#TRAM Flap

[skiesofrosie]

in the tram, i found you

Pairing: Bill "Hoosier" Smith x OC (Claire Halston)

Genre: unadulterated fluff, v self-indulgent

inspired by the subway scene from the film, past lives.

・❥・ ・❥・ ・❥・ ・❥・ ・❥・

1942, Melbourne

Blow her fuse now, ‘cause she’d rather combust than be still.

Woke up with a headache, trudged through an eight-hour work day with rabid customers, a boss that blames her for the unwanted clothes flung between the racks. Her paycheck is a couple days late, and she needs it to pay her rent. God forbid she asks her parents, who’ve got hospital bills to cover, for some cash.

Claire slips through the closing doors of a tram, as the sun descends into night. It rumbles on the tracks, shakes the bar handles, and the corner flaps of newspapers, and all she wants to do is take a sip of water.

But of course, right when the bottle neck meets her lips, someone slams her over.

She catches herself on a pole. Body bent over; seated knees in her sights as the metal floors ring into focus. A dribble of water on her chin, droplets that disappear into a small puddle, cast with the shadow of the suspect, and her fury grows. In rush hour, it’s common. But a blaze rises in her throat, her pitfalls incendiary to her mood. 

(Just a sip of fucking water–)

“Fuck,” the perpetrator curses. “My bad, ma–”

She grits her teeth, stands and scrubs the dampness off her chin. “Watch it, asshole.”

He pulls his neck back, words sticking together with the cigarette held in his teeth. “Hey, it was a fuckin’ accident, lady, calm your nose down,” he says. “Ain’t nothin’ got on your dress either.”

“How ‘bout you say sorry, and get away from me?”

He yanks the cigarette away with his fingers, and stares at her, deadpan. In the crowd of peering eyes, in the humidity that thickens, and the chatter that softens ever so slightly - he steps closer. To his surprise, she does not move. Their hands grip on the same pole ‘til both their knuckles turn white, and up close, she makes out the gunmetal eyes that blink in her face. 

But despite himself, his eyebrows loosen.

“Whatever,” he says, and leans back. Her grip on the pole loosens too, as she watches him turn around to move. But before he walks out of earshot, he looks over his shoulder. “Have a nice life, sunshine.”

Against the rowdy cahoot of soldiers dressed like him (ah, Americans), he walks further away, pays no mind to the cackling hyenas and plops his bottom on a seat, all the way at the other end of the tram. Still, his body is in view, when she takes an open seat herself, the old lady across from her peeping her eyes from the top of her paper. Fuck, he’s right. She was overreacting, but she will not burst her dignity for this.

She just needs something to be mad at. Claire is not about to feel guilty for this.

(Though, the way she keeps glancing at him with tense shoulders, says otherwise.)

(She catches his eyes, more than once.)

But of course, he gets off alone at the same stop.

Blondie walks a few meters behind her, and for a second, her fingers twitch as she clutches at the fabric of her dress, ‘cause he looks like a stalker in the dark. Her head keeps itching to turn around, and her heart pounds rapidly against her ribs.

“Sunshine, I’m billetted by the stadium here,” he says. “Don’t look so scared.”

Her shoulders drop.

Awkward silence stretches between them, and the chirps of crickets in the shrubs never before, seemed this interesting. But it’s heedless. When he hums some Bing Crosby song out-of-tune, and flicks a lighter, she sighs, the snapshots of their earlier encounter flashing into her mind.

“Look, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t even wanna hear it.”

Claire pauses in her step, and his feet too, screeches to a halt on the stone. The night coats the sky, and the stars dimly shine. A few stragglers scatter the sidewalk, mostly couples cuddled on benches in the distance. She stands by a small junction, the left to the stadium, and the right to her neighborhood where she rents a little room in a boarding house, five minutes away. This is where they part; this is where she caves.

But apparently, he’s not interested. “You overreacted,” he points at her, “but I wasn’t playin’ nice too.”

Her mouth falls agape, and he shrugs. “Don’t gotta blame anyone, when it’s nothin.”

The likes of petrification in her face brings a chuckle to his lips.

“You ain’t got words, sunshine?”

“Fuck off.” She frowns when he laughs, but decides he doesn’t deserve her prickliness. “I’m just…impressed. I expected you to be another drunken American, trying to throw fire around here, but you’re pretty decent.”

“On behalf of my boys, fuck you.” This time, she giggles.

(And promptly misses the way he tampers down a smile; lets his chest breathe out.)

“Soldier,” she says, “have you seen your men walking in zig zags on the streets?”

He snorts, clouds of white smoke over his face. “All part of the charm, m’lady, tryna show the Aussie ladies we’re a good time.”

She likes the drawl in his accent, the slow pace he talks. It’s comfortable to listen to, even if unfamiliar.

“Well, it’s not working, sir.”

“Bill.” He smiles, faintly. “Call me Bill. Or Hoosier, if you’d like.”

“Where’d you get Hoosier from?” Claire asks.

They stand on the sidewalk, face-to-face, both leaned on their hips. The stars do not brighten, the crickets do not louden, and the people lay resting in their spots. But it strikes her mind when he smiles - he’s quite handsome in his boyish, shaggy ways. She feels unashamed to stare. After all, he’s not a douche.

“How ‘bout,” he starts, “I tell you over some dinner?”

God, this man is trying to make her brain short circuit.

“Well, well, well,” she manages. “What makes you interested in dinner with me?”

He turns his lips into a mock frown, eyes floating upwards as he nods at the sky.

“Just thought you looked pretty hot, all fired up.”

Typical; she scoffs, and saunters up to him. “And what do you, offer me, for dinner?”

“Saw some Italian thing, downtown,” he says. “Friday, I’ll wait for you here, 0500 sharp.”

“No can do.” But when his shoulders fall, she’s quick to repent. “Got work until 0530. How about you wait for me at the stop downtown? I’ll meet you there, takes about 5-minutes. My tummy will be ready for some grub.”

At that, he slips an easy grin on his face, tosses the cigarette, and sticks his hand out.

“Deal….?” 

“Claire.” She shakes his hand, coarse skin squeezing her palms gently.  “Nice to meet you, soldier.”

“Marine,” Bill murmurs, and Claire straightens up, confused. “I’m a marine.”

・❥・ ・❥・ ・❥・ ・❥・ ・❥・

Friday comes, and this time, they enter the tram together.

Their bellies full of pasta–she swats Bill when he squelches obnoxiously in public–the moon hanging high, and a bustle of locals and marines, entwined with rambunctious laughter, the weekend now in sight. This time, when the train groans over a bump on the tracks, she holds onto his arms, readily propped up for her.

(His thick, muscly arms, hidden under his shirt and a lean– okay Claire, stop it.)

He hadn’t tried to adorn his fancy uniform to impress her, but she likes that. After all, her own yellow dress seemed a little haggard with the flyaways against her hair bun; a long day at the department store. But the schemes of customers did not bother her as much, and she took her boss’ yapping with a neutral smile, because for once, she had something to look forward to, a reason to watch the clock.

5:45 p.m. –when the tram opened up, she caught the smile Bill tried to hide away, as he waited by the stop.

“Thought you said 5-minutes,” is the first thing he says, with a smirk. 

“Hoosier, if I could get here that fast, I’d be running in the Olympics.”

She learned over dinner how Hoosier’s a slang for Indiana people, but his friends coined it as a joke of his "puny brain." The rough skin on his hands was a trait even before handling weapons, when he worked part-time at his father’s hardware store, took up odd fixing jobs to save up for college. Business, he would have studied, if not for the war (she changes the subject when he quiets - on their table, there will be no seat for hell). He wants to take over the hardware store in Loogootee, his tiny hometown that no one knows off, and live a simple life.

“Wanna make enough to eat, give my wife and kids a good life, and sleep,” he surmised. “The rest’ll surprise me.”

“I like that,” she said. “Don’t forget to romance your lady though. Too much sleep, and she’ll slip away.”

“Oh, trust me,” he laughed, “I ain’t gonna let that happen. My mom will send a bullet up my ass, first.”

In the quick pounding of her heart, she feels present in his voice.

It warmed her to see the way his eyes lightened, the corners of his lips lifting when she prattled on about herself. They’re pretty simple, them two. She dreams of being a florist; to open up a store like the one her mother used to own, because she loves exchanging giddy smiles when a client holds their gift for a beloved. Her mother, her sweet angel of a mother, turned ill after a stroke years and years ago, so she ended up selling her business to help foot the bill (even when her father insisted, he’ll work longer hours). She’s better now though, so Claire’s busy saving up money to make that happen–deal with a grueling job to build a flower shop in her mother’s name.

(It always melts him, when people treat their mothers well. You’d be surprised, how many don’t.)

“You know,” he said, “when I first met you, bein’ a florist ain’t what I imagined of ya.”

“Too rough around the edges to not break a stem?”

“Nah,” he replied, chomping down on the gnocchi. “You got this crazy fuckin’...spark in your eyes. Could boss a whole platoon around, if you tried hard enough.”

“Is it odd, then, that I’d want to arrange flowers of all things?" She questioned. "Too soft?”

He pondered for a second, before he spoke - stabbed a piece of gnocchi with his fork. “Ownin’ business ain’t an easy game, sunshine. You’d be a boss lady no matter what you do.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks then, enamored, as he turned his attention back to his plate. 

And now, as they head back, holding onto a singular yellow pole, she’s a little richer with her glimpses of Bill Smith.

Blood rushes to her cheeks now, enchanted, as his fingers brush over hers. They hadn’t said much to each other since hopping on the tram, but the noise seems to fade away in their silence, when he looks at her with this fondness-

-like the storm in his gunmetal gaze, now tamed in the wisps of the summer breeze. 

It’s comical, the little gap between them, a far cry from the opposite ends they sat on the first time–and this is only the second. She appreciates that he roots himself in place, tries not to stand too close, too soon. But there's something still, because the hand he’s gripping the pole with inches down towards hers, his thumb rubbing lightly at the fingers in her own grasp.

(The same old lady behind a paper sits a few feet away; peeps her eyes to the blossoming of love, and hides a cheeky grin.)

The silence is soothing, even when they leave the tram, strolling shoulder to shoulder. This time, he turns right with her, and walks her to the boarding house. She wonders if his heart is racing as fast as hers. And it is, Claire finds, when she leans against him to plant a kiss to his cheek, and bid him goodnight. She yearns for his steady warmth right when he turns around, a constant she could get used to, in the chaos of this world.

And as he turns into a little dot down the road, she remains on the doorstep; grazes her lips gently with her fingers.

・❥・ ・❥・ ・❥・ ・❥・ ・❥・

a/n: let me know, if you'd be interested to see more of them. :)

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Ultimate Hopeless.

Hey...are you sure we’re heading in the right direction?

Grh...No! Hiro...I don’t! I NEVER BEEN HERE before! Not even Dr Inori’s been this far in before!

Well...Chewie said-!

Uchui said we needed to take the tram system to get to the evac point. Which is why I’m taking you in the direction I think it is.

Really, I’m just going off instinct and my hearing at this point.

But we already got rumbled by Gyalusetsu, and no doubt Shirogane’s got her whole army searching the base for us. Even if we were to get to the station, we’d probably be walking right into an ambush.

And even if we weren’t...How do we know what tram to get to this supposed “evac point?” Without Uchui telling us where to go, we can only guess, and we might accidentally run right into enemies, or deeper into the base.

Mr Kuzuryu is right...Without a guide, the risks are far too great. I do believe staying in here is our best course of action.

But I also do not believe we should loiter for too long. I can already hear soldiers approaching.

Hey, it’s not all bad. I mean, we’re in a pretty sick place right now, right?

*Kazuichi, kneeling down in the corner of the room, gestures to the area they are hiding in. It appears to be some sort of weapon closet, with tools and guns of a variety.

I’m all for loitering here for a bit. At least we’ve got firepower.

You’re right. Hiro? Doctor? You should both grab something to defend yourself with.

Um...I’m sorry, but I must decline...Guns and weapons...aren’t my thing...

Look, with all due respect ma’am, this situation doesn’t call for you to chicken out!

You don’t even have to use it, just take something in case we end up getting separated or we can’t protect you or whatever!

No, I’m truly sorry Mr Kuzuryu, but I’m serious. I must refuse. I will not be held responsible for hurting someone else, regardless of who they are.

It’s a personal philosophy of mine to help not hurt, and I intend to uphold it, even if it puts me at risk.

Come on Fuyu, give it a break. If she doesn’t wanna, she doesn’t wanna, and that’s the end of that.

Geh...Fine, suit yourself. But if you end up getting mauled by Monokuma’s because you can’t fight back, don’t pin it on me in the afterlife.

...

By the way Kazuichi...What are you doing?

*Fuyuhiko notes Kazuichi opening up a flap on his robotic arm and tampering with the mechanisms inside.

Oh this? Just making some...upgrades. I’m done now.

And hey...I just got an idea.

*He closes the flap, stands up and clenches and unclenches his fist a few times to check it works. he then goes over to a panel on the wall.

Hey! It’s my baton! I haven’t seen this thing since-!

Well, since Zetsubou took it from me I guess, but it’s here!

Wait, seriously!? Look around. Some more of our stuff might be in here!

*Hiro, Kanata and Fuyuhiko examine the room while Kazuichi pulls the panel off the wall and examines the buttons and wires underneath.

NOW what are you doing?

I just had a thought. Uchui destroyed the security mainframe, right?

Yeeeeaaah...?

Which means that their communication registry is down too. I’ve seen these com panels all over the building as we were running, and I can only assume they’re used to deliver messages.

With the registry down, I might be able to hotwire this thing and send a message to the Future Foundation!

Emphasis on might though...

Well, do what you need to. And I suggest you do so quickly and discreetly.

Why?

Remember what I said about approaching soldiers? I...believe I was right about that...

*CLICK!*

!!!??

!!!??

!!!??

!!!??

*The door to the closet suddenly clicks and slowly opens. Fuyuhiko and Hiro point their respective weapons at the door, ready to counterattack. But when the door opens...

...!?

You-!?

Ah...So you were in here after all.

Crap, we’ve been rumbled by the worst opponent!

Woah, take it easy! I...I’m not gonna fight you!

Soldier: Komaeda! Did you find them!

...!?

*Nagito shuts the door.

Nothing. But they can’t have gone far. Continue the search that way, I’ll look through this hallway!

*The soldiers take off, leaving Nagito alone with the survivors. He opens the door again.

You’re not exactly being quiet...Keep your voices down if you don’t want to be found.

Why did you do that?

I...honestly couldn’t tell you. I’m just going based on how I feel right now.

Uchui trusted me enough to let me in on his escape plan. Even though I’m not part of it, I don’t want to betray him by ruining it.

So...you didn’t tell Shirogane about the plan?

No...Gyalusetsu found out on his own...But it appears with his stunt, Uchui was expecting that.

I don’t know why I’m helping you now...My heart just thought it was the most basic thing to do for someone who I considered a good friend.

Huh...So your heart DOES take you to some good places sometimes...

Thanks Nagito...

...Yeah...You’re welcome.

*An awkward silence follows.

Uuuh...Soo...What happened to Uchui after we got separated?

Gyalusetsu brought him back to Shirogane. If I’m correct in my assumption, they’re planning on torturing him for whatever info they can get.

Don’t worry though, I’m sure he’ll be fine. I’m not quite sure what info they could hope to get out of someone who isn’t phased by that.

Wait...I’ve got an idea!

Mr Komaeda! Why don’t you help us get to our evac point!?

Evac point?

Part of the plan was getting to an open escape area via the tram system, but we don’t know where we’re going!

Doc, do you think this is...?

...Well, I guess it’s better than no help at all.

...

*Nagito hesitates.

I can’t help you guys...This is about as much as I can do for you.

Nagito, this isn’t easy for me to say after everything we’ve been through, but we kinda NEED you right now.

What? You think we don’t deserve your help or something?

No...The other way around...I don’t deserve to help you...Not after everything I did...

I...separated you from your families...I hurt all of you...I let Teruteru die...I killed Hiyoko and Hajime!

Who’s side are you even on!? You’re only showing regret NOW!?

I DON’T KNOW, OK!?

...!?

That’s the problem! I don’t KNOW what side I’m on! I don’t know what’s Hope and what’s Despair anymore!

I only ever came to this place to save the woman I loved...But then I let my obsession with Hope and talent overcome me, and I turned into THIS...

Now Seiko’s gone and...I’m left to deal with the consequences of my mistakes.

The Future Foundation taught me love...Zetsubou gave me strength...And now I can’t decide which side I should see as a friend or a foe...

Nagito...

Look...I just can’t do it, alright...I can’t...

...

*Kanata steps forward.

What do you mean “you can’t?” That phrase shouldn’t even exist for you!

I-I’m sorry...?

You’re an ULTIMATE HOPE! You have the power and talent to do LITERALLY EVERYTHING! What do you MEAN, “YOU CAN’T!?”

I...

Don’t try and subtly seek sympathy from us. Mr Komaeda, YOU got yourself into this mess. Only YOU can get yourself out of it.

But it’s rich, you know? The hypocrisy of your words...Of your regret.

Hypocrisy!?

You in this moment, have phenomenal power and strength. You’re the top dog and can do whatever you put your mind to, but you’re SCARED. Scared of what might happen if you use the power wrong, or get too overconfident with your abilities that it leads to people.

That is EXACTLY the reason you told me why you HATED HAJIME HINATA!

!!!??

At least you now know what it’s like to live as he does. How DARE you be afraid to forsake your own humanity when you landed yourself in this spot attempting to get Mr Hinata to give his up!

I...!

Look...I understand. These ideals of Hope and Talent are important to you. Maybe there was a time where they were all you had.

You HAD to look at life this way, because your Ultimate Luck made things so hard for you. You HAD to force yourself into the mindset that it was all going to get better, or that there was always Hope, because your life was riddled with Despair and tragedy.

But think about the things you’ve done because you’re so obsessed with keeping life the way you want it to be! You’ve hurt, betrayed and killed so many people, and this is BEFORE you joined Future Foundation!

Your ideals are protecting you, but they’re HURTING everyone else! Did you never stop for one moment to think YOU might be the problem!?

I...! I...!

...

...

*Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi step forward.

Hajime never put himself on a different level than us. He stopped caring about talent and capability a long time ago.

But you haven’t changed Nagito. Your head is so far up your own Hope, it’s taken you until NOW to realize that your actions have consequences.

That’s all you’ve ever done! Fucked things up because you view life through your own weird lens, and you’re trying to force the REST OF US to look through it too!

You can fuck off and live in your own little world for all we care! Stop dragging us with you!

But would it kill you to stop being so SELFISH for ONE SECOND and think about the people around you!?

...!

Hey! That’s enough! 

Huh!?

Huh...?

You think verbally abusing him like this is gonna get through to him!?

*Hiro steps forward to speak.

Sure...he’s done a lot of bad stuff...But treating him with disdain isn’t gonna get him to change, right? It never did before...

You...Well....

And maybe this doesn’t involve me...I mean, I don’t know you as well as these guys...

But you and Makoto aren’t too different you know. So I still kinda get the sense of...familiarity. You’re both lucky students who would do anything for Hope.

But I think the key difference is that Makoto fights for the sake of everyone else’s Hope. You fight only for your own.

...

Be honest with me. You love Seiko, right? And...you don’t REALLY hate Hajime, yeah?

...

At the end of the first Killing Game, when I saw what happened to the outside world...I kid you not when I say my whole life and all my memories flashed by me in the blink of an eye.

But then I realized just how much of my life I’d spent lying to myself. And how much of it I’d stayed a colossal jerk. I decided in that moment that I couldn’t just...give up. I still had a life to live, and I was gonna live that life...However I wanted.

I started over. I tried to change and I tried to do more to help people. Not because I thought it was a duty, or an obligation, or necessarily because it was what I believed in. I just followed my true feelings and did what I wanted to. If I couldn’t do it, I still tried.

I can’t guarantee people will forgive you for what you’ve done, but know this...It’s NEVER too late to change yourself. THAT future, in the very least...is not for me to predict.

...

Grgh...!

*SLAM!*

*Nagito suddenly turns and slams the door. The four of them hear his speeding footsteps down the hallway.

Hey...should we have done all that...?

You think he’s gonna go report us now?

...I don’t think so...If you ask me...

Mr Komaeda might simply need some time to himself...

[misterpuzzles]

Tale Of The Pumpkin King

"Hey, Mr. Devil,

wanna go for a drink?

You just change into a coin

and our plan is kerplink".

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

"Alrighty, Jack,

a shilling it is!

Get me something potent,

something tasty, with fizz".

*snap*

*POOF*

PUMPKIN-BEAN, PUMPKIN-BOUND,

PUMPKIN-BOOM, PUMPKIN-BIND!

This is The Tale Of The Pumpkin Kind.

PUMPKIN-TRAM, PUMPKIN-TRAIN,

PUMPKIN-TRUCK, PUMPKIN-TRUE!

Watch out, or you could be a pumpkin too.

Now, Jack put The Devil

in a purse with a cross

and The Devil got stuck

with old Jack as his boss!

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

"Sorry, y'old cooter,

but you'll do as I say.

I'd like the day I die

to be a much later day".

*snap*

*POOF*

PUMPKIN-PEAK, PUMPKIN-POKE,

PUMPKIN-POND, PUNKIN-PERK!

This is The Tale Of The Pumpkin Jerk.

PUMPKIN-CREAK, PUMPKIN-CRICK,

PUMPKIN-CRAM, PUMPKIN-CREW!

Watch out, or you could be a pumpkin too.

"Alright, alright, alright.

Immune-from-death for a year.

Now, you've had your fun.

Get me the heck outta here"!

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

And so, Jack let him go

and the seasons crept on,

and the year winded down

like the dusk into dawn.

*snap*

*POOF*

PUMPKIN-SWELL, PUMPKIN-SWOON,

PUMPKIN-SWOLE, PUMPKIN-SWEET!

This is The Tale Of The Pumpkin Cheat.

PUMPKIN-GRIT, PUMPKIN-GREAT,

PUMPKIN-GRAND, PUMPKIN-GREW!

Watch out, or you could be a pumpkin too.

"Hey, Mr. Devil,

wanna climb trees with me?

I found some ripe apples.

We could share, easily".

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

"Alriiiiiight, Jack,

what harm could there be

in swinging from branches

like two chimps in a tree"?

*snap*

*POOF*

PUMPKIN-FLIP, PUMPKIN-FLEE,

PUMPKIN-FLAP, PUMPKIN-FLY!

This is The Tale Of The Pumpkin Guy.

PUMPKIN-HUM, PUMPKIN-HUNT,

PUMKPIN-HURT, PUMPKIN-HUE!

Watch out, or you could be a pumpkin too.

Now once the Devil climbed up,

Jack: took out his knife,

carved a cross in the trunk

and said a prayer for his life.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

"Darn you, Jack!",

The Devil said, seeing red,

"This time, ten more years,

I won't snip your life thread".

*snap*

*POOF*

PUMPKIN-MIST, PUMPKIN-MINT,

PUMPKIN-MAST, PUMKPIN-MIGHT!

This is The Tale Of The Pumpkin Knight.

PUMPKIN-THRILL, PUMPKIN-THRIVE,

PUMPKIN-THROW, PUMPKIN THREW!

Watch out, or you could be a pumpkin too.

*BA-BA-BA-BOO

BA-BA-BA-BOOM-BOOM CRACK*!

A freak bolt of lightning

struck Jack!

Woo-woo-woo-woo.

Woo-woo-woo-woo.

And up to Heaven, he flew,

but God was all, "Sh'yeah, uh-- N'YOO"!

AND DOWN TO HELL, HE FELL,

and The Devil sighed, "Well...".

*snap*

*POOF*

And Jack's soul didn't enter

to The Devil's stockade.

For, shady as it was,

still, a bargain had been made.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Deathless and lifeless--

realmless, too (I'm afraid),

for the the bolt'd caught fire

and his body'd been splayed.

*snap*

*POOF*

"Here, you old scoundrel,

at least take this",

and he tossed Jack a piece

of The Infernal Abyss.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

"A hot piece of coal?

How the? Who the? What now?"

but something about it warmed him

and he sang... this eerie vow:

*snap*

*POOF*

"PUMPKIN-BLIND, PUMPKIN-BLONDE,

PUMPKIN-BLIMP, PUMPKIN-BLING!

Mine is The Tale Of The Pumpkin King.

PUMPKIN-NEED, PUMPKIN-NOD,

PUMPKIN-NICE, PUMPKIN-NEW!

Watch out-- Watch out-- Watch out--

Watch out-- Watch out-- Watch out!

Watch out-- Watch out-- Watch out--

Watch out-- Watch out-- oh, WATCH OUT!

*pant, pant, pant*

'Cause I'm a'comin' for you!"

Breezes ain't so breezy

feeling low in highlands

and the coal was always hotly

leaving ash on his hands...

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Jack found the perfect pumpkin

for safely toting the coal.

He said, "Oh, perfect pumpkin,

perfect place for my soul".

*snap*

*POOF*

And he slashed a few holes

so that the light might escape

and propped that perfect pumpkin,

'top the span of his cape.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo.

Now every Halloween

we carvin' pumpkins in style

just like good ol' Jack Of The Lantern,

my favorite holiday miser by a mile.

*snap*

WATCH OUT!

*POOF*

[doctorrachelwellner]

An Overview of Breast Reconstruction

Breast reconstruction aims to restore the breast’s shape and appearance, particularly after someone has undergone mastectomy or lumpectomy, which are often performed as treatments for breast cancer. This process can have a profound impact on a patient’s emotional and psychological well-being, aiding in recovery by restoring a sense of normalcy and body image. Understanding the options, procedures, and considerations involved in breast reconstruction is crucial for patients making informed decisions about their healthcare treatment.

There are two primary categories of breast reconstruction: implant-based reconstruction and autologous, or flap, reconstruction. Implant-based reconstruction involves the insertion of a saline or silicone implant to recreate the breast shape. The choice between saline and silicone implants depends on patient preference, medical history, and the surgeon’s recommendation. Silicone implants tend to feel more like natural breast tissue, while saline implants are filled with a sterile saltwater solution.

Often, implant-based reconstruction is a two-stage process. A tissue expander is first placed under the patient’s chest muscle. Gradually, the expander is filled with a saline ingredient to stretch the skin and create space for a permanent implant. Once the skin has been adequately stretched, the expander is replaced with a permanent implant.

Autologous reconstruction, on the other hand, uses the patient’s own tissue to rebuild the breast. This can involve different techniques. The transverse rectus abdominis myocutaneous (TRAM) flap method uses tissue from the lower abdomen, transferring skin, fat, and sometimes muscle from the abdominal area to the chest.

The deep inferior epigastric perforator flap (DIEP) is similar but spares the muscle, potentially reducing recovery time and preserving abdominal strength. The latissimus dorsi flap utilizes tissue from the upper back, including muscle, skin, and fat, often combined with an implant to achieve the desired breast volume. Other flap techniques might use tissue from the buttocks (SGAP flap) or thighs (TUG flap), depending on the patient’s body type and specific needs.

Breast reconstruction can be performed either immediately during the same surgery as the mastectomy or as a delayed procedure, taking place weeks, months, or even years after the initial surgery. Immediate reconstruction offers the advantage of waking up from mastectomy surgery with a breast that is shaped close to the natural breast. It also may reduce the number of surgeries required and result in a better cosmetic outcome.

However, it may not be suitable for all patients, particularly those who need post-mastectomy radiation therapy, as radiation can affect the reconstructed breast. Delayed reconstruction allows patients to complete their cancer treatment and recover from their mastectomy before undergoing reconstruction.

Several factors must be considered when choosing breast reconstruction. The patient’s overall health, including factors like diabetes, smoking status, and previous surgeries, can influence the choice of reconstruction method and timing. The need for additional cancer treatments, such as chemotherapy and radiation, can impact the reconstruction timeline and options.

Additionally, the patient’s body type, including the availability of donor tissue for flap procedures, is important in determining the most suitable reconstruction method. Like all surgical procedures, breast reconstruction carries risks, including infection, bleeding, scarring, and complications specific to the type of reconstruction, such as implant rupture or flap failure. Patients should discuss these risks thoroughly with their surgeon.

Breast reconstruction is not merely a physical transformation, but also an emotional and psychological journey. Many patients report improved self-esteem, body image, and quality of life post-reconstruction. However, it’s essential to have realistic expectations and a supportive care team to navigate the emotional complexities that may arise.

[normanrowemd]

Why Diep Flap Is Better Than Implant Breast Reconstruction

Breast cancer patients now have many alternatives for reconstructive surgery. The Deep Inferior Epigastric Perforator flap, or DIEP flap, replaces the soft tissue and skin destroyed during mastectomy with abdominal tissues. This is an advanced breast reconstruction technique; unlike the TRAM flap treatment, the DIEP flap retains all of the abdominal muscles. Read more:

[nicholasteitler]

Blog 9 - January 13, 2023:

There were a lot of different aspects of sustainability in Nice Meridia that I found compelling. The first one had to do with the school. The school had a class facade for natural light. The glass was able to regulate the harshness of the Mediterranean light which is very cool. The flaps in front of the building helped defuse the heat too, while the building had climate regulation rather than using shades. This building is incredibly cool and I think the part that stood out most was the ability to regular the harshness of the light that would be coming into the building.

The second aspect I found compelling was the wood office building. This was the tallest wood office building in France standing at 9 stories high. The sustainability of having wood is that it is a renewable resource and has the ability to regrow the forests. Wooden boards can be glued across in criss cross and make really thick, really small beams. There is also open floor plans where it’s easy to decide if a office wants to put in cubicles in 10+ years and then take them out again 10+ years after that.

The third aspects I found promising was the public transportation. Everything in Nice Meridia was close together and could easily be a car free community. In the streets, the middle had tram lanes, then car lanes, and closest to the sidewalks had bus lanes. Each mode of transportation had its own space and was safe, promoting a very public transportation friendly place.

[mcatmemoranda]

TRAM flap = Transverse Rectus Abdominis Myocutaneous flap

A DIEP flap is a type of breast reconstruction in which blood vessels called deep inferior epigastric perforators (DIEP), as well as the skin and fat connected to them, are removed from the lower abdomen and transferred to the chest to reconstruct a breast after mastectomy without the sacrifice of any of the abdominal muscles.

[magicaltrash]

Walt Disney Studios in Paris has reimagined their Studio Tram Tour into an updated attraction called Cars Road Trip. Here's the official description per Disney:

Who loves road trips? Cruz Ramirez and Sally Carrera do! Pay attention, sit tight, and get your camera ready for the nature-made and Cars-made sights along the most legendary highway of the American Southwest.

There are 3 stops during this road trip:

First stop: A nutty roadside attraction Snap a pic and don’t forget to wave to Lightning (Flash) McQueen, Luigi, and Guido at the World’s Largest Lugnut. Second stop: Power shower! There’s nothing like a natural carwash in a flash flood for some extra shower power. See how a huge water tanker likes to shake up his cleaning routine in Cars-tastrophe Canyon. Final Stop: An Artistic Mater-piece! Mater is well known for his impressive junkyard creations. Today he’s debuting his latest Mater-piece– can you guess what it is? Honk if you love this motor monument!

With this updated attraction comes new trash cans. In this case, these copper-colored cans feature the "Cars Road Trip" logo, paired with recycling can featuring Paris' traditional non-finished inlet surface (i.e. it's not painted). Fun fact: This attraction was originally slated to be named Cars Route 66 Road Trip, but the "Route 66" branding was dropped - most likely due to intellectual property conflicts. // Disneyland Paris Resort, Walt Disney Studios, Toon Studio, Cars Road Trip, 2021 [Sources: DLP Report & ED92. Used by Permission.]

[schwazombie]

Look all I'm saying is I can't wait to get home so I can write this scene I've been playing around with in my head all day, and then play some Dragon Age so I can have some Zevran in my day this is perfectly normal

[merryfortune]

Gachaplum

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #77 Plum

Ship: Rocksaltshipping | Kureha/Spectre

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Word Count: 2,143

Rating: G

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Fluff, Self Indulgen, Inspired by a Tweet

   “Are you enjoying your drink?” Spectre asked conversationally.

   “Yep.” Kureha chirped around her straw.

   The drink in question was a tropical iced tea with strawberry bursties as the bottom. It was sharply sweet, right to the core of her teeth, and that’s exactly how Kureha liked it. However it, in combination with the empty tote bag Spectre was carting around, was a horrible omen to Kureha. Her boba tea had been the only non-necessary treat that Spectre had bought for either of them and clearly he meant for impulse purchases, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought a bag.

   But Kureha, with a little bit of dread and unuttered complaint, supposed that’s the kind of guy Spectre was. He was very mission oriented and put his organisation above himself. Today’s mission was grocery shopping, as mundane as that sounded but since Spectre and the others could be at sea for weeks on end, grocery shopping was huge and important. So, even though Spectre was empty handed right now, he had already spent big at the restaurant they had visited earlier and before that, at the luxury grocery shop they went to where they bought in bulk and would have it delivered to the docks for the Lieutenants to unpack.

   And Kureha had been lucky enough to tag along since this was a somewhat rare opportunity for her and Spectre to hang out in real life. But what was the point of hanging out if they weren’t doing anything special? Kureha agaonised, maybe it was her fault for assuming it would be a date. Then again, they also had a fancy lunch together so maybe it was a date. This was too confusing, Kureha scolded herself. Besides, it's not like she wasn’t enjoying herself. She really was and that was probably the main thing but she wanted Spectre to enjoy himself too.

   They had a delicious lunch at a Thai restaurant that had excellent decor and a wide range of food. They ordered a plate of their favourites each yet somehow ended up sharing their meals and soft drinks anyway. It had been wonderful, even if Kureha got a runny nose afterwards and that was a little bit embarrassing but Spectre didn’t bring it up, thankfully - except to rib her that even how she blew her nose was cute. Then, once they had had their lunch, it was time to get to business and Spectre had a very long shopping list.

   He took her to a grocery shop inside of a mall with a celebrity level atmosphere. It was stocked with items and brands that Kureha had never heard of because they were so, so, so expensive and yet, he handpicked what he needed from them without so much as a blink at the price tag. Though, he did assure her that he and the other Knights had already budgeted to a tee so there was nothing to worry about. He was in and out rather swiftly, hardly looking at all the things that Kureha was certainly dawdling out and once he was done, he had his things whisked off and taken to be shipped off within the hour by truck.

   With the shopping done, they had begun to exit the mall where Kureha had gotten thirsty and she had a keen eye for spotting cute and quirky shops that sold even cuter and quirkier drinks. Spectre had been more than happy to pay for her boba tea, even though she offered and it was very sweet of him but did make Kureha feel a little guilty since, again, that one drink had been the only splurge Spectre had allowed himself and it wasn’t even for him.

   Now they were just sort of wandering along, making light conversation whilst Kureha finished her drink. They were sort of on the look out for a tram line or bus that would put them on a route where Spectre could drop off Kureha close to home and then continue back to the mariner but it was difficult since their homes were such polar opposites to another. Though, given that Kureha wasn’t quite ready to end this not quite and maybe it actually was a date-date, it was something of a blessing in disguise so they got to take in the sights of this precinct.

   There were all sorts of pretty and intriguing buildings, the paths were lovely and well kempt without a nary crack or dip. The road was fairly busy with cars, taxis, and buses but it was the sidewalks which were busier with people coming to and fro. It was almost overwhelming with all the interesting things to see and do but even so, Kureha kept her eyes peeled for something - anything - that might just serve to prolong the inevitable and then she saw it: a bookshop.

   Out of nowhere, to Spectre at least, Kureha grabbed his arm and tugged on it. He pulled back and twisted round to scold Kureha, a scowl on his face but Kureha was already prepared with the best puppy dog eyes she could plead with.

   “I want to check out that bookshop, please.” she begged.

   Spectre’s scowl softed, “That sounds fine.”

   “Yay.” Kureha smiled.

   Kureha pointed out the bookshop that she had spotted and Spectre escorted her there. Although, once inside the pristinely white doors, they sort of split off. Not that Kureha minded, that was sort of her plan. Spectre was a bookworm, albeit an incredibly fussy one, so maybe he would find something in here to read and even buy for himself whilst Kureha was mostly killing time. Mainly by trying to covertly stalk Spectre from the manga section whilst he investigated the language arts section a few rows of books over.

   She held her breath, whilst trying her best not to get distracted by the latest volumes of a few series of manga that she had been keeping up with, as Spectre pulled out various books… only to all but immediately put them back once he was done looking at their backs. It was a little bit disappointing. Kureha sighed and her eyes downcast to a shiny new volume of her favourite manga but if Spectre refused to buy things for himself, so would she so she scuttled in closer to Spectre again across the floor of the bookshelf.

   “See anything interesting?” Kureha asked.

   “I’m considering learning French or Spanish as a hobby but I’m not sure which would best extend my current literacy skills so I think I’ll do more research before branching out from bilingualism to multilingualism.” Spectre replied.

   “Fair enough.” Kureha murmured.

   “Are you ready to go?” Spectre asked. “You seem equally empty handed as me.”

   “I saw a few things but nah.” Kureha shrugged.

   “Understandable,” Spectre said, “well, would you like to keep going on our way home?”

   Kureha fidgetted, “Yeah, that’s fine.” she murmured.

   Spectre made an odd expression but it was only the briefest flicker, Kureha was lucky to have caught it. Regardless, they did move on and left the book shop, unsuccessful on all fronts. Maybe their date had just run its course in the most uneventful way possible.

   As they walked, Spectre checked his phone and noticed that they should be getting close to a good spot where it would be easy for them to find public transport to suit both their needs. At least according to the maps app that he was looking at, anyway so he had his fingers crossed that it ought to be somewhat helpful even if it wasn’t entirely accurate or true to life. Kureha smiled and agreed. At least she would have part of a bus trip left to spend with Spectre before woosh. 

   Back to video calls and texts as their only form of contact. It was nice, Kureha didn’t mean to complain, she did genuinely enjoy getting photographs of how Spectre’s plants were going and sending him back the homework she was struggling with but quality time was nicer. At the very least, Kureha wanted a memento of what little quality time they did get and a receipt from a Thai restaurant hardly counted.

   Then, once more, in a complete stroke of luck, Kureha’s eye was caught by something that she saw. Not the building - it was just a generic convenience store - but by what adorned it: gachapon machines. Her face split into a huge grin and once more, Kureha grabbed Spectre’s arm and tugged on it.

   “Yes?” Spectre said through gritted teeth at Kureha’s prompt.

   “I want to use the lucky dip machines. Please, please, please: look, this one has plushies for that virtual pet game I like.” Kureha begged, clutching Spectre’s arm desperately, and her hazelly-green eyes were sparkling so how on Earth was Spectre meant to resist all of that?

   The answer, of course, was that he couldn’t. Though, he did give a long suffering sigh, he did let Kureha pull him aside as she used the gachapon machine that she saw outside the convenience store that they had been passing by.

   “Would you like me to give you some loose change?” Spectre asked as he stood next to it, trying to look like a mature adult whilst his girlfriend was very much happy to enjoy her childish side.

   “No, I’m right, I’ve got it covered.” Kureha said as she dug out her wallet from her handbag. She put in more than enough coins for herself and for Spectre, too. If he refused to treat himself then Kureha was going to force whatever thing she got from it.

   She turned the crank a handful of times and heard the plastic balls rattle inside deep within the machine. Kureha smiled as she waited for the internal mechaninations to stop and then she opened up the flap. She grinned as she held onto both lucky dips that she had bought.

   “Here you go, you can have this one.” Kureha said as she forced Spectre to take one of them.

   Spectre made an unamused expression as he let Kureha put an orange-coloured plastic ball in his hand, “And what am I meant to do with this?”

   “Open it and let’s see.” Kureha replied and she demonstrated, as though Spectre didn’t already know how to open a gachapon.

   She struggled, a little bit, but eventually got the two halves of her purple plastic ball to split open. She squealed in joy as she unveiled her mystery toy. It had a keyring so she threaded her finger through it and swirled the toy itself off her finger. The little plushie that she had won took the form of a felt, anthropomorphic plum with American style cartoon features adorned with a stitched on ribbon bow.

   “This is Plum and she’s my favourite of the virtual fruit pets.” Kureha said.

   Somewhere in the back of Spectre’s mind, that did ring a bell. Kureha might have sent screenshots to him of her virtual pet habit and an animated cartoon plum may have been one of them. So, his expression of bemusement faded and turned to surrender. He opened up his gachapon too but Kureha was way more excited than him regarding it.

   “I got…” Spectre idly commentated and was mildly surprised by his lucky dip. “I got Plum, too.”

   “Wow, what’re the odds?” Kureha laughed.

   Spectre’s eyes flicked to the poster plastered to the inside of the gachapon machine that displayed which possible toy was possible to win, “Well, it looks like there are seven characters and we got two, so it was likely a one in fourteen chance assuming all the characters are present in equal measure inside the machine.” he said.

   “I didn’t mean it literally.” Kureha laughed even harder.

   Spectre smiled a small smile and began to inspect his plush Plum. He thought it was kind of ugly, to be honest, but if Kureha liked it then he could perhaps entertain some fondness for it. The felt was a bit too coarse for his liking.

   “I’ll be sure to look after this.” Spectre murmured.

   Kureha blinked and her heart fluttered, “Really?” she exclaimed softly.

   “Of course,” Spectre said, “it's a precious gift from my precious Kureha. I will treasure it.” He put his own finger through the keyring at the top of the small toy’s head and then put his hand on Kureha’s shoulder, the toy bumping between them. Spectre leaned in and kissed Kureha’s forehead. “I promise to treasure it.” His words brushed over Kureha’s skin like a flower’s petal.

   Kureha’s face went bright red upon being kissed, “I’ll treasure mine too.” she eked out in a tiny voice.

   “That goes without saying, my silly darling.” Spectre replied and he pulled back. “Come on, we’ve had a long date already, don’t you think? Aren’t you ready to go home yet?”

   “I’m ready now.” Kureha said, smiling huge and holding onto her little toy.

[4eternal-life]

MANIFESTO OF FUTURISM  /The Futurist Manifesto

by  Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, february 20th, 1909

We want to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and rashness.

The essential elements of our poetry will be courage, audacity and revolt.

Literature has up to now magnified pensive immobility, ecstasy and slumber. We want to exalt movements of aggression, feverish sleeplessness, the double march, the perilous leap, the slap and the blow with the fist.

We declare that the splendor of the world has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed. A racing automobile with its bonnet adorned with great tubes like serpents with explosive breath ... a roaring motor car which seems to run on machine-gun fire, is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace.

We want to sing the man at the wheel, the ideal axis of which crosses the earth, itself hurled along its orbit.

The poet must spend himself with warmth, glamour and prodigality to increase the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements.

Beauty exists only in struggle. There is no masterpiece that has not an aggressive character. Poetry must be a violent assault on the forces of the unknown, to force them to bow before man.

We are on the extreme promontory of the centuries! What is the use of looking behind at the moment when we must open the mysterious shutters of the impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We are already living in the absolute, since we have already created eternal, omnipresent speed.

We want to glorify war — the only cure for the world — militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of the anarchists, the beautiful ideas which kill, and contempt for woman.

We want to demolish museums and libraries, fight morality, feminism and all opportunist and utilitarian cowardice.

We will sing of the great crowds agitated by work, pleasure and revolt; the multi-colored and polyphonic surf of revolutions in modern capitals: the nocturnal vibration of the arsenals and the workshops beneath their violent electric moons: the gluttonous railway stations devouring smoking serpents; factories suspended from the clouds by the thread of their smoke; bridges with the leap of gymnasts flung across the diabolic cutlery of sunny rivers: adventurous steamers sniffing the horizon; great-breasted locomotives, puffing on the rails like enormous steel horses with long tubes for bridle, and the gliding flight of aeroplanes whose propeller sounds like the flapping of a flag and the applause of enthusiastic crowds

We have been up all night, my friends and I, beneath mosque lamps whose brass cupolas are bright as our souls, because like them they were illuminated by the internal glow of electric hearts. And trampling underfoot our native sloth on opulent Persian carpets, we have been discussing right up to the limits of logic and scrawling the paper with demented writing.

Our hearts were filled with an immense pride at feeling ourselves standing quite alone, like lighthouses or like the sentinels in an outpost, facing the army of enemy stars encamped in their celestial bivouacs. Alone with the engineers in the infernal stokeholes of great ships, alone with the black spirits which rage in the belly of rogue locomotives, alone with the drunkards beating their wings against the walls.

Then we were suddenly distracted by the rumbling of huge double decker trams that went leaping by, streaked with light like the villages celebrating their festivals, which the Po in flood suddenly knocks down and uproots, and, in the rapids and eddies of a deluge, drags down to the sea.

Then the silence increased. As we listened to the last faint prayer of the old canal and the crumbling of the bones of the moribund palaces with their green growth of beard, suddenly the hungry automobiles roared beneath our windows.

"Come, my friends!" I said. "Let us go! At last Mythology and the mystic cult of the ideal have been left behind. We are going to be present at the birth of the centaur and we shall soon see the first angels fly! We must break down the gates of life to test the bolts and the padlocks! Let us go! Here is they very first sunrise on earth! Nothing equals the splendor of its red sword which strikes for the first time in our millennial darkness."

We went up to the three snorting machines to caress their breasts. I lay along mine like a corpse on its bier, but I suddenly revived again beneath the steering wheel — a guillotine knife — which threatened my stomach. A great sweep of madness brought us sharply back to ourselves and drove us through the streets, steep and deep, like dried up torrents. Here and there unhappy lamps in the windows taught us to despise our mathematical eyes. "Smell," I exclaimed, "smell is good enough for wild beasts!"

And we hunted, like young lions, death with its black fur dappled with pale crosses, who ran before us in the vast violet sky, palpable and living.

And yet we had no ideal Mistress stretching her form up to the clouds, nor yet a cruel Queen to whom to offer our corpses twisted into the shape of Byzantine rings! No reason to die unless it is the desire to be rid of the too great weight of our courage!

We drove on, crushing beneath our burning wheels, like shirt-collars under the iron, the watch dogs on the steps of the houses.

Death, tamed, went in front of me at each corner offering me his hand nicely, and sometimes lay on the ground with a noise of creaking jaws giving me velvet glances from the bottom of puddles.

"Let us leave good sense behind like a hideous husk and let us hurl ourselves, like fruit spiced with pride, into the immense mouth and breast of the world! Let us feed the unknown, not from despair, but simply to enrich the unfathomable reservoirs of the Absurd!"

As soon as I had said these words, I turned sharply back on my tracks with the mad intoxication of puppies biting their tails, and suddenly there were two cyclists disapproving of me and tottering in front of me like two persuasive but contradictory reasons. Their stupid swaying got in my way. What a bore! Pouah! I stopped short, and in disgust hurled myself — vlan! — head over heels in a ditch.

Oh, maternal ditch, half full of muddy water! A factory gutter! I savored a mouthful of strengthening muck which recalled the black teat of my Sudanese nurse!

As I raised my body, mud-spattered and smelly, I felt the red hot poker of joy deliciously pierce my heart. A crowd of fishermen and gouty naturalists crowded terrified around this marvel. With patient and tentative care they raised high enormous grappling irons to fish up my car, like a vast shark that had run aground. It rose slowly leaving in the ditch, like scales, its heavy coachwork of good sense and its upholstery of comfort.

We thought it was dead, my good shark, but I woke it with a single caress of its powerful back, and it was revived running as fast as it could on its fins.

Then with my face covered in good factory mud, covered with metal scratches, useless sweat and celestial grime, amidst the complaint of staid fishermen and angry naturalists, we dictated our first will and testament to all the living men on earth.

It is in Italy that we are issuing this manifesto of ruinous and incendiary violence, by which we today are founding Futurism, because we want to deliver Italy from its gangrene of professors, archaeologists, tourist guides and antiquaries.

Italy has been too long the great second-hand market. We want to get rid of the innumerable museums which cover it with innumerable cemeteries.

Museums, cemeteries! Truly identical in their sinister juxtaposition of bodies that do not know each other. Public dormitories where you sleep side by side for ever with beings you hate or do not know. Reciprocal ferocity of the painters and sculptors who murder each other in the same museum with blows of line and color. To make a visit once a year, as one goes to see the graves of our dead once a year, that we could allow! We can even imagine placing flowers once a year at the feet of the Gioconda! But to take our sadness, our fragile courage and our anxiety to the museum every day, that we cannot admit! Do you want to poison yourselves? Do you want to rot?

What can you find in an old picture except the painful contortions of the artist trying to break uncrossable barriers which obstruct the full expression of his dream?

To admire an old picture is to pour our sensibility into a funeral urn instead of casting it forward with violent spurts of creation and action. Do you want to waste the best part of your strength in a useless admiration of the past, from which you will emerge exhausted, diminished, trampled on?

Indeed daily visits to museums, libraries and academies (those cemeteries of wasted effort, calvaries of crucified dreams, registers of false starts!) is for artists what prolonged supervision by the parents is for intelligent young men, drunk with their own talent and ambition.

For the dying, for invalids and for prisoners it may be all right. It is, perhaps, some sort of balm for their wounds, the admirable past, at a moment when the future is denied them. But we will have none of it, we, the young, strong and living Futurists!

Let the good incendiaries with charred fingers come! Here they are! Heap up the fire to the shelves of the libraries! Divert the canals to flood the cellars of the museums! Let the glorious canvases swim ashore! Take the picks and hammers! Undermine the foundation of venerable towns!

The oldest among us are not yet thirty years old: we have therefore at least ten years to accomplish our task. When we are forty let younger and stronger men than we throw us in the waste paper basket like useless manuscripts! They will come against us from afar, leaping on the light cadence of their first poems, clutching the air with their predatory fingers and sniffing at the gates of the academies the good scent of our decaying spirits, already promised to the catacombs of the libraries.

But we shall not be there. They will find us at last one winter's night in the depths of the country in a sad hangar echoing with the notes of the monotonous rain, crouched near our trembling aeroplanes, warming our hands at the wretched fire which our books of today will make when they flame gaily beneath the glittering flight of their pictures.

They will crowd around us, panting with anguish and disappointment, and exasperated by our proud indefatigable courage, will hurl themselves forward to kill us, with all the more hatred as their hearts will be drunk with love and admiration for us. And strong healthy Injustice will shine radiantly from their eyes. For art can only be violence, cruelty, injustice.

The oldest among us are not yet thirty, and yet we have already wasted treasures, treasures of strength, love, courage and keen will, hastily, deliriously, without thinking, with all our might, till we are out of breath.

Look at us! We are not out of breath, our hearts are not in the least tired. For they are nourished by fire, hatred and speed! Does this surprise you? it is because you do not even remember being alive! Standing on the world's summit, we launch once more our challenge to the stars!

Your objections? All right! I know them! Of course! We know just what our beautiful false intelligence affirms: "We are only the sum and the prolongation of our ancestors," it says. Perhaps! All right! What does it matter? But we will not listen! Take care not to repeat those infamous words! Instead, lift up your head!

Standing on the world's summit we launch once again our insolent challenge to the stars!

[rockthistowninsideout]

Never Too Late For A Leap Of Faith

Part 2

Part 1 here

Five times Taichi only feels the presence of Digimons and one time he actually meets them (again).

Words: 1401 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Tags: 5+1 Pairings: Taichi Yagami/OC, Sorato, Jyoumi

Inspired by this youtube video talking about how the end of Kizuna fits into the narrative of the Epilogue in 02, posted by TheDigiKnow. It’s in my opinion a thorough and yet personal analysis.

   The last time Taichi had been this nervous was before his final exam in his studies. He stood before a sleek black door on one of the highest floors in a governmental skyscraper in Tokyo’s heart, Roppongi. Behind the door sat a panel of the Japanese government, wanting to hear his expertise. He wondered if Koushirou was already in there. After another deep breath, telling himself to just screw it, it wouldn’t be any better if he stood here for another minute or two, he knocked.

   “Ah, Yagami-shi.” The prime minister bowed to him, as did everyone else, when he entered.

   Taichi did his best to compose himself and not get all flustered by the honour of the prime minister knowing his name.

   “Hello Taichi-san”, someone said at the other end of the table and Taichi noticed to his relief that it was Koushirou already standing beside a holographic screen.

   Taichi bowed to everyone around, then proceeded towards Koushirou. He put his briefcase onto a desk and extracted his notes. He looked at them but then he realized he wouldn’t need them. Nodding to Koushirou, he said, after a few welcoming words “The public has known Digimons mostly as, at best, a nuisance and at worst as a life-threatening force. But we know that Digimons also have a different side. They are caring, loving, and loyal companions who want nothing but the best for humans.

   Notice how I said ‘who’? Rationally looked upon, they might be only comprised of data, just like a music or a text file. But they are much more. Imagine the agony you might feel when a CD with your favourite song breaks or a very important text file gets deleted. Now exponentiate that to the grief you feel when losing a loved one, maybe even finitely. This is how we felt when we had to let our Digimon partners go all those years ago because the nature of human-Digimon bond was a doomed one, it was only temporary. Something we lose when we grow up because Digimons make the most sense when you are a child.

   And as an adult, you lose sight of what is important in life. You think you have cracked the meaning of life, working hard and getting married – and while I don’t want to disparage marriage or family, not at all – we treat it like it’s some kind of competition. That way, though, carefreeness, our sense of fun, and the lightness of just being and living get lost. But when you have children of your own, you start seeing the world again through the eyes of a child, and slowly that lightness returns.

   To make a long story short, we as humans are better off having a good connection to Digimons instead of condemning them as monsters. They preserve our childlike side and add to our social value. This is not about being chosen for a great task, like Izumi-kun and I had been, but about living peacefully together with a species that is much like us humans: Every Digimon is an individual with a fully-rounded personality.

   We are here to propose diplomatic relations to the Digital World with the long-term plan of finding a Digimon partner for every human, if they wish to have one. Izumi-kun will now introduce you to his network of DigiDestined that he’s been running for nearly fifteen years now and that shows that not only peaceful connections between humans and Digimons are possible, but also between humans themselves.”

   If Taichi had thought the anxiousness he had while standing in front of that office door had been bad, well, he’d blatantly been wrong. He had to suppress the urge to vomit while he watched Koushirou typing furiously on a holographic keyboard. It didn’t make any sense to him, though. As long as he knew Koushirou, there had been the steady rhythm of his fingers flying over the keys, a soft hammering, the sound of knowledge and curiosity. But now it was only silence, as if someone had muted reality.

   With a final enthusiastic hit, a picture appeared on the floating screen floating that was painfully familiar. A crystal blue lake, nearly perfectly circular, glittered in the sunshine, surrounded by a dense wood. In the middle of the lake was an island with the most peculiar yet reassuring sight around: a gleaming tram wagon, empty but for a few odd creatures looking like they’d been sitting there for eternity.

   Taichi looked down when he felt someone take his hand.

   “Let’s go together”, Koushirou said smilingly.

   On the other side, he felt another person’s presence. Yamato hadn’t taken his hand but his upper arm was brushing Taichi’s. Taichi inhaled deeply, then nodded. It was time.

***

   “Taichi-san?”, a hardly-surprised, childish voice asked.

     Taichi took a deep breath but he didn’t turn yet. It was too good to be true, it was what he had dreamt of since their disappearance after the Eosmon incident but he was wiser as to put too much hope into this voice. After all, it could be a hallucination his wishful mind had made him think.

   “Taichi-san, do you not want to say hello to me?”, the voice asked again. Someone tugged at his hand.

  Finally he looked down. A tug at the hand could hardly be imaginary, could it?   Many teeth greeted him, then the mouth closed and he looked into Agumon’s blinking blue eyes. “Taichi-san, you’ve finally come back to me!”, Agumon exclaimed and held out his arms.

   Taichi laughed while he cried, crouching down before his Digimon partner. “Yeah, it took me a while, a lot of things have happened.” He embraced Agumon. “Are the others with you? Because we’ve all been waiting so long. Biyomon and Gomamon and Palmon and Gabumon and Tentomon and Patamon and Gatomon. They’re all here.” Agumon stepped away and made a sweeping gesture. The Digimons came forward, their gazes flickering between Taichi and the group of people standing a little distance behind him.

   “Yes, we’ve all come back. And we want you to meet some special persons.” Taichi wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, then got up and beckoned the rest towards him with a wave.

   “Oh, Sora-san”, Biyomon exclaimed and excitedly fluttered forward, straight into Sora’s arms.

   Yamato and Gabumon looked at each other amicably; they’ve never been much for words but understood each other perfectly nonetheless.

   “Jou-senpai, I hope you’ve been eating well and not studying too hard while I was away”, Gomamon greeted his partner after he’d waddled over towards him.

   “Kouhirou-han, still carrying your tablet with you? I’m glad you haven’t changed a bit.” Tentomon buzzed excitedly around Koushirou’s head.

   Mimi and Palmon were running towards each other, screaming with joy, but actual words were not decipherable.

   “Takeru-kun, Takeru-kun, why haven’t you come earlier? I was so bored without!” Patamon flapped towards Takeru, then settled comfortably onto his head after Takeru had taken off his sailor’s cap.

   A solemn but smiling Gatomon stood before Hikari, paw extended. “I’ve been keeping this”, he said.

   Hikari took the whistle gently, a flood of memories rushing through her mind, then she blew it mightily.

   As if they had agreed on that as a sign, the remaining people shuffled forward, most were visibly nervous.

   “Kana-chan! Oh, Kana-chan, it’s been so long!” somebody suddenly yelled from the edge of the forest. A red birdlike Digimon, with a green beak and yellow coat pattern on his belly, waddled as fast as he could towards Taichi’s wife who’d been leading Hotaro to the Digimons.

   Now she dropped to her knees, crying “Oh Muchomon” in delight and embracing her Digimon once he had reached her.

   The remaining spouses, who had not been DigiDestineds, watched a little warily. They had heard the stories, hair-raising at times and most certainly not what children should have to endure, so they were familiar with the concept of Digimons. But meeting them now in the wild, so to speak, in their natural habitat, was something they still had to get accustomed to.

   Until Gatomon turned to Hikari’s daughter and introduced himself. Then he added “We welcome you to the Digital World, hoping that you will find a home here just like it is ours.”

   Meaning the same, but phrasing it differently, Agumon exclaimed “I’m hungry, let’s have a picnic!”

   Which earned him laughter from everyone. The ice was broken.

[nitewrighter]

I just got a little Snowball mood light for so cheap I may go back tomorrow and get another one, so could I possibly request something with Snowball in it? Please and thank you!

Mei couldn’t help but be distracted by the window looking out over Numbani. The Overwatch Numbani Arcology was one of the first buildings built in Numbani and a proud project of Gabrielle Adawe, but the city itself was still growing. Even now, Mei looked out at what must have been a dozen cranes dotting the skyline. She wished she could stay longer, soak in the sunlight, but someone had to save the world, she supposed.

“The charging column has already been shipped ahead of you to Ecopoint Svalbard,” said Bajcsy, “Its battery charge should hold out for more than the trip there, though. You can establish and customize its user interface on the journey there.”

“So this is the Mark 9 I’ve been hearing so much about?” said Mei, lifting up one of the panels on the drone.

Bajcsy pressed the panel down. “Took some ingenuity on our end to meet your specifications, but the mark 9 is equipped with a pretty intense mag-lev base for hands-free atmospheric scanning, and a newly designed user interface so it can respond to spoken commands rather than you writing lines of code for it like a caveman.”

Mei snickered, “Thank you. I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

“You need to remember that the just because the user interface is cute, it’s still a piece of equipment,” said Bajcsy, screwing on the last panel tight.

“I know,” said Mei.

“The personality interface is too simple for it to be legally classified as omnic-level processing,” Bajcsy went on, “This is not a team member, Mei. Don’t let the eyes fool you. This is a roomba for weather monitoring..”

“Then why give it eyes at all?” said Mei, taking the little weather drone from Bajcsy.

“You know Overwatch,” Bajcsy folded their arms bitterly, “Everything has to look good on a poster. The reality of our job is that we’re freezing our asses off at far-flung corners of the world, looking at bubbles in ice. It’s tedious, and tedious doesn’t look good in the recruitment videos. Cute robot sidekicks? Everyone loves a cute robot sidekick.”

“It seems very important to you that I don’t get attached to this,” said Mei, turning the weather drone over.

“It gets lonely at the ecopoints, Mei, and you’re an empathetic person with a good heart. You’re a shoo-in for anthropomorphizing. If anything goes wrong, I just don’t want you risking your life for some easily replaceable metal and plastic. When you’re doing cute little school lectures and recruitment videos for your blog, sure, then it’s a sidekick, but all other times?”

“Roomba for weather monitoring,” Mei said with a smile.

Bajcsy made finger guns at her and Mei tucked the drone under her arm before heading out of the lab, down a glass elevator that was framed by vertical gardens on either side, and heading out to the hover tram that would take her to Numbani’s airfield for her next assignment. As she took her seat in the tram, she held the weather drone in her lap. 

“’Don’t get attached,’” Mei muttered to herself with an eyeroll, “That’s silly. I’m a scientist,” she leaned back in her seat confidently and looked out the window. She heard a whirring and she swiveled her head back to her lap, where the ‘eye’ panel at the front of the weather drone suddenly lit up.

“What--?” Mei turned the drone over in her hands, looking for the off switch. She didn���t want to set up the user interface now.

“Wvvrrr?” the drone made a questioning noise at being held upside down--No. No, it had a mag-lev base. The noise was probably it re-calibrating its gyroscopics. 

“Where... is... your off switch?” said Mei, mostly to herself. The drone suddenly jerked in her hand and swiveled itself around, tilting up to reveal a small black button. Mei held a finger over the button but didn’t press it, before turning it over again and looking at it at its eye panel. Its eyes shut as if it was smiling (Well they weren’t real eyes--just indicators for the user interface). Then it blinked those eyes at her expectantly, confusedly.

“...Hi,” said Mei, not really sure how to react with something staring at her.

It made the ‘smiling eyes’ at her again.

Mei cleared her throat and spoke clearly. “My name is Mei-Ling Zhou. I am going to be your primary user, Mark 9. Register that in your databanks: Mei-Ling Zhou.”

“Meeeeiii!” it made a whirring noise that sounded all-too-close to her name, its panels flapping like puppy ears as its eyes lit up at her in admiration.

“Aw!” the noise escaped Mei involuntarily but she quickly straightened up and cleared her throat. She shut her eyes and tried to focus, “Roomba for weather monitoring,” she said, “Roomba for weather monitoring.”

“Meeeii?” it made the whirring noise of her name again.

Mei opened one eye to see the drone still in her lap now jiggling its outer panels in a ‘giggling’ motion.

“Well,” Mei huffed a little, “Just so you know, I am not anthropomorphizing you. This is a professional relationship.”

Mei caught herself and realized that by talking to the drone, she was in fact, anthropomorphizing it.

“Professional,” she repeated, just for good measure.

The weather drone suddenly jerked out of her hands, hovered up a bit, and rubbed its panel on the side of her face like a cat.

“Hey!” Mei took hold of the drone again and held it at arm’s length, “I just said professional!”

The eyes in the user interface panel of the drone looked down sadly.

“I’m sorry... I’m probably the first person you know, huh?” said Mei, “Even if all of the cute stuff you do is just lines of code... that doesn’t mean you’re not doing your best.”

The eyes of the drone flicked up to her. 

“Well, don’t worry,” said Mei, “I’m sure you’re going to do great.”

“Meeeiiiii!” the drone chimed her name in excitement and Mei snickered.

“We’ll... probably get you a better name than ‘Mark 9′ while we’re at it, huh?” she said smiling.

[andrewtillman]

Day 13 - Rest day

It would appear that Sod’s law applies equally in the Southern Hemisphere.

Nowhere to go today on the bikes, just tootling around, washing, cleaning bike equipment, anointing sore bottom and generally preparing for Tasmania and, of course, the clouds have disappeared, the sun is out and it’s 25 degrees.

We did our laundry then set off ...

We biked up to Charlie’s house and Charlie took us to the local laundrette to dry them : laudretting- another first for both Alan and me, we sat and watched our stuff go round and round and round....yawn...

Then back to Charlie’s to repack for Tasmania.

I found my thermals in my big case - I had forgotten that I packed those - Doh!!

Then we arranged with Charlie to meet at the ferry terminal and set off into Melbourne to find the famous bagel shop that was closed last week.

Melbourne has trams and trams run in tram lines. Motorbikes don’t! Another learning curve for me or learning swerve more like. Feel like my brain can’t take anymore.

Bagel hunt successful !

Very nice smoked salmon, cream cheese & capers bagels for lunch

Followed by a walk on the front down the pier to where the penguins live.

These are my new best fronds....

Alan wanted to see koalas, which he did last week. I wanted to see penguins. However, I discovered last week that penguins only appear at night here. They are out at sea eating all day and only return to shore at sunset.

Also they don’t have ‘exciting’ penguins here like Emperor or Macaroni penguins, just little, drab ones, so no chance of seeing one unless one was being exceptionally lazy and snoozing in the rocks......and here he is!!

Poor little feller, having a snooze amongst the rocks. Well spotted Alan, oh spotter of hard to spot stuff.

We arrived at the ferry terminal at 17.30...

Quite a lot of bikers seem to be heading to Tasmania. Getting off will be like the start of yesterday’s Grand Prix. You can see just how many hardened bikers I was surrounded by....

...at which point both my bike boots disintegrated!!! 😱😱.

Oh how all the other bikers laughed at me 😡😡 They were all so amused😡😡😡😡

Not at all embarrassing 🤬🤬🤬🤬

Try changing gear and braking while riding up a steep ferry ramp with the soles of your boots flapping like ducks beaks.......

Contd....

[mcatmemoranda]

There are two general types of breast mound reconstructive option, using implants or autologous tissue. Implants can be places in a single stage surgery if breasts are small, however typically a two-stage procedure is performed whereby a tissue expander is inserted previously to expand the overlying soft tissue. Over the course of weeks or months, the expander is slowly filled with saline until there is adequate skin coverage prior to permanent implant placement. Benefits of implant reconstruction include an easier, shorter surgery with no donor site morbidity and decreased operative time. The disadvantages include frequent doctor visits to increase the tissue expander and the need for a second surgery to place the permanent implant. Complications include, infections, capsular contracture, implant migration and rupture. All permanent implants are composed of an outer silicon shell that is filled with silicone or saline.

The breast mound can also be reconstructed using autologous tissue including skin, underlying fat and muscle taken from the patient’s abdomen, back, buttock and thigh. The tissue can be transferred as pedicle flap meaning with an intact vascular supply, or as a free flap, which requires microvascular anastomosis to recipient vessels in the chest (thoracodorsal or internal thoracic vessels). Common autogenous pedicle flaps used include a TRAM flap (transverse rectus abdominis myocutaneous) utilizing the superior epigastric vessels and Latissimus Dorsi Flap utilizing the thoracodorsal vessles. Examples of free flaps include free-TRAM (utilizing inferior epigastric vessles) and perforator flaps such as the deep inferior epigastric perforator (DIEP). For those that do not have sufficient abdominal fat the buttock area can also be used as a donor site utilizing the superior gluteal (SGAP) and inferior gluteal artery (IGAP). Advantages of autologous reconstruction include a more natural looking breast. Disadvantages are longer operative time with accompanied longer recovery, risk or flap necrosis and donor site morbidity.

Reconstruction of the nipple and areola complex is the final stage of breast reconstruction. There are many techniques of nipple reconstruction, which utilize skin grafts followed by tattooing.

Source: http://d3tfb844wwci5y.cloudfront.net/assets/breast_cancer/html/Surg-Breast_Reconstruction.pdf

[magicaltrash]

Cars Road Trip, a reimagining of the Studio Tram Tour at Walt Disney Studios in Paris, takes guests "into a Cars-themed version of a road trip on Route 66, featuring natural wonders like The World's Largest Lugnut and the Cars-tastrophe Canyon, while encountering popular characters such as Lightning McQueen and Mater." That seems to be overselling this attraction a bit. // Disneyland Paris Resort, Walt Disney Studios, Toon Studio, Cars Road Trip, 2021 [Source: Edith at LaughingPlace.com. Used by Permission.]