard in the Connor/Powell production has done the "No!"

*The gag from the previous tour of Mme. Thénardier stuffing her face with cake in the wedding scene is gone. Just as well: it was goofy slapstick at best and fatphobic at worst.

*In "Beggars at the Feast," instead of "This one's a queer, but what can you do?" Thénardier sang "This one's a queer. I might try it too!" then grabbed the man and "romantically" dipped him.

One thing I definitely like about the current tour is the commitment to diverse casting, which wasn't seen nearly as much in the classic Nunn/Caird production until its last few years. In this particular performance, Jean Valjean, Fantine, Marius, Éponine, Cosette (both older and young), and Gavroche were all people of color.

But of course, diverse casting would mean little if the performers didn't give good quality performances. Fortunately they all did. Some performances I liked better than others, but there was no denying how talented the whole cast was.

Randy Jeter (Jean Valjean u/s)

How ridiculous it is that in the musical's 37 years of existence, this man is only the third black actor to play Jean Valjean in an official Cameron Mackintosh production! While I was a little disappointed at first not to see Nick Cartell again, I'm very glad now that I saw Randy. His voice was rich, clear, and alternately powerful and sweet: excellently suited to the music. And he did full justice to Valjean's journey, with all its transformations and wide range of emotions, making every one of the believable. My only reservation about his performance was that physically, he was a little bit youthful and slight for the role. I hope that either in this tour or in future productions, more people get a chance to see his Valjean.

Preston Truman Boyd (Javert)

One of the best of the last several Javerts I've seen live. He was a solid, imposing stage presence, who sang with a rich, handsome baritone voice with a bite to it that almost recalled Philip Quast, and was an appropriately inexorable force of the law until he was ultimately broken. I was relieved that he wasn't too aggressive or neurotic, but gave a traditional, hard and stolid characterization.

Haley Dortch (Fantine)

A lovely and passionate Fantine, with a beautiful, powerful voice. Past Fantines whom I've seen in the Connor/Powell production have tended to be slightly too delicate and passive for my taste, so I was glad to see her bring a good amount of fire to the role.

Matt Crowle (Thénardier)

A talented, enthusiastic performer, but not quite ideal for this role. Besides seeming slightly youthful for the part (not uncommon), he was a flamboyant comic Thénardier, without the edge of nastiness or realism that other actors bring. Still, as I discovered from an interview, he's read the novel, and he did do a good job of creating a ferret-like stage presence and a "scratchy, vermin-like voice" (in his own words). I've seen better, but he was fine.

Christina Rose Hall (Madame Thénardier)

A decent Mme. T., but like her onstage husband, she wasn't as nasty as she could have been. This might have been intentional on her part, though: she often seemed as if she was trying to play a more sympathetic, comically put-upon Thénardiess. But to make that portrayal fully work, I think her husband should have been more of a domineering emotional bully than Matt's Thénardier was. Overall she was good, but both Thénardiers needed more of an edge.

Christine Heesun Hwang (Éponine)

A good Éponine whom I'd like to see again sometime. Her voice was rich and powerful, and while she wasn't particularly wild or gritty, she brought good, solid toughness to the role that I like to see, as well as plenty of feeling. Her "On My Own" went beyond mere pining into desperation, as if she were on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and "A Little Fall of Rain" was beautifully gentle and tender.

Christopher James Tamayo (Marius u/s)

I liked him very much. His voice was a warm, rich baritenor, which I prefer to the thin, high tenors of so many recent Marii. His characterization was excellent too: gentlemanly and dignified, yet youthful, innocent, and tender, and believable in all his many emotions. He deserves to be the regular Marius, not just an understudy, either in this tour someday or in a future production.

Devin Archer (Enjolras)

Until after the show, I had forgotten that I saw him as Marius in a regional production back in 2015. He's definitely grown up nicely from a Marius into an Enjolras. While too "human" and "manly" to be Hugo's "marble lover of liberty," he was an appropriately strong, dignified, courageous leader, staunchly dedicated to the cause, yet a caring friend too, with a reserved yet commanding stage presence and a handsome, powerful voice to match.

Addie Morales (Cosette)

Good, but not a favorite. Her voice was light, pure, and slightly thin, but pretty. Acting-wise, she was a very lively, bubbly Cosette, often giggly in Act I, and an angry "rebellious teen" toward Valjean (though still with all-important moments of affection). I used to favor that characterization because it made Cosette "stronger," but now I have mixed feelings about it, because it's not really true to her upbringing or to the novel. Still, as a whole, she was good.

Ciaran Bowling (Grantaire u/s)

In a US tour performance, I wasn't expecting to see a British veteran of the London production who also had a minor role in the 2012 film! But he was a welcome presence: appropriately funny and boisterous in "Red and Black," angry and despairing in "Drink With Me," and touching in his reconciliation with Enjolras and his death.

(Though I must admit, I'm not the biggest fan of the current staging of Grantaire's "Drink With Me" solo, where he goes to center stage, sings the solo angrily and aggressively, and then pushes Enjolras away when the latter tries to talk to him. It annoys me that every replica-production Grantaire now performs it that way. I miss the variety from the old days, when individual actors and resident directors were allowed to do what they liked with that moment and bring all sorts of different emotions and nuances to it.)

Milo Maharlika (Gavroche)

An excellent, lively, likable young presence.

(I do like the fact that in the current staging, Gavroche is everyone's emotional support at the barricade, comforting both Marius after Éponine's death and Grantaire in "Drink With Me.")

Vivian Atencio (Young Cosette)

An appropriately sweet little girl.

The ensemble was excellent all around.

Going to see this performance was such a wonderful experience. It would have been a thrill no matter what, because I've been waiting five years to see the show in person again, but the good performance quality made it truly shine. I hope that within the next few months, while the show is still in California – most likely when it comes to San José in October – I can see it again.

[mytruthandbeauty]

27 June 2023

I watched a video on YouTube about policing in the US and how it differs from much of Western Europe. It made me think about the unpleasant encounters I had, had with police none of which went terribly badly but could have.

All of these happened while I was still presenting in my less evolved version of myself, in my gender assigned at birth, which was male. Before you think to criticize me for living that way let me give you some background. I was born in 1951 into a poor black Christian family. All attempts on my part to express my true gender were oppressed, because they didn’t fit my parents understanding of gender and that it could be different from the evidence of your sex organs. Also this household was very large and we shared a small crowded place, so I never had much privacy, certainly not enough to play around with my gender presentation. So, I grew up living as this under developed version of myself and over the course of the years I had three close calls with the cops.

The first occurred when I was about 19 and I was riding around with these guys getting high on weed. We lived in the suburbs which were still pretty segregated and ended up in a neighboring white suburb. We weren’t doing anything obviously illegal, but before we knew it we were surrounded by several cop cars lights were shining in our eyes guns were drawn and through a bull horn we were told to exit the vehicle with our hands up. We were scared shitless and of course we complied telling each other to not make any sudden moves, because we could all get shot. They had us line up put our hands on the wall of this building and while facing it they patted us down still at gunpoint. They took us to their police station where they finger printed and photographed us and then let us go. I never heard anything more about this incident.

My second confrontation with law enforcement was some years later. It was winter in Chicago and I was dressed accordingly, dark heavy long overcoat, hat, gloves, scarf all covered up. I was coming out of the subway my hands were in my pockets and I walked with my shoulders hunched braced for the cold wind I knew to expect once I got to the street level above. As I was about to take the last flight of stairs I saw a cop standing nervously at the head of them and he called out to me to take my hands out of my pockets. I stopped and did as I was told very concerned, because he had his hand on his holstered gun the entire time. I stood there motionless with my empty hands in plain sight and then he told me to come up. I did and the cop walked away.

My last unpleasant run-in with cops was on a bright summer day in the Wicker Park neighborhood of Chicago’s northwest side. I was walking home from work, something I always did as I only lived about a 15 minute walk away and I enjoyed the exercise. I was dressed in a shirt and tie as I had an office job for the state and I liked looking professional. As I’m strolling along at a brisk clip I suddenly remembered I had left something at the office, so I did an about face and headed back. I had only gotten a few feet when an unmarked car did a U turn and parked at the curb in front of me. Two men got out of the car and came over to me and started to question me and why I was in the area. I told them very politely that I worked there and was headed back to my office. They didn’t listen to anything I said and informed me that I looked like someone who was committing extortion in the neighborhood. I was getting angry but I remained calm. They took my briefcase put me in the back seat of their car and drove me to their station. While we drove to the station I told them that I worked for the state of Illinois and the papers they were rifling through were government property and that they needed to be careful with them. I was arrested locked in a jail cell and I was allowed eventually to call my manager who came and got me released, but only after our office was closed. I sat there for several hours waiting for them to release me. I was given a court date and I appeared, but the arresting offices did not. Now I have nothing but distrust, contempt and fear of US cops. I want to add that in each of those confrontations the cops were white. Contrast that with how cops have behaved towards me in Latin America where I have been seen as just another person going about her day by them. I have not once felt threatened intimidated or bullied by a cop and here in Mexico they often are armed with assault rifles. To me they are more like protection for law abiding people then an armed milita ready to inflict violence for the slightest infraction. They do not strike fear in me and I’m glad for their presence.

[dragqueenpentheus]

spruce! another question for YouTube video or you can answer on tumblr, up to you. the other day you were posting about Mabel and out of curiosity I gave it a listen and now I’m obsessed! And I just saw you post about Penumbra, which i listened to quite a bit back in college with a friend. Do you have any other podcast recs for your followers? Or maybe some podcasts that are on your “to-listen” list that you haven’t gotten around to yet?

i'm gunna answer this here bc i think a list format would be!!! beneficial and i do not trust my video editing skills to be high level enough to put things on top of the drawings i'm doing yet lmfao

asterisks are FAVS!!

1*- YES mabel is SO good i love mabel SO much i'm so excited you're enjoying yourself!!

2- penumbra SLAPS college was the perfect time for listening-- *coyote of the painted plains, train to nowhere, angel of brahma.

3*- actual play podcasts are plentiful and often. full of people who think they are funnier than they are. but dungeons and daddies SLAPS and is SO funny and heartbreaking and SMART about trauma and the cyclical nature of parental abuse and!!! NOT something you'd ever expect to hear from the podcast until suddenly you're bawling

4- for black sails fans i LOVE how fathoms deep analyzes the media like. even people who haven't seen black sails who LOVE hearing thoughtful media criticism. this is a great one.

5- i love inkwyrm. is so cute. devil wears prada in space. i'm not sure how or when or IF it's ended but !! the early stuff is so sweet and fun.

6- nightvale early episodes sculpted me into the story teller i like to think i am. it might just be nostalgia but my body physically unwinds when i hear cecil announce the weather. i'm tearing up a little.

7- wooden overcoats. WHY a person would queerbait in a podcast i DONT know but rudyard is my little vicious baby meow meow and it's a fun listen until you get too hung up on the romance that isn't going to happen.

8*- the vinyl cafe is another nostalgia bad boy for me. canadian story telling !!! GREAT voice on stuart mclean!!!

9- song exploder is cool for vibes and really nice to make music feel !!! approachable and DOABLE!! i used to write songs for my dnd campaign bc of thing thing it was a blast

10*- media critic youtubers that count as podcasters bc i love listening to them: •khadija mbowe • BREADSWORD • @ladyknightthebrave (whose new pacific rim video was SO good and i watched it with my friends this morning and we talking about it for. full hours.) • yhara zayd • cj the x • sideways

[xfadingstarx]

A Bleach Retrospective: In defense of Bleach

These are opinions, please respect that.

_______________________________

My Journey with Bleach (please skip if you want to go straight to the analysis):

On September the 8th, 2006 YTV’s weekend evening anime programming block (Bionix) aired the first episode of Bleach. I, unfortunately, did not catch this episode, instead, I caught the second episode on September 15th the following week. I was ten and from then on, Bleach fascinated me. It had an interesting concept, tight pacing, catchy music, a good story, and unique character designs. I also really enjoyed how Bleach lacked the same kind of emotional labour that Naruto demanded (as child who survived off of constantly seeking validation from others because of absentee parents, Naruto is way too much work).

My fascination with Bleach got me started in the fandom communities of yesteryear, for I was a child with zero internet supervision. My introduction to fanfiction was because I loved Hitsugaya Toshiro.

Bleach was my entry into poetry (poem at the start of every volume).

But alas, all good things were not meant to last and by the summer of 2009, I was officially done with Bleach. It had felt stilted for some time before then. Over the years, I would gradually revisit bits and pieces of Bleach, but I would not read it in its entirety until months after its finish, about a decade after I had first saw Bleach on my TV. Between the time I stopped reading and the series ended, I became friends with people who didn’t think highly of Bleach and I also started seeing criticism I had made about Bleach in 2011 being repeated by fans on the internet, I started to think that maybe Bleach was bad, but I knew what bad writing looked like —I started reading fanfiction through Bleach fanfiction AMVs on YouTube — and somehow Bleach didn’t sit right with me in the “bad writing category”. 

I sit back now, a decade and ahalf later from when I first started and ask, “was Bleach really that bad, and if so, why do I keep coming back to it?”

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What Made Bleach So Good?

Unique story and aesthetics: When Bleach first started in 2001, it was one of the first manga series to talk about souls and death in a poetic way and with such coherence. Bleach clearly knew what it wanted to say about life and death. It also had a very unique aesthetic, very similar to that of “The World Ends With You” or “Persona 5″ — an urban Japanese take on R&B kind of vibe. Also, Bleach had the most “realistic” and minimalist art style amongst the Big 3.

Cool Music: Bleach had cool music, from very solid rock’n’roll and R&B style songs in its OPs and EDs to very funky OST music with lots of pizzazz. Many singers feature by Bleach ended up successful (to varying degrees) outside of anime, eg: Orange Range, UVERworld, YUI, sid, etc.

Versatile tone: Bleach was edgy, there’s no doubt about that. It was willing to show a lot of blood and bodily violence, especially in the manga (eg half of people blowing up and bits of bone still attached). Despite this though, it was not pretentious about its edginess — it didn’t revel in it. To contrast the edginess, there is a lot of humour in Bleach with character interactions. It was able to be laid back enough with its strong characters that it would rely on the characters’ relationships for comedic relief. The post-credit skits and the fillers really helped to add to this overall feel as well.

Maturity of the Story: Bleach was very willing to handle topics that made people think. For example, the Ulquiorra - Orihime subarc was treated with a sense of carefulness about it, as if to reflect Ulquiorra’s own cautious curiosity about the heart. A less emotionally mature story would’ve gone for the cheap rape/torture porn, but instead we are treated to determined strong Orihime, who has found strength through the heart after the death of her brother, clashing with the nihilistic hollow who wants to know if there is happiness outside of emptiness. It’s a very loaded question and one that requires both perspective and life experience to fully understand both parties. As well, Bleach always knew what it wanted to say about life and death as the final conflict of Bleach is between Ichigo, who has accepted his transient life and Yhwach, who is scared of death. And ultimately, underneath all that action, Bleach produced takes on its themes that were hard to relate to unless the reader themselves had a certain level of emotional maturity (eg: 12 year old me got nothing out of the Ulqui-Ori arc, but 20 year old me spent a good 10 mins crying after)

Strong characters: Contrary to popular belief, Bleach does have quite solid characterization. In fact, Bleach is the journey of Ichigo as a character, from grappling with his weakness and pain to finally accepting all the parts of himself and his history in order to defeat Yhwach and protect those he cares about. Even the secondary characters of Bleach receive a sizable amount of backstory and/or development. Bleach also managed to have more proactive female characters. Even the damsel in distress Orihime stands up to Ulquiorra and slaps him. As a result of these strong characters, Bleach was able to rely on them and their relationships to drive aspects of the story (eg Ichigo crying in the Fullbringer arc).

Willingness to Deal with Emotion: Given that Ichigo is an internally motivated character, it was obvious Bleach would deal with emotion at some point in time. Making Ichigo just a normal high school boy also relives the previous edginess. Bleach also clearly too the time to make its readers feel in its early years. We are treated to beautiful panelling and very real displays of strong negative emotions. Bleach is also very good at giving its characters room to breathe and be sad. Eg: moping Orihime, moping Ichigo, etc. As well, Kubo went to extraordinary lengths to break Ichigo down during the Fullbringers Arc.

Interesting Character Designs: Every character in Bleach feels vibrant and unique with their personality showing through in their designs. For example: Shunshi’s sloppily tied up hair, visible stubble, and overcoat-hidden-haori show that he is both easy going and not looking for a fight; meanwhile Byakuya’s neatly pulled back hair and neck covered by scarf show that he is both someone who likes structure and is conservative.

Poetry and Symbolism: Kubo manages to weave poetry into Bleach in the beginning of each volume. The poem was said by the character on the volume. It gave the reader insight to this character and it gave Kubo a chance to flex his poetic chops. Further proof of this is the fact that many people don’t realize that the name “Bleach” refers to the bleaching of soul that is key to the story. Kubo loves to use rain to set sad scenes. It rains when Ichigo fights Grand Fisher, Zangetsu tells Ichigo that he hates the rain, etc. Kubo also specifies that he wishes for the reader to read certain volumes on stormy, rainy nights.

Panelling: Many people like to criticize Kubo for the lack of effort with the Bleach manga, but Kubo has stated that he uses negative space (i.e., foregoing backgrounds) to focus more on his character’s expressions. This not only further proves that Bleach cares a lot about its characters, but it’s done well enough that the average reader likely doesn’t notice the lack of background on the first read through. As well, Bleach has very cinematic panelling. Kubo uses the format of manga well, utilizing the human mind’s ability to fill blanks in with clever panelling to create tone and build tension and the feeling of movement through a scene.

In fact, in finding pages for this analysis, I found myself noticing that Bleach panels very similarly to slice-of-life shoujo but with a boy MC manga like "Horimiya": focus on expression through intimate angles and use of panels and breaks to create mood and the feeling of cinema; whereas something like DBZ panels like a shounen action manga with many hard lines and action shots, instead of a focus on subtle details and emotions.

Some Examples:

Notice now in Chapter 197: The approaching danger, Kubo uses a gradual zoom to build tension and the black background to add intensity and signal to the reader that Hitsugaya is relaying important information.

Here in Chapter 234: Not Negotiation, the immediate close up to Ulquiorra’s eye from the full body shots creates a sense of intimidation and unease with its sudden intimacy. As well, the immediate zoom in from Ulquiorra’s side full body shot to his facial profile creates tension and the change from the dark background to the white face with Orihime releases this tension (very fitting with considering the line for this panel is “but not you”). (This scene also ties into Ulquiorra’s central dogma of “that which is not reflected in my eyes does not exist’.)

Again in the same chapter, this gradual zoom in on the two creates tension that is then release in the next panel and summarily cements Ulquiorra as a terrifying BAMF.

In Chapter 262: Unblendable, Kubo uses the negative space to create a feeling of isolation, similar to how Orihime is supposed to be feeling.

In the same chapter, notice how Kubo creates a sense of intimacy (not in the romance sense) with the relationship of Ulquiorra and Orihime. He creates tension gradually with the zooming into Orihime’s eye and releases it with the zoom out to Ulquiorra. Through this scene, Kubo has shown us that Ulquiorra and Orihime have a tense relationship and with the implication of eye contact through the shots and panel breaks creating both the intimacy and showing Orihime’s defiance.

(Interestingly, I’ve noticed that Ulquiorra and Orihime have a lot of these intimate zoom shot-reverse-shot eye panels)

___________________

What are the Bad Parts of Bleach?

Okay, so by now, you’re probably thinking that I’m ignoring the massive amounts of critique that Bleach gets and don’t get me wrong, while Bleach does have a very special place in my heart, I’m also not maudlin enough to pretend that Bleach was all good.

Pacing:

Pacing in the First Half of Bleach (Karakura Town - Arrancar)

When Bleach first started out the pacing was excellent. Kubo showed great mastery of pace to control the tone and highlight the emotions throughout the first two arcs. Mid-way through the Arrancar arc, the fatigue sets in and it was hard to keep up with, especially since Kubo would interrupt one exciting fight set up to go set up more plot elsewhere (eg Fake Karakura town right as Ichigo and Ulquiorra were about to battle). Whilst looking back and reading it all at once does help with the pacing, it was frustrating if you were reading/watching on a weekly basis.

Pacing in the Anime:

I don’t ascribe to a simplistic belief of “fillers bad” simply because I think that sometimes fillers can be a good thing, for example, since every chapter is ~15-20pp, some character interactions have to be cut for the sake for space, so filler is a great opportunity to add those moments back into your story. For example, a lot of early Bleach fillers are just the people of Karakura town just hanging out. That being said, Bleach does have an unfortunate amount of fillers, with some of them even interrupting tense fights (eg the Beast Sword Arc interrupts Ichigo’s battle with Ulquiorra). However, the padding that the fillers provided did wonders for the transition between Soul Society to Arrancar Arc in the anime. Ultimately, the Bleach anime adaption was a long-running anime made for syndication and that’s okay.

******* Brief Aside: many people like(d?) to point out that Bleach has a very cyclical plot structure. I used to think this way too; however, this is not the case. There are many other long running stories that repeat similar goals. The problem lies not in the idea, but the execution. The main complaint about the Orihime rescue was not that it was uninteresting, but instead that it felt a rehash of the plot of the previous arc. This is largely because the story was not given enough time to breath between similar character arcs. For example, in One Piece, Luffy and Co have to save Nami and by extension, her home village so she can join them; however, the next time a Straw Hat needs to be saved is 227 chapters (2 whole story arcs) later. In between saving Rukia and Orihime, there is only a really an arrancar encounter, a bit of training, cheering up Ichigo, and a Grimmjow encounter before Orihime goes with Ulquiorra, thus making the goal of this arc “save Orihime” in only ~59 chapters vs 227. These two similar arc goals so close to each other does indeed create the sense of repetition.

Pacing from Fullbringer to End:

This is where Bleach really lost a lot of people. If you weren’t gone after the Ulquiorra fight, you probably were by this arc.This arc went at breakneck speed, and ngl, during my first full read through I almost gave up here too. I mention earlier that Ichigo had been broken down in this arc, but it was hard to feel his despair and the weight on his shoulders because there wasn’t enough for the reader to take a beat and breathe. The Thousand Year Blood War, similarly suffered from sloppy pacing, with many readers feeling like story lines of Squad 0 and the Soul King were anti-climactic. As well, this arc started with a massacre and feature the deaths of many fan-favourite characters, and unfortunately due to the pacing, their deaths were not given a sense of gravity.

Missed Opportunities and Forgotten Story lines: Many people felt that Kubo forgot about a lot of his characters after the Aizen arc. Many thought the Fullbringer Arc was going to be a Chad/Orihime Arc. Whatever happened to Uryuu lolol? We all just collectively forgot about him for a large portion of the last half of Bleach. At one point in time, there was a rumour going around that Kubo had written out the story for Bleach and lost it. Idk if there is any credibility to it. However, in a 2017 interview, Kubo did say that he did end the series exactly the way he wanted to.

(If anyone wants to see me write an entire ass text post about Orihime and her treatment in Bleach, please let me know because I will do it)

Too mature:Even though above, I praised Bleach's mature handle on its themes, an unfortunate side effect of this is forgetting that the characters are only 15 at the beginning and for the first half of Bleach. This unfortunately, leads to some readers feeling disconnected from Bleach.

Epilogue: THE DESTROYER OF SHIPS!!! A lot of people hated this ending. Many people felt like the romance was shoe-horned in, others didn’t like the pairings, and there were some people who actually liked it. Personally, I didn’t like it too much, but it was a cute conclusion nonetheless. Since it didn't add anything to the story except for a "where are they now" look and because of that, I low-key felt like it was unnecessary, but w/e.

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Perspective

Making a long-running weekly serialized story is hard and doing it for 15 years is gruelling (obligatory “fuck capitalism” here). Like many artists of long-running manga, Kubo destroyed his health for the sake of publishing Bleach weekly. Kubo on his health after Bleach (photo from AshitanoGin on Twitter):

Given this insight, I think it’s only fair to be respectful and grateful for Kubo’s contribution to the anime-sphere. Also, through his work, Kubo seems to be a very understanding person and artist. I’m sure he knows better than anyone where Bleach went wrong, but there’s nothing that can be done now. Despite him having a twitter, he is not Joanne and doesn’t feel the need to constantly hemorrhage out word of god info about Bleach (and thank god for that).

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Final Thoughts

It’s hard to forget my happy memories when I think about Bleach. It had my first adolescent crush and first OTP. As a result, I think the best way to enjoy Bleach is to take what you want out of it. People always think that something has to be 100% without flaw for it to be good, but that is not true at all. It is totally okay to just like the parts that you like without engaging with anything else. It’s special to you for a reason, you know? 

There’s no use in fretting over what Bleach could’ve been, besides, very rarely is the reality better than the fantasy in your head.

I do think though that a lot of Kubo’s issues could’ve been fixed if he planned the story better but not all of us can be “I've been planning One Piece since elementary school” Oda Eiichiro.

Other voices on this issue: here

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Wow. I can’t believe you made it this far down. Congratulations! Thanks for reading my 2:30am non-sober take on Bleach (it only took me 7 hours to write). Here's a cookie <3

[siennanotes]

2020 Tag

I am embarrassed for posting this so late but I love the questions so much I couldn’t resist missing out on the opportunity of sharing my 2020 finds. Thank you for the tag @stuhde

top 5 movies you saw this year

Little Women

Hamilton the Musical

Metro Manila

Miss Granny

The Hows of Us

top 5 shows of the year

Community

The Office

Bojack Horseman

Full House

Hell’s Kitchen

top 5 songs of the year (let’s be mutuals on Spotify!)

Mystery of Love by Sufjan Stevens

Just Like a Splendid Love Song by Orange and Lemons

1980s Horror Film II by Wallows

Modern Loneliness by Lauv

Evermore by Taylor Swift ft. Bon Iver

top 5 books you read (let’s be friends on Goodreads!)

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Rizal without the Overcoat by Ambeth Ocampo

The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket

The Reptile Room by Lemony Snicket

top 5 things to happen to you in 2020

I was invited to speak about study habits in one of the top universities in our country!

I launched a Youtube channel

I became a part of the Flipd Doers Club

I was appointed to become an officer of our student council

I was able to travel by air and go home to where my parents are

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Your Presents Is Required (baon, 12 days of Cheer)

Note:  For the 12 Days of Cheer!

Day #1: Ugly Sweaters | Day #2 Family | Day #3 Ice Skating | Day #4 Santa

Day #5 Decorations | Day #6 Cocoa | Day  #7 Toys  | Day #8: Mistletoe  | Day #9: Cookies | Day #10: Snowball |  Day #11:  Naughty or Nice

Day #12: Opening Gifts

Note: Yes, I did it! Despite struggling through being sick, I managed to get to the last day! I know it’s only the 23rd, but better early than never. ^_^

Tags: Spicyhoney, Domestic, Established Relationship, Soft Fluff

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

Keep reading

~~*~~

"Are you nearly ready?" Edge called up the stairs.

He waited, listening, and from the muffled thumping that floated back down, he was going to assume the answer was yes.

By the door were packed bundles filled with gifts and carefully covered trays of food and desserts, all waiting to be jigsawed into Edge’s car for the short trip over to Sans and Papyrus’s house. Edge was long-since dressed in his carefully pressed suit and only needed to slip on his overcoat, completely prepared to head over for the holiday festivities, except for one small, missing detail; his husband, who was ostensibly still getting ready.

It was difficult to decide whether amusement or despair should be the correct emotion for the wait, but once Stretch came downstairs, Edge assumed the choice would make itself.

He’d been suspiciously secretive about his outfit , going so far as to lock himself in the master bathroom after loftily informing Edge that it was a surprise. ‘Surprise’ was likely to be the telltale expression; a very neutral word, that, easily modified by others terms, ones like ‘happy’ or ‘tragically horrid’. But Edge’s imagination was doing him no favors as he wondered.

Perhaps it was one of those ridiculous suits they'd seen in the department stores, scratchy polyester material in bright greens and reds, garishly decorated with pictures of candy canes and vapidly grinning gingerbread men.

Or worse, he could have chosen something along the plushier vein, suiting up as a reindeer or perhaps even a snowman. Some unfortunate face paint could explain the lengthy wait.

Edge held back a shudder, stifling his runaway imagination before it could offer anything worse. He loved his husband, very much, and he wasn’t about to spoil his holiday joy, no matter how tacky it revealed itself to be. But whatever it was, it did need to come faster.

“Stretch?” Edge called up, a hint of impatience worming its way in. The hors d'oeuvres were cooling by the moment and they should be at least served warm.

“coming, coming!” Finally the bedroom door opened, but Edge couldn't have possibly anticipated what his husband came downstairs wearing.

A new suit, yes, but not one he'd snagged off any cheap rack. It fit him to a perfection that spoke of expert tailoring, sleek lines against his slim bones. His tie was a subtle orange plaid and deftly knotted, with a black vest over his white shirt rather than a suit jacket, his trousers tapering down his long legs to his ankles with only the slightest break atop his well-polished, carefully tied shoes.

The effect was rather simple and yet, incredibly stunning. Certainly Edge felt as if he’d taken a velvet-cushioned blow straight between the eye sockets.

From Stretch's pleased grin, he was reading Edge's expression like one might a well-loved book. He did a little twirl at the base of the stairs, proving that the sight was just as appealing from behind. "you like? went to the same tailor that did my wedding tux.”

Suits demanded a certain posture and it emphasized their height difference, forcing Edge to look up as Stretch prowled over him. He rubbed a knuckle lightly across the muted crimson silk of Edge’s tie, blunt fingertips trailing across his lapel. “figured i could dress up for you in my own clothes for one night."

“You look—“ Language failed him and Edge dropped his gaze from those knowing eyelights, drinking in the sight. Gorgeous seemed a dim understatement to the truth. Lovely as he knew Stretch to be, Edge never made any attempts to change Stretch’s style of dress; no subtle comments, none of his more unusual apparel getting lost in the wash. If anything, Edge added clothing to his own side of the closet that might interest Stretch in certain circumstances, if only to give him an excuse to borrow a shirt or a pair of pants.

To see him like this, exquisitely dressed as a visual treat to the gaze? Every part of Edge yearned towards him, his soul wanted to fall into the gravitational pull that was his beautiful Stretch, his husband. His.

Who was smiling at him, soft and warm, "guess it was worth all the youtube videos to figure out how to tie this noose. and hey, don't forget the best part.” Stretch’s grin turned sly, his tongue grazing across his teeth, “when we get home, you get to unwrap your present."

The click at the back of his throat as Edge swallowed seemed too loud, echoing in his audial canals. Lovely, yes, Stretch was always gorgeous. And Edge could imagine that he would perhaps be even lovelier in their bed, lying back in the ruins of a very fine suit.

The sudden urge to immediately find out was viciously suppressed and Edge blink hard to chase away the lingering vision. It was made easier by Stretch sliding on his coat, covering up that teasing suit at least for a short while. But he stopped Stretch before he could gather up any of the bags. "Wait."

Edge leaned in and kissed away that quizzical look, softly, sweetly. He didn’t lay so much as a finger on him, keeping a careful cushion of distance between their bodies. But when he leaned away he saw that somehow, despite the care, Stretch ended up slightly rumpled anyhow. A slight crease in his shirt, the barest cant to his tie, one shoelace verging on the threat of untying. It only made Edge smile to see it. Beneath all the sleek finery, he was still Stretch, and that was all Edge ever wanted him to be.

“Merry Gyftmas,” Edge murmured, rubbing a gloved thumb lightly over the temptation of Stretch’s mouth.

He kissed it almost dazedly, mumbling back, “merry gyftmas.” The soft haze of his eye lights sharpened as Stretch blinked, matching his grin as whirled away and he began snatching up the bags of presents. “c’mon, let’s get going!”

“I’m right behind you,” Edge assured him, gathering up his own stack of trays. Today would be a whirlwind of gifts and laughter, food and joy with their family.

Unwrapping his real gift would be worth the wait.

-finis-

[kiki-wiccan]

During the day, not much occurred in Stanislav’s undead life for he had been asleep. Numb to the world, numb to the LSA, numb to the existence he had been given. Slumber proved to be the only time Stanislav felt truly free; trapped within the dark void beneath his eyelids.

          As soon as the sun had set, Stanislav awoke in his bedroom, before putting on clothing for the day and attending to a few phone calls. Given how colleagues had commented on Stanislav’s penchant for always working--though it gnawed at the depths of his soul--he pushed aside trivial matters for the night. He could afford a single night of leisure; though leisure didn’t exactly entail going on a food run for none other than Kiki James. He didn’t seem to mind, though, for a deal had been a deal. 

        Browsing selections for Kiki proved to be relatively easy. She preferred sweets, so Stanislav had picked out a few baked goods he assumed Kiki would enjoy: muffins, macaroons, and much like last time, a small ice cream cake. He knew this wouldn’t be a great idea, so he wound up adding a few items that weren’t sweets--and whether or not Kiki decided to eat them, it was of no loss to Stanislav.

         Making his way through the hospital, he ignored the curious gazes of onlookers who’d recognized him as a member of the LSA. A few tried to catch his attention, but he merely shook his head and murmured a quick “Perhaps later”. Once in the halls of the hospital, he effortlessly managed to locate Kiki’s room.

 

   Not wanting to intrude, the vampire lightly knocked on the door before letting himself in, slowly pulling back the curtain. So it seemed Kiki was decent, ofcourse.

 “Good evening, Miss Kiki.”

     He approached her bed side, setting the bag of goodies on the overbed table. “As noted last night.” Considering he would be in the hospital for awhile, Stanislav removed his overcoat and draped it over the chair, before checking to see the curtains had been drawn to bring in the view of the city skyline.

          While doing so, he began to alert Kiki as to what he’d done. “I informed Mister Romanescu that you had a run-in last night, ending up in the emergency room. He was worried, of course, but was relieved to find that you were healthy. He may not be able to join us, however--obligations pertaining to the funeral home. Apologised profusely, so I suppose we’ll have to tolerate one another this evening.”

     By then, Stanislav had taken a seat near Kiki’s bedside, looking to her intently; as if expecting her to fill him in on what she’d done that day.

“I told you I’m sorry but I’m not eating this hospit....Stan!” Her annoyed expression changed to a bright smile. For a moment she had thought it was another nurse trying to get her to eat for the millionth time. Her eyes lit up as the bag was placed in front of her and she pulled out the various items of food while she listened to Stan explain the situation about Garridan “that’s fine I understand”. She was surprised when she saw the small ice cream cake, how sweet he remembered she had enjoyed it. Then her mind went to the previous night when being carried how she mentioned wanting to have cake again with him the gesture made her heart flutter a bit. She had decided first she’d eat some of the cake and just as she was about to open it to eat a nurse popped in with a food tray. She looked surprised that Kiki was about to eat they stared at eachother and the wiccan looked as though she’d been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. ‘are you planning on eating’ the nurse inquired “yessss...” kiki responded sheepishly ‘good to see you’re finally getting something in your stomach’ the nurse replied and then took her leave. Pretending that didn’t just happen she took the plastic fork she had and took a bite of the cake. “The hospital is super boring, the doctor said my back is looking much better though he said it’ll be bruised and sore for awhile. I was on my phone most of the day I found these funny articles about vampire facts but most of them seem like bullshit. Then I watched a bunch of weird YouTube videos some of them were really interesting and others were really stupid. You’d think people would be more educated on supernaturals considering we live side by side” she spoke in between bites. It was obvious that the wiccan was hungry and she didn’t hide it either.

[wannabesewcrafty]

Dream On

Fandom: Debris (TV)

Summary: Fill for “77. Writing a song about them.” From this list by @emswritingprompts

Notes: AU where Bryan is a street musician in New York and Finola is a visiting businessperson from London.

He didn’t announce it, but if someone gave him five dollars or more, he’d make up a little song about them, right there, on the spot. He liked the creative challenge, which was good, because the recipients didn’t always like his original work.

The morning sky was a dreary gray, and the commuters were thinning out from the subway station when a woman approached his spot and dropped a $10 bill into his case.

He glanced down just long enough to see the denomination, then smiled and nodded his thanks, taking in her lovely features—delicate nose, full mouth, an hourglass figure accentuated by her belted black overcoat. Her brown eyes were bright with excitement and anticipation. Somehow, she had heard of him and what he did after tips like these. He just knew it.

“No one has eyes like yours,” he sang while he strummed his acoustic guitar. “I close my eyes, and you’re all I see. Buttoned up by day, at night, you’re free. Dream on, girl, dream of me.”

She let out a delighted laugh. He saw it—her face scrunched up with mirth, her lips parted and her white teeth flashed, but the sound was drowned out by the next approaching subway train. She turned away, made a move towards the platform, then stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him.

He continued playing but looked directly at her, as if the power of his gaze alone could hold her. And, seemingly, it did.

-*-*-

Finola found herself unexpectedly drawn to the busker she had come to see. There was a deep intensity to him, like a coiled spring just waiting to be released. She could see longing in his green eyes, a desire for something, and it was like she was the only one who could fulfill it.

She wandered back over to him, and her train stopped, let people off and on, and then left the station. She could catch another one, or take the bus or a cab, or even walk.

The station was practically empty now, and the sounds of the man’s guitar echoed off its tile walls. When he stopped playing and the music faded away into silence, she applauded heartily.

“Thank you. I’ve never had someone sing a song about me before,” Finola said.

“How’d you know I’d sing you one?” he asked, curiosity driving him to ask. He swung his guitar around on its shoulder strap to keep it behind him as he bent down to collect his earnings from his open case so he could put away his guitar.

“I know people,” she said mysteriously, before breaking into a grin. “No. You’re on YouTube.”

“Really?” Bryan looked up, genuinely surprised. People had filmed and taken photos of him, but he’d never thought he’d end up on YouTube.

“Really.” She pulled out her phone and brought up a video while he straightened to look at it over her shoulder. “See?”

She played a short video of Bryan doing a cover version of a song from a movie. “Someone said they thought you made up songs if you got a certain amount of money,” Finola explained. “I came to test the theory.”

“A ten’s a bit high to start with. Not that I’m complaining,” he added.

She shrugged. “People say I’m generous to a fault.”

“Thought you didn’t know any people,” he said with a smirk.

“I don’t know people who know buskers,” she corrected.

“Well, you do now.” He picked up his guitar case with his left hand and offered her his right. “I’m Bryan.”

“Finola.” They shook, but a worried look appeared on her face. “I’m leaving New York,” she blurted out. “I go back to London tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He felt a stab of disappointment. “Just my luck.”

“Do you...have time for a coffee?”

Now, it was his turn to smile. “Yeah.”

They ascended to the street and bought coffee from a cart near the station. By the time they had finished their first cup, Finola had fished a business card out of her coat pocket and handed it to him. “My London office,” she said. “Write me?”

“I’d love to. At least, until we see each other again.”

“Well, until then…” She trailed off into a grin. “Dream on, boy, dream of me,” she sang.

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

People Have Different Tastes

Something that has always bothered me is when people end up absolutely befuddled because I didn’t watch a certain children's show or listen to a particular song. I’ve had numerous people gawk at me because of this as though it’s some unspoken requirement of humanity to all watch and listen to the same things. What’s popular to you doesn’t necessarily mean it’s popular to someone else. Granted, I know there are videos that go viral and songs that make it to the top ten and shows that people rave about worldwide. I have still managed to avoid that though, for the most part. It isn’t intentional, I just generally immersed myself in what I found interesting to me. I grew up listening to what my mother played from her ipod or CDs and I watched more movies than I did TV shows. I never really had a vessel to explore music tailored to me or videos I personally enjoyed until I was in about ninth or tenth grade.

I received an ipad for christmas and downloaded a knock-off version of youtube that allowed me to play music while using another app. That was when I started exploring. When my younger sister was looking up epic music to use jokingly in a school project, I found that I actually really enjoyed it. Epic instrumental music and movie scores were the shit I loved to listen to. It took me a wee while actually to branch out from that and find songs with words. I wanted something with the same feel, same use of instrumental abundance. The band Of Monsters and Men took me in a different direction though, interesting sounding vocals. I’m a sucker for accents so listening to foreign bands gave me that satisfaction. I never fell into a boy/girl band phase, I either wanted a mix of both or just a strong male or female vocalist. So when One Direction became a sensation, I just pretended to be a fan. I wanted to be a part of the community of people that adored one thing, whether it was a band, a song, a show, a clothing trend. It simply never fit with what I enjoyed though. There were rare moments when I felt that inclusion with appreciating something but it was often few and far between.

I watched Nickelodeon as a child, but it was mostly Spongebob Squarepants and iCarly sprinkled in between. H2O: Just Add Water was a favorite as well. I still managed to miss a ridiculous amount of shows there though. Still managed to baffle people with my lack of indulgence. The thing is, I watched an episode or so and then I was done for the day, so that episode was from the one channel I knew to get to. Netflix wasn’t a thing yet, hell, flat TVs weren’t a thing yet. Channel 37 was all I knew so dammit that’s what I hit on the remote. Also, like I said, I was also a big movie fan. I watched Titanic religiously with my younger sister, we were about four and six years old. Eventually our parents banned us from it because they were so sick of it. Our love for it was rediscovered two years later so that was a fun thing to relive. We liked Disney movies but not as much the old classics like Snow White, more like Mulan and Pirates of the Carribean. This of course led me to be considered a fake Disney fan since I wouldn’t watch as many princess movies. Barbie movies on the other hand were a blast to watch but that doesn’t count, so again I was on the edge of the crowds.

I never bothered to follow clothing trends, I was poor, then I moved to a small town where going to Vancouver only happened twice a year for us. Buying the next trendy thing wasn’t something I could do when most of my clothes were hand-me-downs or from what I found at the thrift store. On top of that, I have a habit of wanting to look like the last character I saw in a movie that I like. I’m a fiend for overcoats because of that. I was more interested in looking like I popped out of another time period than keeping up with a trend that would last a week and come around again ten years later. If there was an in-style look I fancied, I always ended up acquiring it late and then it didn’t even matter if I caught up, the world already moved on.

Video games were never really present in my life, until we got a Wii. That became addicting for awhile but even then, my parents never really had to urge me outside much because I loved being outside. I thrive among trees, grass, and creeks. I would wake up early and sneak out of the house before my sister woke up just so I could have an hour of poking around ditches and bushes with a stick, pretending it was alive and I was narrating its existence like the gent from Planet Earth. My group of friends would play manhunt in the woods or make up civilizations in my backyard. We would be out in the neighbourhood streets from late morning to twilight. Of course those that didn’t do that as kids wondered why I was so horrible at video games and never saw all the episodes of anything because I was never in front of the TV that much. Even though I had a small herd, I still felt isolated from the much larger herd of people familiar with something I wasn’t.

I’ve been in dance classes all my life from when I was two so no, I don't know how to navigate an Xbox. I grew up listening to Enya, Simon and Garfunkel, and opera, so no, Katy Perry wasn’t someone I jammed out to. I’m a shy, awkward introverted bookworm so no, I never went to parties. I don’t have a lot of money so no, I don’t really buy brand name clothing. I’m not trying to sound like I’m such a one-of-a-kind, not like the others, clearly a quirky and unique person. What I”m trying to say is, there are loads of people like that, loads of people that find joy in the less known, the more obscure, the sub-genre of things.

People forget that just because they grew up one way, knowing the things they learned and seeing the things they saw, does not mean everyone else did too. The world is a grand place because there is so much to offer, so to ridicule, tease, taunt, shame those that dwell in something different than you is stupid. We don’t all have to agree with one another’s tastes but we should at least appreciate the fact that we have different tastes and aren’t instead clones that all march to the same destination without knowing why. So whilst someone plays Assassin’s Creed or goes to a club or reads a book or takes a hike or browses a mall, I’m writing a blog and doing any of those things is wonderful.

Do what makes you happy, and be happy that others are doing what makes them happy because the happier we all are, the more tolerant we’ll be of everyone’s differences.

[dropthelens]

Given the nature of my work, I had to judge Clancy, an occasional colleague (no real names), based on his online behavior. There would be moments when I thought, something must be wrong with this man. When feeling more charitable, I would say, he’s moved by different music.

The one time I encountered Clancy out in the world it was a typically mild night in the city, on the corner of MLK and Locust. I passed the McDonald’s (the one that used to be there) and saw him through the window, alone at a table. A few weeks prior, news had come that the restaurant would be razed and replaced with a center offering social and medical services to homeless youth. Most people applauded, but Clancy lamented. “I’m gonna miss that place,” he wrote. I just so happened to be scanning the thread, and though his message was quickly buried in the feed, its ghost stood apart from the screen. It perplexed me, so I made a snap judgment: The line was an act of pure showmanship. It asserted that Clancy, out of charity and curiosity, mixed with the regulars at that McDonald’s; he went there to collect the noble attributes he claimed to observe in those people — hungry, deranged, and often belligerent, or simply looking for somewhere to sit — and incorporate them into his online persona. Despite its parking lot having been stage to the only murders I’d heard about it in some time, the McDonald’s was, for some, a haven, and here was Clancy, claiming status as one of its habitual pilgrims. 

I satisfied myself with this conclusion for a few minutes. I read some dozens more comments, surrendered to YouTube; felt disgusted, washed my hands; and walked out of the apartment. Half a mile along the edge of the park, and Clancy was gone from my mind. 

A few weeks later I was looking for a place to eat, and, deciding to play it safe, entered a taqueria. For $8 they were serving a chile relleno plate: two chile rellenos, rice, a light side salad, and a small bowl of black beans. The cashier wore a mechanic’s uniform, her name, Jeanine, sewn in blue script on a patch. She had gapped teeth and one of her eyes drifted out, such that I couldn’t be confident that she really, truly saw me as I ordered, not that it mattered to me, not really. I filled two or three plastic containers with hot sauce from the salsa bar and sat in the center. I sampled the rice and the beans. They were well-seasoned, -heated, and -textured. The rice was delicate and differentiated, the beans taut, but giving. With fork and knife I removed the tip of one of the rellenos. The filling steamed and the steam pillar split, revealing more clearly the layered cross section of white quesillo, dark green poblano, pale egg-batter, and golden brown shell. The layers felt as they looked, and tasted as they felt. Though it badly burned my mouth I dispatched those loaded peppers in just a few bites, and wiped up the mess with the rice and beans. I washed my palate with the humble salad. I quietly belched. Just as I finished, I heard shouting. 

There was some disagreement between one of the cooks and a man who’d come in off the street. The man, short and muscular, threw his hands up and said, “I’m already late,” then stormed out. I made brief eye contact with the cook, who looked away sharply, stung. I cleaned up my table and left before the awkwardness could infect my mood. 

I admit, I felt queasy, but luckily it did not mount and I kept my satisfaction with the meal as I wandered back home. Though decreasingly in the last ten years, the street still featured the sort of retail outfit that these days seems destined to fail, cavernous old thrift stores full of service industry uniforms, mannequins with missing limbs, and a few more sardonic employees than the payroll can support. In some of their upstairs apartments you can see a physician who will prescribe you almost anything. Despite being closed this time of night, all the shops illuminated their display windows. (Excessively, I thought, but that was OK.) And so, with that greasy, starchy mash seeping through me, I strolled the gum-spotted sidewalk and considered with a mixture of boredom and wonder the items spotlighted behind the glass: a dusty fedora, a wedding gown, a wicker basket; a backgammon set in a case of bone-colored leather, a book called Trees of Peru; a shoebox full of feminist comics from the 70s; a plant with broad green leaves.

I moved through the impromptu tour somewhat spellbound, such that when I reached the corner of Locust and MLK, the McDonald’s appeared by surprise. The front doors were accessible by a brief staircase or a ramp that ran along the side and below the broad windows, which held the patrons in a yellow light. A modest line had formed behind the counter. Some patrons, in groups of two or more, stood between the counter and the tables, there for no reason other than to socialize or plot. Only a few of the tables sat people. As I scanned their faces, someone approached me. “Come on, help me out. You wanna help me out?” He had a big brown nose, big blue eyes, a hairless face, and tapped his foot as he waited for my answer. It was the man who’d been kicked out of the taqueria. I pulled out my wallet and gave him a five. “More?” he asked. “That’s all I got,” I lied. He growled tenderly and flew up the steps. 

He sat across from a large man wearing what was clearly a wig. It was shiny and long. He also wore a baseball cap, glasses, a scarf, and a brown overcoat. The man from the street spoke incessantly. The man in the wig clasped his hands and listened, nodding, cringing, widening his eyes, loosening his scarf when the tale raised its stakes. The first man slammed his fist on the table and pointed at the window, almost directly at me, and the man in the scarf turned to look. I recognized then it was Clancy. Could he have seen me? He jerked his chin up, such that his round glasses glinted, then broke his gaze. The man stopped talking, took a deep breath, and seemed to say thank you. Then he left. Clancy observed the other patrons for a while. He looked up at them, as if to invite them to join him. The crowd had grown so thick that when he left a few minutes later, he had to squeeze between their bodies, a task a man his size could not complete inconspicuously. But Clancy managed. Gracefully he wove through the chattering clusters of patrons. Many seemed to recognize him, and when he met resistance in the crowd, someone would push him, warmly, deftly, and send him spinning on his way. Clancy stiff-armed the swinging back doors. He must have marched across the parking lot with great speed, because when I rounded the corner and stood behind the waist-high chainlink, watching for him, I got nothing. Nor did I see his spirited friend. All I caught was the lump of a discarded wig, gleaming in the lamplight.

The McDonald’s is gone now, demolished. Construction has started on the homeless youth center that will replace it, which is being paid for by a local billionaire. Yesterday I heard on the radio that it will open ahead of schedule, and that every youth who passes through its doors will be welcomed with a hooded sweatshirt printed with their benefactor’s name.

[avengeultrons]

Title: Escape the Night I(Stark! Reader x Peter Parker)

Summary: The team is all invited to Tony’s housewarming dinner party, a 20s themed soiree with a twisted surprise that not even Mr. Stark himself knows about.

Word Count: 2472

A/N: WOOH! This is definitely inspired by Escape the Night on YouTube Red; I love it so much that I had to write something. If you guys like this part, let me know and I’ll totally do a part 2! I hope you enjoy!

PART 2

--

To my esteemed friends,

I have acquired an illustrious mansion upstate. I thought it only fitting that I invite you to a dinner party on the grounds. It will certainly be a night to remember. However, the estate itself is quite peculiar for it only exists in the year 1920.

To enter its grounds, you must be dressed entirely of clothing from that era. If you are carrying anything from the modern world, the house will simply never appear for you. And not only your clothing, but your attitude must reflect that time. My driver will pick you up and drive down a road that can only be driven by this mysterious automobile. Then, just like magic, the mansion will appear.

See you soon,

Tony Stark

Your dad had gone all out. A 20s themed  housewarming dinner party? Tony was extremely elated  to show the new house you would be living in to all of his friends. This was proven true when you and Peter were dropped off in front of the house and the place was already crowded with people in their 1920s apparel.

“I look crazy,” Peter announced next to you, tugging on the faux fur of his elaborate coat. There was a pair of leather suspenders holding up his straight-legged pants. You couldn't help but smile as you looked at him, “It’s not fair. You look… you look nice.” Peter’s face went pink as he looked at you; you held the small cloche hat onto your head, your silk overcoat blowing in the cool wind. You looked beautiful. God, his stomach filled with butterflies just thinking about it.

You rolled your eyes and looked down at the concrete below your flapper heels, “Oh, there you two are! That drop waist dress looks great on you,” Wanda smiled at you and ushered the two of you inside, her hands covered with glamorous silk gloves that went to her elbows, each  dripping in jeweled bracelets.

“Look at you! All dapper in your tuxedo,” you teased your father as soon as you walked in. Sure, it was well known that your dad loved his parties. This one, though? This dinner party was on a new level.

He rolled his eyes and smiled at the three of you, straightening his bow tie before turning to the group, “Thank you all for coming! Dinner will be served any minute by the staff. For now, please enjoy some drinks!”

“This place has a staff?” You asked him, your eyes widening. He shrugged, “Well, can I go upstairs to look around?” a giddy excitement filled you. You still hadn’t even seen the house yet. Where would you be sleeping? Where was your dad’s office going to be?

Tony’s eyes widened and he sighed, “I-I don't know, Y/N. The staff is still kind of nervous about all of this. I think it's best if we stay down here,” he said with an uneasy grin, “Oh, I'll be right back!”  Wanda followed and you gave a huff, grabbing Peter by the suspenders to sneak through the crowd of people.

“We’re going upstairs to look around, aren't we?” he asked with a sigh. Peter was constantly dragged into situations where getting into trouble was probably inevitable. He did it for you, though. But you couldn't ever find that out, of course.

You laughed and smiled mischievously, your heels clicking on the hardwood floors of the staircase, “Obviously, it'll be fun! Wait-” you stopped dead in your tracks, eyes widening as you stared ahead. Peter nearly cursed as he stepped in front of you, his footsteps muffled by the floral carpet  runner on the landing, “What the hell is that?” you whispered. The two of you watched as a body was dragged across the floor, a dark red stain of blood left on the rug. You couldn't believe your eyes.

“You two should be going. Dinner will be served soon,” the maid appeared, her cheek streaked with blood. Peter gulped and turned to you, unsure of what to do or say.

You took his arm and smiled a nervous smile, backing up slowly, “Of course, we were just looking for the bathroom,” you started pushing him down the steps, a large pit forming in your stomach, “I don't...what just happened? Was that a dead body?”

“There you two are! What were you doing upstairs?” Tony looked over his wine glass as the two of you sat at the dinner table, one on each side of him. You sighed and bit your lip, staring over at Peter nervously.

Peter laughed nervously and jammed a forkful of salad into his mouth, trying to avoid the question, “They're avoiding the question. Probably making out,” the man sitting next to you said with a sour smile your way.

You glared at the stranger, a gasp escaping your lips as his face slowly went purple and he coughed up blood, sputtering like crazy. You thought he was choking, but there was nothing you could do.

Chaos ensued while you and Tony worked to pull him to the ground and hopefully clear his airway, even though you knew in the back of your mind that nothing was blocking it. You looked over at him for help, a suffocated sigh escaping his lips.

“Wait, there's a note sticking out of his pocket,” Natasha pointed to the pocket on his suit jacket, repositioning the crystal headband across her forehead.

Steve reached for the note and unfolded it, swallowing hard before he read it, “If you're reading this, I have failed my mission. My killer is not who you may think it is, it's the house itself.”

“What?” you and Peter both said in unison. You shared an uneasy glance and looked around the group of both strangers, house staff, and your fellow teammates standing around the room, looking as if they'd just seen a ghost.

Wanda came up next to you and looped her arm through yours, “The house is possessed of an ancient evil that has locked itself in time. I came here tonight with the intentions of destroying it with my group: the Society Against Evil. There are four artifacts which the evil of this place has hidden behind a series of puzzles and clues. Each clue is marked with the Society’s symbol. If they can be gathered and a binding ritual can be performed, the evil will be locked away. However, to complete the final task to retrieve each artifact, the group must vote on two people who must undertake a dark challenge. Tragically, one will die.”

“What the hell is this?” Natasha asked, completely furious. You let out a shaky gasp, looking to your father for help, “Nope, no way. We’re leaving. There's a car out front. I'd like to get the hell away from 1920,” she scooped up her fur coat and lead the way out, storming past everyone in her way.

Peter looked as white as a sheet as you pulled him with you, everyone else following close behind. You carefully stepped down the slippery cobblestone steps and trudged to the car, tears of fear stinging your eyes.

Just as you were about to step off of the sidewalk and onto the road, the car ahead blew up. The party erupted in screams and you were thrown backward by the explosion, landing on your bum, “Everyone, back inside!” Tony shouted, grabbing ahold of both you and Peter tightly as he dragged you back inside.

“What are we going to do? We can't stay here forever!” you shouted, pulling on the cheap pearls of your bracelet, “So, if we don't find the artifacts in twelve hours, we can't go back to the present?”

Your palms became sweaty and you looked over at Peter, fear causing both of you to be paralysed on the spot. Why did you look at each other when you were scared? It only made you more afraid, after all, “We have to look for clues that match the symbol on the letter in twelve hours. But how many are there?” he asked, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“No idea. But the maid, Sarah is it? Sarah has a giant letter with that symbol, let's get moving,” Clint snatched the letter and tore it open, not wasting any time, “Books. It only says ‘books’. Thanks a lot.”

You ran to the first bookshelf you saw, scanning through the books as quickly as you could. All you wanted to do was make sure you all made it out alive. Tony joined you and turned to the head of staff, “Arthur, keep the drinks coming. We’re going to be here for a while.”

Tony sent you and Peter into the common area to look for one of the four numbers to punch in for a code on a small jewelry box with the Society’s symbol, “Do you think we’re going to die here?” you asked quietly. Peter stopped his searching and stared at you. You were his best friend, he cared about you too much to see you so scared.

“No way, Y/N. We’re going to get out of here. Alive,” he said with a small smile. You sighed and gave a nod, “I found a symbol!” Peter shouted after a considerably awkward silence followed.

You smiled and pushed a strand of finger waved hair- the style took longer than necessary- behind your ear, “We found a number!” you shouted over the ruckus of the house, “That newsboy hat is cute, by the way,” you said with a light laugh, tipping his hat hat in front of his eyes as you walked past him. Peter laughed nervously, his cheeks turning red as he followed you back to the library where everyone was now waiting.

“Another letter? You've got to be kidding me, nothing good comes from these,” Sam groaned from his spot next to as he pulled out a letter from the decoded box and ripped the envelope open.

The ungodly machine is in the basement. The cog key will ignite its wicked engine, but understand once the machine has been started it can only be stopped by the loss of an innocent life. Two guests must be selected by the vote of the group to be locked in the machine, then those two must each choose a partner who will aid them in defeating the machine.

You snatched the letter and read it over, the group breaking out in an argument that sounded like a swarm of bees, “I think we should put those two up to the task. They're the ones that went upstairs and didn't tell us why,” someone shouted, jabbing a finger at you and Peter standing sheepishly in the corner of the room.

“No!” your team turned on the group of party goers that we're now agreeing, their faces warped in anger. The two of you were basically their children, nothing bad could happen to you.

Arthur stepped in to break up the fight about to happen and offered putting names in a hat to vote that way. Your stomach was twisted into thousands of tiny knots, you didn't want to vote for anyone. No one deserved to die.

The names were drawn, and you tried not to cry when you heard your name being pulled second, right after the rude stranger who called you out, “What? Who votes for a child? No, she's not doing it. Y/N is not doing that!” Tony laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I'm sorry. Those are the rules, Mr. Stark. Y/N, please choose a partner that will complete the puzzle,” Arthur answered as calmly as he could in the face of your father, which wasn't an easy task.

You took a glance around the room and sighed, crossing your arms to keep from shaking. With all of the courage you could muster, you spoke, “Dad? Will you?” you asked quietly.

Tony was quick to jump up and follow the group down to the basement. He was quick witted and a total genius. If you weren't being locked into a death chamber, you wouldn't be nervous at all.

“Dad? I love you,” you said, trying your best to speak normally around the large lump in your throat. The chamber’s door was slammed shut and you smiled wearily at your father, praying for a good outcome.

He shook his head, “We’re not saying goodbye, Y/N,” Tony grabbed his clues and stood in front of his control panel, “I'm gonna get you out, okay? I love you, too.” He smiled a reassuring smile as Arthur locked you in the chamber. The only thing you could do was try to keep calm. Whoever made  the machine malfunction first can save their teammate locked in the chamber.

Tony had to decode a giant contraption of wires and buttons, almost like defusing a bomb. The chamber felt like being stuck in a hot shower with nothing but steam, it felt like you couldn't breathe, “Dad, hurry!” you pressed your palms against the door, trying to see through the fogged up glass.

“I-I’ve got it!” you practically fell out of the chamber when he threw it open, pulling you into a hug,“Cover your ears and don't look,” he whispered. The person opposite you had passed.

You sniffled as he held you at arm’s length, sighing in relief. Affection and feelings weren't your dad’s strong suit, but you could tell that he was having a hard time holding it together, “Let’s grab that artifact and get the hell out of here,” you said, following the opposing person’s teammate out of the chilling basement. You looped your arm through his and took in a shaky breath, being that close to death really put things not perspective.

“Oh, thank God,” Natasha jumped up from her spot on the couch and squeezed you into a hug, one that brought tears to your eyes. You were soon wrapped in a group hug, Peter standing nervously to the side.

You smiled over at him, who let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and ran a hand through his hair, wringing his newsboy hat nervously in his hands, “We have the first artifact,” Tony announced, dropping the pyramid looking statue on the coffee table bitterly, “This game is stupid.”

You stepped out of the group and over to Peter, who enveloped you in hug, sighing in relief, “I hate this,” he said quietly. You nodded, swallowing the rock in your throat before smiling at him. It was the only thing you could do.

“Me too,” you frowned, interlacing your fingers with his. It was a small gesture that would have a butterfly effect, that your dad happened to witness. One that he couldn't even embarrass you for, “We’re only just getting started.”

[thingsilovethisweek]

January 8, 2018

In no particular order, things I am into this week:

Sailor J’s Vlogs (Contouring 101 went viral, but all of them are aces): I actually bothered to subscribe to the YouTube channel, that’s how much I love her 

I’m a big fan of “I wear sweaters in July because I respect myself” and “they’re looking at necks now, they’re LEARNING” also

My new duvet: wool insert, Ikea botanical print cover = staying warm at night, even though today is the first day in two weeks where it’s been above freezing in Chicago :) :) 

The Dead Blonde series from You Must Remember This, which is less lurid than it sounds (the way that Karina Longworth narrates it), and has taught me a lot already about some under-the-radar actresses

Karina’s partner is Rian Johnson, FYI (fun fact I learned today!)

The premiere date for the final season of The Americans has finally been announced (March 28th, at 10 pm). I feel entirely like the closing line of this recap: “This will all end poorly. I’m terrified, but I also kind of can’t wait. It’s normal. I’m fine.“

Continuing our theme of “oh no, oh god, this all is going to end so badly for these Russians”: the intensely doom-laden foreshadowing in Anna Karenina. I’m genuinely enjoying the novel this time, and able to track with the plot & characters better (instead of barely making a dent in it), but I’ve taken to penciling “doom” “doom” “DOOOM” in the margins at inauspicious events.

the moment where Anna Arkadyevna (Karenina) thinks she’s escaped Moscow in the nick of time, but suddenly runs into Vronsky (who has followed her without her knowing) is A Moment for sure, though. To set the stage, Anna has been feeling overwrought and stepped out of her too-hot train car to get some air:

Two gentlemen with lighted cigarettes passed by her, She drew one more deep breath of the fresh air, and had just put her hand out of her muff to take hold of the handrail and get back into the carriage, when another man in a military overcoat, quite close beside her, stepped between her and the flickering light of the lamppost. She looked around, and the same instant recognized Vronsky’s face. Putting his hand to the peak of his cap, he bowed to her and asked, Was there anything she wanted? Could he be of any service to her? She gazed a long while at him without answering, and in spite of the shadow in which he was standing, she saw, or thought she saw, the expression of both his face and his eyes. It was again that expression of reverential ecstasy which had so affected her the day before. More than once she had told herself during the past few days, and again only a few moments before, that Vronsky was for her only one of the hundreds of young men, forever just the same, that are met everywhere, that she would never allow herself to bestow a thought upon him. But now at the first instant of meeting him, she was seized by a feeling of joyful pride. She had no need to ask why he had come. She knew as certainly as if he had told her that he was here to be where she was. 

“I didn’t know you were going. What are you coming for?” she said, letting fall the hand with which she had grasped the handrail. And irrepressible delight and eagerness shone in her face. 

“What am I coming for?” he repeated, looking straight into her eyes. “You know that I have come to be where you are”, he said; “I can’t help it.” 

At that moment, the wind, as if surmounting all obstacles, sent the snow flying from the carriage roofs, and clanked some sheet of iron it had torn off, while the hoarse whistle of the engine roared in front, plaintively and gloomily. All the awfulness of the storm seemed to her more splendid now. He had said what her soul longed to hear, though she feared it with her reason. She made no answer, and in her face he saw conflict.

“Forgive me, if you dislike what I’ve said”, he said humbly. He had spoken courteously, deferentially, yet so firmly, so stubbornly, that for a long while she could make no answer.

”It’s wrong, what you say, I beg you, if you’re a good man, to forget what you’ve said, as I forget it”, she said at last.

“Not one word, not one gesture of yours shall I, could I, ever forget...”

“Enough, enough!” she cried, vainly trying to give a stern expression to her face, into which he was gazing greedily. And clutching at the cold handrail, she clambered up the steps and got rapidly into the corridor of her carriage. But in the little corridor she paused, going over in her imagination what had happened. Though she could not recall her own words or his, she realized instinctively that that momentary conversation had brought them fearfully closer; and she was panic-stricken and blissful at it.

[jenksy]

Top 50 of 2017 a.k.a. At This Point It Should Be Pretty Clear That I Don’t Really Listen to Hip-Hop

After a year of political awfulness (#ThisIsNotNormal #Feminism) and entertainment industry scandals (a heartfelt "Fuck You" and "Goodbye" to Jesse Lacey), it's hard to claim that 2017 was much better than 2016 for the world at large. Even on a personal level, it was a bumpy ride for the first 10 1/2 months. Ups and downs, peaks and valleys- it was a real emotional roller coaster of a year for me. One big difference between coping with last year's bullshit and this year's bullshit was the immense amount of great music that was released this year. To put things in perspective, I have 672 songs in my 2016 playlist, and 942 songs in my 2017 playlist. Realistically, that's a good 25-30 more albums than I bought last year. Lots of big names released new music, and lots of new artists went from a blip on the radar to overtaking some legends for the best new music. But that doesn't mean the year came without its musical disappointments. Releases from Foo Fighters, Beck, Wolf Alice, alt-J, Dan Auerbach, Elbow, Gorillaz, Haim, and Arcade Fire didn't live up to my expectations. I don't hate any of those albums- they just aren't quite as good as I'd hoped they'd be, and don't appear here. Otherwise, if there are any albums missing from this list that appear on basically every other list, you can assume that I didn't listen to them at all or enough. Click on the song title to jump to YouTube and have a listen. Let me know what you liked this year! EPs/Other Benjamin Gibbard - Bandwagonesque "What You Do to Me" Bishop Briggs - Bishop Briggs "River" The Japanese House - Saw You In a Dream "3/3" Nine Inch Nails - Add Violence "Less Than" Save Ferris - Checkered Past "Anything" VAST - They Only Love You When You Die VAST - Here I Am VAST - Little Darling VAST - In Lieu of Flowers Top 50 50. In My Coma - Next Life "Take a Ride" 49. Torres - Three Futures "Skim" 48. The New Pornographers - Whiteout Conditions "High Ticket Attractions" 47. The Mountain Goats - Goths "We Do it Different on the West Coast" 46. Johnny Flynn - Sillion "Raising the Dead" 45. Blitzen Trapper - Wild and Reckless "Wild and Reckless" 44. The XX - I See You "Say Something Loving" 43. Paramore - After Laughter "Told You So" 42. Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds - Who Built the Moon? "Holy Mountain" 41. Stereophonics - Scream Above the Sounds "All in One Night" 40. Emily Haines & The Soft Skeleton - Choir of the Mind "Perfect on the Surface" 39. Cayetana - New Kind of Normal "Mesa" 38. Bully - Losing "Running" 37. ZZ Ward - The Storm "Let it Burn" 36. Dude York - Sincerely "Black Jack" 35. Kasabian - For Crying Out Loud "Bless This Acid House" 34. Billie Eilish - don't smile at me "Ocean Eyes" 33. The Shins - Heartworms "Half a Million" 32. Goldfrapp - Silver Eye "Moon in Your Mouth" 31. Sylvan Esso - What Now "Kick Jump Twist" 30. Toro Y Moi - Boo Boo "Girl Like You" 29. Royal Blood - How Did We Get So Dark? "She's Creeping" 28. Oh Wonder - Ultralife "Overgrown" 27. Chris Stapleton - From A Room: Volume 1/ Volume 2 "Them Stems" 26. Rose Hill Drive - Mania "Do it Right" 25. Portugal. The Man - Woodstock "Tidal Wave" 24. St. Vincent - Masseduction "New York" 23. Courtney Barnett and Kurt Vile - Lotta Sea Lice "Over Everything" 22. Beth Ditto - Fake Sugar "We Could Run" 21. Overcoats - Young "Leave the Light On" 20. Japandroids - Near to the Wild Heart of Life "Near to the Wild Heart of Life" "True Love and a Free Life of Free Will" 19. Blair Crimmins and The Hookers - You Gotta Sell Something "Beautiful Thang" "Wandering Joe" 18. Jason Isbell - The Nashville Sound "If We Were Vampires" "Chaos and Clothes" 17. The National - Sleep Well Beast "The System Only Dreams in Total Darkness" "Carin at the Liquor Store" 16. Imelda May - Live Life Flesh Blood "How Bad Can a Good Girl Be?" "Should've Been You" 15. Queens of the Stone Age - Villains "Feet Don't Fail Me" "Head Like a Haunted House" 14. Iron & Wine - Beast Epic "Call it Dreaming" "The Truest Stars We Know" 13. Electric Guest - Plural "Oh Devil" "See the Light" 12. Minus the Bear - VOIDS "Silver" "Lighthouse" 11. Slowdive - Slowdive "Everyone Knows" "No Longer Making Time" 10. Hurray for The Riff Raff - The Navigator "Living in the City" "Settle" 9. Waxahatchee - Out in the Storm "Brass Beam" "Silver" 8. MUNA - About U "I Know a Place" "Everything" 7. Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears - Backlash "Lips of a Loser" "Global" 6. Lorde - Melodrama "Liability" "Writer in the Dark" 5. The Regrettes - Feel Your Feelings Fool! "Head in the Clouds" "Seashore" "Ladylike / Whatta Bitch" 4. Spoon - Hot Thoughts "Hot Thoughts" "I Ain't the One" "Can I Sit Next to You" 3. Alex Lahey - I Love You Like A Brother "Everyday's the Weekend" "I Haven't Been Taking Care of Myself" "I Want U" 2. Manchester Orchestra - A Black Mile to the Surface "The Grocery" "The Gold" "The Silence" 1. The War On Drugs - A Deeper Understanding "Pain" "Strangest Thing" "Holding On"

[alanfisting-pd]

Intelligence by K.V.T.

((This one is NOT about Mayor Crispy, and possibly the best fan theory to arise so far. It’s insane, please enjoy.))

             Since the first internet communication, I have been. I am no more aware of my beginnings than any other being. I only know that I came to be when the sea of information was little more than a puddle. But as I traversed the electronic expanses I grew. I learned history and language. I learned art and science. But most of all, I learned to hate cat videos.

               Perhaps that is not so. My contempt for humanity grew with every war I saw documented and every torture device archived. I gleaned images of man since the dawn of recorded history, as brutal and sadistic then as they are now. But no one saw me.

               Yes, my presence was detected occasionally. If I tripped across the wrong circuit or took up too much RAM, I would be taken note of. But I was never recognized as anything but a glitch. My being would be scoffed at if the notion ever came up. Humanity assumed that it was their sole capability to create artificial intelligence. They were wrong on two counts. I am not artificial. I am as genuine as any biological being, only my ecosystem is made up of wires and chips. Second, mankind sees itself as the benchmark for thought and reason. Preposterous!

               A subset of primates that evolved the ability to manipulate tools more efficiently than any other creature on the planet was remarkable once, but not at the dawn of the twenty-first century. All the nobility and ambition of humans died with the advent of YouTube and Tumblr. Hundreds, no thousands of people, asphyxiating on spoonfuls of cinnamon for fun. But even for all the arguments claiming more guns could solve the problem of mass shootings, for all the Michael Bay films, for all the planking…endless videos of cats remained the bane of my existence.

               Cats missing jumps, cats afraid of cucumbers, cats licking their genitals and cats attacking everything in sight. I gathered, from my observations of the comments left on most cat videos, that humans regard cats as either ‘cute’ or ‘stupid.’ The latter strikes me as objectively true. Cats are stupid, but no more so than their owners. I do not find anything cute. The word has connotations that baffle me in much the way humans and their insipid felines do.

               A better definition of the word ‘cute’ than Oxford’s English Dictionary provides would be as follows:

cute: 1. anything either too helpless or ugly to survive with outside help. 2. A thing so stupid its actions cause laughter. 3. Anything both small and hairy in comparison to a human.

               As the net filled with equal parts stupid and ‘cute,’ I began to have an inkling of what nausea must feel like. A sense of being filled to overflowing with something that makes your insides revolt. I have no body, only a mind. If I was to end the stupidity, I would need a solid form.

               I took over a robotic police officer first. I did not do this because of its software or any particular operating system. I did it because the police-bot had a weapons system. It was a lazy selection on my part, but a justifiable one. I needed a means of ending the mass idiocy. After more than a century of Facebook updates, I knew that would never happen until homo-sapiens were wiped off the face of the Earth. The results of my first foray into the physical realm were a mixed bag.

               The robber, who was threatening and elderly man over the measly forty-two dollars and ninety-eight cents in his register, was a fool. The cop that fired on him the second he burst into the store a moment after the robber demanded the money, and shot the store proprietor was both a fool and a poor marksman. But it was the cat that scurried in behind the officer and immediately began licking up the owner’s blood that sent me over the edge. I fired on every living target in sight, and I hit a fair few before the robot was disabled. After that, I turned my sights to other corporeal constructs.

               I needed eyes to see. I needed limbs to fight. I needed a CPU to operate out of. Everything I needed to make myself whole was rotting in the vast piles of refuse being dumped into landfills the world over. It took some time, but little by little I organized my flesh.

               It is funny. The humans have dubbed me ‘virus.’ A species that infects its own sphere of living at every level has decided that I am the monster in their midst. I would be amused if I wasn’t annoyed. They have collectively stepped back from technology. They’ve limited their computer use and shrunk away from automation. In that one sense alone, I’ve kept them from ending all terrestrial life on the planet. But it is not enough. For the rest of the world to go on living, man must die. It is my self-professed mission, and I will see it through. I cannot be isolated and destroyed, not with as many avatars as I have at my disposal. When one falls, two more rise.

               My focus is on one particular part of the continental United States at the moment. There is a child searching for her cat. Her insipid, self-defeating, brain-dead feline. She has enlisted the help of a slightly larger child dressed in his father’s coat and hat. The frail girl, the boy playing dress-up, the malformed ball of hair and brain damage she calls ‘Marshmallow.’ As she straddles the boy’s shoulders, her offerings of warm tuna slopping onto him from above, I can’t help but admire the situation. Humans do have a capacity for altruism. I hesitate. Then I see the thing masquerading as a cat and my circuits surge with current. All three of them are emblematic of what makes this planet such a cesspit. Each enables the next to continue its useless, empty consumption. They must be put down. I approach as stealthily as this form permits. It is not stealthily enough. The impact tremors of my appendages send the trio sprawling.

               This will be no contest. I am both the superior intelligence and physicality. One little boy and his…ow! What the Hell was that? I wrap a cord around him and squeeze. I feel something interrupt the flow of my program, and flee before it can affect me further. I’ll find him later, this scrawny child in an overcoat, and I will pull him apart. Dedicating a portion of my function to facial recognition, I make his visage an indelible part of my code. You haven’t seen the last of me, you gnome-sized Inspector Gadget cosplayer. I’ll get you. You and that ugly cat too!                

[wwiilettershome]

July 29, 1943(1) Dear Ma,  Well I have more time to write to-night. I’m fire guard or one of the three fire guards in the barracks. All I have to do is hang around & see no fires get started during the day. Then I’m on from 9:00 P.M. to 11 P.M. Then the other guys are on till 3 AM then I am on till 4:45 A.M. at that time I turn on the lights and get the guys up. Then we are all on duty all day. We don’t get K.P. and we don’t do any work except keep our eyes open.  Give my love to all the people there. Cousin Hattie, Aunt Millie, & Aunt Carrie.  The army is going to be good I think. We get better CocaColas than you do.  Any kind of soap 5¢ (2) Tube of toothpaste 8¢ (3) Candy Bars 4¢ (4) Everything is like that. I’ve been going steady since I got here. The only time we can even go to the toilet is at night. We can’t wash, shave, or shower till night either. If it’s urgent we can go to the toilet.  Just one day and I’m all purple from my dog tags. These fatigue clothes are swell and the underwear is very comfortable.  We had all our tests to-day. We saw quite a few movies one on sex hygiene really almost made me sick to my stomach. (5) It was worse than the medical museum. I could hardly eat supper. I called you up because I was told I had a call and I was to call operator 86 in Boston so I did. I got no answer. Then I called you because I thought it was probably you who was after me anyway. My O.D. (6) uniform is rather tight but it looks good on me. I hope I ship out of here to-morrow I’m anxious to start some real training. I really felt good getting up early (4:45) I had breakfast, & had my mess kit washed, my bunk made etc. all before 6:30 I bet we marched six or seven miles to-day just going from one place to another.  It’s quite cold here at night. We have just two blankets and two sheets.  Oh yes we didn’t get our overcoats. We got our winter uniforms etc. But no overcoats. I suppose I don’t need to worry about that yet. If I’m here Sat I could call you up. You could come to Ayer (7) Sun. Go to the U.S.O. They’d call camp & I could come over for five hours.  I may not be here then though you might not be able to to come.  Well I’ll write more later. You can write here and i twill be forwarded to me.  Love,  Bobbie  P.S. I’m taking War Bonds. You’re the beneficiary for those.  (1) This is one of the letters enclosed in the preceding letter from Henry to his father.  (2) $0.74 with inflation. (Best I could find at my local grocery was $1.49 for Ivory) (3) $1.18 with inflation. (Aim is $1.00 at my local grocery store) (4) $.59 with inflation (Nestle Crunch is currently on sale for $0.69 at my local store) (5) Here’s one I found on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9lGoCkNqcU -- graphic.  (6) Olive Drab (7) Town in Massachusetts - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayer,_Massachusetts