#This is true for I was the telephone/j

[skipblebee]

They r best friends and they talk about anything and everything together

[y3nze1]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | c.8

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: I / II / III / Navi

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: hiii pookies! Chaz here, how we doin?!?!!? good? good. here's chapter 8 for yah. writings kinda different cause I'm writing. shh. don't complain /j. bit bear with me on this one yall! like yen, HAPPY READINGS!

"Come in!" called Loralie from inside the store, wiping off the counter as the sound of a bell rung, the two people walking inside the store. she smiled widely. "Ah it's you two! come in, come in. what can i get for you today? some hotcakes? muffins? the usual?"

"black coffee, Lor, and for niftt-" husk was cut off by niffty as she looked through the glass of treats and sweets. "Salmon mousse Canapés! i'd like to try something new" the girl giggled happily, continuing on to look through the glass. "well, uh.. i guess that's for hers.

Loralie smiles and nods, scribbling down the orders. "Alright, one black coffees and a salmon mousse canapé. That'll be ready in a few minutes. You two are welcome to sit down while you wait.." She gestures to a nearby table as she gets started on the order. "any gossip today? nif?" Loralie turned to niftty after handing out the order to her co-worker.

"no.. not much, well.. Al has quite focused on his broadcast nowadays, i mean it's not new but, I'm pretty sure he's still looking out for that 'Daisy' girl" Niftty spoke, walking over to the side of the counter. "Daisy.. Huh?.." Loralie grinned, packing up the orders slowly as she listened in. "Yeah!.. daisy, the one that always calls his station.. I heard he asked her out on a date but she didn't come!" Husk appeared behind niftty as she spoke. "That was actually true, That dumbass came to my bar the other week, complaining about his fucking love life" Husk groaned, rolling his eyes, grabbing the order from Loralie.

"i think i know a thing or two about.. Daisy" Loralie grinned, leaning over the counter to tell the two, in which they listened.

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

"And then!- Y/n was so worried to face you that day so she didn't went as daisy which is kind of an idiotic move for me, but then you spent the night with her at the park. so you technically did go on a date with daisy but technically didn't because y/n is daisy, and daisy is y/n, also made me wonder wh-" husk pressed a hand over niftty's mouth, sighing. "he gets the idea, nif.."

the two looked at Alastor who has a slightly shocked reaction on his face. sitting blankly on his desk as muffled songs played in the background. "i don't.. know if i should be angry.. or.. anxious.. or glad.." he looked at his feet, running fingers through his hair as he sighed deeply. "Al, Sorry you had to find out this way... i mean- it would have been more meaningful if you know.. it came from her." niftty approached Alastor along with Husk beside her, she softly place a hand on his shoulder.

Alastor leaned back at his chair, closing his eyes as he huffed deeply. Alastor lets out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair once as he tries to process what he's just learned. He feels a mix of emotions coursing through him - anger, hurt, confusion, but also a strange sense of calmness. He looks up at Niffty and Husk, his eyes full of a deep sadness.

"I understand why y/n did what she did, but I can't help but feel betrayed," he says, his voice heavy with emotion. "She knew how I felt about her, how much I cared for her, and yet she chose to deceive me in this way." He shakes his head, looking down at his desk again. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel right now.. i think i need to be alone for a moment.." the two nodded at his words, leaving his room for him to contemplate for a moment.

He sat silently, playing another song for his audience. he softly chuckled at the mishap. "Daisy.. daisy.." he repeated. after a few moments, the song slowly ended, the telephone rang. in an instant he picked it up. "Good Afternoon again, Alastor" Alastor grinned, leaning back on his chair. "Good Afternoon to you too.. Ms. Daisy, the usual songs, i sense?" He chuckled. Playing her requested song. after that, he stopped speaking over the mic, talking to her personality, he spoke once more. "Could i perhaps.. I don't know.. maybe ask you out, Ms. Daisy?.."

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

Alastor waited at the same park, spending the same hours as he did, waiting for 'Daisy', till then, he felt a presence of someone sitting next to him. "Hello.. Alastor, How are you tonight, Still waiting for.. Daisy?" He turned to look at you, his smile widened, playing along. "Unfortunately.. Yes"

Alastor chuckles, feeling a warm sensation in his chest as he looks at you. "Well, it seems that Ms. Daisy has decided to let me down again tonight. But that just means that I'll be able to enjoy the company of someone else." He turned to look at you once again. his eyes staring at you deeply. you let out a soft chuckle at his words. "So, Y/n, My Dear. What are you doing here in the park anyway?" he softly spoke.

"Just wanted to take a quick stroll, the night is quite lovely, isn't it?" He nodded, Alastor smiled, looking deep into your eyes as he spoke. "Yes, it is a lovely night. And yet, somehow I feel as though there's something missing." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose the lack of Daisy is a little bit of a damper." He placed a hand over yours. "Either way, i shouldn't be sorrowful, it's a wonderous, that shouldn't be wasted, don't you think? Now, Would you do me the honor of being my company for the night?" he held out his hand.

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

"You're really fucked up, Al.." Husk walked over to him. standing beside Alastor as he looked at the other side of the lake. Smiling, the wind flowed. as he chuckled. "Say what you want, palx he shrugged. leaning against the railing of the balcony.

"A goddamn house?.. are you serious? just to see her apartment?" Husk rubbed his temple. "All for a fucking girl?" he groaned turning to Alastor.

"A girl I care for very deeply," Alastor replies, his voice slightly raised. He stands up, towering over Husk as he glares down at him. "A girl who I would do anything for," he continues, his voice growing more emotional as he speaks. "And if I want to spend a few nights in this house just to see her place right before me while i open my eyes, then that's exactly what I'll do." He gripped at the railings, staring at lights of your apartment.

"I'd climb the highest mountain if she wanted me to, swim the deepest trenches if she pleases, take a shot through the heart if she asks me to." he smiled to himself. staring down at the flowing water.

"I'll stand by her whenever i can, suffer in the distance in sakes to keep her happy. more than anything. I'll be there, even if she doesn't know i am, I'll be glad that i was.. in the moment, just right behind her."

Husk nodded, staring in the distance too, lighting a cigarette, placing it on his mouth as he did so. taking a puff. Alastor smiled, his eyes closing as he listened to the sound of water hitting the shore. He took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calmness wash over him. "You are a great person, Husk," he said, opening his eyes and turning to look at him. "You may not understand why I do what I do, but you are still there to support me, and I appreciate that more than you could ever know." He reached out and placed a hand on Husk's shoulder, squeezing it softly.

"Hey, what ever fucked up thing you got over your head. I'm still here.. I'm stuck with ya anyway" he chuckled, taking another hit of his cigarette. Alastor turned to look at your apartment. "Hey Husker, do you want to come with tomorrow?" Husk raised a brow. "What for?"

"I'd like to go on a quick.. shopping" He smiled. chuckling softly as looked at you apartment once more.

[john-laurens]

As a follow-up to this meme, here is the story of a supposed pact between two brothers, Francis and Cleland Kinloch, to ensure they would not be accidentally buried alive.

This story comes from the collection "Biographical and genealogical research on Francis J. Kinloch" from the South Carolina Historical Society archives. To my knowledge, the "J." used in his name here is simply to refer to the fact that he was Francis Kinloch, Jr. and does not imply a middle name.

This story is titled "Anecdote Legend: A Death in the Kinloch Family," which I think really captures the potentially hyperbolic game of telephone that gives us this account. The story was recounted by Kinloch Bull, Jr. - I am unsure what his relation may be to the Kinloch family. This story was relayed to Kinloch Bull, Jr. by his father, who attended the General Thomas Sumter Memorial Academy for boys in the early 1900s. This Academy had previously been Acton, the home of Cleland Kinloch. The father of Kinloch Bull, Jr. was told this story by a Colonel Dargan. And so the story goes -

Cleland Kinloch and his brother Francis were, like many people in the 18th and 19th centuries, afraid of being accidentally buried alive. Accordingly, the brothers made a pact - when one of them died (or appeared dead), the other would stab him through the heart to ensure he was truly dead before his burial. Cleland later dropped dead in the upstairs hall at Acton. Francis, holding up his end of the agreement, proceeded to stab Cleland through the heart. This produced a great amount of blood that stained the floor. Some believe that the amount of blood produced indicates that Cleland was actually still alive when Francis stabbed him. The blood left an approximately 2 feet by 3 feet stain that would remain when the house later became the General Thomas Sumter Memorial Academy for boys.

A few things to note here:

This very much sounds like the sort of story that would be exaggerated or completely made up to scare young boys. Some of the details are also a bit questionable. Did they not have a doctor assess Cleland for evidence of life before Francis did the deed? Why did they not move the body off the floor before stabbing him? Also, the amount of blood that will leave a dead body after being stabbed or cut depends upon how the long the body was been dead. If Cleland had very recently died, the blood may not have significantly clotted yet, and a stab wound could have caused blood to spill out.

The story gets the year of death wrong for Cleland - it states that he died in 1826. According to "Kinloch of South Carolina" by H.D. Bull (same last name as our storyteller - perhaps a relation?), Cleland died in 1823 while Francis died in 1826. It is true that Cleland died at Acton and that Francis outlived him.

While I made fun of Kinloch in the meme for not taking a less graphic route such as cremation, cremation was not commonplace at the time. Henry Laurens was actually among the first to be cremated in the United States when he died in 1792. For the time period, a stab or shot through the heart is honestly a pretty effective and expedient way to ensure someone is dead.

[decepti-thots]

(I’ll preface by saying: huge JP fan who has no problem with people not liking it)

Anyways I’m actually super curious…

How are most JP fics “boring”? 🤔 I’ve always found their dynamic to be more entertaining than most, given the dichotomy of their characters.

So I’m curious as to how you’ve wound up at “boring” of all the possible reasons to dislike it. 🤣

I'm going to be a bit blunter here than I usually would be on the topic, as I was directly asked. So I'll cut the uh… negativity? I guess? For those who prefer not to see folks talk shit about a ship they like, lol.

First and foremost Jazz/Prowl is basically just… essentially made up and purely based on fanon inventions/additions, and made up fanon stuff is usually not of real interest to me without a very strong hook somewhere in the actual canon material. It is 99% fanon by volume that draws on little to no canon material of any kind but just... years of fanon, reproducing itself and mutating almost like a fanfic game of telephone, all developed in fandom echo chambers. Which renders the characters in the vast majority of fic a) largely unrelated to any canon material I like in a meaningful sense and b) tbqh, the kind of generic stuff found in a lot of typical, large dudeslash fandoms where the characters are… they're Dudeslash Fandom Archetypes with a gloss of paint on top, you know? People come in, look for which character in a fandom fits their favourite m/m trope the most, and then squish the character down to fit into that pre-existing archetype.

And the thing is, J/P has historically made a certain kind of sense for this, because the appeal was basically that… they didn't HAVE that much canon material? In the Marvel G1 comics, they have a little more specific characterisation and canon, but the G1 cartoon is not exactly a character exploration piece ANYWAY, and for Prowl especially he is a blank slate you can functionally project an OC onto. Which like, that's fine! That makes a lot of sense even if it's not what usually draws me into something.

My issue has become that if I read one more G1-fanon-soup fest mistagged "IDW" I'm gonna scream. I like IDW Prowl (and IDW Jazz too!) for the fact that these characters have specific, strongly delineated canon personalities, arcs and dynamics, and both of these characters- Prowl especially, but both of them!- have like. Things about them which are true, and which J/P fic not only tends to ignore but actively treats in a loooot of cases as somehow Inferior To Our Fanon and something to be "fixed" with idk, the power of Extremely Generic Dudeslash Tropes. I've been in many a fandom with Migratory Dudeslash Fandoms writing fic. J/P is extremely rote to me as a result, if nothing else.

It warrants mentioning that J/P fandom is where one does find a lot of examples of just undeniably racist treatment of Jazz in fic, both the truly inexcusable phonetic accent bullshit and also a lot of bad decisions around tropes. I don't think this is a function of the ship, per se, but that its specific persistence in J/P fandom (bc trust me: this has been a point of criticism for A Long Fucking Time) is in part due to it having this long entrenched fanon-to-fanon game of telephone going on? It would be better to talk about the fandom's issues there outside ship talk so I'll leave it at that, but I can't deny it has not… helped my feelings. TBH. And I know that's where a lot of the resentment you will find in the fandom obviously stems from.

IDK. It's just. It's usually fanfic of itself, you know? J/P largely feels to me, in most cases, like fanfic of fanfic of fanfic, and I come to TF fandom for fanfic of a canon. So. Yeah. Not a fan. At all.

[hotmothsummer]

🖊 for roadkillcommunion!

WAH!!! THANK YOU?? ♥️♥️

@roadkillcommunion is my aesthetic/vibes dump blog for the story which I am titling Jackalope Bone Records (for now). The blurb for it is as follows:

The Jackalope Bone Records is a story about trying to remember what you've forgotten, running from what remembers you, and the monsters that lurk between the shadows of both. Set in the isolate, neverending rural landscapes of the Western United States, Charlie and Jay find that the things they try to run from only inch closer with the more distance they put between it. In their quest to find ghosts and walking corpses, they quickly find that true horror is manmade, and often sits in the space between your heart and your ribs.

(Inspired by stories like Welcome to Night Vale, Over the Garden Wall, The Magnus Archives, Marble Hornets, and 17776.)

Charlie Vance is doing her best to run from the things that haunt her. She is stubborn, headstrong, and would make a killer final girl in a slasher movie. She likes strawberries, cute things, and fun-patterned skirts. She’s also kind of a bitch to be around because she’s working thru her own stuff, and it leads to a lot of nonsense arguments and festering feelings between her and Jay. She would kill to keep herself alive.

Art credit: @starstickerx

J (Jay) is trying to recover his past, and figure out why he lost his memory in the first place. He’s jumpy, anxious, and would make a red thread conspiracy board to the tune of touch tone telephone. He likes puzzles, prefers tea over coffee, and that big jacket that he’s always wearing. Even though he’s so nervous, he has a drive that makes him just as stubborn as Charlie, and while he is more apprehensive about certain things than she is, when it comes to the right thing, they find themselves on the same page.

While their disagreements are frequent and many, they don’t tend to last. They push each other, but they make each other better for it.

Art credit: @meltwithclarity

[siremasterlawrence]

Taming The Broken

It is midnight the next morning on the very first day of September in 2023 to a screech shattering sound hits my window waking me up once more.

I hear the sound of buzzing noise penetrate the window emitting loud by my next door neighbors thinking he is slick enough to take control of the neighborhood.

Unfortunately for him I have a plan getting up I sneak from the window of my home on to the grass and run down the street to the cellphone towers.

Taking a deep breath I prepare myself to be able to climb to the top of the tower ready for my victorious moment of triumphant over everything.

Digging my feet into the pole I plant my right hand back in my pocket landing on small bug like device planting it in the metal box I pry open.

The device firmly settles in completely lites it up in a spectacular design of pure various shades of blue then sending a shock to the system.

The sharp jolt triggers through the electrical signal into the main power plant it explodes in excitement the whole town blows in a power move.

The entire city is in a for a show all upon a signal flick of my finger of my cellphone that I retrieve from my pocket and flick it on and type in my code.

The device starts on popping the app open I glee with utter joy pressing the start button it shakes up with vibrational control burst in to it all.

Soon everyone will be in for a delightful treat at exactly thirty minutes past midnight alert system go off triggering cellphones and as well regular telephones to go off.

Televisions turn on instantly blaring this odd yet calming buzzing sound erupting loudly throughout each hours, apartment and condos.

The buzzing sound erupts into peoples ears they roll up waking and to the sound their eyes stare into the ceiling and they lay on their backs.

A expressionless smile spread void over his face going cold their eyes rolling back into the socket they soon find themselves falling into a somber sleep.

The floor preventing your consciousness is in flux slowly it unravels under them pulling each half to a separate side of the room mu neighbor of course is the first to drop.

By the time I make it back to his house I can see the programming flickering, I hear the hypnotic sounds of sweetly serenading the brain.

I manage to make it to the front door unable to be detected I remove the carpet finding the key and I slip it in turning the key and then the knob.

The door opens as I ascend the staircase on to the top of the staircase I flip the light switch setting everything into darkness and j found him:

He is spread on the bed unconsciously in a free fall into submission unaware of my allmight presence overriding his mind I play with his hair.

“This is the voice of your God!”

“Loud and clear “

“You can hear me”

“I am your everything “

“The voice in your head “

“Every single thought pervasively invading mind”

“A shadow falling you “

“A nagging feeling”

“Your dark needs”

“What you really desire”

“You cannot ignore it “

“I am right no matter how you struggle “

“Denial is a weakness “

“Nothing more or less “

“A failure to accept is defeat”

“True strength in submission “

“Submit to me”

“Enjoy it freely “

The strong super toxic masculine types are often the easiest and most fun to break into puddle of destruction based on the fact it is a lie.

A fabrication based on the ancients worlds athleticism etched into history because of stupid statues made to look like gods but not all men are like that.

Happily I place four magnetic chips onto his pads placed onto his forehead one on the front, back and sides of the head lighting it up.

I crack up snapping my finger the image is projected into the air I can see his brain hot on scan in multiple different color schemes go awry.

Radioactive I can see his subconscious and his inner identity beginning to break in sync with my timing the area widens a bit at a time.

Creating an image I force myself into his mind forever causing me to be burnt into his mind so far in he could never forget not he could never resist.

“You will address me as Master Lawrence “

“You will answer me Sir Yes Sir”

“You will give in to my will”

“You will be at my feet”

“Obeying me fully “

“No questioning”

“My body is your temple “

“You love only me”

“I am the beginning “

“The ending “

“The either”

“The star”

“Perfect”

“Wake up “

“I love you Master Lawrence

The end

[bonjourxrenae]

🇮🇪 🇵🇱 IREPOL FANFIC ARCHIVE 🍀 👑

Scéalta le Casadh by bonjourxrenae (@bonjourxrenae)

A historical one-shot about their first meeting - what starts as humble research becomes a quiet whirlwind romance:

Doctor O’Connor figured the best way to learn more about a nation was to glean that information from another nation. It had been the only reason Ireland came to Warsaw: to interview Poland, gather information, and help edit the manuscripts. In truth, he had become enchanted by the land during the few months he had stayed in Warsaw. The people were kind and devout, the kind of people Ireland felt warmest around. He had brought his flageolet and played for the children on the streets. The food and the folk dances comforted him, sunrises and sunsets were clear, and the reflection of the moon on the waters of the rivers and lakes had all but taken him under. He had become enamored. He understood what the doctor meant. He had to know more.

M’fhíorghrá / My true love by Felicja_Julieanne (@felicja-j)

A soft one-shot, wherein the two have other plans that don't involve staying at the UN formal:

“You’ve talked with your boss already, right?” “Yeah, but he ditched me the first occasion he had. Why?” Ireland smiles at him. “In that case, he knows you’re here. No one said we have to stay til the very end.” He pulls Poland a little closer, and lets himself rest his head against Poland’s hair. No one is looking in their direction anyway. “How about you run away with me, love?”

Of Irish coffee and milk tea by Felicja_Julieanne (@felicja-j)

A collection of drabbles, ranging from soft and domestic, to angst with character death.

A Game of Guinness Telephone by Husaria (@lithuanias)

Meet-cute Human AU one-shot, in which a stranger buys Ireland a pint at the pub... then promptly leaves before he can get a word in:

Alfred returned with another Guinness. Seán blinked. “Thanks, but I’m not even done—” “Oh, I know,” said Alfred. “This is from—” He gestured towards an empty barstool at the end of the car. “—he just left.” Seán swiveled around to look at the front door. “Who left?” “Some guy. He ordered you a Guinness. I…I thought he wanted to talk to you.” “Who was he?” “Beats me,” said Alfred. “First, he asked if we carried…a…I can’t even pronounce it and then just ordered a Guinness. I think we carry the beer he mentioned…Do we—?” Seán sipped his stout. “Did you get a name?” “Nope. Had an accent. I think he was Polish.” “What’d he look like?” “A bit shorter than you. Blond. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. Oh, and he had a white cat with him.”

The Seal Lord by bonjourxrenae (@bonjourxrenae)

Fantasy AU multi, featuring Ireland as a selkie and Poland as the young dignitary who accidentally summons him:

It was hard to say how much time had passed, or how many tears he’d wept. Get it together, he told himself, slapping his cheeks until his senses returned. Feliks breathed in the salty air, filled his lungs with the chill so deep it almost hurt. While he had the time, he listened to the hush of the waves against the shore, the cry of the gulls overhead… The airy sound of a tin whistle playing close by… Feliks turned toward the sound. In the haze of sundown, he saw him: a tall man with copper red hair bent over a stone, his feet buried in the sand. He was soaked to the bone, dressed in nothing but what appeared to be a large fur skin, glossy from the salt water. As he played, his thin fingers fluttered over the sound holes, trilling every other note. It was a song Feliks did not recognize, yet felt drawn to all the same. As he approached, the sand shuffled noisily beneath his shoes. The strange man drew away from the flute and looked over his shoulder at Feliks, a boyish smile curled on his lips. “Ah, so you’re the one what called for me.”

Sleepless by Felicja_Julieanne (@felicja-j)

A deeply emotional Human AU, in which Feliks realizes he's asexual and comes out to his partner:

Seán walks up to him, and sits on the other side of the windowsill seat. The moonlight shining on his face makes him seem more pale than usual, but it accents all the right angles, and seems to highlight all his freckles. Feliks almost wants to ask to paint him like this. Maybe another night. “Are you okay?” “Yeah,” Feliks answers. Too quick, he then realizes. “I just, uhm. Can’t sleep, I guess.” Seán raises his brows, and smiles. “And my guess, is that you’re lying.” Feliks feels his breath catch in his throat. “Y’know… whatever it is, you can tell me.” “There’s not-,” his first instinct is to defend himself, but then… he doesn’t. Avoiding this conversation has been draining him mentally. As much as Feliks is terrified to bring it up, he wants to talk to someone. He needs to. “I’ve- … It’s been a weird couple of weeks, I guess.” “Is everything okay?” Seán asks with concern. He leans forward, his hand on Feliks’s leg. He smiles with reassurance, but Feliks sees something else in his eyes. He must be worried, and Feliks doesn’t exactly blame him. He’s been way too distant lately. No wonder Seán knows something is going on. Feliks is terrible at hiding things. He turns to the window, resting his forehead against the cold glass, and closes his eyes for a moment.  “No, it’s not.”

[henrykathman]

I have too many thoughts on The Great Gatsby (2013)

Music by Molly Noise (She/Her)

YouTube | Podcast | Patreon

This video sees me delving into the 2013 adaptation of The Great Gatsby directed by Baz Luhrmann; a film that many have regarded as a definitive version of F Scott Fitzgerald's original novel, while others regard it as a dubstep-laden imitation of the literary classic. Which one is it? Settle in and find out, old sport!

Work Cited:

Agur, Colin. "Negotiated Order: The Fourth Amendment, Telephone Surveillance, and Social Interactions, 1878–1968." Information & Culture 48.4 (2013): 419-447. https://conservancy.umn.edu/bitstream/handle/11299/182084/Agur%20-%20I%26C%20-%20Negotiated%20Order.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y 

“Baz to Make ‘Gatsby’ Choice.” The New York Post, Achived through the Wayback Machine, 10 Feb. 2011, archive.ph/20130111073735/www.nypost.com/p/pagesix/baz_to_make_gatsby_choice_I5ngKh4aqSwiEmZh6H0iKJ#selection-2097.0-2097.27.

Beaton, Kate. “Great Gatsbys.” Hark! A Vagrant, 10 May 2013, www.harkavagrant.com/?id=259-. Accessed 25 July 2023.

“Elvis (2022) and the Utter Mediocrity of Biopics.” Broey Deschanel, Youtube, 27 Sept. 2022, youtu.be/Fu96gDcrEeU. Accessed 25 July 2023.

Ferriss, S. (2018), Refashioning the Modern American Dream: The Great Gatsby, The Wolf of Wall Street, and American Hustle. J Am Cult, 41: 153-175. https://doi.org/10.1111/jacc.12869

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1925.

Kroenert, Tim. “Baz Luhrmann versus the God of Capitalism.” Eureka Street, vol. 23, no. 11, June 2013, pp. 25–26. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&AuthType=sso&db=a9h&AN=90006908&site=ehost-live&scope=site.

Luhrmann, Baz, et al. The Great Gatsby Screenplay. 2013, stephenfollows.com/resource-docs/scripts/greatgatsby_sp.pdf.

MacLean, Tessa. "Preserving Utopia: Musical Style in Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby." Literature/Film Quarterly 44.2 (2016): 120-131.

McGirr, Lisa. The war on alcohol: Prohibition and the rise of the American state. WW Norton & Company, 2015.

Miller, Alyssa. “Baz Luhrmann Really Is the ‘Stanley Kubrick of Confetti’ and This Is Why.” No Film School, 11 Nov. 2022, nofilmschool.com/baz-luhrmanns-editing-and-visual-style.

Noer, Michael. “No. 14 Gatsby, Jay.” Forbes, 13 Apr. 2010, www.forbes.com/2010/04/13/great-gatsby-bio-opinions-fictional-15-10-fitzgerald.html?sh=672907174535. Accessed 25 July 2023.

Piff, P. K., et al. “Higher Social Class Predicts Increased Unethical Behavior.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, vol. 109, no. 11, Feb. 2012, pp. 4086–91, https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1118373109.

“Searching for Sugar Man (2012) - Full Cast and Crew.” The Internet Movie Database, Amazon, 2012, www.imdb.com/title/tt2125608/fullcredits/?ref_=tt_cl_sm. Accessed 25 Aug. 2023.

Seitz, Matt Zoller. “Baz Luhrmann Is the Stanley Kubrick of Confetti.” Vulture, 9 Nov. 2022, www.vulture.com/2022/11/baz-luhrmann-knows-hes-the-stanley-kubrick-of-confetti.html.

Stewart, Jack. “The Cars of the Great Gatsby.” The Daily Drive | Consumer Guide®, 16 May 2013, blog.consumerguide.com/the-cars-of-the-great-gatsby/.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"WHO SENT IN THIS TELEPHONE CALL?" Toronto Star. November 13, 1912. Page 7. --- To Find Out How Case Against Ovid Latremouille Is Allowed to Stand Over. ---- MAY PROVE AN ALIBI --- To give Ovid Latremouille an opportunity to learn who it was telephoned to No. 5 police station on the night of October 7 to say that Latremouille was at the corner of Roxborough and Yonge streets in a condition unable to take care of himself, Chief Justice Sir William Mulock adjourned the case against him in the Assize Court this morning till tomorrow. The ex-policeman is charged with robbing Wm. J. Donley, a Parliament street liquor dealer, at about that time that night. Sergeant Grant, in his evidence yesterday, told of a message being received, from whom he did not know. He immediately went to Latremouille's house and found him in shortly before 10 o'clock.

After the jury retired to consider the charge against Latremouille of holding up Edward Field at No. 207 Wellesley street, a new jury was immediately called to consider the second case.

"I apply for an adjournment," said Mr. J. W. Curry for the prisoner. "I want to find what citizen sent that message to the police that Latremouille was at the corner of Roxborough and Yonge streets. It is of the utmost importance to the defence."

"If you have any material to make a motion on." said his Lordship, "I will hear it. If not, the case must go on."

Mr. Curry: "I didn't know there had been a message until yesterday. A true bill in this case was only found yesterday. I think it is usually the practice to give the defence an opportunity to work up its case."

His Lordship said that Latremouille had known since Oct. 7 that Grant was at his house, but Mr. Curry said he didn't know what had brought him there.

"If Latremouillle was at that corner at the time of the message he couldn't have been' at Donley's," said Mr. Curry.

His Lordship finally allowed the case to stand over for 24 hours. Mr. Curry extends an invitation to the man who telephoned to communicate with him.

[hardynwa]

BREAKING: Let court decide Nigeria’s president, Obi tells US

The presidential candidate of the Labour Party in the just concluded General Election, Peter Obi, has faulted the call made by the US Secretary of the State, Antony J. Blinken, to President-elect, Bola Tinubu, adding that he should let the court decide the legitimate president of Nigeria. Obi said this in a series of tweets on his verified Twitter handle while reacting to the conversation between Tinubu and Blinken on Friday. The PUNCH reports that Blinken had pledged stronger ties between the US and Nigeria during a 20-minute telephone call to Tinubu on Tuesday. But the call had generated reactions from opposition camps, with the former Vice President, Atiku Abubakar, describing the conversation between Blinken and Tinubu as “demoralising”. “I am in disbelief that Secretary Antony Blinken called Tinubu, a contradiction to the publicly stated position of the US on Nigeria’s 2023 presidential election. “This is inconceivable considering that America, as the bastion of democracy, is well briefed on the sham election of February 25. To give legitimacy to the widely acknowledged fraudulent election in Nigeria can be demoralising to citizens who have hedged their bet on democracy and the sanctity of the ballot,’’ Atiku said on his Twitter handle on Wednesday. However, Obi charged the US to await the full resolution of the ongoing judicial processes before tacitly conferring legitimacy on any contending party. He said, “There is still a lack of clarity on the basis of the US Secretary of State, Antony J. Blinken’s call to APC’s presidential candidate, Bola Ahmed Tinubu on May 16, 2023. “It is thus of overarching importance that a beacon of democracy like the United States should not respond to political developments in Nigeria in a manner that faintly suggests taking sides. “The final determination of the true winner of the election can only be made by the relevant courts of law,” he added. “The most fundamental tenet and core value of democracy is the rule of law. “Nigeria’s democracy is founded on these principles which the American people hold dear. Without the risk of interfering in Nigeria’s domestic affairs, the U.S.-Nigeria relationship should be guided by the core values of democracy. “Above all, Nigerians expect that the US responses to our affairs should be based on mutual respect, shared ideals, aspirations and interests which ought to transcend the considerations of any individual,” Obi wrote. The former Anambra governor added that the “willful manipulation and falsification of the will of Nigerians as freely expressed during the February 25 elections cannot be overlooked by the true friends and partners of Nigeria.” Read the full article

[empyreumata]

36 Questions for Increasing Closeness

Instructions – Take turns asking one another the questions; each person should answer each question, but in an alternating order, so that a different person goes first each time.

Set I

Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

Would you like to be famous? In what way?

Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?

When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?

Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.

For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.

If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

Set II

If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?

Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?

What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

What do you value most in a friendship?

What is your most treasured memory?

What is your most terrible memory?

If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?

What does friendship mean to you?

What roles do love and affection play in your life?

Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.

How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?

How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?

Set III

Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling…”

Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share…”

If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for them to know.

Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.

Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.

When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?

Tell your partner something that you like about them [already].

What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?

If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?

Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?

Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?

Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how they might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.

Final task / suggestion – Stare into each other’s eyes for four minutes.

 — — — Aron, A., Melinat, E., Aron, E. N., Vallone, R. D., & Bator, R. J. (1997). The experimental generation of interpersonal closeness: A procedure and some preliminary findings. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 23(4), 363-377. 

[x3rrorx]

Honestly good on Noah for setting up that boundary and saying how creeptastic it is to post pictures or look up his personal information *cough cough C* and brag about it online. Everything he stated is 1000% true. If it was a female artist and he or any man were doing that they'd be considered a stalker basement dweller who would need to hire security at all times.

I'm really glad that he's closing himself off to the public to protect his sanity and safety. It's bad enough someone already found out where he lived once and they all had to move. I would hate for that to happen again. Ya know since everyone in that group thinks they're Ace Detectives they probably already know his new home address and new telephone number. Can just picture J sitting outside their house in her rented van wrapped in her Noah blanket and skull slides from Shein.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

in this moment now

post-Redux II | rated G | 2k words | MSR fluff and first kiss | for @fortes-fortuna-iogurtum <3 | AO3 | tagging @today-in-fic thanks!!!

Scully spends the first two weeks of her medical leave at her mother’s house with instructions not to push herself and a bottle of medication for the migraines that haven’t fully gone away yet; the implication in the doctor’s words and the way Maggie looks at her is a warning not to try and return to work too soon while she’s only barely in remission yet. She thinks she’s doing a decent job of proving the saying about doctors making awful patients wrong, but maybe it’s just the euphoria and relief of being alive that keeps her reasonably cheerful despite how badly she hates her own weakness. The implications of her miraculous healing still weigh on her, and she knows Mulder hasn’t stopped thinking about it either, but those concerns are outweighed by the relief she sees in herself and him and on her mother’s face.

Maggie is away for the afternoon and Scully has an appointment with her oncologist, and doctor’s orders to take it easy aside, she doesn’t want to go alone. It’s not out of fear. She has been given a second chance at life, in a way her mom continues to call sacramental, and she has to admit that she feels the same. She is alive. She is not dying. Chip or no chip, it’s impossible to explain without grace. She isn’t afraid, trusts in her own healing and the words of doctors far more blunt with her than most patients, but the thought of stepping back into those halls alone gives her pause.

It’s not something she thinks about too hard, because she’s already called Mulder and asked if he would drive her — she’s not sure she feels up to diving herself yet, she says, which is true, if not the entirety of it, and his eager acceptance comes nearly before she finishes speaking. She can almost hear his uncertain smile through the telephone line. He calls her “Dana,” once, right before they hang up — I’ll see you tomorrow, Dana — and Scully smiles to herself. It’s been a long time since he’s used her first name.

It feels like testing the waters, like something has changed and they both know it. Mulder has always used her given name sparingly, out of respect that she’d never gotten from previous partners, then, later, like it was somehow something to be treasured. He’s been around several times since she was released from the hospital, they’ve talked on the phone quite a lot, maybe just to hear each others’ voice — for once, Scully has called him just as much as he calls her. She can’t help watching the way is eyes light up when he smiles at her and remembering the way he’s kissed her knuckles when they thought she was going to die

It’s raining on the drive to the hospital, a soft November rain threatening to turn to sleet that has her opting for her thicker wool coat on the way out the door. Mulder chatters almost awkwardly about some local case he’s taken and she’s so content just to hear about it, listen to him talk, that she almost doesn’t realize he’s waiting for her to refute his theories. He looks over at her from the driver’s seat at a red light and his eyes go soft, the way they almost always do when he looks at her lately. She’s never seen anything so incredibly, almost shockingly tender, at least not directed at her. It stuns her, a little bit, as she stares back at him.

“I miss you,” he says suddenly, and it startles her. “Having you around all the time, I mean,” he clarifies before she can reply that she’s right here, in the car beside him, just like she always is.

“I’m here now.”

He tries to hide his grin, the way he used to when they were first working together and didn’t know if it was safe to share their joys. “Yeah,” he replies. “You are.”

Scully has the sudden urge to reach across the console and take his hand, he states even though there’s nothing to lose. They’ve held hands dozens of times, often for comfort or support during a difficult case, on rare, unspoken of occasions just for the sake of the contact. She doesn’t look at him when she reaches out, stays staring thoughtfully out the windshield, and he doesn’t look at her either, but he reaches back and their hands brush against each other with only a moment’s pause before he returns her grip. She hadn’t even realized her hands were cold.

He walks with her into the hospital and is waiting for her in the lobby when she leaves her exam, both of their coats folded over one arm. “Everything okay?” he asks, glancing over her face and holding out her coat. She nods and takes it, slips it around her shoulders and finds herself relaxing into the familiarity of Mulder’s concern and his hand at her back.

Scully looks at him over the top of the car in the parking lot. The rain has stopped, but the pavement is still wet and she can smell the drying dampness in the air. It’s reassuring, somehow, the mundane normalcy of the dreary afternoon. “Everything’s normal,” she says, meaning her oncologist’s tests and report; she realizes as she says it how wrong the words are when applies to the larger reality of circumstances, but neither of them comments on it.

Mulder’s face lights up, like he’d been worried — and of course he had, it’s Mulder, and she’s never seen him more broken than he’d been at her bedside a couple weeks ago; she’d never seen him as close to reverent as when she’d told him the cancer was in remission. Of course he’s still worried. Scully tips her head to watch him watch her, just for a moment. It’s only a few seconds, just long enough to be noticeable, but he’s staring at her again the way she’d first noticed him doing after she’d been abducted, with a kind of overwhelming joy. He looks like he’s half a second from turning into a lovestruck schoolboy and she wonders suddenly if he’d ask her to dance right here and now, in the middle of the wet hospital parking lot.

Then he blinks, and flashes a smile, and just says, “Good,” before ducking to get into the car.

Scully follows, suddenly more aware of herself than she’s been around Mulder in a very long time. She’s never felt self-conscious around him for long, except for a few times on their first case together, before they even really knew each other, and that had worn off quickly. Now, though, she’s far too conscious of the way he looks at her sometimes; all too aware of her own desires, when she’d been dying in that hospital bed and before and since. She doesn’t take his hand again on the drive back, keeps her fingers woven together in her lap and only looks over at Mulder when he’s not looking at her — back and forth, like if they made eye contact something would need to be said, and neither of them knows how to say it.

The one time their eyes do meet, right as they’re pulling into her mom’s driveway, Scully is the first to look away again. “Thank you for coming with me,” she says, reaching for the door handle. Maggie’s car isn’t parked, and she’s a little glad that she isn’t back yet. She has a sudden whim to invite Mulder to stay a little longer, wonders what he would say if she did.

“Anytime,” he replies. “Here, I’ll walk you up.” He steps out of the car along with her, just for a second brushing his hand against her shoulder as she comes around the front. She’s used to that by now, knows the way he constantly tries to touch her — knows, by his own sheepish confession while she was still bedridden in the hospital, that he does it more now to remind himself that she’s still here; after that admission, she’d nearly cried — but her heartrate picks up just a little nonetheless.

She turns her key in the lock and turns halfway to face him. He smiles again, that soft, hesitant upturning of his lips that’s always endeared her. “Goodnight, Scully,” he says and begins to step down the stairs.

She hesitates, suddenly, at the fact that he’s leaving. “Mulder,” she calls, and he stops and looks at her curiously. She reaches out, brushes her hand against his arm, and as if on instinct he takes it. His hand wraps around hers, the touch endlessly familiar. She intertwines their fingers, looks down at their linked hands as her breath catches.

“Scully?” His voice is quiet in the fading evening light as he leans down toward her. Even with him a step below her, she’s still a few inches shorter.

He watches her with bemusement tinged with a small amount of concern, and she offers a small smile. Mulder matches it, his eyes searching over her face almost nervously, but she isn’t afraid. She reaches out with the hand not tangled in his and finds herself gripping the front of his coat as she leans forward and gently, carefully, presses her lips to his. She feels his gasp of surprise before he kisses her back, leaning into the contact almost reverently.

She’s thought about this before; there have been moments when she thought he was going to kiss her and she would let him, times she’s considered stepping out and brushing her lips against his. She’s never acted on it, though, out of hesitation or regret — she’d wanted him to kiss her when she was dying, but she couldn’t do that to him, let him love her and then leave him alone. Thinking about it still makes something inside her twist painfully. She kisses him softly at first, and then more sure, and he slips his free hand into her hair, his thumb brushing her jaw.

When they finally pull apart and she looks up at Mulder again, cheeks flushed from more than the humid evening breeze, his eyes are still closed. It takes him a few seconds to blink them open, his gaze full of wondered shock.

“Scully…” He breathes her name, staring at her like she’s the only other person in the world, like he can’t find any other words. She’s still gripping his jacket, their faces only inches apart. In the shadow of the fading afternoon light, she can see the slowly growing, huge grin on Mulder’s face. She thinks she’s shaking, from adrenaline or giddiness; she thinks she never wants to let this moment go. She never wants to let him go.

His hand is still warmly resting against the back of her neck, fingers threading through the fine har at her nape and brushing against the scar where the chip is, and her only addendum to her own thoughts is: she also never wants him to let her go. He looks like he’s about to lean down and kiss her again, a lopsided, dorky smile on his face because there’s no point in words right now. That will come in time. Tires crunch on pavement, though, and they both stiffen, eyes wide.

The car passes by and Scully relaxes again, feeling Mulder do the same, and she finds herself leaning against him and laughing breathlessly into the damp air. “My mom is going to be home soon,”she says, as if it’s a warning for both of them.

“I should go,” Mulder immediately replies, voice still a little shaky, but she stops him, doesn’t let him get more than an arm’s length away. He stills, the uneven flush of his face giving him an air of boyishness despite despite the tiredness that always hides in his eyes.

Scully bites her lip. “You could stay,” she offers, because she knows with sudden absolute certainty that her mother already has her suspicions about them. One look at her will give it all away, anyway, the way Maggie knows her children, and she doesn’t want to let him leave yet.

Mulder blinks at her, head tipped to the side, and that same small, goofy lovestruck grin appears on his lips again. He steps closer and doesn’t let go of her hand. “Okay,” he says, hesitantly. “I think I will.”

[arc-misadventures]

Could you make some angst related to your last jaune x pyrrha post? Somethink like this maybe: Jaune has a talk with his team and rwby and maybe the say that they are his friends but he counters with his describtion of them from previous post. What them and him would do is up to you. But jaune could either leave to be solo hunter or stay because pyrrha would want that or something

A sequel to, A Friend? And a request for some angst at that; brave or foolish fellow aren’t you? Well, since this is my first ask, i feel obligated to do so. Do enjoy.

///

Friend’s II

Ruby: Hey, Jaune!

Jaune: Oh hey, Ruby. Need something?

Ruby: I wanted to ask why you never showed up!

Jaune: Showed up for what?

Ruby: We all went out to eat dinner yesterday, why didn’t you show up?

Jaune: Cause no one told me?

Ruby: What, impossible! Yang told you… right…?

Jaune: Did I show up?

Ruby: N-No… give me a moment! Yang… Yang!

Yang: Hey, Rubes! Oh, hey Jaune, what’s up?

Ruby: Did you forget to invite Jaune to dinner yesterday?

Yang: I thought Blake was supposed to invite him?

Ruby: What?! I thought it was you?!

Yang: No, pretty sure it was Blake… One moment… Hey Blakey! Come over here!

Blake: You need something?

Ruby: Did you forget to invite Jaune to dinner yesterday?!

Blake: What, I thought that was, Weiss’s job to do?

Yang: What?! Weiss! Weiss get your little butt over here!

Weiss: Yang! Stop making such uncouth comments about my…! Oh hi, Jaune. Where were you yesterday, you didn’t show up for dinner?

Jaune: Lost in a game of telephone, it appears…

Weiss: Beg pardon?

Jaune: Ruby says Yang was supposed to invite me, who says Blake was supposed to invite me, who says you were supposed to invite me. To which I guess, you thought Ruby was supposed to invite me?

Weiss: N-No… I thought you already knew…

Jaune: Well, I never showed up in the first place, so, does it appear that I knew anything?

Ruby: … Sorry…

Jaune: Haa… why did you even need to tell me in person? You’ve got my scroll number, Ruby, why not just text me?

Ruby: Uhh… I just forgot…?

Jaune: You… forgot… Well that’s just typical…

Yang: To be fair, Jaune, I forgot I could have texted you as well, sorry…

Jaune: Wait, hold up! You have my number?

Yang: Yeah I do, didn’t you know?

Jaune: How was I supposed to know? You’ve never called or texted me before about anything.

Yang: Whoops…

Jaune: Yeah, ‘whoops…’

Weiss: We need to work on our communication skills…

Blake: Ya think?

Yang: Don’t worry, we can fix this, right Team RWBY!

Ruby: We won’t ever leave a friend behind!

RWBY: Yeah!

Ruby: Don’t worry, Jaune! We’ll fix this, just you wait!

Jaune: Ruby… do honestly think we’re friends? Any of us for that matter?

Ruby: What are you talking about, of course we’re friends!

Jaune: I don’t think so.

Yang: Hold up, you don’t think we’re friends?

Jaune: No, I do not.

Weiss: W-What?! Where is this coming from?!

Jaune: Other than when we’re working, when have any of you ever spoken to me? Have you ever come to me just hang out, not ask for my help with something. Never even say hello?!

Ruby: W-Well… uhh…

Yang: That’s not true! We are you friend, Jaune!

Jaune: Really? Am I really Jaune, or am I, ‘Vomit Boy’ to you? Cause, you’ve rarely called me by my name before, always by a damn nickname!

Yang: That’s not true!

Jaune: Not entirely, you often call me, ‘Lover Boy’ as well. I don’t consider those names affectionately, Yang. Since everytime you’ve called me by one, is some sort of demeaning manner.

Yang: I was just teasing you, I wasn’t bullying you!

Jaune: I’ve had 16 years of dealing with seven sisters constantly ‘teasing’ me, Yang. The line between teasing and bullying is very thin and very blurry.

Ruby: J-Jaune, calm down, it’s just a nickname.

Jaune: A nickname that you gave me! I throw up once and its Vomit Boy for life. And don’t you say that’s not true! I know you have me as, Vomit Boy under your list of contacts!

Ruby: Eep!

Blake: Least I never called you that…

Jaune: Blake, have we ever spoken, just the two of us, one on one? Because as far as I remember, there’s always been someone else with us. Even then we barely talk; I bet you don’t even know my name, I’m just ‘Blond Human # 2, to you, aren’t I?

Blake: That’s not true and you know it!

Jaune I just argued against it! Do you even listen to me?!

Yang: Shut up; you’re making it worse!

Weiss: Jaune… what about me? How do you think I see you…

Jaune: Are you sure you want to know?

Weiss: Tell me.

Jaune: Ha… I think you don’t like me, or don’t care about me… I understand why you wouldn’t… after every thing that I did to you at Beacon… I can under why you’d not like me… It’s just… ‘Tall, blond, and scraggly…’

Weiss: That throw away line I called you before we first met…?

Jaune: Yeah… I honestly thought that was a compliment… Looking back I now realize it was anything but a compliment. It was just… I felt like you might like me and because of that, I thought I had a chance. A chance to have something, something more than what I had, nothing… And all I had was snowflakes chance in hell; You being the Snowflake, and my life being hell…

Weiss: Jaune… Jaune I’m so…!

Jaune: Don’t! Don’t apologize, Weiss… I don’t deserve it, nor want it…

Ruby: Jaune… Why didn’t you tell us this! We could have… We could have done something!

Jaune: But would have you done it because you wanted to, or because you felt like you had to?

Ruby: …

Jaune: Yeah… that’s what I thought too…

Yang: If…! If you thought about all of that, then why! Why are you still here! Why not leave and go where ever you damn well please!

Blake: Yang, calm down!

Jaune: Let her have it, Blake. It’s understandable for her, or the rest of you to be mad… As for why I’m still here… I’m here for two reasons.

Weiss: Those being?

Jaune: Ren and Nora; I’m still they’re team leader, and I’m here for them. Even if they’re not here for me. Feels like I lost them, they’re too caught up in their own little world to…

Ruby: And the other reason?

Jaune: Cinder, I’m here for, Cinder. I want that bitch in the ground for everything she’s done… even if I die in the process, so long as she’s dead, I’m content with that…

Ruby: You want to die?!

Weiss: Jaune, do you even hear yourself?!

Jaune: Of course I do, no one else seems to.

Yang: But… but that’s crazy?!

Jaune: I know… I’m just tired, tired of everything, I just want to leave this world behind and forget it all. Besides, maybe I’ll get to see her again if I do…

Ruby: Jaune… no… please no…

Jaune: Can’t do that, Ruby… I can’t do it for myself, what makes I can stop it, even for you…

Ruby: Jaune… I always thought… I will always think that we are friends! Always!

Jaune: It’s a pity then, Ruby, because I can’t feel the same way… I’ll… I’ll be going, maybe I’ll see you all later…

Ruby: No… no, no, no…

Blake: Am I really a bad friend…?

Yang: Do you really want me to answer that?

Weiss: Give me Jaune’s number.

Yang: What?

Weiss: Give me Jaune’s scroll number!

Yang: Why?

Weiss: He saved my life… now its my turn to save his!

Ruby: No, now its our turn to save him!

Yang: Ruby, you know this is the reason he never told us, so we didn’t feel like we had to do something.

Blake: I know, be we want to do this.

Ruby: Even if we never showed him, he is our friend! You in Yang?!

Yang: Ha… Hell yes I am!

Ruby: Alright then, lets get Ren and Nora and tell Jaune how much of a great friend he is! You ready team, RWBY!

WBY: Yeah!

Ruby: Then lets get going!

///

Okay… this got rather long. But it felt right to do so.

Feel free to ask me questions! But don’t expect something this big again every time. Because it takes too long to colour code everything…

Do enjoy!

[gladiates]

175+ non-Western literature recommendations to diversify your academia, organized by continent + country

I love world literature, and I’ve been frustrated by the lack of representation of it in literature + academia communities on tumblr, so here are some recommendations. I haven’t read all of these myself yet, but the ones I have are excellent and the ones I haven’t come highly recommended from Goodreads and are on my to-read list! 

With the exception of anthologies of older works, all of these books were written before 2000 (some literally thousands of years earlier), since I’m less familiar with super contemporary literature. Also, I only included each writer once, though many of them have multiple amazing books. I’m sure there are plenty of incredible books I’m missing, so please feel free to add on to this list! And countries that aren’t included absolutely have a lot to offer as well--usually, it was just hard to find books available in English translation (which all of the ones below are.)

List below the cut (it’s my first post with a cut so let’s hope I do it right... and also warning that it’s super long)

ASIA:

Bangladesh:

Pather Panchali by Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay (1929)

China:

Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu (6th century BCE)

The Art of War by Sun Tzu (5th century BCE)

The Analects by Confucius (circa 5th-4th century BCE?)

The Book of Chuang Tzu by Zhuangzi (4th century BCE)

Mencius by Mencius (3rd century BCE)

The Songs of the South: An Anthology of Ancient Chinese Poems by Qu Yuan and Other Poets (2nd century AD)

Li Po and Tu Fu: Poems by Li Po and Tu Fu (written 8th century AD)

Poems of Wang Wei (8th century AD)

Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Luo Guanzhong (14th century AD)

Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio by Pu Songling (1740)

Dream of the Red Chamber by Xueqin Cao (1791)

Six Records of a Floating Life by Shen Fu (1809)

Diary of a Madman and Other Stories by Lu Xun (1918)

Mr Ma and Son by Lao She (1929)

Family by Ba Jin (1933)

Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang (1943)

A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy by Wing-Tsit Chan (1963)

Red Sorghum by Mo Yan (1987)

Soul Mountain by Gao Xingjian (1989)

The Big Red Book of Modern Chinese Literature edited by Yunte Huang (anthology, 2016)

India:

The Rig Vega (1500-1200 BCE)

The Mahabharata and the Bhagavad Gita (around 400 BCE but not known exactly. The Gita is part of the Mahabharata)

The Upanishads (REALLY wide date range)

The Dhammapada (3rd century BCE)

The Fundamental Wisdom of the Middle Way by Nāgārjuna (2nd century AD)

The Recognition of Sakuntala by Kālidāsa (4th century AD)

The Way of the Bodhisattva by Santideva (700 AD)

Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore (1910)

Annihilation of Caste by B.R. Ambedkar (1936)

The Discovery of India by Jawaharlal Nehru (1946)

Train to Pakistan by Khushwant Singh (1956) 

A Source Book in Indian Philosophy by Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan and Charles Alexander Moore (1957)

Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie (1981)

A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth (1993)

Women Writing in India: 600 BC to the Present V: The Twentieth Century by Susie J. Tharu and K. Lalita (1993)

A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry (1995)

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy (1996)

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri (1999)

Indian Philosophy in English: From Renaissance to Independence (anthology, 2011)

Indonesia:

The Weaverbirds by Y.B. Mangunwijaya (1981)

Iran:

Shahnameh: The Persian Book of Kings by Abolqasem Ferdowsi (11th century AD)

The Essential Rumi by Rumi (13th century AD)

The Blind Owl by Sadegh Hedayat (1936)

Savushun by Simin Daneshvar (1969)

My Uncle Napoleon by Iran Pezeshkzad (1973)

Missing Soluch by Mahmoud Dowlatabadi (1979)

Iraq:

Fifteen Iraqi Poets edited by Dunya Mikhail (published 2013 but the poems are 20th century)

Japan:

The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu (9th-10th century AD)

The Pillow Book by Sei Shōnagon (1002 AD)

The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu (1008 AD)

The Tale of the Heike, unknown (12th century AD)

One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each: A Treasury of Classical Japanese Verse (not sure of year)

Essays in Idleness by Yoshida Kenkō (1332)

Kokoro by Natsume Sōseki (1914)

No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai (1948)

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata (1948)

The Makioka Sisters by Jun'ichirō Tanizaki (1948)

Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima (1949)

Masks by Fumiko Enchi (1958)

The Woman in the Dunes by Kōbō Abe (1962)

A Personal Matter by Kenzaburō Ōe (1964)

Silence by Shūsaku Endō (1966)

Korea (written before the division into North/South):

The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyong (written 1795-1805)

Lebanon:

Samarkand by Amin Maalouf (1988)

Gate of the Sun by Elias Khoury (1998)

Pakistan:

We Sinful Women: Contemporary Urdu Feminist Poetry (1991)

The Rebel's Silhouette: Selected Poems by Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1991)

The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry edited by Raza Mir (2014)

Palestine:

Men in the Sun and Other Palestinian Stories by Ghassan Kanafani (1963)

Orientalism by Edward Said (1978)

I Saw Ramallah by Mourid Barghouti (1997)

Mural by Mahmoud Darwish (2000, which technically breaks my rule by a year but it’s great)

Philippines:

Noli Me Tángere by José Rizal (1887)

Saudi Arabia:

Cities of Salt by Abdul Rahman Munif (1984)

Sri Lanka:

Funny Boy by Shyam Selvadurai (1994)

Syria:

Damascus Nights by Rafik Schami (1989)

Taiwan:

Last Words from Montmartre by Qiu Miaojin (1996)

Turkey:

My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk (1998)

Vietnam:

Spring Essence: The Poetry of Hô Xuân Huong by Hô Xuân Huong (1801)

The Tale of Kieu by Nguyen Du (1820)

Paradise of the Blind by Duong Thu Huong (1988)

Miscellaneous Asia (country unclear or multiple current day countries):

The Epic of Gilgamesh (circa 1800 BCE)

Myths from Mesopotamia translated by Stephanie Dailey

The Arabian Nights (as early as the 9th century AD, lots of changes over the years)

The Qur’an

AFRICA:

Algeria:

Fantasia: An Algerian Cavalcade by Assia Djebar (1985)

The Bridges of Constantine by Ahlam Mosteghanemi (1993)

Cameroon:

Houseboy by Ferdinand Oyono (1956)

Egypt:

The Tale of Sinuhe and Other Ancient Egyptian Poems 1940 - 1640 B.C. translated by R.B. Parkinson

Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz (1956)

The Sinners by Yusuf Idris (1959)

Woman at Point Zero by Nawal El Saadawi (1975)

The Map of Love by Ahdaf Soueif (1999)

Ghana:

Our Sister Killjoy by Ama Ata Aidoo (1977)

Two Thousand Seasons by Ayi Kwei Armah (1979)

In My Father’s House: Africa in the Philosophy of Culture by Kwame Anthony Appiah (1992)

Guinea:

The Radiance of the King by Camara Laye (1954)

Kenya:

A Grain of Wheat by Ngugi wa Thing'o (1994)

The River and the Source by Margaret A. Ogola (1995)

Libya:

The Bleeding of the Stone by Ibrahim al-Koni (1990)

Mali:

The Fortunes of Wangrin by Amadou Hampâté Bâ (1973)

Nigeria:

The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola (1952)  

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (1958)

Efuru by Flora Nwapa (1966)

The Joys of Motherhood by Buchi Emecheta (1979)

Aké: The Years of Childhood by Wole Soyinka (1981)

Sozaboy: A Novel in Rotten English by Ken Saro-Wiwa (1985)

The Famished Road by Ben Okri (1991)

Senegal:

God’s Bits of Wood by Ousmane Sembène (1960)

So Long a Letter by Mariama Bâ (1981)

Somalia:

Maps by Nuruddin Farah (1986)

South Africa:

When Rain Clouds Gather by Bessie Head (1969)

Fools and Other Stories by Njabulo S. Ndebele (1986)

Sudan:

Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih (1966)

Tunisia:

The Colonizer and the Colonized by Albert Memmi (1957)

Zimbabwe:

The House of Hunger by Dambudzo Marechera (1978)

Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga (1988)

Miscellaneous Africa:

The Granta Book of the African Short Story edited by Helon Habila (2011)

The Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry edited by Gerald Moore and Ulli Beier (1963)

AMERICAS:

Antigua and Barbuda:

A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid (1988)

Argentina:

Ficciones by Jorge Luis Borges (1944)

Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar (1963)

The Museum of Eterna’s Novel (The First Good Novel) by Macedonio Fernández (1967)

Kiss of the Spider Woman by Manuel Puig (1976)

The Sixty-Five Years of Washington by Juan José Saer (1985)

How I Became a Nun by César Aira (1993)

Thus Were Their Faces by Silvina Ocampo (2015 but written earlier)

Brazil:

Dom Casmurro by Machado de Assis (1900)

Chronicle of the Murdered House by Lúcio Cardoso (1959)

Dona Flor and her Two Husbands by Jorge Amado (1966)

Pedagagy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire (1968)

The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector (1977)

Vast Emotions and Imperfect Thoughts by Rubem Fonseca (1988)

Chile:

The Obscene Bird of Night by José Donoso (1970)

Emergency Poems by Nicanor Parra (1972)

The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende (1982)

Colombia:

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez (1967)

Cuba:

The Kingdom of This World by Alejo Carpentier (1949)

Cold Tales by Virgilio Piñera (1958)

Dominican Republic:

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez (1994)

Guatemala:

Men of Maize by Miguel Ángel Asturias (1949)

I, Rigoberta Menchú by Rigoberta Menchú (1985)

Guadalupe (part of France but overseas):

I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem by Maryse Condé (1986)

Haiti:

Breath, Eyes, Memory by Edwige Danticat (1994)

Jamaica:

No Telephone to Heaven by Michelle Cliff (1987)

The True History of Paradise by Margaret Cezair-Thompson (1999)

Martinique (part of France but overseas):

Discourse on Colonialism by Aimé Césaire (1950)

Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon (1961)

Poetics of Relation by Édouard Glissant (1997)

Mexico:

Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo (1955)

Aura by Carlos Fuentes (1962)

The Hole by José Revueltas (1969)

Underground River and Other Stories by Inés Arredondo (1979)

The Collected Poems, 1957-1987 by Octavio Paz (1987)

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel (1989)

Nicaragua:

Azul by Rubén Darío (1888)

Peru:

The Cardboard House by Martín Adán (1928)

The Time of the Hero by Mario Vargas Llosa (1962)

The Complete Poems by César Vallejo (1968)

St. Lucia:

Omeros by Derek Walcott (1990)

Trinidad and Tobago:

The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L'Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution by C.L.R. James (1938)

A House for Mr. Biswas by V.S. Naipaul (1961)

Uruguay:

Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano (1971)

Venezuela:

Doña Bárbara by Rómulo Gallegos (1929)

Indigenous Writers from Canada and the United States:

American Indian Stories by Zitkála-Šá (Dakota) (1921)

Winter in the Blood by James Welch (Blackfeet and A’aninin) (1974)

Emplumada by Lorna Dee Cervantes (Chumash) (1982)

She Had Some Horses by Joy Harjo (Mvskoke) (1982) 

Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich (Chippewa) (1984)

Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko (Laguna Pueblo) (1986)

Custer Died for Your Sins by Vine Deloria Jr. (Dakota) (1988)

The Grass Dancer by Susan Power (Dakota) (1997)

Miscellaneous Americas:

And We Sold the Rain: Contemporary Fiction from Central America edited by Rosario Santos (1988)

Short Stories by Latin American Women: The Magic and the Real edited by Celia Correas de Zapata (2003)

Bordering Fires: The Vintage Book of Contemporary Mexican and Chicana and Chicano Literature edited by Cristina García (2006)

[kojoty]

TAKE THE ENGINE, KIM. I'LL HOLD THE BOOMBOX.

A Harry du Bois-Inspired Playlist. TRACKLIST;

Deacon Blues; Steely Dan Losing My Mind; Alt-J Laughing; The Guess Who Captain; Ween Wino Junko; Wings The Smallest Church in Sussex; Sea Power Let's Stay Together; Al Green Tenderness; Parquet Court Summer in the City; The Lovin' Spoonful I Wanna Be Yours; John Cooper Clarke More than a Woman; Bee Gees Tried and True; Ween Dear Angie; Badfinger Suddenly; Drugdealer, Weyes Blood Arrow Through Me; Wings Only a Fool Would Say That; Steely Dan Telephone Line; Electric Light Orchestra Chasing the Past; The Zombies Bridge Over Troubled Water; Linda Clifford Drive My Car; Gary Toms Empire Run That Body Down; Paul Simon Holes in my Back; Dr. Dog Can You Get To That; Funkadelic Happens to the Heart; Leonard Cohen Want To Be Free; Sea Power