#and then half of trash island. complete nonsense

[fleouriarts]

day in the life of Some Fuckin Guy

[sith-shenanigans]

🎩 and 🦑 for Amias!

🎩 — What would an Exceptional Story featuring this character be about?

The Sinking City

Following a series of mysterious notes, you find yourself on the trail of the Calescent Inquisitive—a former detective enmeshed in deeper mysteries. Their traces lead across the Unterzee to an island that rises only once every century, where a lost treasure of a previous city is said to be found. The Inquisitive believes the treasure may instead be a message… and to decode it, you’ll need to reconstruct the scene of the island’s fall.

Just be quick—hour by hour, the island is sinking deeper, and the secret at its heart is still hungry.

Unique options with:

• Set of Cosmogone Spectacles

• Artisan Studies

• Scholar of the Correspondence 15+

I imagine this starts out as a fairly “normal” mystery where you puzzle out a rash of Correspondence sigils that have been scrawled around the city. They seem like random nonsense, at first—all in the same hand, but not a comprehensible sentence. Further investigation (a character with a high enough SotC can figure it out on their own with a Shadowy + SotC check; everyone else has a more expensive option going to the Great Game, Criminals, or Revolutionaries for help) maps them to an approximation of a known code: the writer went to a specific set of coordinates at a specific time to seek something valuable and ancient, and should have been back this morning, whereupon they would have cleaned up the message.

Evidently, they haven’t done that. Evidently, they were hoping someone of a specific skillset would come after them. Whether that’s you or not, you did figure it out. Out of greed or curiosity or rare altruism, you follow—finding a navigator already hired to assist someone who shows the right sigil. (If you don’t have a ship of your own, you find a captain chartered as well. If you do, the navigator accompanies you.)

When you get there, you find that the island—which holds the ruins of the ancient city—is already partly sunk again, and there’s no sign of the Inquisitive’s ship. You search for the Inquisitive themself for a little while; when you find them, they explained that their crew abandoned them after part of the expedition was attacked by a ‘monster.’ They confess that they had expected the crew to wait on the ship, rather than leaving entirely, but isn’t that just how it goes?

Investigation ensues, but after a bit of work, it becomes clear that all paths to the ancient city’s heart have been collapsed. A Silverer can suggest searching out an alternative route; otherwise, the Inquisitive does. A Silverer also takes the lead once the pair of you get to Parabola, making Glasswork checks to find your way through a jumbled, shifting version of the city as it was. Everyone else has to fumble their way through alongside the Inquisitive, whose pleasant demeanor is getting increasingly strained. Basic stat checks there.

It turns out that the message hasn’t been written, yet, in this memory-city, and the way out you need is behind doors that won’t open until the appointed moment. Time to investigate the past and present versions of the city to figure out what happened and make its Parabolan reflection progress towards the point of disaster! This is half archaeology and half detective work, basically. There’s an ominous counter tracking the city’s sinking. Every time it increments, something increasingly troublesome happens, escalating to “monster tentacles attack.” The Inquisitive is getting exceptionally concerned, though they keep grinning (if it can be called a grin) and making gallows-humor jokes.

Shortly after the attack, you complete your goal, opening the way in Parabola… at which point everything in the reflection-city goes predictably wrong. Something terrible has risen from the sea, as if from below the island itself. Tentacles show up everywhere, trashing the place. You’re forced to flee into the central building and escape through the mirror, into the real version of the central building—which is now underground, below the water line, and enough has already leaked in to put you waist-deep.

There is where you find the message, left by a small outpost a long time ago. The Inquisitive manages to translate it, or at least the gist: this place isn’t an island at all. It’s a creature, something like a cross between a squid and an enormous turtle, and it was supposed to be an evacuation plan. They tried to change and control it with the Red Science as they practiced it, and it went terribly wrong—their efforts woke it up and drove it into a frenzy. It only wakes very rarely, now, and feeds on the deep-zee creatures that come to graze on its shoals before sinking down and finding another place to rest. But it doesn’t like intruders.

Without Artisan Studies, you get three options:

Convince the Inquisitive to leave it in peace

You put a hand on their shoulder. This creature has suffered enough—better to focus on finding a way out of its shell, and spread the word that there was no treasure to find. The secrets of its creation can remain with it.

This is a Magnanimous choice.

Help the Inquisitive control and study the creature

There are Correspondence sigils on the walls. With a few alterations, it might be persuaded to stay at the surface of the zee, at least long enough to uncover its secrets. Perhaps longer. Perhaps its original purpose could still be served.

This is a Ruthless choice.

Find a way to kill the island permanently

You’ll have to escape quickly. But its lethargy and aggression suggest it’s in pain. Perhaps some secrets are best taken to the grave.

This is a Melancholy choice.

With Artisan Studies, a fourth option becomes available:

Undo what once was done

Between you and the Inquisitive, you know enough about the Red Science to grasp what went wrong. More importantly, you might know enough to grasp how to fix it. Keep the island floating a little longer, yes—but then turn your attention toward its comfort. It will be difficult work. But you can save it, and learn its secrets in the process.

This is a Subtle choice.

If you take the option to leave the island how it is, or if you kill it (which the Inquisitive does not help you with), you have a “find a way out now” sequence, and flee through a rapidly filling passage that eventually leads down underwater. There’s a narrow escape where you have to swim for it; the island is almost submerged by then, but at the last moment, the ship you took here throws you a rope, and you manage to haul yourselves back onto the deck (or cling to it long enough to be hauled, if you fail a Dangerous check and take Wounds).

If you control or save the creature, you find out that it’s something like a turtle-squid, and there’s a triumphant (or “triumphant”) moment where you crest the waters once again. It collapsed the passages, so you either force it to clear them back out, or it does so out of gratitude when you’ve put it back in its right mind.

Then the denouement! If you took the Magnanimous or Melancholy choice, you get this:

The Deck of Your Vessel

A bit after you’ve recovered from your impromptu flight, you find the Calescent Inquisitive leaning against the rail, a half-empty mug in one hand. It smells like cheap wine from the hold. Their eyes flick to you immediately, and they give you a wan smile. “There you are. I was wondering.”

If you left the island alone:

“It’s a shame,” they continue, “coming all this way for nothing. We could have learned so much. But it must be for the best.” They take a sip from their mug, and grimace. “I always did let my morals override my good sense.”

They sigh, and slide a glance in your direction. “But I don’t know if they would have, without you there to remind me. Thank you—for saving my life, of course.” The Inquisitive lifts the mug in an ironic toast. “I’ll decide later whether to thank you for the rest of it.”

If you killed the creature:

“I suppose you had your reasons,” they add, “for doing what you did. No, don’t tell me.” They take a sip from their mug, and grimace. “I can guess. You didn’t want me to have those secrets—for its sake, or for mine. Or you simply didn’t want it to suffer.”

A sigh. “I have to respect you for it. I couldn’t have done what you did. It was unique, and carried secrets I couldn’t imagine.” Eyes closed, they take another sip. The glance they slant you is dark and flinty. “Be glad you saved my life. Respecting your decision doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

If you took the Ruthless or Subtle option, you get this:

A Celebration in the Ruins

Provisions from your ship have been offloaded onto the remains of a large stone table. This was a grand hall, once; with only you and the Inquisitive, it seems comically large. Your crew will be joining you shortly, but for now, you’re alone.

The Inquisitive is in good spirits as you approach. They beckon you over to the seat beside them, favoring you with a thin smile. “There you are,” they say. “I was beginning to worry you’d been held up.”

If you took control of the island:

You exchange a few pleasantries, and then they shake their head and pour themself a drink. After a moment, they offer you one as well. “What we’ve done here…” Their eyes close, for a moment. “I don’t regret it. But we can’t take the island back to London.”

No, you suppose, you couldn’t. It would alarm the Admiralty and concern the Masters. Though some would consider it an amusing thought.

The Inquisitive, for example. Their lips have begun to tug into a smirk. “I say this stays our little secret. I hope you don’t mind returning to London ‘empty-handed.’ Just as soon as I know it will rise again on command…”

It will be slow going. But the pair of you will return to this project.

If you stayed to assist the creature:

They offer you a drink immediately, eyes alight with their obscure sort of joy. “Here,” they say, “is to the best research partner I’ve ever had. And to the strangest research.”

The Inquisitive toasts you with their own glass, and continues. “I remember when all this would have been unthinkable. When we were just a few scholars, groping for sigils in the dark. Now, we’ve put an end to a centuries-long mistake.” They shake their head. “I wonder what we’ll be doing in five years. Ten. Even fifteen, if London has them in her. I think I’m looking forward to finding out.”

In every version but the Melancholy one, you can end up spending the night with the Inquisitive, because they’re quite happy to spend the night with anyone interesting. But they’re just as happy to play chess, or cards.

If you took the Magnanimous, Ruthless, or Subtle choice, you get a Companion at the end:

Calescent Inquisitive

Their plans make people nervous. They prefer it that way. Maybe you do, too—you are, they remind you, employing them.

Artisan of the Red Science +2, Watchful +4, Dreaded +1, Increases Scandal build up.

If you took the Melancholy choice, you get a Home Comfort:

A Fist-Sized Piece of Coral-Shell

The Calescent Inquisitive salvaged this before your escape from the island-monster’s shell. They left you with it when you returned to London, saying they could barely look at it. The life has gone out of it, but it seems to bring your ship luck.

Zeefaring +1, Dangerous +5, Bizarre +1

🦑 — Would they kiss a Rubbery Man?

Would they ever. Firstly, they think it’s absolute rubbish that Rubbery Men are treated as any less of people than human Londoners; it’s just the same prejudices that exist on the Surface, repackaged for a new target. Secondly, they hit Hedonist 10 for a reason, and that reason is 90% “liaisons with anyone who seems particularly interesting.” If I hadn’t gone for the Partnership/Union, their second choice would have been the Boneless Consort. They’ve spent too long making themself palatable for other people to turn around and not feel at home with the least palatable parts of the Neath.

[fallen london asks]

[sodaliteskull]

A much-belated Writing Questions tag game from @thesorcerersapprentice, who you absolutely need to be checking out! Check out her own responses to these questions over here!

Sending no-pressure tags to @saintedseraph, @meerawrites, and @lorenfinch. This is also an open tag to everyone, so if this sounds like your jam, get in on it!

What is your absolute all-time favourite idea you’ve ever had?

Gender swapping my main character’s love interest in my Silent Island stories for the Island of Crows reboot. I was fully in the throes of comphet when I was working on the Silent Island, and so I felt like my character had to have an opposite sex love interest - after all, the others I was writing with were all writing opposite sex love interests for their own characters, so I guess I had to, too. And while I like the idea of a romance, as a wlw, I am not interested in the idea of romance with a guy, so despite having some interesting concepts I wanted to play with in regards to this romance between these two characters, I couldn’t bring myself to give a shit about them when it came time to put pen to page. But switching the love interest from being a man to a woman? Honey, I could not stop the words from flowing!

Is there a question you’ve been asked that really stands out to you and that you still think about sometimes?

HAH. “What kind of drugs/alcohol were you on when you came up with that idea?!” That question stands out because I HATE it! Ever since I was little, I’ve heard so many people say that about any kind of story that was a little bit off the wall. Frankenstein, Alice In Wonderland, Lord of the Rings, Dune, “cLeArLy NoNe Of ThOsE cOuLd Be WrItTeN sObEr!!!” Shut the fuck up! It gave me this weird mindset for the longest time that I wouldn’t be able to write an “interesting” story unless I did so under the influence. Because of this, I had so many half-baked ideas and half finished things that I thought I wouldn’t be able to complete until I was able to get inebriated? Like I somehow wouldn’t be able to unlock the “true potential” of them or something?! So I try drinking (tastes nasty, makes me feel wretched) and drugs (weed: tastes WORSE and makes me a total space case, shrooms: mildly better tasting but gets me way too hyper to focus on anything), and attempt to write while under the influence, and surprise! Everything I came up with was trash! Bad! Nonsensical, but in a stupid way, not a fun creative way! It turns out that the real way to improve your writing is to sit down and actually write, and not wait for what is essentially a magic potion to make you a better writer!

What is your favourite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

I really dig the brainstorming phase, mostly because I can do that pretty much anywhere! LOL THE AMOUNT OF PROFESSIONAL, WORKING HOURS I HAVE SPENT JUST FULLY MALADAPTIVELY DAYDREAMING IS MAYBE A LITTLE CONCERNING, WHOOPS! But the stage where you get to metaphorically throw everything at the wall in order to see what sticks, I really love that part! The whole, more modern trend where you have to become an influencer if you want to get published? Not a fan of that!

What is your greatest motivation to write/create?

Shittily executed stories, hands down. When a work has a kernel of something cool under layers and layers of metaphorical feces, that inspires me way more than something that, to me at least, has been expertly crafted. Breaking down the essence of something that works for me in a bad story and moulding it into something of my own? Love doing that!

What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

Honestly, it’s the one about how if you’re stuck, then the problem is three sentences back or whatever. I used to try and brute force my way through roadblocks in my writing, but I’ve never been satisfied by the results of those methods. Rereading to find trouble spots when I hit those kinds of stoppages has done wonders for me, personally!

What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

Gonna go off on a tangent for a sec, so stay with me! When I was little, like toddler little, I didn’t quite understand how writing worked. I knew that books held stories, and I fucking loved stories! Like most kids, I made up all kinds of weird little scenarios with my toys, and I thought it would be rad as hell to keep a record of them so I could go back and read them. I somehow came to the conclusion that if I just thought about what I wanted to write while I wrote, then my thoughts would just, I don’t know, psychically imprint themselves on the page?! So I made a bunch of little books by cutting up loose leaf paper into smaller sheets and stapling them together with a construction paper cover, and I would “write” my stories by grabbing whatever book or magazine I could find and copying the letters on the pages into my “books” while I thought about what I wanted the story to be like. I would then go back and “read” my books, but it was really just me daydreaming about whatever the story was supposed to be about, which I knew more from what I’d crayoned the cover to look like, rather than any of the actual contents on the pages. It wasn’t until I started kindergarten that I learned that letters are sounds, and that the sounds put together make up words, and the words put together is how stories are made. So the thing I wish I knew when I first started “writing” would be how words actually worked!

What is your favourite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

I’m going to cheat because it’s technically not complete, but the Silent Island stories that I wrote with my pals. We wrote them, off and on, between 2003 and 2015, so that is the majority of my life! It’s an inextricable part of me at this point. It’s not something that’s going to be traditionally published, but having it up online is probably going to be in the cards for this beast. LOL ALAS NOT ANY TIME SOON! Still gotta sort through it all!

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

For me, personally, the character with the most controversial mindset would be Ransaran, who is the antagonist for the Starcrossed Cycle. A “god” that only sees people as a natural resource to be exploited, I modelled a lot of its behaviour and mindset after people I find deplorable in real life - people like Bezos, Trump, Musk, and Epstein, to name a few - people who take, and use, and destroy for their own pleasure, with absolutely no thought or care for anything beyond their own selfish desires. People like that are the antithesis to everything I value as a person, so when I think “villainy”, those are the types of people that come to mind.

If you, when you first started writing, met you now, what would younger you think?

I think younger me would be blown away by the sheer volume of writing that I’ve produced over the years. Alas, most of it incomplete, or half baked planning, but I have written a metric fuckton between then and now! But hey, here’s hoping that the me from now would be blown away by the amount of actually completed works the me ten years in the future will have under her belt!

[pennamesmith]

My Friend, My Skeletor

Adora and Hordak talk over coffee. Skeletor has a pleasant day. More ‘Skeletor’ stories.

*

Chattering excitedly about near-death experiences, the last of the clones strolled out of the hallway door at the end of another Ex-Horde Therapy Group session. Wrong Hordak watched them all go and waved cheerfully.

“I am so sorry about that,” Perfuma groaned, next to him. She was covered in twigs, moss, and mud, and leaned exhaustedly on Scorpia’s arm. “I didn’t realize the Whispering Woods would provide quite so... hostile an environment for a walking meditation. Or that so many of the brothers would wander away from the group. Repeatedly. No matter how many times I reminded them that they could have become emotionally dysregulated, or eaten.”

“Nonsense, noble Perfuma!” Wrong Hordak reassured her, sparkling happily. “We have learned much today about the value of understanding our responses to uncomfortable feelings, and also monsters.”

“And Adora got everyone back just fine!” Scorpia added, patting Perfuma’s head. “I mean, I think she did? I hope she did. I didn’t exactly count. I’m pretty sure we got them all. Wrong Hordak?”

While Wrong Hordak counted carefully on his fingers, Adora wrapped up leftovers from the snack table. She, too, was covered in forest detritus, and still felt some of the lightheadedness that came after turning back from She-Ra. It had been an eventful day, to say the least. Putting away the room alongside her were Catra, Hordak, Entrapta, and ‘Skeletor,’ a spindly former Horde bot Entrapta was currently refurbishing. So far the results had been mixed.

“Idiots! Foolish mortals! If I’m not there, nothing is done right!” Skeletor whined, as he stacked chairs. “Myaah!”

Adora snorted, and idly picked at some of the leftover food. Her eyes flitted to where Catra was chatting shyly with an exuberant Entrapta, and she felt her heart swell. Despite the disarray, her world was healing.

“Hey Adora!” Catra called, looking her way suddenly. “I’ve gotta, uh, talk to Entrapta about something real quick. Right outside. We’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

Adora flashed a thumbs up as she chewed her way through some stale bagels. While Catra ushered Entrapta into the hallway, Hordak glanced in Adora’s direction and caught her eye. He left Skeletor with a broom and dustpan and approached her at the table.

“Your bravery and strength were most impressive today,” Hordak commented, pouring himself a cup of something hot from a copper carafe. Despite his looming stature, he seemed smaller and humbler in Adora’s presence. “We are… indebted, once again, to your kindness and protection. Perhaps you should, as the people of this planet say, take it easy for a moment.” He gestured to a free chair and offered a second cup of the drink he’d gotten himself. Adora accepted both and plopped down with a relieved sigh.

“Thanks. Today was an adventure all right,” Adora agreed, slouching in her seat. She sniffed at the dark, steaming liquid in her cup. “What is this stuff, anyway?”

“It is of my own invention,” Hordak said, with a hint of pride. He sat in another chair next to her. “The distilled essence of roasted coffee plant seeds. It contains restorative properties. The taste is naturally bitter, but you may add sugar if you wish.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Adora nodded, emptying most of the provided container of sweetener into her cup. Her sword flashed, and then she was stirring the drink with a tiny golden spoon. “You weren’t half bad today either, you know. I liked what you said about learning from failures.”

“Mm.”

An awkward silence stretched between them for several seconds. Adora scratched her head and a few leaves fell to the floor.

“You know, I’m proud of you.”

It was Adora who said it. Hordak looked at her in surprise, but she kept going before he could say anything.

“I know what it’s like to start a whole new life after only knowing the Horde. And what it’s like to not be trusted at first.” She paused, considering this. “I mean, I know it’s kind of different since I’m She-Ra and everyone was cool with me after like a day, and you’re the leader of the whole Etherian Horde and got brainwashed by Prime and some people still despise you even after you rebuilt Salineas and cleaned up Beast Island, and…”

She trailed off. Hordak’s expression was impassive.

“Uh, but I’m getting off track. My point is, it’s hard to keep doing the right thing after pain like that. And you are. Um, doing. The right thing, I mean.” Flustered, Adora took a generous gulp of her drink. Her eyebrows shot up and her pupils dilated by several centimeters. “Oh. Wow. Wow. This is… wow. You want to go for a run? I feel like I could go for a run all of a sudden.”

Hordak found his face softening. “I believe I understand what you are trying to say.”

Adora, caffeinated, was not listening. “I mean, look at this guy!” She gestured vaguely at Skeletor. “He’s ridiculous!”

“Behold my mystic cage of bones!” Skeletor cackled, as he emptied his dustpan into a trash bin.

“Most people would have thrown that thing out in the garbage,” Adora went on, rapidly tapping her feet.

“Entrapta did not,” Hordak countered, smiling.

“But you just… talk to it!” Adora threw her hands up, spilling some of her coffee. Skeletor saw the new mess and groaned in annoyance, fetching a mop. “You talk to it, and you’re patient with it, and you reason with it,” Adora said. “Even when it’s not being reasonable.”

“Meheheheheh! Now we’re playing in my dimension! See if you can stand up to my stun-ray!” Skeletor cried, mopping the floor.

“The mending process does not always make a great deal of sense,” Hordak conceded. “But we must be brave.”

“Speaking of,” Adora abruptly cut in. She took another huge swig of her drink. “You remember that thing I asked you about the other day? When Catra wasn’t here?”

Hordak quirked a brow. “I recall.”

“Good, because I’ve got blueprints.” Adora pulled a stack of scribbled-on paper napkins from her pocket. She held them up for Hordak. “Do you think you can do it?”

Hordak plucked a napkin from the stack and studied it. “Yes. This should be well within my scientific capabilities. I will contact you when construction is complete.” He hesitated. “Thank you for… trusting me, Adora. You are… an admirable role model.”

Adora smiled back.

“I’ve done it! I’ve triumphed at last!” Skeletor crowed as he finished cleaning.

Catra came back into the room at that moment, trailing an excitedly chattering Entrapta. When she saw Adora, Catra’s eyes bugged and she clamped a hand over the scientist’s mouth.

“That’s right, Entrapta!” Catra said, very loudly. “Science is very scientific! I couldn’t agree more!” She paused, casting her eyes back and forth. “And. Thank you for talking to me about, um… science. I respect your interest in this topic, because we are friends.”

Catra coughed.

“Aw, thanks,” Entrapta beamed, giving Catra a light pat on the head. “Hordak! I’ve got lots of new ideas for experiments after today! Listen to this!”

She and Hordak immediately fell into a world of their own, filled with trajectories and equilibriums. Adora smiled fondly at the pair and stood shakily to her feet, accepting a helping hand from Catra. She wasn’t sure if her heartbeat was racing because of the coffee, or because of the closeness of Catra’s face. But she felt fantastic.

*

Later, in their laboratory, Hordak eyed Entrapta over a paper napkin schematic. “It may amuse you to know the favor Adora asked of me today,” he began.

“Guess what Catra wants me to build?” Entrapta blurted out at the same time.

“She needs me to make her a ring,” they both finished together.

There was silence. The two mad scientists gaped at each other for a moment, and then the lab was filled with the ringing sound of their guffaws.

“Can we observe the reaction?” Entrapta squealed. “Please?”

“That would be rude, my dear.”

“Okay, okay,” she pouted. “But. Are we going to tell them?”

“Of course not! That would corrupt the data.”

Entrapta clapped happily. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun! Do you think we should make them matching, like ours?” She tapped at a purple First Ones crystal that hung on a pendant around her neck, the twin to Hordak’s own. “Ooh! Or what if we made ones that turn into robots?”

Hordak, who still felt laughter bubbling up from inside him, leaned in closer to his imperfect, beautiful partner. His imagination burned. They had much to scheme.

“Ahh,” said Skeletor. “I can’t remember when I’ve had a more pleasant day!”

[emile-hides]

Out of Australia, into the fire

Based on an in game RP with @aripan12 and @syalin-deerfox (Original prompt from Two Junkers and a D.Va which can be read here)

Edit: Both Ari and Zayne wrote their own versions of this promt as well.

If you want heavy Roadrat, read Zayne’s version HERE

If you want an almost exact one-to-one of the actual roleplay + Bloopers read Ari’s version HERE

Now, on to my take:

In which Roadhog impulsively cares for a war child

Mako “Roadhog” Rutledge huffed as he looked over his empty fridge shelves for the third time in the last hour. No matter how many glances he spared, the ice box remained empty.

The large man gave another huff as he closed the fridge door, lifting himself up straight before heading out of the large barn he called a home. 

“Rat.” He spoke in the general direction of a small, one room trailer.

Jamison “Junkrat” Fawkes poked his head out of one of the three holes in the small buildings walls, two of which he swore were made for better lighting. The third of which was an accident.

“Hoggie! Just in time I was about to test-”

“We’re out of food. I’m heading into Junker town. Stay here.” Roadhog cut his boss off, already starting the slow walk to the scrap city.

“Whot??? Wait, mate, lemme come too! I need some shit and-�� Both the junker’s momentum from leaping out of his work shed and sentence were cut off by a large hand easily catching him by the tire on his back.

“Stay.” Mako said flatly, setting the smaller back down in his work station.

Junkrat whined and swayed like a blade of grass in the wind, “But Roooooooadie”

His complaints weren’t met with a response as the older Junker again began to walk away, leaving Junkrat unsupervised.

______ ______ ______ ______

The large door of Junkertown was just as locked as it was the last time Mako approached. He’d always hated how hard the queen tried to make the pile of scrap seem like a real city. It wasn’t. It never would be.

“Let me in already!” A squeaky voice thick with an accent not native to the island screeched along side the banging of metal, “Please!! I just need to get home!”

Mako paused for a moment at the small girl standing at Junkertown’s door, banging away and begging for entry. Her clothes were bright pink, a color Mako hadn’t seen in a long time, and seemed almost completely clean. Her hair was long and shiny, almost freshly washed. She was small, thin, but healthy. As if all of this wasn’t enough, the sound of her voice made it absolutely, positively clear she was not a native to the savage wastelands of Australia.

Still. She was in the way.

Roadhog threw his hook, safely wrapping it around the girls waste to pull her away from the door. She yelped, and stumbled by his side before fear ran cold across her face. Mako spared her a glance before knocking at the Junkertown door three times with his hook.

“Rutledge?” The guard of the door spat from his lookout point, “You sure are brave to be showin’ your masked face around here again mate. Better now be armed, we got orders to shoot you on sight.”

These threats meant nothing to Roadhog. He simply waited for the gate to open silently before he strolled in, latching his hook to his belt.

“W...Wait!” The girl from before shouted once she finally snapped from her fear induced daze, quickly chasing after the lumbering man.

Mako, again, barely spared the girl a glance, though slowed down slightly to allow her to walk along side him, hoping to block her bright outfit from the onlooking eye of the local thugs.

“M-My name is Hana Song. I was kidnapped from Busan, South Korea, and dropped here. I-I’m not sure where here... is... D-Do you have a phone I could barrow? Please?” She asked, gripping the bottom of her shirt in desperation.

Roadhog glanced at the local shops before walking into an old convenient store, now with nothing more than rusted canned items and whatever animal was found in rummaging in the trash that morning.

“N...No?” Hana half whimpered, continuing to follow him. She watched his movements was they wandered the mostly empty lanes before starting again, “I-I can pay for the distance call! I-I c-can pay reward money! S-Something for your trouble, please! M-My team- M-My country needs me! I-I can pay-”

Mako handed the girl a can of corn. She stared at it, then glanced up at him, clearly confused as she took it.

Luckily, the confusion was enough to shut her up on the money nonsense as the finished shopping. It wasn’t a lot, but it’d be enough for a last meal on this irradiated rock.

On the way out of Junker town, Hana piped up again, “Does... th-this mean you’re going to help me...?” She asked meekly.

A large hand gently pat at Hana’s hair as they stepped out of the scrap city of Junkertown. Hana flinched for a moment at the contact, only realizing at the third pat it was meant to be comforting.

She smiled, “Thankyou.” slipped from her mouth barely above a whisper as they walked away from Junkertown.

______ ______ ______ ______

“Roadie! You’re finally back, what’d ya get I’m STARVIN’!” Junkrat came bounding from his shed as soon as Roadhog came into view.

The larger Junker didn’t acknowledge the smaller as he simply continued to the barn. Junkrat did the same to Hana, who followed the two closely.

“So! While you were gone I was thinkin’ of ways to get back at the queen and I’ve finally got the perfect plan! Wanna hear it?? Of course you do! So-” 

“This is Hana.” Mako spoke up, cutting the smaller off as he drew his attention to Hana Song, “We’re taking her to South Korea.”

Junkrat blinked down at the bring pink stick before him. He stared, unblinking, for almost a solid two minutes.

“South Kor-ee-a?” He repeated, incredibly incorrect of course, “Where in the bloody blue blazes is that?”

“Far.” Mako spoke bluntly, putting his assorts groceries on his make-shift table for now, “Pack what you need. We’re leaving tonight.”

“T-Tonight? Mate what- Don’t you walk away from me!” Junkrat snapped as Roadhog began to leave the barn.

Mako glanced back at Hana, standing awkwardly in the center of the room, “Stay.” He spoke, then continued out, Junkrat shouting behind him.

______ ______ ______ ______

“What about our plans to get back at the queen?! What about our 50/50 split treasure? You wanna just lug that with us?!” Junkrat huffed and hollered all the way back to Junkertown.

Mako continued to ignore him, making sure the smaller was behind him when they approached the gate, easly hiding Junkrat behind his larger form.

“Twice in one day, Rutledge? Ya forget somethin’?” The guardsman laughed as the gate opened.

“I’ve never even heard of no South Kor-ee-a! What makes ya so sure it’s even a real place and that shiela ain’t just one of the queen’s goons sent to whack us, huh?! Ya even left her alone in our place!”

“Mako? Well this is a surprise?” Junkrat’s complaints cut off with the introduction of a new voice, raspy and weary with age. He’d been ranting so long, Junkrat hadn’t even noticed he and Mako walked into one of Junkertown’s many scrap shops.

“Here for the usual?” A short, chubby man with a scruffy white beard asked, taking a large cigar from his mouth.

“I need a boat. With a moter, and enough oil to get it to Asia.” Mako spoke.

“A boat?” The short scrapper asked, scratching his chin, “That’s a tall order. The Queen ain’t very fond of boats she don’t own.”

Junkrat sized up the man before them, rationalizing if he was going to give Roadhog a hard time, and if he’d have to step in to get whatever Roadie was after.

“The moter’s the easy part, I’ve been working on one myself...” The man gave a gentle kick to a scrapped together engine he’d been working on when they walked in, “The fuel I’ve almost got too, but the actual boat...”

“Please, Bruce.” The word was so foreign, Mako certainly hadn’t used it in over 20 years, and he’d doubt the younger generation in this country even knew what the word means.

Bruce paused, giving another scratch to his chin... A deep sigh left his mouth, “Alright. I’ll get something together and have it at Lagoon Pier by 3am tonight.”

Roadhog gruffed a thankyou, placed a hand on Junkrat’s head, and lead him from the shop, back to Junkertown’s gate.

“...We’re really leavin’?” Junkrat asked as they left the scrapped together city he one called home, “Are we... gonna come back?”

Roadhog didn’t speak. He stared ahead blankly at the wasteland he created, a hand resting on Junkrat’s head.

They walked home in silence.

______ ______ ______ ______

The short, hastily put together plan was explained to Hana by Junkrat over a scrapped together final meal. They then packed up anything essential into Roadhog’s bike, and headed out across the country.

Hana had long sense passed out in the side car, tightly hugging Mako’s pachimari doll as she rested. Junkrat has also, supposedly, passed out behind Roadhog on the bike.

As the two slept, Mako took a moment to park along side a cliff and stare out at the desert.

He thought about how 20 or so years ago, this place was just like the world Hana had described to them. How he’d spend his days playing video games on his phone just like her, or how he could spend hours weaving brightly colored flowers into crowns.

20 years ago they were just like every other place in the world.

What... happened?

Mako’s grip on his handle bars tightened.

ALF happened.

HE happened.

For a moment, Mako considered turning around. Driving back to his scrapped old barn on his wasted little farm with the small grave marked only with a dusty little bolder and a few dead flowers.

It wouldn’t be fair for him to leave. He broke the world, he deserves to rot in it. He deserves to sit on this little irradiated rock and slowly die of whatever the world wants to throw at him.

“Roadie..?” A yawn broke Roadhog of his thoughts as Junkrat lifted himself up some, hanging over the larger man’s shoulder, “Why’d we stop? Ya gotta piss?” The younger Junker rubbed at his eye, nuzzling into Mako’s neck from grogginess.

Roadhog released his grip on his handle bars. For a moment his mind wondered where Jamie could be had the Omnium not exploded.

Would he be a child soldier, like Hana? Willing to give his life for a county so quick to throw away it’s citizens? Fighting a war at such a young age...

“Roadie?” Junkrat asked, a bit more awake, “Ya alright? Ya got that sad look on yer face...”

Roadhog glanced to Junkrat. The smaller look concerned.

Mako squished Jamie’s cheeks in his hand, “Sit down. I can’t drive with you standin’ up like that.” He scolded. Jamison whined in his hold, patting weakly at Mako’s shoulders until he was released, allowing him to fall back onto his seat.

Roadhog chuckled before starting the bike again. There’s no point in turning back.

He hadn’t destroyed the world.

At least

Not yet.

[fancyladssnacks]

You and Whose Army

or;

What if the Seed family were actually good and Hope County is just really paranoid?

AU fic with slow burn Jacob Seed/Staci Pratt, and not-so-slow-burn John/male!Deputy in the background.

Keeping it on tumblr for now because AO3 creates scary ~commitment~ and I just want somewhere to share it with my FC5 buddies (especially you, @avaleahblog). I have not abandoned my Fallout fics. No content warnings for this chapter but I’ll flag ‘em up as necessary.

1

Pratt hasn’t been out to the St Francis Veteran Centre in years, not since he was a rookie and got called out to deal with a vagrancy complaint. The place had been long abandoned back then, the courtyard choked with weeds and faded trash. Inside it had stunk to high heaven. Bird and animal shit and the remains of campfires caked the floors.

Today as he walks up the gravel road to the gates, it’s like stepping back into another era when the hospital was open and thriving. The front court is visible, for one thing. No ivy or knotweed strangling the iron gate, and the paving beyond is level and clean.

The new owner is one Jacob Seed. Pratt’s never officially met him, though he’s seen him around now and again. Seed and his family—two brothers, plus an unknown number of hangers-on—rolled into Hope County a few months back after buying up a suspicious amount of property. The Sheriff’s Department started getting calls soon after. Just the odd one at first, but the longer the Seeds take root on this land, the more the locals are reacting against their presence.

Most of the attention is on Joseph Seed, the long-haired preacher who bought up half the island on Silver Lake and is setting up some kind of hippy commune there. Rumour has it he’s building a chapel, but in the meantime he holds open services a couple times a week in a big white tent on his land. Folks started going along out of curiosity at first, looking to sniff around what this weirdo and his barefoot harem were up to. Probably hoping there’d be naked dancing around maypoles or some such to tide them over in gossip until winter. But whatever Joseph has to say seems to be connecting with people, because almost as many locals love him as hate him now. Of course, that’s only made family members more concerned. There’s already accusations of brainwashing and devil-worship flying around.

While the Sheriff’s Department isn’t taking such nonsense seriously, there have been enough calls to the station by now that Earl Whitehorse finally agreed to address the issue. It’s been a slow couple of days, so Earl tasked his deputies with visiting various Seed family properties to cast an eye over things. Staci isn’t over the moon at being sent to St Francis’, but Jacob’s property is at the farthest reach of the county and he’s the only one who can pilot the chopper. He casts a glance back at where he left it—set down on the grass at the point of the little lake out front of the building—then sighs and pushes through the gates.

The courtyard seems deserted. There’s a new-looking Jeep with Montana plates parked near the gates, and a couple of mud-spattered ATVs further back, but no one attending them. Over in one corner is a stack of rusting bed frames and other trash, leftovers from the hospital’s former life. Pratt strolls past a dried-up fountain towards the front doors. The weather is warming up, and the prickle down his spine and under his arms makes him wish he’d left his jacket in the chopper.

Pratt lifts the brass knocker on the lobby door. His four sharp raps cut like gunfire through the hush of the valley. He turns from the door to wait and idly examines the plastic-wrapped pallets standing by the entrance. Masonry paint, sacks of cement, plasterboard sheets. Most likely ordered from out of county judging by the volume. Pratt raises an eyebrow at the huge spools of razor wire.

A couple of minutes pass, and he knocks again.

“Hello?” he calls out, but only his own voice echoes back off the high walls around the Centre.

He considers trying the door and hollering inside, but the locals he’s talked to who had run-ins with Jacob Seed have described him as anything but friendly, so he decides against it. He wanders along the ground floor instead, hoping to catch a glimpse within. The windows on this level are guarded by iron bars on the outside and dark blinds drawn inside. It seems a waste of time and fuel to fly out here for nothing, so he turns right when he reaches the corner to make a clockwise loop around the building. Along the western wall is a row of large boxes, each one almost as tall as he is, covered over with green tarps. Staci lifts a corner up to peek underneath. It’s not a box at all, but a metal cage. The kind you might keep a vicious animal or, say, a prisoner of war in.

“Great. Not disturbing at all,” he mutters to himself.

There’s more junk heaped up ready for a bonfire in back. Open dumpsters stuffed with dead weeds and other garbage. Still not a soul to be seen.

On the back wall of the hospital Pratt finds a window left uncovered. It’s barred like the others, but when he cups his hands around his eyes and leans in, he can make out the gloomy interior.

The room within is mostly empty, just a few boxes near the door and a folding table with paint trays and rollers. If Staci smushes his face to the bars and peers all the way to his left, he can see through an open doorway into another room, and in there…

“Oh, shit.”

The section of wall he can see is lined with racks, and on those racks are guns. Lots of guns. Identical assault rifles occupy one full rack, while the one beside it is harder to make out but he thinks he sees shotguns and a large hunting bow. In a glass-fronted cabinet under the racks he can make out the dark shapes of pistols against a red backing cloth.

He shifts from foot to foot, wondering whether he should take out his phone and try to get pictures. But he’s not supposed to be here, at least not sneaking round the back of the property like a burglar, and he’s wary of taking away any evidence he might regret later.

Suddenly, all he wants is to get back to Fall’s End. He heads back the way he came and crosses the courtyard at a brisk pace. He glances back only once he’s halfway along the path. The hospital’s yellow walls are catching the late afternoon sun, and Staci can’t help but marvel at what a beautiful spot this is, nestled in its own lush, wooded valley with the vast wall of Monument Mountain curving around it like protective arms, and the lake reflecting the clouds. It’s a damn shame it’s been bought up by a family of crazies.

He jogs up the grassy rise to the helicopter and around to the side. As he rounds the tail end he stops short, boots skidding on the damp grass.

Jacob Seed is sitting in the cockpit.

One foot on the landing skid and the other in the opening, his ass parked on the pilot’s seat as though he belongs there. A sleek black rifle leans against the body of the chopper within easy reach. He’s holding a rosy red apple in one hand, turning it slowly as he strips the peel into a long spiral with a pocket knife. In a holster at his thigh is a much larger hunting knife, black and menacing against the faded blue of his jeans.

“Evening, Deputy,” he says at last, not looking up from his apple.

Staci shuts his mouth and swallows painfully, throat suddenly parched. He tries to calm himself, squeezing his already sweating hands into fists at his sides. It’s fine. Just because Seed chanced upon the helicopter doesn’t mean he knows anything else. Staci glances at the expensive scope on the rifle, and gets the uneasy feeling that perhaps he’s seen everything.  

“Mr Seed,” Staci replies. It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth; makes him feel like a kid addressing a teacher. But he doesn’t know the man well enough to call him Jacob. Maybe he should have just called him Seed; he’ll remember that for next time. At least he didn’t call him Sir.

He takes a few steps closer to the chopper, but Jacob doesn’t move.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind what, exactly?” Seed sounds bored as he finishes peeling the apple and lets the ribbon of red skin drop to the grass. He looks up at Staci then, and his eyes are a clear, vivid blue.

Pratt has never seen him up close before, and it’s hard not to stare at his scars. The ones on his face are most distracting simply due to their placement. His right cheek is marred worse than the left, pocked and mottled by what Staci assumes is a burn. The meanest scars are on his arms, angry red splotches against faded pink-brown, as though already marked skin has been injured again recently. As though his first trial by fire hadn’t taught him enough of a lesson. The thought makes Staci even more anxious.

He forces his eyes back to meet Seed’s. “This chopper is property of the Hope County Sheriff Department,” he tells him.

Jacob’s eyebrows raise in feigned surprise. “That so,” he replies. He gestures with the pocket knife at the land around them. “Well, since all of this is my property, I think that means you and your chopper aren’t supposed to be on it without an invitation.” He fixes Staci with that bright blue glare. “And I don’t recall inviting you, Deputy.”

Staci clears his throat. He’s being challenged, but he’ll be damned if he makes himself look weak by apologising.

“We’ve had a couple of reports of strange activity on your family’s properties,” he says, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. Everything he does feels awkward and transparent. It’s maddening, and more than a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t want to draw more attention by moving his hands again. He presses on. “I just came out to have a word, but you were nowhere to be seen.”

“You’ve found me now.”

Clearly the opposite is true.

Staci nods anyway. “Mind me asking what sort of operation you’re running out here?”

Seed completely ignores the question and takes a bite of apple instead, forcing Pratt to wait for his reply while he chews. He squints against the treeline thoughtfully and swallows.

“What exactly constitutes ‘strange activity’, Deputy?”

“A lot of trucks bringing stuff in from out of county. Construction noise around the clock. Blocking off footpaths.” He shrugs. “All sorts of little things, but add it all up and it’s out of the ordinary for a quiet community like this.”

“Wasn’t aware out of the ordinary was the same as illegal.”

Pratt exhales impatiently. “It’s not. But it’s putting folks on edge. Maybe if they had an idea what was going on, it would set their minds at ease.”

Seed shakes his head, still looking into the distance. “Doesn’t matter where you go,” he sighs. “People can’t mind their own damn business.”

“Come on now, Mr Seed,” Staci says. “If everything’s above board, what’s there to hide? What are you doing out here?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Jacob says. “You got a nice long look around. What’d you find out?”

Shit. Of course he saw him. Pratt pauses, considering whether or not to admit what he saw.

“You have a lot of guns,” he replies. “Sidearms and assault rifles mostly, from what I could tell. Not your everyday hunting fare.”

“Oh, I have hunting rifles too, Deputy.”

Staci can tell Seed is loving every second of his discomfort. He isn’t even trying to make himself look innocent. All that tells Staci is that he’s arrogant. Seed’s brother may be a fancy lawyer, but that doesn’t make him or anyone in his weirdo family untouchable.

“You care to tell me why you need that kind of firepower?”

Seed takes another big bite of his apple. “Security,” he says around his mouthful.  

Pratt shifts his weight to the other foot. “Security for what?”

“For my family’s property,” he replies. “My brother Joseph is very trusting, very patient. I’m not. I told him there were gonna be people in this county who wouldn’t want to see him succeed. You just proved me right.”

“Succeed at what?” Staci blurts out.

Seed is out of the cockpit and on his feet in one swift motion. For a big man, he sure moves fast. Pratt has to steel himself to stay put rather than backing up a couple of steps the way he wants to. The way Seed is expecting him to. Of course, he has to be taller than Staci, only by a couple inches, but he makes sure to flaunt it as he moves closer.

“Are we done here, Deputy…” He peers down at the name stitched above Staci’s breast pocket. “…Pratt?” The hard consonants grit out from between his teeth, cold and clear as ice chips.

They lock eyes for a few seconds. Seed knows exactly how intimidating he is with his bulk and his scars and those intense eyes, bright blue like a gas flame. Staci doesn’t have any of his presence, but he stares back anyway, keen to show the other man that he’s no cowering fool.

Eventually he nods his head once, holding the eye contact.

“We’re done.”

Seed steps back to retrieve his rifle. “I trust that I won’t find you trespassing on my property again.”

“As long as you don’t cause any trouble, I’ll have no reason to come back.” His attempt at a warning tone is laughable and they both know it, but all Seed does as he meets Staci’s eye again is tilt one corner of his mouth up ever so slightly.

“I’ll be sure to remember it.” Without taking his eyes off Staci, he says, “Here, Judge.”

Staci frowns in confusion, mouth opening to say What? when a blur of grey and white fur flashes past him.

“Jesus Christ,” he stammers instead.

The biggest fucking dog he’s ever seen bounds over to Jacob Seed’s side and sits, sniffing his hand before turning big yellow eyes on Staci. A long pink tongue like a slice of bacon lolls from its mouth. How long was that thing watching them? There are wolves in these mountains, and the monster sitting next to Jacob Seed is either one of them or a close goddamn relative. Heart hammering, Pratt makes a mental note to look up what the law has to say about keeping wolves as pets.

Seed leans his rifle across his shoulders and saunters off with the giant hound at his side. Staci is furious. He climbs into the helicopter, slamming the cockpit door too hard behind him, and quickly checks over the control panel in case Seed decided to fuck with anything. Everything seems fine. He’s relieved, but also disappointed he doesn’t have anything to pin on him. Jacob Seed is bad fucking news, and Pratt swears to himself there and then that he’s going to be the one to prove it.

He fumbles his headset on and fires up the chopper, scowling at the controls until he’s put air between him and the ground. As he tilts the craft in the direction of home, he glances down and notices Jacob still standing at the tree line watching him. Seed raises his right hand to his head in a mocking salute, and while he’s too far away to be sure, Staci just knows the bastard is grinning.

[eorzeaisnotcrash]

(ARR Diary #27) Everybody is awesome

(Did you know Merlwyb turns her head to follow you if you run around examining everything in her office? I’m trying to cheer myself up after all the lag.)

According to the Admiral, the Sahagin didn’t have enough crystals to summon Leviathan till the Serpent Reavers went stealing in Thanalan. Since he’s not actually been summoned yet, we’re invited to join in helping make sure it stays that way. She says Minfilia is 100% welcome as long as she stays next to her.

JoJo needs to go to Camp Skull Valley. Five Maelstrom scouts have gone to check the spawning grounds for where Leviathan might show up, and they haven’t come back yet. I have a strong suspicion that this will end with me recovering more dead bodies and battling another fearsome boss. I am able to find and heal one dude. He begs me to save the comrades who got dragged away to the Serpent’s Tongue. That place has two dead bodies. The description says they’ve been mutilated. Thanks for sharing that, item descriptor... but where are the other two?

I’m not going to say anything if an angry commander wants to do something about her men getting tortured (provided she doesn’t go after the cool guys at Novv’s Nursery), but the Admiral isn’t having it. There is some talk about who needs to do what in the upcoming fighting. JoJo needs to go with Y’shtola to the aetheryte. Y’shtola says it’s been too long since we fought together. I’m glad she’s hyped too!

I Streets-of-Rage my way through the Sapsa Spawning Grounds to find a tired Y’shtola. She says it was just a glancing blow, and we continue till I find out what they’ve done with the last two soldiers. Poor dudes have been tempered, along with some random civilians. Y’shtola is not pleased. Thancred throws a knife at a Sahagin who‘s about to stab her. Yugiri runs up and deals with six guys in ten seconds. One of her daggers can cause explosions! The next group of guys we meet also get either stabbed, or capped by the Admiral. Thancred says he wants to make up for being a liability as Lahabread. I think he’s doing great. Minfilia looks as happy as I feel.

The Sahagin Priest yells some threats and then starts glowing as he waits for Leviathan to show. JoJo and Minfilia start reacting to the Echo. That can’t be good. Merlwyb shoots the priest, but he turns into a glowing ball and possesses the dude standing behind him. Definitely not good. Even after the Admiral shoots all the potential host bodies (her “Die, damn you!” is goals), the glowing ball keeps taunting us.

Leviathan shows up. The annoying priest finds himself disappearing from existence after all. Right after he’s gone, his god leaves, and a few seconds later the Admiral is notified that the ships she had out there as a diversion are gone. She says Leviathan is going to the open sea. Watch this be a tsunami.

To quote Weird Al: Aw man, I hate it when I’m right.

(My first experience with Leviathan was in FFVI. I knew he was out there somewhere, but it was still a shock when he attacked. I thought I could take him based on how I had handled other bosses. I was very wrong, and it took a lot of grinding before I was able to make it right. Bahamut and Ultima Weapon are fearsome, but when I think of Leviathan, I immediately think of people dying horribly. Maybe I should play FFIV after this.)

Yugiri says that these local gods sure are vengeful, and it makes sense the Garleans are so afraid of them. They’re not gods, Yugiri, just egotistical ass- wait, the Empire fears primals? I wonder if there’s a way to exploit this information?

Everyone goes back to the Admiral’s office, and she shares the heartwarming story of how Halfstone was actually a settlement before Leviathan trashed it. That was BEFORE his cultists fed him with all the stolen crystals. A sergeant suggests we obtain a device with a corrupted crystal, which can make the sea around Leviathan a less deadly weapon and the primal threatening as “any other sea serpent.”

How many sea serpents do these people have???

Minfilia takes it upon herself to remind me of that awful filler quest I did for Cid. He and I are cool now, but I still don’t want to repeat that mess. It gets better: we need a lot of crystals, enough to have to connect two ships (apparently Mistbeard did this to carry his loot, and Merlwyb all but says her sergeant is a pirate nerd), and then we have to tie ourselves to Leviathan. YAY. Slafyrsyn looks at JoJo and she nods... then everyone else looks at him, and instead of me getting pimped out to do the crazy job of towing the crystals, he volunteers to do it himself. I will pour one out for him if I survive.

It’s like he’s heard me say that. Slafyrsyn leaves the room and turns to look at JoJo again as he goes. JoJo looks back. What are we communicating to each other right now?

Yugiri says that in her home, they also have godlike beings, although she never really believed that. So I guess if I ever go to Doma, I can look forward to... I dunno, Bismarck and Catoblepas?

A man runs in and says he’s just spoken to a guy who’s fought Leviathan. It better be Wheiskaet and not that liar from the windmill. The Admiral figures I might as well go speak to him while we wait for the double-ship to be completed. I can find him... over at the Grey Fleet. Son of a whore. At least Merlwyb says I can break his legs if he’s full of it.

Trachtoum is doing his usual scam. The poor private sent to speak to him will have to carry some grain to the mill if he wants to hear about Leviathan. He responds that he’s already done four or five chores, so now he’s treated to the usual crock... and made to visualize how big the guy’s dick is, which is something no one needs ever. It’s also a lie, as is rapidly revealed when JoJo walks up to end the nonsense. The private is naturally very angry about handling chocobo poo for nothing. Before I can smash any femurs, Minfilia contacts me to tell me the double-ship is ready and I need to come to the drydocks. I’ll be back to break your legs later, T.

The new ship is called the Whorleater. The guys who have built it say its onboard device will be able to nerf Leviathan, but JoJo might have to run over there herself and turn it on. Thancred, Y’shtola, and Yugiri will fight however many Sahagin try to interfere.

I’d like to say I contributed, but there was lag and I ran around uselessly half the time. At least I didn’t have to watch Slafyrsyn die. The guy who mans the lift compliments me, and Y’shtola congratulates me. Part of me is shocked we didn’t have even more casualties, but overall I feel good. Merlwyb says thank you! She also says Mistbeard deserves props, too, and it’s a *shame* she hasn’t got any employees like him. Slafyrsyn looks away. Hee.

Yugiri offers to teach her martial art to anyone interested in learning. Apparently Robot Pirate Island has an organization where a lucky few get to learn something similar, which explains how Thancred got his cutscene skills, and his colleagues could definitely learn from her. Y’shtola shares how her friend used to live a life of crime. Minfilia laughs and continues the story while Thancred makes the best face ever; one day he ran into Alphinaud’s granddad and from there he went on to learn lots of cool stuff, including fighting. The Admiral is grateful for Yugiri’s help, and although Robot Pirate Island isn’t able to handle many more residents right now, she’ll send some food to Mor Donuts.

JoJo doesn’t watch, but the player gets to: Y’shtola needs to talk to Merlwyb in private (although Yugiri does walk by briefly). She warns her that Leviathan was summoned for the sake of self-preservation, just like with Titan. I have secondhand shame watching this, especially since Y’shtola seems pretty disappointed in the Admiral’s response. Yugiri’s a little unhappy too.

[elizabethrobertajones]

lizzy? what are your 10 top supernatural episodes?

D: what sort of a question is this? Do you know how MANY episodes there are??

Let’s see… Desert Island Discs… What would I take with me?

Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie

On The Head Of A Pin

Monster Movie

The Man Who Would Be King

LARP and the Real Girl

Safe House

Baby

Heaven Can’t Wait

Clap Your Hands If You Believe

Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets

As you can see I am A: Edlund and Robbie trash and B: helplessly sold on the Perfect Monster of the Week concept over any plot episode. 

Can’t tell if my buzz over 12x10 is going to last but it feels like an all time great and I want to roll around in it forever. It also seemed to directly reference at least 2 of the episodes also on this list (like all the clowns) and live up to all my standards of melodrama and characterisation I eat up, and is possibly the most perfect Destiel episode we’ll ever get (it’s like the overtness of 11x18 crossed with the style of an old Edlund or Robbie episode in delivery… Mmm) so… I put it last on the list cautiously because it’s had to usurp yet another Robbie episode to get on there.

The fairy episode is just a weird little favourite of mine, because I was busy procrastinating writing an essay about fairies for university and realised this silly show was still on the air and binge-watched all 6 seasons and somehow or other, the stars perfectly aligned that I crawl from the library after researching folklore and fairies all day, boot up my laptop to get some downtime, and bam, there’s a kid looking dubiously at the cornfields and I’m just like oh shit this show would never do aliens, it’s more fucking fairies. Obviously my kink is being right, so.

9x06 is one of those nuggets of an episode that’s STILL got brilliant mileage for analysing it, and the Dean and Cas stuff is amazing, and… I practically don’t have anything profound to say about it? I just really love watching it and experiencing first hand everything it showed us about Dean and Cas’s relationship.

Baby, Safe House and Meta Fiction I all debated being on here, and any one of them could have been ditched for Lily Sunder. When all’s said and done I love 9x18 with all my heart and it’s what got me into fandom, and I will always be thankful for it, but on the other hand it’s pretty gruelling to watch, I’m 50:50 on if I LIKE Gabriel’s depiction in it or not so half the time I watch it he grates my nerves and half the time I roll around in glee at the ridiculous fan fic version of him… But it’s pretty bleak and better in context, so you can just extract the important speeches from Metatron and hang them on a wall like a trophy but in the end, not necessary to be on this list as a favourite… Which leaves Robbie’s parting gifts of the 2 best-written MotW episodes this show has ever had, just for pure showing off or filming glee. His overall contribution to season 11 was just loving all over the show, but these were the stand-alones and they’re just really really excellent writing and I think can also make you fall back in love with the show when you watch them.

The LARP episode is also Robbie, I know, but I love it again for the fairies (I’m easily bought) and CHARLIE and the fact that the episode’s message was about having fun. It’s a little blob of light in between some dark storylines. It’s a really neat little episode, not exactly transcendent, but again it’s got some great stuff to analyse in it, and it had Charlie making out with a fairy, and… I’m so easily bought, okay. It’s perfect how it is :P 

While 9x18 convinced me Destiel was canon, 6x20 convinced me it existed at all… I have shipped it basically since that episode aired, and watching Cas watching Dean and hurtling into all his bad decisions and slowly unravelling… Ugh, I can watch it over and over and find more reasons to be miserable for Cas every time. I also think you can basically watch 5x22 followed immediately by 6x20 and not actually miss out on anything :P It’s written as a direct answer to it as well as to fixing and explaining everything that happened in season 6 so far. I appreciate the episode a lot for tying the whole story together, and it inspires me to be the sort of writer Edlund is - running screaming at a story and tripping over hundreds of ideas too ridiculous or terrible or implausible to ever fit in the story, before scraping together the horrendous mess you’ve made of it and hopefully by trying to explain it to yourself, also create a masterpiece along the way with some well-applied framing devices to pretend like you meant to do it that way all along :P (9x18 also is bad writing advice for me because it implies you know what you’ve been doing all along, and Robbie sometimes strikes me as the only writer who planned ahead more than maybe the next episode, rather, I suspect he’s planted foreshadowing for season 15 that we still haven’t discovered, and basically this is not my process at all :P)

Monster Movie cracks me up every time. Dracula. On a scooter! HE HAS A COUPON. And Dean and Jamie is possibly my favourite romance subplot in an episode on the whole show. I love them! Jamie is a favourite character of mine, and the episode is completely hilarious, and I’m absolutely fascinated by Dean immediately post-Hell, and this is a good break from all the drama and trauma to see how he would try and cope and be normal, so despite how weird and kooky the episode is, I’m always coming back to it to try and analyse Dean because I just find him so interestingly written there. If/when I get to season 10 in my lengthy rewatch notes, I’m going to have to give myself a gag order on this episode of comparing Dean’s weird coping methods with the nonsense of this episode :P 

Also 4x16 is basically a stage play but happens to be on TV, randomly dumps the formula of the show entirely by forgetting Sam and Dean exist halfway through to focus entirely on Cas, Uriel and Anna having a domestic, and was the first episode that really delved into Cas and began to show the potential of the angels as a seriously powerful force in the story; not that they’d be great for the plot because it seems like they’d have to be involved with the apocalypse one way or another, but it just sells that Cas’s story is worth telling at all. I’m not sure other writers at the time could have sold it quite as effectively and made Cas worth writing about in the same way, but there was a serious risk involved in hospitalising Dean practically at the halfway point, and letting Cas stomp off to deal with it. Please take a moment to stop and think of one very important fact: this was the first episode Edlund wrote with Cas in it :P

It’s not coincidental that my favourite episode on the entire show is ALSO my favourite episode when you ask me to list top 10 Sam episodes. Funny Sam episodes are rare and perfect little gems. Episodes where Sam gets to be what I think of as an ideal, perfect Sam… That list is even weirder than this one because it’s all about when I end up emotionally screaming about Sam and he beats out anyone else on screen for my attention (with my very particular emotional response to what is my favourite version of Sam, which immediately disqualifies all the serious Sam fans’ fave episodes because I don’t like the show getting emo about Sam because it always vaguely embarrasses me and feels like the show’s working too hard with the puppy dog eyes. You know that bit in the The Hobbit where Bilbo spares Gollum because he’s being too wretched and he just can’t kill him? And the movie didn’t play it subtle at all, it had Gollum looking up at the screen doing the eyes from Puss in Boots from Shrek with a perfect man tear running down his pallid face and you really just want to punch Gollum instead of understanding why Bilbo spared him…? When the show gets all saccharine about Sam it just reads like that to me - trying too fucking hard and over-selling something that doesn’t NEED selling in the first place because it’s already sold and like, I don’t know, a favourite armchair or something that’s by now a 12 year old bit of furniture in your house you favour and would never dream of getting rid of and is just always there for you to flop down on when you  need it…) I mean, fair cop, obviously I am a Destiel fan and Dean and Cas occupy like 90% of my waking life. But SAM FUCKING WINCHESTER and episodes where Jared gets to play him FUNNY? It’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. This episode is ridiculous, and hilarious, and plays to all the strengths the show and its actors and writers have, and maybe it’s just because it’s in the middle of season 7 where everything is bleak-bleak-bleak-bleak, but it’s… I don’t know. Same feeling as LARP and the Real Girl, but with extra glitter, and Sam Winchester getting his ass handed to him by the most perfectly choreographed clown fight in the history of visual media.

[scenarios-on-ice]

Nah, no reason to be sorry! Like I said it’s all for the best :)

You can find the full soundtrack on youtube and a quick google search will reveal the bits of missing dialogue you might need to understand the plot better! :D It’s honestly such a good musical, like, I saw the Korean version last week and was completely blown away. Fun thing is that the MC Usnavi also has Hamilton’s non-stop, rambling motor mouth and his half adorkable, half ridiculous attitude which results in moments like:

(After scoring a date with Vanessa, his long-time crush) “OH SNAP! Who’s that? Don’t touch me I’m too hot! YES! Que paso(What happened)? Here I go! So dope! Y tuo lo sabes(and you know it)! No pare, sigue sigue(don’t stop, keep going)! Did you see me? freaky freakit!”

(Keep in mind that he didn’t even ask her out himself; his cousin did it for him because he kept backing out at the last minute lol)

(Flirting with a random girl at a club) “BARTENDER! Let me get an amaretto sour for this ghetto flower! How are you so pretty? You complete me! You had me at hello, you know you need me truly, madly, deeply- let’s get freaky! Oh, I get it, you’re the strong and silent type! Well, I’m the Caribbean island type, and I can drive you wild all night! But I digress! Say something so I don’t stress!”

(random girl): “…no hablo ingles(I don’t speak English).”

also this

“Yeah, I’m a streetlight, choking on the heat. The world spins around while I’m frozen to my seat- the people that I know all keep on rollin’ down the street. but every day is different so I’m switching up the beat! ‘Cuz my parents came with nothing, they got a little more, and sure, we’re poor, but yo, at least we got the store! And it’s all about the legacy they left with me, it’s destiny, and one day I’ll be on a beach with Sonny writing checks to me!”

(Come on that’s such an Alex thing to say)

Haha, I can kinda relate to that because I never rest when I’m sick- I get bored too easily and end up hopping out of bed to entertain myself (unless I have a really high fever, in which case I huddle under the blankets and sulk).

(Why are we such Hamilpun trash) But really, you know what else is non-stop and never throwing away its shot? My mouth/my fingers. I don’t understand how you can write a short, cute little message and I produce this monstrous, never-ending piece of nonsense as a reply XD

Then I’ll definitely look it up tomorrow ^^ It has a Korean version as well? That’s pretty cool! I think I remember you mentioning you’re Korean before, correct me if I’m wrong.

Y’know, Usnavi does remind me of Alex, but he also reminds me of Phillip for some reason. Cute little nerd. I feel kinda sorry for him when he was flirting with the random girl… Such a speech and it’s all for nothing.

Okay, he really is like Alex. He know he’s poor, he knows it’s the only way to rise up. ((I almost wrote the entire song here whOOPS))

I get so easily bored it’s ridiculous. Today, I rewatched Magi, got mad at Ren Hakuryuu for his inability to make proper life decisions, played Love Live, cried over the fact that I don’t have an UR Maki, got ridiculously mad over the Love Letters who were either sent on anon or were left unsigned and deleted them, then narrowed it down to the first 20 that were sent in, laughed over bad memes, thought about how boring my life is, studied a bit and read over 300 pages of Temeraire, all the while managing not to answer the love letters…  I am a literal potato when it comes to those, and this has taught me just that.

Hamilpuns are amazing, don’t try to convince me otherwise.

No, I always feel extremely guilty because you always write wonderful, long messages while I never seem to match them in length and it makes me so sad, because you take your time writing all of it and I never seem to reply properly >_<

[justsimplylovely]

Greenland didn’t just bubble into Trump’s mind randomly – it’s very much on Russia’s radar for its unknown supply of oil, gas and rare metalsIcebergs float behind the town of Kulusuk in Greenland on 16 August 2019. Photograph: Jonathan Nackstrand/AFP/Getty ImagesThe last time Americans felt hostility to anything remotely Danish was when the pompous old Duke of Weselton launched a trade-war-turned-palace-coup against the warm-hearted ice queen known as Elsa. Even the prepubescent fans of Frozen know that trade wars are doomed and that strong female leaders are unstoppable.It’s tempting to look at Donald Trump’s ludicrous desire to buy Greenland – and the Danish spat that followed – as just another sick joke of the Trump presidency: an aberration that the world will forget with tomorrow’s distracting tweets on some other outrage.But after two and half years of this corrosive nonsense, it’s time to admit some unpleasant truths. The madness of Donald Trump is getting worse, not better. The presidency has not normalized him, it has only normalized our numbed reaction to his excesses. We cannot see through the fog of disinformation and distraction how much of the world’s instability is directly linked to his abject failure as a president.Let’s just pause to look at Greenland, shall we? On the face of it, the notion of buying the Arctic autonomous territory seems like just another brain fart from the cavities inside Trump’s cranium: “an absurd discussion”, as the new Danish prime minister, Mette Frederiksen, put it on her trip to Greenland on Monday. “Thankfully the time where you buy and sell countries and populations is over. Let’s leave it there. Jokes aside, we will of course love to have an even closer strategic relationship with the United States.”Sadly, the days of buying and selling other countries are far from over because Trump himself seems to be easily bought by his Russian and Saudi friends. He’s so cheap you only have to dangle the idea of a Trump Tower in Moscow to win his undying support for lifting sanctions imposed after Russia invaded and annexed part of Ukraine.Greenland doesn’t just bubble into Trump’s mind randomly, unless Fox News is airing obscure weekend segments on Arctic politics. But it is very much on Russia’s radar. Earlier this year, Russia revamped its Arctic circle military base on the tiny Kotelny Island, which sits close to the shipping routes that are opening up as the polar region warms catastrophically.There are unknown quantities of oil, gas and rare earth metals in the arctic, and the region’s powers – Denmark among them – can either green light a global free-for-all or restrain the usual human plunder of one of the last pristine frontiers on the planet. You can guess where Russia sits on this spectrum of environmental concerns in the middle of our climate crisis.It is one of the sickest Trump jokes that his half-baked idea of buying Greenland should be seen as American machismo when it is yet another sign of Putin’s puppet American presidency at work.Denmark is a loyal ally within the organization that Russia loathes: Nato. So the downside to trashing a state visit, complete with a royal dinner, is not what it normally would be for an American president who supposedly leads the greatest global alliance in military history. He did, after all, suggest withdrawing US troops from Nato just last year.One of the many gobsmacking cons of our current crop of so-called nationalist leaders is how happy they are to surrender their national interest in subordination to any foreign strongman who offers to grease their personal interest. It’s almost like they’re not serious about America First or Global Britain at all.It is too much to expect rational public thought from the 45th president of the United States. But you have to wonder if he ever admits to himself that the only reason the Arctic is opening up is because of the climate crisis he used to call a Chinese hoax.More recently he told CBS News that “something’s happening” to the climate that probably isn’t a hoax but definitely has nothing to do with human actions.“I wish you could go to Greenland, watch these huge chunks of ice just falling into the ocean, raising the sea levels,” Lesley Stahl of 60 Minutes told him. Maybe Trump just wanted to buy Greenland to make sure nobody could there to see the ice melting.“You’d have to show me the scientists because they have a very big political agenda, Lesley,” Trump said, fabricating yet more lies to cover up his own political agenda. In other words, another day in the Oval Office.As the world knows full well with each passing day of this presidency, Trump cannot project national strength because he is so chronically, personally weak. He told reporters on Wednesday that he dropped out of his Denmark state visit because its prime minister was “nasty” and “not nice” in rejecting his advances on Greenland.On a playground full of pre-schoolers, this language might make sense. On the world stage, as the Danish would say, it’s absurd.Like so many weak souls who never grew out of the playground chapter of their lives, Trump tries to pick on other weak souls to demonstrate the strength he so clearly lacks.The weakest of those victims are the children fleeing for their lives from Central America.Trump is not content with ripping them from their parents, orphaning some of them by losing track of their parents forever, and exposing others to unspeakable abuse in so-called shelters. He now wants to ignore the courts and detain them indefinitely in private for-profit prisons with or without their families.His administration claims the old court-ordered Flores agreement is “outdated and fails to account for the massive shift in illegal immigration to families and minors from Central America”, according to a written White House statement.That conveniently ignores the fact that the “outdated” court agreement is named after Jenny Lisette Flores, who was a 15-year-old fleeing El Salvador in the 1980s when she was arrested by US officials, handcuffed and strip-searched and placed in a for-profit prison for two months. The US refused to release her to family members, claiming they were protecting her, but the ACLU said the Reagan administration was just trying to arrest parents and punish children.So obviously there are no similarities to Trump’s policies at all.From the self-inflicted crisis at the border to the self-inflicted spat with Denmark, so much of the global chaos that numbs us all is the product of this mindless and malignant American leader.The world is staring at a global recession triggered in large part by Trump’s pointless trade wars. It’s watching mini-Trumps grasp for power in Britain and Italy, inspired by his own undemocratic example, including all his trademark incompetence and ignorance.Without Trump, how much of the stupefying sense of chaos would evaporate?Perhaps not all of it, but enough for Scandinavia to return to sleeping soundly. Villy Søvndal, a former Danish foreign minister, said that Trump was “a narcissistic fool” because of his decision to cancel his trip. But he explained that this clown wasn’t funny. “The problem is that he is the president of the most powerful nation in the world,” he said.That’s a problem for the whole world to suffer. But it’s a problem that only American voters can solve.

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/31ZhLUF

[courtneytincher]

Trump wanting to buy Greenland is yet another sign of Putin’s puppetry

Greenland didn’t just bubble into Trump’s mind randomly – it’s very much on Russia’s radar for its unknown supply of oil, gas and rare metalsIcebergs float behind the town of Kulusuk in Greenland on 16 August 2019. Photograph: Jonathan Nackstrand/AFP/Getty ImagesThe last time Americans felt hostility to anything remotely Danish was when the pompous old Duke of Weselton launched a trade-war-turned-palace-coup against the warm-hearted ice queen known as Elsa. Even the pre-pubescent fans of Frozen know that trade wars are doomed and that strong female leaders are unstoppable.It’s tempting to look at Donald Trump’s ludicrous desire to buy Greenland – and the Danish spat that followed – as just another sick joke of the Trump presidency: an aberration that the world will forget with tomorrow’s distracting tweets on some other outrage.But after two and half years of this corrosive nonsense, it’s time to admit some unpleasant truths. The madness of Donald Trump is getting worse, not better. The presidency has not normalized him, it has only normalized our numbed reaction to his excesses. We cannot see through the fog of disinformation and distraction how much of the world’s instability is directly linked to his abject failure as a president.Let’s just pause to look at Greenland, shall we? On the face of it, the notion of buying the arctic autonomous territory seems like just another brain fart from the cavities inside Trump’s cranium: “an absurd discussion,” as the new Danish prime minister Mette Frederiksen put it on her trip to Greenland on Monday. “Thankfully the time where you buy and sell countries and populations is over. Let’s leave it there. Jokes aside, we will of course love to have an even closer strategic relationship with the United States.”Sadly, the days of buying and selling other countries are far from over because Trump himself seems to be easily bought by his Russian and Saudi friends. He’s so cheap you only have to dangle the idea of a Trump Tower in Moscow to win his undying support for lifting sanctions imposed after Russia invaded and annexed part of Ukraine.Greenland doesn’t just bubble into Trump’s mind randomly, unless Fox News is airing obscure weekend segments on arctic politics. But it is very much on Russia’s radar. Earlier this year, Russia revamped its arctic circle military base on the tiny Kotelny Island, which sits close to the shipping routes that are opening up as the polar region warms catastrophically.There are unknown quantities of oil, gas and rare earth metals in the arctic, and the region’s powers – Denmark among them – can either green light a global free-for-all or restrain the usual human plunder of one of the last pristine frontiers on the planet. You can guess where Russia sits on this spectrum of environmental concerns in the middle of our climate crisis.It is one of the sickest Trump jokes that his half-baked idea of buying Greenland should be seen as American machismo when it is yet another sign of Putin’s puppet American presidency at work.Denmark is a loyal ally within the organization that Russia loathes: Nato. So the downside to trashing a state visit, complete with a royal dinner, is not what it normally would be for an American president who supposedly leads the greatest global alliance in military history. He did, after all, suggest withdrawing US troops from Nato just last year.One of the many gob-smacking cons of our current crop of so-called nationalist leaders is how happy they are to surrender their national interest in subordination to any foreign strongman who offers to grease their personal interest. It’s almost like they’re not serious about America First or Global Britain at all.It is too much to expect rational public thought from the 45th president of the United States. But you have to wonder if he ever admits to himself that the only reason the arctic is opening up is because of the climate crisis he used to call a Chinese hoax.More recently he told CBS News that “something’s happening” to the climate that probably isn’t a hoax but definitely has nothing to do with human actions.“I wish you could go to Greenland, watch these huge chunks of ice just falling into the ocean, raising the sea levels,” Lesley Stahl of 60 Minutes told him. Maybe Trump just wanted to buy Greenland to make sure nobody could there to see the ice melting.“You’d have to show me the scientists because they have a very big political agenda, Lesley,” Trump said, fabricating yet more lies to cover up his own political agenda. In other words, another day in the Oval Office.As the world knows full well with each passing day of this presidency, Trump cannot project national strength because he is so chronically, personally weak. He told reporters on Wednesday that he dropped out of his Denmark state visit because its prime minister was “nasty” and “not nice” in rejecting his advances on Greenland.On a playground full of pre-schoolers, this language might make sense. On the world stage, as the Danish would say, it’s absurd.Like so many weak souls who never grew out of the playground chapter of their lives, Trump tries to pick on other weak souls to demonstrate the strength he so clearly lacks.The weakest of those victims are the children fleeing for their lives from central America.Trump is not content with ripping them from their parents, orphaning some of them by losing track of their parents forever, and exposing others to unspeakable abuse in so-called shelters. He now wants to ignore the courts and detain them indefinitely in private for-profit prisons with or without their families.His administration claims the old court-ordered Flores agreement is “outdated and fails to account for the massive shift in illegal immigration to families and minors from Central America,” according to a written White House statement.That conveniently ignores the fact that the “outdated” court agreement is named after Jenny Lisette Flores, who was a 15-year-old fleeing El Salvador in the 1980s when she was arrested by US officials, handcuffed and strip-searched and placed in a for-profit prison for two months. The US refused to release her to family members claiming they were protecting her, but the ACLU said the Reagan administration was just trying to arrest parents and punish children.So obviously there are no similarities to Trump’s policies at all.From the self-inflicted crisis at the border to the self-inflicted spat with Denmark, so much of the global chaos that numbs us all is the product of this mindless and malignant American leader.The world is staring at a global recession triggered in large part by Trump’s pointless trade wars. It’s watching mini-Trumps grasp for power in Britain and Italy, inspired by his own undemocratic example, including all his trademark incompetence and ignorance.Without Trump, how much of the stupefying sense of chaos would evaporate?Perhaps not all of it, but enough for Scandinavia to return to sleeping soundly. Villy Søvndal, a former Danish foreign minister, said that Trump was “a narcissistic fool” because of his decision to cancel his trip. But he explained that this clown wasn’t funny. “The problem is that he is the president of the most powerful nation in the world,” he said.That’s a problem for the whole world to suffer. But it’s a problem that only American voters can solve.

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines

Greenland didn’t just bubble into Trump’s mind randomly – it’s very much on Russia’s radar for its unknown supply of oil, gas and rare metalsIcebergs float behind the town of Kulusuk in Greenland on 16 August 2019. Photograph: Jonathan Nackstrand/AFP/Getty ImagesThe last time Americans felt hostility to anything remotely Danish was when the pompous old Duke of Weselton launched a trade-war-turned-palace-coup against the warm-hearted ice queen known as Elsa. Even the pre-pubescent fans of Frozen know that trade wars are doomed and that strong female leaders are unstoppable.It’s tempting to look at Donald Trump’s ludicrous desire to buy Greenland – and the Danish spat that followed – as just another sick joke of the Trump presidency: an aberration that the world will forget with tomorrow’s distracting tweets on some other outrage.But after two and half years of this corrosive nonsense, it’s time to admit some unpleasant truths. The madness of Donald Trump is getting worse, not better. The presidency has not normalized him, it has only normalized our numbed reaction to his excesses. We cannot see through the fog of disinformation and distraction how much of the world’s instability is directly linked to his abject failure as a president.Let’s just pause to look at Greenland, shall we? On the face of it, the notion of buying the arctic autonomous territory seems like just another brain fart from the cavities inside Trump’s cranium: “an absurd discussion,” as the new Danish prime minister Mette Frederiksen put it on her trip to Greenland on Monday. “Thankfully the time where you buy and sell countries and populations is over. Let’s leave it there. Jokes aside, we will of course love to have an even closer strategic relationship with the United States.”Sadly, the days of buying and selling other countries are far from over because Trump himself seems to be easily bought by his Russian and Saudi friends. He’s so cheap you only have to dangle the idea of a Trump Tower in Moscow to win his undying support for lifting sanctions imposed after Russia invaded and annexed part of Ukraine.Greenland doesn’t just bubble into Trump’s mind randomly, unless Fox News is airing obscure weekend segments on arctic politics. But it is very much on Russia’s radar. Earlier this year, Russia revamped its arctic circle military base on the tiny Kotelny Island, which sits close to the shipping routes that are opening up as the polar region warms catastrophically.There are unknown quantities of oil, gas and rare earth metals in the arctic, and the region’s powers – Denmark among them – can either green light a global free-for-all or restrain the usual human plunder of one of the last pristine frontiers on the planet. You can guess where Russia sits on this spectrum of environmental concerns in the middle of our climate crisis.It is one of the sickest Trump jokes that his half-baked idea of buying Greenland should be seen as American machismo when it is yet another sign of Putin’s puppet American presidency at work.Denmark is a loyal ally within the organization that Russia loathes: Nato. So the downside to trashing a state visit, complete with a royal dinner, is not what it normally would be for an American president who supposedly leads the greatest global alliance in military history. He did, after all, suggest withdrawing US troops from Nato just last year.One of the many gob-smacking cons of our current crop of so-called nationalist leaders is how happy they are to surrender their national interest in subordination to any foreign strongman who offers to grease their personal interest. It’s almost like they’re not serious about America First or Global Britain at all.It is too much to expect rational public thought from the 45th president of the United States. But you have to wonder if he ever admits to himself that the only reason the arctic is opening up is because of the climate crisis he used to call a Chinese hoax.More recently he told CBS News that “something’s happening” to the climate that probably isn’t a hoax but definitely has nothing to do with human actions.“I wish you could go to Greenland, watch these huge chunks of ice just falling into the ocean, raising the sea levels,” Lesley Stahl of 60 Minutes told him. Maybe Trump just wanted to buy Greenland to make sure nobody could there to see the ice melting.“You’d have to show me the scientists because they have a very big political agenda, Lesley,” Trump said, fabricating yet more lies to cover up his own political agenda. In other words, another day in the Oval Office.As the world knows full well with each passing day of this presidency, Trump cannot project national strength because he is so chronically, personally weak. He told reporters on Wednesday that he dropped out of his Denmark state visit because its prime minister was “nasty” and “not nice” in rejecting his advances on Greenland.On a playground full of pre-schoolers, this language might make sense. On the world stage, as the Danish would say, it’s absurd.Like so many weak souls who never grew out of the playground chapter of their lives, Trump tries to pick on other weak souls to demonstrate the strength he so clearly lacks.The weakest of those victims are the children fleeing for their lives from central America.Trump is not content with ripping them from their parents, orphaning some of them by losing track of their parents forever, and exposing others to unspeakable abuse in so-called shelters. He now wants to ignore the courts and detain them indefinitely in private for-profit prisons with or without their families.His administration claims the old court-ordered Flores agreement is “outdated and fails to account for the massive shift in illegal immigration to families and minors from Central America,” according to a written White House statement.That conveniently ignores the fact that the “outdated” court agreement is named after Jenny Lisette Flores, who was a 15-year-old fleeing El Salvador in the 1980s when she was arrested by US officials, handcuffed and strip-searched and placed in a for-profit prison for two months. The US refused to release her to family members claiming they were protecting her, but the ACLU said the Reagan administration was just trying to arrest parents and punish children.So obviously there are no similarities to Trump’s policies at all.From the self-inflicted crisis at the border to the self-inflicted spat with Denmark, so much of the global chaos that numbs us all is the product of this mindless and malignant American leader.The world is staring at a global recession triggered in large part by Trump’s pointless trade wars. It’s watching mini-Trumps grasp for power in Britain and Italy, inspired by his own undemocratic example, including all his trademark incompetence and ignorance.Without Trump, how much of the stupefying sense of chaos would evaporate?Perhaps not all of it, but enough for Scandinavia to return to sleeping soundly. Villy Søvndal, a former Danish foreign minister, said that Trump was “a narcissistic fool” because of his decision to cancel his trip. But he explained that this clown wasn’t funny. “The problem is that he is the president of the most powerful nation in the world,” he said.That’s a problem for the whole world to suffer. But it’s a problem that only American voters can solve.

August 21, 2019 at 07:42PM via IFTTT

[its-charlie]

I want to just talk about waste disposal, just for one minute if you will.. some eyebrow raising points below I promise 🤗🙏🏽 (more exciting than this photo anyway) For the last year exactly, Melody and I have been running #Airbnb through our home in #Cairns, we live there full time, and we have three bedrooms that we let out, and we are booked, back to back, and have been all year round. We have had over 400 people come through our gates and stay in our home so far. I’m in the process of starting a piece of #writing titled “I’ve had more housemates than I’ve had hot dinners this year” but that’s a story for another time.. During our first month of guests I was becoming more and more alarmed at the amount of times our bins were becoming backlogged, full and overflowing, and full of nonsense too, half of which could be #recycled but was lazily thrown in the trash, along with food, clothes, handfuls of carrier #bags, everything, a #disposable mindset of #travellers was highlighted to me. I then decided we were going to #eco brick. I first saw eco bricks in a small town in #Mexico where a hostel was making bricks out of the backpackers #rubbish to help build a school. We would sort out #trash accordingly and put wrappers, packets, soft loose debris rubbish into glass bottles. Once stuffed completely full, the bottles were collected and used as bricks in a wall, and the wall, it looked phenomenal. A simple idea that means that resources are not taken from the ground to be used for a wall, and also a hole is not dug in the ground for our “single use” #resources to be thrown into. However here in #Australia we had no school asking for our bottles of rubbish, no hospitals wanting to build out of trash, so what would we do with the waste?! OHS safety something or other.. 😏 Think about this.. You line your kitchen bin with a #plastic bag, either “reused” from the store or a store bought bin bag, or perhaps even no bin bag. You open a packet of pasta and a tin of tomatoes and a packet of mince to make a bolognese, You throw the tin the #packets and all the onion peel and carrot tops in the bin, eat the pasta, and scrape your plate clean into the bin. You sort trough some paperwork after dinner and chuck some bits and bobs in the bin, the #coffee cup from the #takeout you got at lunch, the grocery store receipt and an old bag with a tear in it from the apple you had to put in a bag only to take back out and eat 5 mins after purchase, your old socks have a hole in them and theres a clump of hair from your hairbrush that just has to go now, it’s also new toothbrush time, so toss the old one out! Next morning, you finish the box of cereal, chuck it in the bin.. the cornflakes went soggy in your bowl so you leave some behind, the bowl with milk juices and soggy flakes gets turned upside down into the bin.. even in the UK climate, those milk juices and those onion peels are smelling FUUUUNky by that evening, so, you take the trash out, and run too, cause the milk is dripping out the bottom of the bag and it stinks!! Sound familiar? That’s you. And that’s your waste story for 48 hours. That’s also 6billion other people’s 48hour waste story too. Imagine that, but for a household of 8-10 people. I know some of you may have kids, babies, toddlers, but I’m not even debating that TEN BACKPACKERS are worse than your two children. We decided we would try having no bin, and using a bottle instead, and it worked, incredibly actually. I throw one of these bottles out each week, sometimes two bottles depending on what bottle I’m using, those big 2L juice ones, they last 2 weeks easy! All plastic, tin, glass and paper is recycled in the recycle bin, Our house is a #meatfree house and so all food scraps are #composted in our garden, and some turned into dog food.. And all general waste, from cotton buds to noodle wrappers to dead batteries and chip packets, every single thing goes in here. I then came across people asking why, of course, it’s an unusually #conscious and mindful way of throwing things out, and take a little getting used to, and I’d find myself rattling in about hundreds of pros for this rather than a bin bag.. when in summary I guess the main point is that; after you chuck that stinky soggy bag into the big bin outside, it sits till tomorrow or the next day when you take the trash out again, and then it’s chucked into the back of a lorry that crushes it all and the bags that contained your juice and wrappers are now torn open and just another bag in the mix of trash you already threw out. The trash you threw out is now not contained in a bag with a neat little knot in the top, it’s now just a few pieces of the millions of loose pieces of plastic, wrapping and other items just loose and flying around in the back of the pick up, where pieces are flying out each time the back is opened for a new bin to be tipped, each bit getting taken eventually to the storm drain, to the waterways and to our #seas . Those little bits are the bits that make up 7 garbage bags full of rubbish on little #islands like #fitzroyisland where we were just a few days ago doing a #beachclean up with @parley.tv and the bits that make it to “landfill” ? Theyre tipped into an incomprehensible sized hole in the ground left to rot for the next few thousand years.. ever piling ever growing.. With the bottles I know that the rubbish I put in there is contained and makes it to landfill in one piece, and will stay inside that bottle forever causing no harm to wildlife, and is now just one piece of solid trash as opposed to hundreds of loose flying free spirited wrappers and packets that I all too often pick up from the beach. I urge you to try it, it’s easier than you may think, it just takes a little #consciousness and #mindfulness and I guarantee you a cleaner, fresher smelling, BIN-JUICE-LEAS & fly-less kitchen and the guilt of perhaps harming #oceanic creatures with your trash, to be lifted! 🙏🏽💙🌼🐢♻️💕 @ Cairns, Queensland, Australia

[nowhere-herenow]

The Disease Sweeping Through the Church

I’m sure many of you have probably heard the term bandwagon fan before. It’s a term often used to describe sports fans who are proud supporters of their teams only when times are good and they’re winning ball games, but when times get tough, they’re nowhere to be found. Unless of course, they’re standing with all those others that are heckling and talking trash about their team. I don’t know about everyone else, but I can clearly remember how in high school when our football team was doing good it was always, “We’re number one!”, but when our team was going through a losing streak it was always, “They suck so bad!”. Isn’t it funny how it’s our team when things are good, but they’re team when things are bad?

Recently, I have been studying Revelation and while this isn’t the first time I’ve read the book, I still always have to take pause after about chapter 3. I’d like to share some of what I’ve been reading with you all, but before I do let me set it up for you. In this part of Revelation, God appears to John in a vision and tells him to write down all of what He says and to send it to the seven churches scattered throughout Asia-minor: Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea. The following is the letter that was meant for the church in Laodicea.

 “To the angel of the church in Laodicea write:

These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation.  I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.  You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.” Revelation 3:14-18

I’m a visual learner, so when I read these verses I picture a thermometer of sorts. I see those who are cold toward God, like atheists, way down on bottom. These people are not believers, they don’t want to be believers, and they don’t have time for all of that hocus pocus nonsense. On the other hand, someone who is on fire for God, like a foreign missionary in a hostile country, is way up top. These are people who, by choice, are serving God in countries where, just by proclaiming the name of Jesus, they could be arrested tortured, and even executed. You have to be on fire for God to serve in such a capacity. And then we have those lukewarm believers. I picture them somewhere in the middle of this thermometer. They’re not cold towards God, but they’re not on fire either. Technically speaking, those lukewarm believers are closer to God than those whose faith is cold… right? I have to admit that it has always confused me a bit that God says what He does about these Christians in Laodicea.

But what is a lukewarm believer? Aren’t they just bandwagon Christians?

I read a commentary about Revelation chapter three. That commentary pointed out that Laodicea was one of the most important cities of its time and it was extremely wealthy. So wealthy in fact, that when a great earthquake destroyed the city circa 60a.d., the Laodiceans refused financial aid from Rome and completely rebuilt the city with their own money. Imagine if the people of Houston and Puerto Rico, whose homes were devastated by the recent hurricanes, were so wealthy that they could refuse federal aid and rebuild their city/island all on their own. They’d have to be outrageously rich! Apparently the Laodicean people were. The commentary pointed out that often wealth and prosperity, or a comfortable life, can produce indifference to pain and suffering and the struggles of others. It is believed that living such prosperous lives, such comfortable lives, is why the Laodiceans’ faith had grown to be lukewarm. That’s certainly an interesting thought.

I have my own theory as to why God shows so much distaste for lukewarm people, and why He says he’d rather you be hot or cold. I looked at church statistics a while back. I was just curious as to the state of the church, is it on the decline, are young people leaving the faith, are fewer people interested in religion, etc., and I came across this Pew survey that came out a couple of years ago. This survey spanned seven years and all the information collected was compiled and analyzed and released to the public in 2015. What the survey revealed was that 1 in 5 Americans are leaving the church, and in fact about 35% of millennials have left the church… that’s left the church, meaning they were church goers and then made a conscience decision to leave. For some, that meant that they simply gave up on going to church, for others, that meant that they completely left the faith and are no longer believers. Why are these people leaving?

There are a multitude of reasons why people leave the church, which the study pointed out, but could it be possible that one of the reasons these people are leaving the church is that lukewarm people are driving others away from the faith?

Bear with me here.

Isn’t professing faith in Christ with your lips and then denying Him by your lifestyle the very definition of lukewarm? Author Brennan Manning famously said that, “The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians: who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle.” I’ve always agreed with that statement. In fact, that’s the very reason Aimee and I came so close to leaving the church several years back.

You see, I think that lukewarm believers, with their fair-weather faith and half-hearted commitment to God, are what’s driving people away from the church, and especially away from God. Our youth and our children see these things. They see us teaching, talking, and acting certain ways here and then they see us living lives that contradict those teachings. Then, when they get out into the world, that is they go to college or just move out on their own, they ask themselves if church is even worth their time, the trouble or the commitment? And of course, their answer is often times no, because the faith that they grew up seeing in church was a paper-thin Sunday morning faith, put on by bandwagon Christians.

I think this is why Jesus says, “I wish you were either hot or cold.” By being lukewarm, we completely misrepresent the life changing power of the gospel of Jesus and God’s Holy Spirit.

So, the question of the day is, how do we know if we are lukewarm or are becoming lukewarm in our faith? And boy is it an important question! In Luke 17 Jesus says, “Things that cause people to sin are bound to come but woe to the person through whom they come. It would be better for him to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around his neck than for him to cause one of these little ones to sin.” Yikes! I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if you’re living your life with a paper thin Sunday morning bandwagon faith, then you are very likely causing others to doubt God and even turn away from the faith.

Paul tells us to “Examine ourselves to see whether we are in the faith” (2 Cor 13:5). We must make time for some honest reflection. Our Lord tells us that every tree will be known by the fruit it bears. So, let’s look at our lives. Have we bore any fruit? If you reflect on your life you may find that you haven’t in fact bore any fruit, or maybe you’ll find that you’ve bore some fruit but it’s been awhile. We read in Galatians that the fruit of the spirit are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Do our lives reflect these qualities? Ultimately, only you can truly answer these questions for yourself.

There’s this meme that I’ve seen going around Facebook for a while now, and it presents perhaps the best way to tell if we are lukewarm or not.  This meme asks the question, “If someone accused you of being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict?” Are you, or are you not, serving God to the extent that it is evident in your life by your actions?

These questions are for all of us, whether you’re young, old, a member of the clergy, a spiritual warrior, or just a baby Christian, because we’re all susceptible to losing our focus, or falling out of love with God so to speak. Scripture often uses marriage as a metaphor for relationship with God. If you have ever been married then you know that sometimes in marriage your relationship with your spouse can start to grow lukewarm. What I mean is that you start out being all about each other. You always want to be with each other, you’re always holding hands, you always need to talk with each other, to hear each other’s voice, but eventually life takes over, especially if you have children. You end up becoming so busy and having so much going on that you forget to slow down and to love and serve one another.

The same can be said about our relationship with our Lord. We must be mindful of this and fight it, because perhaps one of the best tools that the enemy has at his disposal to use against the faithful is the everyday hustle and bustle of this life.  We can’t let the world, with its high speed multi-tasking nature take away our passion for the gospel, or our passion to serve our God.

If you find yourself reflecting on your life today and you fear that your faith may be lukewarm or headed in that direction, don’t despair. Despite the harsh words that our Lord shared with the Christians in Laodicea, it wasn’t game over for them. Jesus’ message was actually a message of hope!

“Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent. Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me. To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to sit with me on my throne, just as I was victorious and sat down with my Father on his throne. Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches.” Revelation 3:19-22

Don’t be a bandwagon Christian, it’s an all or nothing game. That’s why Jesus said you can only serve one master. Let’s strive together to keep our hearts burning for our God, or if need be to reignite that original flame.  This week, honestly reflect on your relationship with Jesus and then open the door to Him by going to him in prayer and laying it all at His feet.

[lifebeginsat25]

How I Fell in Love with Psychedelic Festival

Panningen, 5th of September 2017

I had to share a review about new perception of my summer experience in the Netherlands. I hated to say it has been few weeks since bouvak holiday over, as well I came back home from my first psytrance festival, Psy-Fi, in Leeuwarden, a quiet town located at far north of this country which transformed into psychedelic dance ground in every late August these past five years. 

This year’s festival theme was ‘Book of Changes’, an unquestionably one of the most important books in the world’s literature. Regards of the meaning, I suggest to click Psy-Fi website here for further description.

In 5D4N of festival (but campsite opened for 9D8N), De Groene Ster of Leeuwarden became a place of society safety net for their people to connect and express themselves, which I thought every person needs every once in a while.

PEOPLE

I’ve been experienced other festivals, but this one was completely extraordinary. There were reasons why I’m writing now, right? I even think that festival was a point-of-view changer about people and possibly lead me to become a regular audience, or at least speak a truly unique range of human can be. A multi-culture society want to be, who really come for acceptance of friendship and love in the festival. No matter who they are. Or where they are from. Freedom really is there.

Psy-Fi was about connecting people from all over backgrounds into one. It sounded too much, but it happened! And I was there. You might think, they were all high that’s why they said hi. But as a psytrance newby, arrived sober, I could sense the energy of that festival once I entered the campsite was remarkable friendly. People were generously smiling and helping each other out.

The sense elevated once I’d done a tour of the festival arena, where somewhere there I crossed path again with Ben, my German pal in Australia, accidentally. Love was all around. People were so comfortable about themselves and respected others. It made me slightly accepted myself better too. The first day of festival was the best weather. People were dancing, hugging, playing with their children, (naked) swimming, or like me, just laying on the beach: everywhere was ‘gezellig’, you would feel and enjoy love. 

PARTY

I didn’t experience any uncomfortable issues with security, actually it was my first festival with no security matter. Again, freedom really is there. The campsite was well packed, had a pretty atmosphere and in some parts parties was going on all nights.

I didn’t recognise many DJ names, but Ajja. His performance hipnotized and kinda left me a beautiful imperfection feeling. What I meant about imperfection was about the downside of relatively low volume at the main stage. Maybe it was a little choice for Psy-Fi as neighbours voiced complain about the sound. It could be louder then I would say his performance was spectacular. Overall, 24 hours of 5D4N journey in Goa psytrance music would be too much for me if there were not a little help from my dear psychedelics buddy. Various sample from magic truffles to peyote cactuses most available at the Zamnesia Smartshop. They didn’t sell grass, people have to go to coffeeshops in the city for that, but they sold kratom leafs I saw the first time in my life here in the Netherlands! So funny they used mostly Indonesia’s big islands as names. I didn’t know whether to proud or not about that haha.

As they wrote also on the article, MDMA, LSD, magic mushrooms were “allowed” (was not legal but no one hasled about it), but they highly restricted GHB and ketamine. I agreed. Make a wise decision about drugs. Expansion trip to your alternate consciousness supposed to not a trip to the hospital (or jail).

Anyway, Psy-Fi was my first travel with LSD. Man, I loved it. It was a microdose of half paper strip but took me for 10 hours of trip. I didn’t remember when and how I got to that journey but I knew I went there willingly. I didn’t regret I didn’t mind narrowing with consumed a lot of beers. It was expensive anyway about 3 euro’s a glass. As I experienced, millions of sounds came to me sharp and vivid after around two hours of interlude. Green forrest and the sky marmalade, gave me no warning about their transformation. It was not about people anymore that time, just me and universe. Thought I made my group jealous *grin*. In my case, that was what to expect on my date with Lucy. I pictured myself sailing on a boat in the sky with diamonds.

Once I got my brain straight, I embarked again with two packages of sacred Valhala and Mexicana truffles. Oh those disgusting taste bastards, such a pain in the ass to swallow but worthy pain after all. I dated my Lucy back.

As a first timer of course I was careful of my consumption (well actually I always too careful and never that stupid to my body, substances for me is a total recreational). I knew and understand LSD is a potent psychedelics that would create some funny business inside my brain, as I wanted and prepared. It didn’t make me helpless so supposed to not frighten me. With a little bit of awareness about it I experienced an enjoyable trip. Lucky girl.

Thought I tripped too deep with myself, I didn’t forget to thank my wonderful companions. Psy-Fi lead Luc and I hang out whole week with another two nice Dutchies, shout out to Rutger and Arjan, “Lekker toooch?!”. You know, it is always a lucky plus when you can find good types of people in a festival simply due to the nature of their personality and energy. As a group of that moment, we went well. We could speaking nonsense or engaged in captivating conversations while our thing kicked in our body. As well could hold periods of silence to each other. I was longing for friends since I moved to this country and grateful to found them as 2 new ones :-) Awwwww.

PLANET

Pro

De Groene Ster of Leeuwarden is the gold standard of nature. That place was charming and there was within each of us, as happy people, a memory of knowing that everything we need is provided for us by the earth. And for feedback reasons to that land, more than 16.000 people who came there really took a lot of care for cleanliness of festival arena. Really I never saw that beautiful thing of a festival where people could walk around easily bare feet. It was that clean, not even ciggy buds. Saluted for all Psy-Clean volunteers, any remaining trash was taken care of by those crew and somehow people also could manage their conscious to throw their ciggy buds in portable ashtrays that part of goodie bag they gave out at campsite’s gate. Even when they were high. Gosh, I loved those people! Psychonautic travelers usually are incredibly polite to the nature.

Cons

Opposite with how amazingly clean the festival arena was, here they were my hiccup of the festival: toilet situations. Fuck, I hated those things! By every promising words written on the article Psy-Fi handed out about two times a day of toilet cleaning, I didn’t expect clean and ready to use toilets all the time but I imagined at least there would more toilets, especially in Southern Campsite, and toilet papers available. Oh well yes, of course it was just imagination. The event organisers still need to work harder on some logistics like that. Or next time simply just write ‘BYO toilet paper always, peeps!’. Don’t give people like me, who easily trust to anything, a high hope.

Sums up over the journey, Psy-Fi was the longest and the most interesting festival I’ve been so far in the world. There was always an essential moment of surprise that created self-observation story in my head, I clarified I was living on the moment judged from not so many pictures taken on my phone gallery. Man, I could manage to write these long words too after all. There might be a celebral aspect from my first psychedelics trip. Same-same but different with my first MDMA experience 2 years ago. However there were still challenging, uncomfortable aspects from the festival that Psy-Fi need to upgrade for better future in particular finding easier ways for people to get their camping gear in and out of the festival. Also as I mentioned above, about toilet situations. In the end of an opportune time to reflect on my experience and appreciate my sobriety, I’ll see you next year, Psy-Fi! I would salute in Indonesian language, terima kasih.

[squipitme-blog]

The Walking Dead Is No Match for Its Eagle-eyed Fans

If you have a couple of hours and a few brain cells to kill, I highly recommend going spelunking in the deep well of online commentary on The Walking Dead. From fan fiction to nitpicking the set to challenging plausibility to porn, there’s quite literally everything to sate a curious (Walking) Dead-head.

There’s even one fan theory that is “an idea from a Batman theory mixed with Shutter Island.” It explains that, ultimately, Rick is actually in a mental hospital, with Laurie, Michonne and Andrea as nurses, the Governor and Negan as doctors, Shane as the general practitioner who committed Rick for kidnapping two children, Judith and Carl, and the whole rest of the cast rotating as fellow patients. Why a fan theory would ignore the entire concept of the apocalypse that’s garnered the show cult status is a mystery. Also, forget Batman — that happened in Season 6, Episode 17 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Regardless, here’s a cherry-picked selection from the World Wide Web of geeking out on The Walking Dead. Enjoy at your own risk of never watching the show the same way again.

Let’s talk about the blood

OK, this one is something that has personally bothered me, and I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to bitch about it. So, there was an iconic moment in Season 1 — perhaps one of the moments that solidified the show’s status as serious as fuq — when Glenn and Rick throw on some tarps and slather themselves in zombie goo, hands and organs so that they can walk among the dead undetected. Luckily, they pull off their smelly scheme in a nerve-wracking scene, and a new defense tactic in the Walking Dead universe was born.

So, it makes sense that in the very successful spinoff series Fear the Walking Dead (which centers on a different group in California at the start of the outbreak but operates within the same confines of TWD), they use the same strategy to walk among the dead. What bothers me is that they go from rubbing on a pretty disturbing amount of blood and guts to just a couple of hand smears on a shirt. This seems to be because the character always trying to go on a zombie jog in FTWD is pretty boy Nick, and it makes sense that the showrunners don’t want his adventurous ass always looking like Swamp Thing. But it just takes you out of it, in my opinion, that we’ve gone from Rick and Glenn wearing the the contents of two adult humans to Nick just sporting a little zombie blush.

Can zombies stop and smell the roses?

Which leads us to the next point fans pointed out online: What’s this nonsense about the walkers somehow being able to smell? We’ve seen all manner of deformed, decaying walkers, from solitary heads still gnawing on the ground to zombies missing parts of their faces, like the pet zombies Michonne kept as protection when we first met her in Season 3. The zombies are not supposed to be sentient, and they clearly don’t have any feeling, so why is their sense of smell so keen that they can sniff out their prey, differentiating between live humans and fellow zombies by scent?

This also helpfully leads us to another great crowd-sourced point: The zombies have gotten dumber as we’ve gone on. This could have a legitimate explanation, which is that at this point, the remaining zombies have been rotting for a long time, making them slower and dumber. But it’s still worth noting that in the first episode, the little zombie girl that Rick sees not only picks up her dropped teddy bear — suggesting far more motor skills and a kind of consciousness that we don’t get from present day TWD zombies (or even FTWD zombies, for that matter) — but also starts to run at Rick, which is a far cry from the post-drug-and-alcohol bender kind of stumble we see the zombies do now.

Fans also pointed out that throughout the gang’s time in Atlanta, zombies could throw things to break glass and climb fences. A possible explanation is that the producers didn’t have a complete idea of how every aspect of the show would operate yet, which plenty of shows do (for example, Carrie talks to the camera in Season 1 of Sex and the City but she stops doing it by midseason, showing that they quickly realized this was silly AF). It probably became clear that Rick et al. would have had a rough time surviving this long against those wily Season 1 zombies.

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Let’s get nitpicky

My favorite kinds of TWD fan comments comb the show for aesthetic deviations from the narrative. For example, people were really pissed that the prison lawn was mowed in Season 3.

Honestly, this one is fair. When our ragtag gang stumbled onto the prison, it had been months since the walkers took over the world, and everyone is just trying to find a turtle to cook or a gun to shoot. They’re definitely not finding the time or gas to hop on a John Deere for a joyride. Internet sleuths actually found out that the show pays its location’s owners to go without lawn upkeep for three weeks prior to shooting. Clearly, someone dropped the ball on this one.

More: Bring It, Negan! The Walking Dead May Have Just Revealed Its Secret Weapon

The Herbie the Love Bug of TWD

I also can’t help but giggle at the magic Hyundai Tucson fans noticed in Season 2 (which some fans and critics started referencing as a character). The vehicle model was from 2012, but in the show’s timeline, it’s supposed to be 2010. This is clearly an ad placement that was a production oversight — or maybe the showrunners were severely underestimating their fans back in Season 2.

What about this most recent season?

Boy, have fans stayed the course in their obsessive hunt for mistakes and plot holes. Since the 2017 premiere of the second half of Season 7, fans have already pointed out two huge errors that can’t be unseen.

In “Rock in the Road,” as Rick and his Alexandria angels dejectedly exit the Hilltop’s mansion only to be met by Hilltop residents wanting to join their fight, the camera pans over our heroes standing on what is supposed to be a southern plantation’s porch, with the front door wide open. The careful eye will notice that the mansion is no Georgia gem after all — there’s a paper mural faking an interior.

http://i.imgur.com/JY8Fkzs.mp4

But worse of all, in the very next episode, “New Best Friends,” fans spotted a plane in the background as Rick stares out from a trash mountain over the world’s wasteland — clearly, no place that planes are flying around anymore.

The paper background is kind of funny, but the plane is kind of sad because it could have easily been edited out. But who knows — maybe the showrunners were actually hinting at a new crew of NASA engineers who survived and are going to save the day in Season 8 by sending everyone up to Mars! Maybe every plot hole and misstep is leading up to some grand plot twist we can’t even imagine! I’m just waiting for someone to explain whether or not Dwight/Negan’s wife’s name is Sherry or Honey, because they use both.

Also, props to Eugene for this epic gag in last Sunday’s episode. He’s chomping on a pickle while he apologizes to Dwight for biting his crotch last season. Well played, D, well played.

Source : sheknows

https://squipitme.com/2017/04/10/walking-dead-no-match-eagle-eyed-fans/