#anyway i understand being annoyed by its prevalence in that light…

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

What’s your opinion on cross guild? I’m sending this on anon because I kinda hate them while everybody loves them. I think it’s because Buggy is my favourite character and I just can’t see it as anything other than abuse😭 Do you think their dynamic will change? Is my opinion based on unconditional clown love?

i think the fanon toxic polycule concept is kinda funny? like, the idea of buggy continuing to fail upward in life into a triad with two very powerful people who started out hating him? hysterical. does it have a strong basis in canon? no. just about every buggy ship has to be taken with a grain of “let’s ignore the reality of the situation here” salt. my own buggy ship is not immune to this! but cross guild… really needs that seasoning.

in canon it’s more a hostage situation than a relationship—albeit a pretty slapstick hostage situation, as despite their best efforts mihawk and crocodile cannot control buggy or his followers at all, and the injuries buggy takes are treated pretty lightly by the narrative.

in that context, it makes sense that sexual interpretations of cross guild would have strong vibes of either bdsm or ipv. i’m not surprised it’s upsetting for you.

in the end, it’s something i could be convinced to read a mundane au about, where dynamics are always softened to better fit the setting, but that’s about it for me re: the trio. i don’t expect their dynamic to change much, even if buggy manages to rope them into going along with his one piece questing, and i don’t much care.

now, the pairs within the trio?

crocodile and buggy is just “give me my money” -> flight response -> threats of violence -> fawn response -> actual violence -> desperate fawn response. good god. i get why it brings out certain impulses in certain readers—buggy begs to lick the man’s boots, ffs—but it does not really do anything for me, and i don’t expect that to change. crocodile wants money and power, which buggy respects because same, but as he has less of both he can’t really offer crocodile much of anything, and crocodile seems very aware and disdainful of that.

buggy and mihawk is theoretically very fun for the same reason luffy interacting with either of them is fun: they all have a connection to shanks that makes their interactions with anyone else who knows shanks so weird. they cannot be normal about that guy. in practice, none of that has shown up, we’ve just seen mihawk offended by buggy’s personality/reputation/aesthetic and buggy flinching away from his glares. (i can’t imagine mihawk punching someone, so i suspect all of buggy’s injuries came from crocodile… probably because the only way mihawk could actually hurt buggy would be with lethal force.) i’m hopeful, as has been indicated in previous mihawk posts, that we’ll get something more here eventually.

mihawk and crocodile legitimately made me go oh, hm in that first cross guild chapter. crocodile calls this guy up out of nowhere to say, “hey, i notice your job security kinda sucks right now, want to join my company? we have a lot in common… we both hate other people…” is there a history between these two, or did crocodile just get good vibes off him the one time they both bothered to show up for a warlord meeting? i want to know more. if these two ever get rid of buggy, would they actually be any good at managing baroque works 2: crossy guild? idk. i suspect without a scapegoat to redirect their anger onto they’d start having unavoidable personality conflicts, regardless of their managerial competencies, but even that could be fun to watch fall apart.

[askygokindredshipping]

Never say “Yes” to Ghost Hunting... Unless....

Summary: Ghost Hunting AU anyone? Judai and Johan are sensitives and realize that Yusei is partially sensitive when he momentarily spots their familiar spirits Yubel and Ruby. However, Yusei doesn’t believe in them and thinks that the two of them are out of their minds. Can looking for non-existent beings lead to something else? (No Duel Monsters in this AU. Yubel and Ruby are both human spirits that died generations ago.)

Author’s Notes: Now that I am in a place where I don’t feel completely overwhelmed by everything and can remember to actually post here, here it is! This is the story I kept promising for that mini bang I was apart of! @hyperionnebulae​ did a fantastic job of setting it up. I’ll link the full collection at the end. Also, I had an amazing artist and I’ll edit this post with their information. The piece that they did is *chef’s kiss*.  I do know that you can visit their DeviantArt page and I highly encourage you to do so! 

Anyway, enjoy!

Yusei’s face was not looking down at the screen of his laptop, but instead, he was staring at the two men sitting across from him. It was a warm, sunny evening and he had decided that he was going to do some of his work at the local coffee shop so that he could focus. Focus. What a funny word it was. That was exactly what he was not doing.

Two young men were sitting at the table next to him, chatting amicably about something he didn't quite catch. While they were both very appealing to the eyes, they didn’t interest him nearly as much as the two people sitting next to both of them. These two figures were translucent and clearly injured. He was not a doctor, that was Aki’s area of expertise, but he’d seen enough in his day to recognize deadly injuries like those. The tallest one (Yusei couldn’t quite determine which gender either of the translucent people were and decided it was probably best not to assume anything) had a scar that went down its face, nearly dividing it in two and what looked like a jewel embedded into its forehead. Their hair was a soft, metallic blue color. The other one was shorter with wide, ruby-colored eyes and lavender colored hair, a clear bloodstain blooming from their chest and out against their lovely lavender blouse. The tall one said something to the man next to it. He responded casually. Like… like there was nothing wrong!

Yusei blinked.

They were gone.

He breathed in deep and quickly turned back to his computer screen, the words suddenly not making any kind of sense as something cold shot up his spine. No. There was no way. Those things did not exist. He refused to accept what he had just seen. There had to be a logical explanation.

Didn’t there?

“Excuse me,” a voice asked him, “Are you alright?” He looked up. The two men at the table were now looking at him. The one who spoke had teal-blue colored hair and equally blue eyes; he wore a light lavender colored blouse-style shirt with a darker blue vest over the top. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“Or you’ve seen a ghost,” the other added. He was dressed in a dark t-shirt with a red jacket over it. His hair was a light brown and stood out in nearly every direction (not that Yusei could judge with his own black mess) and his eyes were a warm brown. He took a breath as he registered the statement. A ghost? Those things did not exist.

But….

“I’m fine,” he finally answered. He couldn’t stop himself as he blurted out, “but what happened to your two friends?” The two of them shared a look.

“It’s only been us here,” the brown haired one said.

Yusei blinked, “You mean you don’t have two friends that are dressed up for Halloween somewhere around here?”

“Oh, they just left,” the blue haired one cut in just as the brown haired one went to say something. He shot the other a look and it seemed to take a second but, eventually, he got the meaning and quickly clamped his mouth shut again.

“They couldn’t have left that quickly,” he argued. “Are you pulling some kind of prank?” They shared a look again, and Yusei started to get mildly annoyed with it. They didn’t say anything to him for some time. Finally, he closed his laptop and stood to pack his things. Clearly, this was not where he was meant to be. Before he could walk away from the table, the brown-haired guy caught his wrist gently; electricity shot up Yusei’s arm and he flinched at the sensation even though it did not hurt. It felt a bit good.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, releasing him. “It’s just… Can we walk with you for a bit? Here’s not the place to talk.” Yusei blinked. A couple of alarms went off in his mind, but he ignored them, in favor of nodding his consent, and the three of them left together.

The brown-haired guy leaned forward as they walked, “I’m Judai Yuki and this is my partner, Johan Anderson.” Johan raised a hand in greeting when Yusei looked at him.

“Yusei Fudo.”

“Nice to meet you Yusei,” Johan greeted. Judai smiled and continued introducing the two of them.

“We’re paranormal investigators; basically, we work to help people in desperate situations involving anything they can’t explain or handle.” He straightened, walking forward a little bit. Yusei couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“Ghost? You two deal with ghosts?”

“More or less,” Johan nodded.

“You do understand ghosts aren’t real?” They shared another look.

“Yeah, that’s what a lot of people say.”

“But we happen to know differently.”

Yusei stopped and leaned his head to the side a bit, “Alright, I’ll bite. What is your proof? A grainy photo? Horribly shot night-vision scenes? A scar you got from something being magically thrown at you?” Johan snickered and Judai had to cover his mouth with his hand. After a few seconds, the two of them could not help but laugh at his response. Yusei was taken a bit off guard. “What’s so funny?”

“You were so deadpanned when you were asking,” Judai breathed.

“It was hilarious,” Johan added. Yusei found himself blushing a bit, and he turned his head away, trying to not let them see how embarrassed he was. They recovered after a few moments. “And to answer your question, nothing like that.” He pointed off over his shoulder, “Do you see them?”

Yusei looked, then shook his head. “See who?”

“Our friends from the café,” Judai clarified. Yusei looked over their shoulders again, but still only saw the street in front of them. He shook his head.

“Nobody’s there.”

“But you did see them in the café?”

“I saw something ,” Yusei pointed out. “I don’t know what it is I saw.”

“Deny it all you want Yusei,” Judai returned, “but you did ask us about it, which meant that you did see them.” He pointed between the two of them. “Johan and I are mediums. We can communicate with spirits and we’re pretty certain that you’re at least a little bit sensitive since you could see our familiars briefly. You can’t see them right now even though they are standing next to us without utilizing too much of theirs or our energy.” Judai nodded, as if his point made a whole ton of sense. “I wonder what it would take to help you see them again? What made it possible at the café?”

“Do you think the setting had something to do with it,” Johan added. “I remember reading a report that that café has natural running water under it.”

“That might have something to do with it.”

“You two are crazy,” Yusei returned. Nothing they said made any sense! Ghosts didn’t exist, but now they were claiming… all of this ? Johan smiled at him apologetically.

“It’s a lot the first time. You probably don’t believe us, but I have a suggestion.” He clapped his hands together. “Why don’t you come with us tonight? We have a job at a local place this evening. It’ll give us a chance to show you what you’re talking about and to confirm if you are sensitive or not.”

“Full offense, but I just met you.”

“I know.”

“How can I trust you?”

“You can’t.” That took him by surprise and Yusei felt staggered a bit. “But you might find it more interesting than you think. I promise.” Yusei looked between the two of them. Logically, he had no reason to trust either one of them. Something in his gut, though, told him something completely different; it was whispering that he should take the chance and see where this was going to lead. After a few seconds of the two of them staring him down, he finally sighed. He raised his hands in defeat.

“Alright. I’ll join you.”

Johan and Judai smiled at each other.

My, my, my- how the night had suddenly turned around.

*****

The house they were investigating turned out to be an older mansion on the outskirts of the city. Yusei made sure to let a couple of people know where he was going. Martha was worried, of course, but Jack and Crow got a huge trip out of the fact that he, Yusei Fudo, was going ghost hunting. Of all things in the world.

What a weird first date , they had teased.

He had left the house with red across his nose and both cheeks, but he had not given them the satisfaction of seeing it. Yusei slammed the door on his way out.

He now sat leaned up against his red motorcycle. Neither of them had arrived yet. This left him time to do a little extra research on the address on his transparent tablet. The mansion was built in the year XXXX by a rich mogul who wanted a place for his new bride to be the mistress of; however, he built over sacred ground, despite multiple warnings, and thus, “cursed” the home and his family for all eternity. They lost several children in birth and early into childhood. Eventually, the wife passed of an illness, but information on which one was scarce. Her death was the final straw for him. The mogul retired from the home and disappeared into obscurity. It was left to rot. Reports of families moving in and immediately moving out were plentiful in the first few decades after the original owner’s leaving, but quickly teetered off as rumors of a haunting became more prevalent.

He scrolled up on his tablet, murmuring. “Reports of a white lady…. Children laughing… shadow figures…. Objects being thrown. So just your run of the mill hoax?”

“Well, even if it is a hoax, it’s still our job to ease the worries of our customer.” He looked up, not necessarily startled by the sound of Johan’s voice, but a bit surprised that he hadn’t heard them approaching, especially in the large, older van they were driving. Judai was behind him, starting to mess with some equipment. Yusei closed the tablet and placed it in his pocket. “We’re glad you decided to come. What’d you find in your research?”

“Nothing out of this world,” he confirmed, arms still crossed. “Pretty standard reports. White lady, children, objects being thrown.”

Johan nodded. He turned his head a bit, as if listening to someone, and he smiled after a few seconds before saying, “That was pretty much everything we were able to find or was given to us as in our initial customer request.” He paused for a second, “I better help Judai with the equipment. As brave as he is as a ghost hunter, he’s a complete ditz when it comes to setting it up.”

“Would you like me to help? I’m fairly good with technology.”

Johan shot him a grateful smile. “You don’t have to. We’re the ones that invited you out here.”

Yusei rolled up the sleeve of his jacket. “Don’t worry about it. I might as well do something useful now since I’m probably going to mess up your results anyway.” Johan shook his head but led him over to the wired mess that had become Judai. It took them about an hour, once they had untangled him, to set up all the equipment they planned to use and since they were getting paid a hefty price, they were using everything . EVP, static night vision, Mel meters, motion detectors. You name it, they had it. The sun was starting to set when they finally started to sync up all their equipment, recording audio introductions on their three different recording devices. Johan helped Yusei into a specially made vest with several different pieces of equipment attached to it such as a night vision camera, perspective camera, and a few other useful tools like glow sticks, back-up batteries, and flashlights. Yusei felt the electricity again as his hand brushed his arm. A soft blush touched his cheeks. He did not miss the fact that Johan had one as well. Was it possible that he was feeling it too? What was even more astounding to him was that this was the second time he had felt it… with both of them.

Judai smiled brightly when they came back from the back of the van, “That vest looks good on you Yusei.”

Oof, that blush was not going away any time soon.

“Thank you,” he managed to get out without sounding like a stammering idiot.

Yusei had had feelings for people before in his life. Aki, the young lady who had become one of his greatest friends of all time, was one such example. His friend Kiryu was another. However, he had never been in this kind of situation before; his feelings for the previous two had come at different times. This was new. And a bit confusing, especially with how fast everything was moving.

“Are you feeling alright,” Judai asked. Yusei turned to face him. He was looking up at him, his brow furrowed a bit. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“You make it sound like I’m regretting my wedding or something.”

“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure this isn’t as stressful as a wedding.” He smirked. “But if you’re feeling scared, I recommend hanging back behind us.”

“I can’t be scared of something that doesn’t exist.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Me being scared or ghosts being real?”

“Yes.”

Yusei shook his head as he walked away, and he followed. Johan bowed mockingly as he opened the front door. Judai gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before blowing a kiss back at Yusei and disappearing into the darkness, only the light of his flashlight illuminating a soft outline of his head and left shoulder. The two of them followed.

The entryway was as bad as you could imagine. Dust clung to everything. Spider webs decorated every corner, and the stairs, and the molding, and the walls, and basically every available square inch. Old paint and wallpaper were missing in great chunks. The building material was old and decayed. An odd sensation of dread shot through Yusei the longer he looked down the hallway. There was no discernible reason for the feeling. He grabbed both Judai’s and Johan’s shoulders, preventing them from stepping any further inside.

When they turned to look at him, he raised his hands apologetically, but dropped them and breathed, “Something isn’t right.”

Judai blinked, quickly looked to his right, and briefly nodded. “What are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that if we go any further, something bad is going to happen.”

“But we’ve already been in here multiple times,” Johan assured him. “We had to set up all the static cameras, remember?”

Yusei hesitated. That was true. They’d already been in and out, and up and down all sets of stairs, as they’d been busy setting up static night vision cameras in a couple of the hotspots, specifically where the white lady and the children were often seen and heard moving about. Nothing seemed to happen during that time, and he rationalized that they would be fine in this moment.

The feeling, on the other hand, would not leave him alone.

He started to say something again, but Judai started moving inward and Johan followed. The feeling grew worse as he raised a hand to stop them.

A white figure suddenly appeared at the end of the narrow hallway. The three of them froze, but Judai, after a few seconds, threw a hand back. What Yusei could not see was how his eyes shifted from brown to green and orange, ready for whatever was about to occur. Johan took a step back. Something creaked. The white figure raised its head and with an unearthly scream, it shot forward at them. Judai jumped back. Johan moved in front of Yusei which put the three of them into roughly the same spot on the floor. Yusei looked down immediately as the sound of breaking wood caught his attention; just before the figure could reach them, he grabbed both of them close to him.

The floor gave way, and they fell into darkness.

*****

“Yusei, Yusei, Yusei!” He blinked. Everything felt sore and painful. It took him a few moments to remember that they had fallen through the floor. He groaned. Thankfully, nothing seemed broken, but he was going to be feeling this for the next few days; Martha was probably going to order him to go to a doctor, and for once, he probably wouldn’t protest it. A soft smile crossed Johan’s face. He was momentarily confused.

“I’m dead,” he breathed, “I swear I’m seeing an angel.”

“You wish,” Johan laughed. “But Judai and I owe you quite a bit for saving our lives.”

“What happened?”

Johan crossed his arms, contemplating on how much to share. “Well, you see….” He paused and changed his question, “Did you happen to see a white figure come at us?” Yusei shook his head.

He struggled to remember. Nothing came to mind however and he shook his head. “All I saw was you and Judai get defensive.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” he mused. Louder, he said, “Anyway, we all were standing on the same space and the floor gave way. You just barely managed to brace us against you before it happened. You took the brunt of the injury.” He pointed to some old bags of flour that were clearly busted in the fall. “You really do have to have a guardian angel at least since this is what we landed on. Judai went back upstairs to double check everything. We should really get out of here.” He stood. Johan offered out a hand, which Yusei took gratefully. Together, they made their way back up the stairs and, to his surprise, the sun was starting to rise.

How long had he been out?

Judai was at the back of the van, putting away most of their equipment. He looked up when they exited. Without hesitation, or warning, he ran for Yusei, catching him in a tight hug; Yusei flinched a bit but accepted it.

“Thank you,” Judai breathed. “We wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for you.” After a few seconds, he released Yusei’s waist, backed away from him, and bowed. “I’m also so sorry. I should have listened to your warning. I know better than to ignore things like that.”

Yusei waved a hand. “No harm, no foul.”

“Well, a little harm,” Johan reminded him, elbowing his side. He flinched again. Johan walked over and wrapped an arm lovingly around Judai’s shoulders. “As such, breakfast is on us.”

“If you’d like,” Judai quickly added. Yusei did not miss how brightly red his expression had become and he smiled.

“Sure,” he agreed. “As long as the ghosts aren’t invited.”

“No promises,” they said together.

The three of them managed to hook their transportations together and rode back to town in the van. Yusei looked out the window. He was surprised when a weight hit his shoulder; Judai had slumped over, soundly asleep. Johan smiled apologetically.

Something swelled in his heart. He turned to look out the window once more and mused that he would not mind trying it again. Ghost hunting that is. Falling into decrepit basements he could definitely do without.

Judai shifted a bit on his shoulder and Yusei looked down at him softly.

Yeah, maybe just one more time.

*****

Thank you so much for reading!

The story on AO3

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[ducktracy]

164. uncle tom’s bungalow (1937)

disclaimer: this is the fourth entry in the censored 11. there are dozens of cartoons not on the list that are just as vile and tasteless, if not moreso, yet this provides good insight into what we’re dealing with. with that said, this review entails racist content, imagery, stereotypes, and ideals. i do not in any way endorse these. i find them dehumanizing, gross, and wrong. and to act like they never existed in the first place would be just as insensitive. this needs to be talked about. PLEASE let me know if i say anything wrong. it’s never my intention to harm anyone, and i want my mistakes to be identified so i can own up to them. thank you for your patience and understanding.

release date: june 5th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: tedd pierce (narrator), billy bletcher (simon simon legree, excited little eva), lillian randolph (topsy, eliza), berneice hansell (little eva), mel blanc (dog)

this is a rather momentous occasion in tex avery’s career, a cartoon that would dictate the direction that the majority of his remaining cartoons at warner bros would take. uncle tom’s bungalow could be considered the first “travelogue” of avery’s. especially prevalent throughout 1939 and 1940, avery did a number of travelogue parodies—a narrator examines a setting as we interact with the characters, narrating what they’re up to, and learning about the area we’re exploring. this has more of a concrete storyline than many of the other travelogues, thus contributing to its quality, so to speak. tex would take another spin on uncle tom’s cabin with uncle tom’s cabana in 1947 over at MGM.

and, of course, the elephant in the room—this is tex’s first entry out of 3 in the censored 11, the other two being the isle of pingo pongo (1938) and all this and rabbit stew (1941). i don’t mean to sound like i’m making light of the impact these cartoons cast—that’s not at all my intention, but there are, undeniably, entries that are better than others. this cartoon is probably the best out of the remaining avery censored 11 entries, as well as one of the better entries in the censored 11 as a whole. that’s not in my power to decide, of course, but in terms of quality, technicalities, and polishing, this is one of the “better” ones.

a parody on the infamous novel by harriet beecher stowe, uncle tom’s bungalow illustrates the story of how little eva and topsy save uncle tom, but his refuge is threatened once the girls fall behind on their payments to the treacherous simon simon legree.

the cartoon opens with a long, beautiful pan of the rural countryside, complete with a beautiful, jaunty chorus of “swanee river/the old folks at home”. we truck in on a grandiose property, where we meet our narrator courtesy of tedd pierce as he asserts “that’s real swing, boys.”

next starts the first introduction of many, a highlight in the cartoon, if not THE highlight. we’re met with the stereotypical cute little avery blonde, vocals by the great berneice hansell as always. the narrator asks for her name, and, in a moment of greatness, she rambles on in that terminally amusing cutesy voice, giving everything BUT her name. she provides her age, her address, shows off how she can spell “cat” (”i can spell cat! uh, c-a... uh, cat. uh...c-a... uh, cat! c-a... well, anyway, i can spell dog! d-o-g, dog...”) and so forth. as both she and avery test our patience, she suddenly shows off the lace underneath her dress, getting both the narrator and audience in trouble as the narrator protests, insisting she cover herself back up. “now, all we want to know is your name!” a looney tunes staple, the girl’s outburst is surprisingly provided by billy bletcher as opposed to mel blanc when she barks “LITTLE EVA, YA DOPE!”

the narrator moves on to patronize his next subject, topsy. her introductory gag is seldom spared from being cringeworthy, but is undeniably clever. "hey, girly. step out of that shadow and introduce yourself to the folks here.” topsy makes her way out of the shadows and introduces herself, the narrator once more providing a patronizing chuckle and a “that’s cute.”

next is uncle tom himself, who, surprisingly, isn’t featured very much in this cartoon at all. the narrator comments on how feeble uncle tom is getting, remarking on the way his knees shake. uncle tom retorts how his knees aren’t shaking--he’s trucking. narrator has no response.

eliza is the next one to be introduced (obligatory comment about how we share the same name and how totally WEIRD it is to hear your name over and over and over again. how do you folks with common names survive??). as grotesque as these caricatures and stereotypes are, eliza’s banter with the narrator is very amusing. they’re both from the south, and go back and forth in jovial banter about the other being from the south. eliza’s animation is very loose, rubbery, and fun, all things considered. i know it seems i always pin him as the perpetrator for certain scenes, but i wonder if this is bob clampett animation? it seems very unlikely--he would have been working on porky’s badtime story at this time as a director. yet, chuck jones, who also moved to iwerks’ unit with clampett before clampett took over, also does animation in this cartoon, so it’s not completely out of the question. it is unlikely that this is clampett, though. just a guess. her movements are very reminiscent of daffy’s exit provided by clampett in porky’s duck hunt.

and, of course, every cartoon must have a villain. chuck jones animates simon simon legree, who you’ll recognize as the villain from milk and money. the name simon simon is a take on popular french actress at the time simone simone. very clever indeed. chuck jones’ animation is top notch as always--in fact, the introductory pieces for every character, gross and cringeworthy as some of the designs are, are very well animated and full of great character acting. 

even the narrator is not immune from puns: “and last but not leashed is the hounds.” a skillful ear will note that the underscore is “my little buckaroo”, the name of a 1938 friz freleng merrie melody. daffy also sings it in the opening of the daffy duckaroo in 1942 (not to be confused with the 1954 chuck jones cartoon my little duckaroo). the dogs hardly display any signs of enthusiasm as they snooze on the porch--the gray dog troubles himself enough to lift his head up and give a gravelly “hello.” courtesy of mel blanc. that’s that.

the introductory portion, taking up half the cartoon, comes to a close as the narrator asks if all of the characters are ready. they all give the affirmative (perhaps most notably little eva responding “you said it, dark, tall, and bow-legged!”, as well as the apathetic dog grunting that there ain’t nothin’ else ta do). this whole entire scene is far from perfect--stereotypes are abound and caricatures are grotesque, yet this serves as a landmark in tex’s warner bros career. there isn’t even a fourth wall to break--there is no fourth wall. we are completely immersed with the characters, and the characters are completely immersed with us. they feel real, alive, and with us, all the while holding onto the notion that there is an underlying sense of performance. the most immersive of characters act like they’re putting on a show, coming from an actress herself (i use that loosely and coyly, i was the lead in my senior musical and was in quite a handful of other plays). broad movements, exaggerated dialogue. the more unbelievable, the more believable. cartoon acting is a strange world!

“here we go, camera!” the narrator announces as a warning. and a warning is right. it’s important to remember that this is a parody of the stage adaptations from harriet beecher stowe’s book, not the book itself. not that a parody makes it okay--it doesn’t. and that’s what we need to remember. 

we are greeted with simon simon legree’s slave company, as well as billy bletcher’s haunting laugh and avery’s favorite theme for the villain. legree cracks his whip, and we are reminded just how treacherous and despicable this man is as we see the whip physically snapping its “fingers”. the next scene is a grotesque and racist (well, that’s a given) display of social commentary as we see slaves lined up against the fence, advertised with signs that liken them to a used car sale. absolutely brutal, commentary or not. but, again, it must be noted.

uncle tom is one of the slaves for sale, who the narrator desperately attempts to warn to escape. terrible as this sequence is, uncle tom provides a great one-liner as legree threatens him with his whip. “my body might belong to you, but my soul belongs to warner brothers!” 

meanwhile, little eva and topsy hold hands, frolicking and skipping with deliberately annoying singing as they stumble across legree’s site (as the satirical signs help us remember). they hear the whip cracks, and both girls dart in front of uncle tom in an attempt to stop legree’s abuse. eva protests “stop! stop! we’ll buy the nice old man!”

very amusing is the next scene as we watch legree negotiate business deals with two 6 year old children. more wonderful chuck jones animation, of course. “here’s your contract! but remember, if you fall behind in your payments, i take him back!”

thus, the girls take uncle tom home, and all is well. for now, anyway. time marches on as we watch snowdrifts pile on the grandiose property from the beginning, even prompting the narrator to remark “my, my, how time does fly.” 

“looks like bad news, folks,” the narrator ever so helpfully quips as we spot legree’s business. a wonderfully grotesque hand helps to further the entire sickening feeling that is inherent with legree as he peruses topsy and eva’s checking account: they’re three months behind on their payments. legree saunters through the snow with that delightfully absurd villain walk as the narrator frets, wishing to warn the kids.

“jiggers, kids! ditch uncle tom--here comes legree!” with some quick thinking, the girls throw uncle tom through the portrait displayed so ornately on the wall.uncle tom places his face in the position of the face that was there just seconds before. 

i didn’t mention this, but this is irv spence’s first scene in a tex avery cartoon. spence is a WONDERFUL animator and one of my favorites. the way his characters move is nothing less than tantalizing. legree bursts in and berates the kids on uncle tom’s whereabouts. eva protests “we don’t know, so THERE!” followed by a “so there!” from topsy. the way the girls push their bodies, how strong the line of action is, how defined the silhouettes are... absolutely beautiful animation, all things considered. they even make chuck jones’ next scene seem inferior, and that’s quite a feat. legree spits that he’ll find uncle tom, no matter what, as we see animation of him slithering across the ground, reused from milk and money.

he slithers across the floor to where the couch is, per the narrator’s guidance. “getting warm... warmer... warmer... warmer...” he’s getting warmer, alright--thanks to the narrator’s quick thinking, legree feels around underneath the couch, his fingers dangerously close to an electrical socket. all according to plan as legree is electrocuted, spasming and flailing around in a bright array of colors. as legree recovers, he does not at all fancy the narrator’s joke of “boy, you’re burning up!”

more irv spence animation as legree threatens to whip the girls within an inch of their lives, until another animator takes over and gives us this take that... speaks for itself how tasteless it is.

nevertheless, irv spence provides animation once more as the narrator recruits eliza into action. eliza scoops up the girls and runs out of the mansion, the narrator commentating on the chase like it’s a horse race. legree whistles, and we are reminded of the lazy dogs from the beginning, who are still snoozing on the porch, covered in snowdrifts. legree resorts to sniffing out eliza’s tracks like a dog himself, and in a twist of tex avery greatness, one of the footprints kicks legree right in the ass.

the chase persists as legree now has his hounds, the hounds chasing after eliza. eliza halts when she approaches a lake: it hasn’t frozen over, no way to cross. another frequent favorite used by tashlin, iwerks, and now avery as eliza panics, trying to think of a way to cross. the narrator croons “relax, eliza, now don’t get excited, don’t get excited...” eliza retaliates with the famous “EXCITED?? WHO’S EXCITED?? I’M NOT EXCITED!!!” 

as legree gets closer, the narrator indicates a slot machine--an avery favorite used since his debut with gold diggers of ‘49--where eliza can get some ice. eliza slips a coin in, and hits the jackpot. giant bricks of ice tumble out of the machine, forming stepping stones across the lake. a long shot of eliza and the girls trying to escape from legree, who has also approached the ice blocks.

eliza lands on the shore, as does legree and the hounds. as the hounds bark at the victims, legree readying his whip, the narrator giving a dramatic “and the winner...!”, the suspense is broken by the sound of a car horn.

“...is uncle tom. looks like the old boy has collected on his social security!” an avery staple as we see the victorious old man triumphantly holding up his winnings in his grandiose car. a cut gag from daffy duck and egghead also has daffy crying about how he shouldn’t be killed, he still has to collect on his social security. definitely a trend in the avery-verse! 

uncle tom forks over a bundle of cash to legree, who accepts it begrudgingly and stalks off. the girls are thrilled. eva asks “why, uncle tom! where did you get all that money?”

what better way to end a racist cartoon by perpetuating more stereotypes? uncle tom throws two dice on the ground, who land snake eyes. yet, lo and behold, the dice roll over to reveal a 7. another avery iris out gag as the iris closes, leaving the dice on the black screen. the iris opens to allow uncle tom to fish the dice back into the cartoon, ending the cartoon as the narrator sardonically croons “and there you have the story of uncle tom’s bungalow! ...or have you?”

i will give this cartoon credit: this is the best entry from the censored 11 we’ve seen yet. i don’t like to put it like that, because it’s not, and should not be a popularity contest, but the quality of work in this cartoon is undeniably superior in comparison to the other works we’ve seen. i will say that i personally like this better than the previous entry, clean pastures, despite its jolly music score. this cartoon has some wonderful animation by irv spence and chuck jones, and the entire first introductory half is pretty extraordinary, all things considered. in fact, the rest of the cartoon, in my opinion, doesn’t quite match the momentum brought on by the first half. the first half is slow, yes, but it’s filled with wonderful character acting and animation. the chase scene between eliza and legree doesn’t quite have the same avery snappiness as other previous chase scenes. it becomes rather droll, despite the narrator’s amusing, if not redundant at times commentary. frank tashlin would rival tex avery in terms of speed and quality, and that would serve as a great thing--those two would always play off each other as a result, and cartoons got better.

but, with all that said, this is still an abhorrent cartoon in many ways. stereotypes and caricatures are abound, and scenes are uncomfortable, if not plain cruel at times. of course historical context is important--one must always keep that in mind--but this still remains as an inexcusable display of racism, even if this is a parody. racism is racism. and, because of that, i still can’t recommend this cartoon, or really any of the cartoons on this list. this cartoon is more lighthearted than the previous entries, and i would never call it entirely innocent, but it doesn’t feel as nasty as previous entries like, say, sunday go to meetin’ time. this cartoon has quality, but it has many, many problems. 

so, as always, i will provide a link--obviously view at your own discretion.

[thehuggamugcafe]

The Charlatan: Transfer Student III

OOC: So, I seem to be in the mood to put you through the mill this afternoon, dear reader. My apologies for that in advance.

I hope to be especially busy today, so I hope this will tide you folks over until I post other things. Anyway... I’ve talked enough, I think.

Let us start the game together, shall we? Please indulge yourself, my dear customer. Enjoy. ☕

Part 2 is here. https://thehuggamugcafe.tumblr.com/post/174898453922/the-charlatan-transfer-student-ii

No sooner had the barely-there smile touched his lips, it was gone, replaced by a frown as his brows pinched the slant of his gray eyes.

“Have you been told? A customer of mine and your parents know each other, and—”

Sojiro stopped in the midst of his spiel, breathing a sigh. Quietly, going by the irritated look in his eyes, the annoyed scowl that pinched his lightly aged face, he seemed to view it as too much of a hassle to explain himself to you.

You couldn’t help but silently wonder why he was so distant with others, but you knew better than to push your luck by voicing your curiosity. Sojiro Sakura was your caretaker for the next year, and if you so much as toed the invisible line, or worse crossed it, he would throw you out and you knew where you’d end up. A cell in juvie hall.

“Well, not that that matters. Follow me.”

You waited until his back was turned and he began walking until, finally, you decided that following his example was a good idea. Halfway up the stairs to a somewhat spacious attic, a question rolled off of your tongue and past your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Um, excuse me... There were a lot of police officers on my way here. Did something happen? Was there an accident, maybe?”

“Huh?”

Sojiro stopped on the staircase, eyeing you critically for a few moments before he breathed an all too familiar sigh, one of mild frustration.

“Police officers...? Accident...? It’s not my business, and it’s not yours either, kid.”

It was as though answering you wasn’t worth his time, and again, you couldn’t help but be reminded of how distant, how cold his attitude was. Your first impression of him wasn’t helped by the fact that he called you a kid, either.

When you ascended the final step, your (e/c) gaze quietly took in the sight of the attic as Sojiro proclaimed, “This is your room.”

A dusty wooden shelf was on your left, right next to the staircase landing, filled with bags of what you assumed to be old belongings. You made a mental note to try to avoid from tripping over it in the morning from now on. Bulky trash bags, a ladder, a potted plant, a small heater, a few empty plastic containers, cardboard boxes that were taped shut, a fan covered in cobwebs, and a shelf littered with musty old books cluttered the left-hand side of the room. An old work bench sat in one corner of the room, directly across from an old mattress with a (f/c) sleeping bag, clustered with old books and covered by a plastic sheet.

Next to the workstation, there was an old couch, and next to the couch were more old books on top of and underneath the rickety-looking table. You spotted more cardboard boxes that were taped shut, two laundry baskets, raggedy-looking cloths that hung from the lines that dangled from the attic beams, and a dim yellow white fluorescent glow shone from a few lit light bulbs. Lastly, your eyes landed on a box set in the middle of the attic room, your room for the next year, and you knew it was your belongings from home.

You glanced back at Sojiro as he addressed you with a stern-sounding “hey,” and a look to match.

“Are you listening?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He paused to raise a hand, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed. “I’ll at least give you sheets for your bed.”

The lukewarm stare he gave you caused a chill to dance up and down your spine. You felt very much like a child expecting to be scolded by his or her parent, and you felt like you were walking on egg shells. It was looking more and more like the next year would be... difficult with Sojiro Sakura, to say the least.

“Hm? You look like you want to say something.”

“...It’s big,” you muttered, casting one last glance around the attic.

“It’s on you to clean up the rest. I’ll leave after locking up each day. You’ll be alone at night, but don’t do anything stupid. I’ll throw you out if you cause any trouble.”

You opened your mouth to thank him, but his voice—and the no-nonsense stare he had—stopped you from speaking so much as a word.

“Now then... I got the gist of your situation: You protected some woman from a man forcing himself on her, he got injured, then sued you. Right? That’s what you get for sticking your nose in a matter between two adults. You did injure him, yeah?”

Sojiro paused, breathing a sigh through pursed lips as he stared at you, long and hard. “I guess appearances aren’t everything.”

You swallowed a gulp, a mound of saliva that felt like it was the size of a tennis ball. Instinctively, you felt a hand curling to a fist, a fist that shook, trembled with irritation as your eyes hardened.

“W-Wait a minute, that was all just a... I... I mean that I—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Sojiro abruptly cut you off with both a stare that cut through you like a hot knife through butter, and sharp words that rolled off of his tongue.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to anyone. I am in the restaurant business, you know. Anyway,” he paused, withdrawing a cigarette package from one of the pockets of his barista apron.

The flap was opened, and a faint hint of raisin made itself known to you as a tobacco-stuffed cigarette was removed. The middle-aged man put it between his lips as he took out a lighter, and with a flick of his thumb, a small reddish orange flame danced on the windscreen. The small flame touched the end of the cigarette, and soon, a huff of gray smoke was breathed into your face.

“And now that you’ve got a criminal record, you were expelled from your high school. The courts ordered you to transfer and move out here, which your parents also approved. In other words,” he paused, his lips curling as he smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile, “they got rid of you for being a pain in the ass.”

He breathed a second huff of smoke, watching your expression as the gray white smog filtered by you, around you, and wafted throughout the dusty attic.

“Behave yourself for the year. If nothing happens, your probation will be lifted.”

“...A whole year,” you muttered, more to yourself than to your caretaker.

“Your sentence lasts until next spring, right? That’s why you’re gonna be here for the coming year. Cause any problems, and you’ll be sent straight to juvie.”

The middle-aged barista crushed the smouldering butt of his cigarette into the edge of the shelf on the left of where you both stood.

“We’ll be going to Shujin tomorrow.”

“...Shujin?” you asked, blinking owlishly.

“Shujin Academy—the school you’ll be attending. We’ll introduce ourselves properly to the staff there. There’s rarely a place that will accept someone like you, you know.”

By someone like me, he means someone with a criminal record, even if it is a false charge!

You said nothing, deciding it was wise to bite the inside of your cheek for the time being.

“...Yes, sir,” you replied, your soft words earning a quiet, long winded sigh from Sojiro.

“What a waste of my Sunday... Your luggage arrived earlier; I left it over there.”

Your eyes fell on the cardboard box that was just behind him, nodding once.

“...I’ll leave it to you then, kid. Oh, and you heard what I said, didn’t you? Cause me any grief, and I’ll toss you out onto the streets like the troublemaker you are. Got it?”

“...Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Make sure to go to bed early. I won’t be the one looking after you if you get sick because you stayed up too late.”

“...Yes, sir. Good night.”

You watched as Sojiro turned on his heels, the soles of his white shoes clicking as he descended the attic stairs. Your eyes did a slow, thorough sweep of the attic, breathing a sigh as you set your schoolbag on a table on the right-hand side of the attic stairs.

“This is gonna take me a while...”

It took some time, but finally, you collapsed on what was to be your bed for the next year, your hands resting on your interlocked palms, fingers linked together. The lumpy mattress shifted, quietly groaning in protest as your weight was added to it. By the time you had finished cleaning the attic that probably hadn’t seen a feather duster in years, it was early evening. The distant caws of a crow reached you through the rickety window that blew a cool, crisp spring breeze into the room through a crack in the opening, whispering across your face as you breathed a sigh.

Your (e/c) gaze stared up into the ceiling, lazily eyeing the support beams as thoughts rushed through your mind.

Arrest... Trial... Criminal record...

The inebriated voice of that man hissed its way into your head, like a snake winding its way through grass. It was as prevalent as it always was when you thought back to that night. You could still remember the way he glared at you, eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed with intoxication, pressing a hand to his head injury as he spat angrily at you.

“You little bitch... I’ll sue!”

Back then... On that evening... I wasn’t in the wrong. I know I did the right thing.

That was what you told yourself over and over again, but it was a sobering comfort, albeit a bittersweet one. You helped a woman who was in clear need of aid, and what had you gotten in return as thanks?

A slap to the face and angry words, courtesy of your mother.

The sneering lips and haughty stare of your older sister.

The wide, watery eyes and worried glances of your little brother.

The quiet, concerned stare of your father, softly whispering assurances that everything would be okay in the end.

Your friends abandoning you.

Your classmates and the faculty staff eyeing you critically, as though you weren’t the person they once knew anymore.

Your high school expulsion.

Your false criminal record.

Being labelled as a delinquent, a no-good problem child, and on top of everything else, you would be stuck in Tokyo for a whole year.

Still, I couldn’t just let that go.

You remembered you had to go home early on that day. Your father had called, saying your grandfather had been hospitalized for a sudden heart attack, and your cram school teacher had given you the green light to leave early.

“Just get in the car!”

You remembered stopping, flicking a glance down a separate street, pursing your lips as you paused, listening.

“Stop it!”

“How dare you cross me...!”

You moved instinctively, but not away from the sound of quarrelling voices, no.

You moved to where they were coming from.

“Stop it! Let me go!”

The closer you approached, the more clear their voices were. It was a man and a woman, the latter being grappled by the former as the man snarled intoxicated words at the woman, his words slurring noticeably.

“No!”

You remembered the way the woman struggling, doing her best to get away from the man, but for every inch she tried to get away from him, the closer he yanked her back to him with a large, masculine hand wrapped around her forearm.

“Don’t give me that shit...”

“Ow! P-Please, stop!”

She’s in danger. I have to save her!

You remembered how your heels clicked over the asphalt, your schoolbag bumping against your clothed back as you jogged closer. The driver-side door of a car was left open, a car which you assumed was the man’s vehicle, ready to shove the helpless woman inside at any moment.

“Tch... What a waste of time. You think you’re worth causing me trouble? Huh?”

“I-I’ll call the police!”

“Heh, call them if you want! The police are my bitches. They’re not gonna take you seriously.”

“No... Stop...”

The distant wailing of police sirens made you look up the street, and so did the drunken man. He clicked his tongue in clear annoyance.

“Someone called the cops, huh? Get in the car! Incompetent fools like you just need to shut your mouths and follow where I steer this country!”

Suddenly, the hairs raised on the back of your neck as the woman’s eyes fell on you, and the man followed to where she was staring, honing his gaze on you.

“What’re you looking at? Get outta my face!”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. You watched as the man took a few steps, his balance was questionable as his eyes leered at you through the orange-coloured lenses of the glasses that sat upon his nose.

“This ain’t a show! Get lost, missy!”

Turning back to glare at the woman over his shoulder, his voice spoke volumes of the irritation he felt.

“See? This is all because you’re so damn slow! Get in the car!”

In the here-and-now, you felt a hand curling to a tight, white-knuckled fist. Your jaw became set as your lips pursed, your brows pinched the slant of your eyes as you stared—no, glared—up at the ceiling.

You breathed a huff and a sour mutter of, “That scumbag,” feeling your eyes sliding shut. You were in the throes of dozing off—that is, until the be-be-beep of your phone pulled you free from the attempt of falling asleep.

You hummed as you withdrew your cellphone from the pocket of your cotton pyjama pants, blinking as your eyes fell on a familiar red and black icon that took the shape of an eye.

It’s that weird app again. Your eyes focused on it, sensing a dizzying spell of feeling lightheaded gripping a hold of you, washing over you. It was slow, gentle, but potent simultaneously, lulling you into a sense of security, of warmth.

“That’s... weird. I deleted it this afternoon. It’s so creepy,” you mumbled, blinking your heavy eyes.

You tried, you honestly and truly tried to resist, but your eyes slid shut, and you fell into the welcoming abyss of unconsciousness.

The clanking of shackles yanked you to full alertness, breathing a shallow gasp as your eyes shot open. Groggy, your eyes watched as a chain lazily swung back and forth, the chilling sound of metal hitting a padded wall resulted in a powerful chill to worm up and down your spine, a shudder that shook your shoulders. The soft but steady noise of water dripping into a toilet was heard directly across from you, echoing all around wherever it was that you resided now.

Wherever this place was, you knew one thing for certain.

This isn’t Leblanc’s attic.

The feeling of cold metal surrounding your wrists, the telltale sound of chains clinking together made you look down, and a similar sensation of icy steel circling your calves earned a second, more thorough glance at yourself. Your quiet suspicions were confirmed; your hands and ankles sported thick metal shackles. Moreover, you wore a white and black striped prisoner’s uniform, clothing that was strangely complimented by the simple pair of raggedy sneakers you wore.

The lumpy mattress you sat on shifted as you tossed your feet on the floor, the worn footwear scuffing over the floor as the soles made contact. You drew in a breath as he sat, back curved as you pressed a hand to your head, trying to assess the situation.

Where am I? How did I get here? Is this a dream?

A soft snicker caught your attention, and you blinked, your head pointing an askance on the cell door. A smirk curled the lips of the noiret, standing at around 5’11’’, the warm onyx iris of his right eye observing you. He wore a standard warden’s uniform. A crisp blue shirt and a black tie, black dress pants covered his legs, and black dress shoes shone with a mirror polish. Finally, a warden’s cap sat atop his head, bearing a golden V, and the black eyepatch that covered his right eye also bore a golden V as he breathed a second chuckle. It was a noise that was surprisingly pleasant to hear, but...

You watched as he shifted, making way for a carbon copy of himself. This young man appeared to be just like him. The same frizzy black hair, the same onyx iris that coolly eyed you, the same clothing, the same eyepatch covered his left eye, but unlike his look-a-like, he seemed to be more stand-offish, more level-headed.  The two noiret, obsidian-eyed wardens shifted, turning sideways as your gaze fell on a rather... odd-looking man.

The first thing you took notice of was his abnormally long nose, and how his wide, bloodshot eyes ogled you in silence. He was dressed in a way that reminded you of a butler, or perhaps a servant of a higher being. A crisp black tailcoat, a white shirt, a black tie, black leggings, and black dress shoes. A grin eternally pulled at his lips as he raised a hand covered by a white glove, appearing to greet you.

For a moment, and only a moment, silence prevailed where you lingered, but finally, the man spoke.

“Trickster... Welcome to my Velvet Room.”

[primalspice]

9, 12, 16, 28, 34, 41

ou

How are conflicts resolved? Peaceful negotiation, war, or something else entirely?

depends on the conflict and the day LOL war hasnt really happened on a widescale level but there’s been a good amount of Civil Unrest. the military is pretty n the high side of disproportionate to amount of citizens tho so thats.......not great LOL. There’s a lot of unethical things going on within the military that make their conflict resolution Generally Bad whether with civilians or other military/government members. The government/political level is bureaucratic and usually not worth the trouble LOL even the (usually) elected president typically doesn’t really even have a ton of power in conjunction with the rest of the randomass high-gov workers. Troubles of legality are usually settled through political office there but its pretty limited and concrete. The region is self-governing and only reports to like. the American Presidential Office for especially important shit.....although they seem to be caring less nowadays about how anyone is doing.

How would it be described on a travel brochure? What aspects would be highlighted?

It wouldnt be advertised to the public v much LOL i imagine the uniqueness and history of Technological Advancement would be accentuated on maybe. yessss we pioneered make big energy and also like cars at some point in time, disregard the fact that the region was totally demolished in the process of doing this.

What is the typical wardrobe like? Colourful or dull? Fancy or functional? Warm or light?

pretty typical 70s american style, maybe Slightly behind on trends since they’re so isolated. Nothing particularly advanced or expensive as stores are pretty limited, but there’s enough variety. Most people tend to dress functionally or plain considering the atmosphere and the types of jobs thatre prevalent but that’s more just preference. Basic military uniforms are pretty common for members to wear around even if not performing any particular duties (annoying)

How are travelers or immigrants treated? Or do people tend to stay where they were born?

Immigrants and Emigrants are both quite rare and held to high standards (lots of paperwork, monitoring, dealing with the Bureaucracy, etc.). Both are regarded with skepticism but especially emigrants. It wouldn’t be particularly hard for someone leaving to integrate into regular society but the greater fear is Government Secrets being leaked nd such. and spreading whatever weird poison radioactive illness youve contracted. It’s rare for an emigrant to be successful in the process and they’re usually treated with suspicion and doubt; a lot of regular citizens are pretty complacent with the living situation since they don’t hear much about what else is available to them and don’t understand the need to leave considering shit’s reforming anyway; they assume anyone with success in leaving must have found a loophole in the system bcz they make it impossible LOL Those immigrating go through an extensive interview process to define their intentions and typically come in on outside government scholarships/research nowadays. If accepted, the region is contracted to secure their housing and they’re heavily monitored for the first year of their stay (and gradually less after that). Citizens usually regard immigrants highly because they’re usually introduced to perform and train others for jobs that are specialized/sparse.

How do people keep in contact? Do they write each other? How are messages transported? Are there communication devices?

Telephones are common but service is limited to within the region except in special cases (certain government/military phones and immigrants). Letters are common but again the mail service is regional. No one really physically enters/exits for that kind of stuff but being the 2nd-4thish generations living here, it’s mostly uncontested since not many people know someone on the outside. 

How long do people tend to live? What is this age affected by? Sickness, unsafe working conditions, dangerous environment? Or is that simply the natural old age?

The average age is...........Decreasing haha :|  Sickness, unsafe working conditions, dangerous environment, All Of The Above. The radiation is getting exponentially worse so a lot of people are dying from cancers and radiation poisoning and the like. A lot of people also dying from lack of medical care for unrelated issues due to supply and doctor scarcity. A lot of people dying from unregulated factories and labor. Crime is also increasing a bit. Yknow.

[the-uptake]

The Uptake, The 704. 2|2|3|W. Book 1, Chapter 3. Go to previous. TWs: needles/phlegbotomy, medical diagnostics, emetophobia, forcefeeding, abusive dynamic. Revised 2019.06.28.

Galen came to in a small room with a polished concrete floor and walls and ceiling edges with simple recessed studio lighting. He attempted to roll over on his back. When the discovery of handcuffs halted him, he instead rolled onto his face to ease getting into a kneeling position. He pulled on the cuffs to guarantee they had been soundly clicked shut. He looked around the room. Whoever had brought him here had removed his tattered attire and clothed him in a dark tank top and pajama pants.

Fumbling to his bare feet, he found a locked heavy metal door in the middle of one wall, while the flimsy door in the corner led to a one-person bathroom. The layout of the room couldn’t manifest its current function at first glance. He kicked at the metal door trying to make some noise, but it didn’t get him anywhere, and it didn’t have any knob or handle anyway. He tried repeatedly to reach the cuffs to suck on them, but couldn’t manage to get his hands in his lap from behind him, and each time an exhausted derangement defeated him more and more. Eventually, he laid back down in the middle of the floor, and welcomed the cool of the concrete against his body.

He must have dozed off at some point, because two pair of dress shoes appeared in front of his face. He jerked back a ways with a hushed slaggit! under his breath. They belonged to two clean-cut older men, one a good bit taller than the other.

“Sorry to startle you, Galen.” The taller one, brunet, crouched down nearer, and rested his arms on his sprawled knees. “And we’re sorry that you had to be brought here under such circumstances. Hopefully, we can help you.”

Galen gave them a wild, sarcastic look before the fatigue wiped the expression off his face. Still, he craved the cuffs.

“--I know y’all?”

“Oh, my, no.” The shorter one, with longish swept-back pepper-blond hair, adjusted his glasses by scrunching his nose a bit, and joined his colleague in crouching. “Confirm for us, if you would: You were in an accident recently? And you believe it was chemical in nature?”

“Forgive Lyst.” The taller one shot an annoyed glance at his colleague, then motioned at him. “This is James Lyst, and my name’s Daniel O’Donnell. He’s very... task oriented, to put it mildly. Try to be patient with him, if you can.”

“How do y’all know all this-- Bell.” The stalker deflated and slumped on the concrete, recalling how poorly the exam had gone. “Must be bad, if the Good Doc thought he had to toss me into somebody else’s care. I, I, I, I. I’m dead, yeah? Thought so. Y’all must be morticians, with my luck.”

His features sympathetic, O’Donnell’s nod turned into a shake of the head.

“We’re chemists. Well, a chemical engineer and a pharmacist. And we currently have you under supervision for the sequelae of your toxic waste exposure. Between access and the square footage to house it, our facility is better suited to accommodate whatever diagnostics we determine can assess your health.”

“It’s a momentous occasion, really,” Lyst continued with a grin of large teeth, in an affected lyricism which seemed typical of him. “A new class of metahuman. Really, you’re something special, Galen.”

Galen struggled to keep up.

“Metahuman? My DNA’s all screwy now? This didn’t happen cause a street chems. This was a buncha drums a truck. They. They fell on me an’ broke an’ I was trapped to where I. I think I inhaled and swallowed a buncha it.” He flinched from trying to piece together details, and shoved down his tic as hard as he could. Something about these two felt more trustworthy and candid than Bell had, but he couldn’t place why. “If y’need me to remember the exact names of every thing that bust open an’ drowned me... you’re S.O.L. ‘cause I. I. --I wasn’t payin’ attention t’that kinda stuff at the time.”

Lyst and O’Donnell listened attentively, but it was Lyst who spoke up.

“You don’t need to remember all that right now. It’s quite all right. But yes, metahuman. I’d suspect you’d know what a metahuman is through some knowledge of Ketonamil, considering its prevalence in casual Quarter use, or perhaps through the politics of hybrids, but based on our current knowledge of your predicament, we both doubt any of either related substance was present on site where the exposure took place. And although a number of different chemicals can induce metahumanity, in the history of the one we suspect... there haven’t been any who took exposure with such resilience as you have.”

Galen balked, increasingly nettled by the metal around his wrists.

“Wouldn’t call it resilience. --Are the handcuffs necessary? Course they are. Y’all had t’drug me to get me here. No tellin’ what my reaction could’a been. Forget it.”

“We’re to understand it’s for your own protection as well.” O’Donnell frowned. “You have compulsion troubles?”

“I get hungry. Brain’s slagged.” He turned over, away from them. “It’s... hard t’get comfortable. Not for the floor. ‘Cause the cuffs. ...Can I say somethin’ weird?”

“I’m sorry to hear the restraints are making comfort difficult. We’ll work on that. Are they on too tight? What’s on your mind?”

“...These handcuffs.” Galen jammed his tongue up in the roof of his mouth and squinted. “...Metal. I get y’all not trustin’ me, but can we maybe not do metal? S’not the cuffs hurt. S’that...”

“What is it? You can speak with us without consequence.”

“...S’makin’ me hungry. Don’t get how, but it’s like I, I, can smell ‘em. Metal’s been drivin’ me loon. An’ with my hands behind me. Sure y’got cameras in here or some truck. Couldn’t sleep, for tryin’ t’get at ‘em.”

“Fascinating...!” Lyst had to sit down at this. “It’s affected your sensory acuity as well?”

O’Donnell dismissed the callous commentary with a cough.

“Trying to sleep with a loud appetite can’t be working well for you.” He ignored his colleague. “We’re going to try to make this arrangement as easy on you as possible. I’ll look into it personally this afternoon.”

“You must be ravenous.” Lyst leaned in to coax Galen’s eye contact, without succeeding. “It’s been a while since you were brought here.”

“Don’t remember last time I wasn’t. Not since--”

“A healthy appetite isn’t always a bad thing.” He patted Galen’s shoulder. “What would you like us to bring you? Within reason, of course. Our budget won’t allow for steak dinners.”

Galen just lay there for a moment, in a double-take.

“I don’t get y’sense a humor. That was a joke right? He was jokin’?”

“We’ll get you whatever you like,” O’Donnell insisted, increasingly exasperated with Lyst. “Burger Block? Chick Digs? King Pho? A pizza?”

Another long silence.

“Y’too, then. Let’s get somethin’ crystal here. Last I tried t’eat food, threw up. Out every end. Know y’all don’t wanna clean that up, an’ I ain’t inclined to it neither.”

“Do you remember the last thing you ate, out of curiosity?”

“A bottle a iodine. Buncha those lil’ funnel things the doc sticks in y’ear. I dunno, was a little stressed out at the Clinic.”

“Food, Galen. Not the compulsions. Stay with me here.”

The stalker let out a shrill bark, unmoving.

“Been weeks since I ate food, doc. ‘Fore ‘Piphany. Can we--” He fidgeted with his wrists and swallowed his saliva.

“Which of us has the smart sense of humor here again?” Lyst rolled his eyes.

“Y’think I’m slaggin’ y’all? Bring me Burger Block. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Can we, maybe--” More squirming.

“If not... food... then what? The offer still stands, to get you anything within reason.”

“--I want these slagGIN’ HANDCUFFS--”

Almost in tears, Galen rolled on his face and tugged at the cuffs until his wrists were raw. The two men scrambled to each take one upper arm in hand and steady the boy.

“Cool it, cool it.” O’Donnell made hushing noises as he fished the key out of his pocket. “Stop squirming and I can-- Here-- wait, that’s not--”

The instant the cuffs were off, Galen wrestled out of their grip and snatched the restraining tool from them. They vanished down his throat in a series of curled links, and he lay back and stared at the ceiling with mental clarity afterward, hands laced on his stomach. Despite having contended with the offending article, an odor still divided Galen’s attention.

The scientists failed to hide their alarm.

“...You’ve... certainly done that before,” Lyst commented.

“Told ya I wanted ‘em. Nah. If y’makin’ a point f’me not, not chewin’. Y’couldn’t chew metal neither.”

“To your understanding, do you digest it slower or the same? The metal?”

“...Faster, t’be fair. A lot fastern’ what I think makes any sense. Paint. That’s what I’m smellin’, fresh paint. I...”

Lyst and O’Donnell glanced to each other.

“The lobby was being renovated earlier this week. Do you... you want paint?” Lyst looked at O’Donnell again, making sure he’d heard Galen right. “How-- how is he able to--”

“You’re able to smell the fresh paint upstairs?”

“Y’just seen me swallow handcuffs. Wouldn’t be weird as that, bringin’ me a bucket a paint, yeah?”

“You see that look in his eye.” Lyst wagged a finger at the flightiness Galen couldn’t quite shove down. “He’s just as overwhelmed by this as we are.”

“James, shush. It’s our job to figure this out, not shrink him. Besides, don’t you think it’s fair for him to be confused and disoriented? Clearly this condition has altered his perception in some way.”

“I’m right here, y’know. ...Will y-- will y’bring it? A bucket? Or a coupla cans?”

“Will that tide you over? We won’t be coming back to check on you until tomorrow.”

Entertaining his own warping appetites felt ill-advised at best.

“Ss, somethin’ plastic, maybe? Dunno. Don’t think ahead to well with it, jus’ makes me wanna eat it all at once if I do. Y’all haven’t got any books, yeah? It’s... borin’ in here.”

O’Donnell smiled, and helped his colleague up as they both stood to leave.

“We’ll see what we can do.”

Before Galen knew it, he was alone with himself again, the inception of the commonality of intermittent solitude. He didn’t catch how the door worked.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

A rough boot to the butt jolted Galen awake, and he rolled over in anticipation for a fight, but his fists and gaze stiffened where he lay in confusion when he saw a stranger joined him. The man pulled a folding chair across the concrete floor and unfolded it with a series of rusty creaks, purposefully generating nuisance, and he sat mere feet from Galen with a big paper bag with its top rolled over. Younger than the two scientists, he had long grey-blond hair with the top half pulled back, angular features, and a white neoprene jumpsuit. Galen could tell by smell alone the bag contained fast food. Burger Block. Queasy, his fists and face drooped.

The man set down a fountain drink to one side of him, and fished out a hamburger piled up with vegetables. He tore into it with a diligent politic, seemingly less for keeping it off his uniform and more for some obligation to etiquette. After a few bites, once he was sure Galen had thought he was ignoring him, he jammed the burger right under his nose with a curious brow.

“--I, what, no.”

Galen moved to squirm away, but from where he sat the man pinned him down by the inner thigh with one foot. The man pressed down harder on Galen’s leg, until the treads of the boot dragged his flesh through the thin pajama pants. The stalker winced, and the man offered again by holding it there.

“I, I, I, I, I, I--” Galen swallowed, trying not to tremble. "--Can’t eat that.”

The man sat up straight and pulled off the bun to glance coolly back and forth between the bun and toppings.

“Educated guess whether you were a mustard or pink sauce kind of dreg.” He put the sandwich back together and took another bite. “Couldn’t exactly take your order, you know.”

“Are you... with those two guys from before? Lyst an’ O’Donnell?”

“You could say that.” The man shoved the food against Galen’s mouth this time, smearing mustard at the corner of the stalker’s mouth as he sustained unblinking eye contact. “If you don’t eat, going hungry will be the least of your worries.”

Galen grabbed him by the wrists, and the man allowed it.

“I, ii, if you were with those guys, you’d know s’got nothin’ t’do with whether I like mus--”

The man had only let Galen talk to get his mouth open, and jammed the burger in, even once the rest met Galen’s gnashed teeth. The mixture of bread, meat, lettuce, tomato, onion, and mustard elicited the same revulsion as a wad of hair in his mouth. With Galen caught off guard, the man pulled one hand away easily and used it to steady the shaven backside of Galen’s head so he could continue forcing more burger. Galen’s hands flew up to pry the salty oil and veggies away from his face, but it did little good save scatter a bit of lettuce.

“Chew. Swallow. Repeat. Stop being difficult. Didn’t anybody teach you how to eat? Don’t make me help you the entire way. I don’t get paid enough to babysit.”

Galen could smell the man’s holstered gun through the assault of fast food smells right under his nose, and opted not to argue. But these mutations, if that’s what was really going on... they’d given him such trouble stomaching anything... Still, it couldn’t be worse to resume being bathroom-ridden, than to second-guess the man’s disposition. So, he swallowed. He pulled the burger out of the man’s hands and shoved the whole thing in his mouth, and after the same level of mental preparation as taking a large pill, he swallowed whole what was left of it, just to get it over with.

Feigning he wasn’t shaking at the display, the man unstuck by letting go and offering up the soda.

“Supposin’ I can’t just say no thanks.” Without objecting beyond that, Galen popped the lid and used it to skim the ice as he chugged down the soda. He withheld comment as to the rising temperature in his gut. He ate the straw to satisfy his spite, and roll-folded the lid into his mouth too. “Don’t get what y’want.”

Rather than answer verbally, the man produced his reader from his breast pocket, and pointed in demonstration to the tiny, brightly colored cubes visible in the clear tray door on the edge of it. Heavy-lidded and matter-of-fact, he opened a recording on one of the cubes, and it lit up a pale green when he began playback.

“--Y’think I’m slaggin’ y’all? Bring me Burger Block. Don’t say I d--”

The man played it back a few times, watching contentedly as the look on Galen’s face melted from physical displeasure to disoriented grief. Galen wasn’t used to hearing his own voice, and it didn’t even click at first that it was his. Why the hell did this guy have a recording of Galen? His head ran hot and cold at once, and sweat wrought him clammy all over. Then it registered for the stalker, that this guy likely had a recording of the entire conversation he’d had with the scientists earlier. A scientist jealous of hearing of his rivals’ new work in progress? A security guard seemed the more likely explanation, but it felt like too simple of one to explain potential motives for this behavior. The more his stomach churned, the less he could focus.

Eventually, the whole thing spilled out across the floor in a charred effervescent mess. The man moved a foot aside to avoid the splatter, and his skin crawled to observe that the stomach acid actively dissolved the varnish of the polished concrete. His lip curled at the display to bare a gold incisor. He stood and pushed over the limp stalker with a small nudge, then retrieved the paper garbage to leave.

“You’re to follow all instructions to the letter. Nod if you hear me.”

A small nod, as Galen tried very hard to ignore the near-garlicky rancid stench of his stomach contents digesting the flooring beside him. He clutched his stomach, still cramping despite how much better he felt without the offending stuff inside him. Half-consciously, he felt grateful that it had come out before it had hit his intestines.

“That’s how you show gratitude for people going out of their way to extend a little kindness to you? That’s filthy, you know. Absolutely filthy.”

Galen nearly blurted out well it’s your fault, I told you exactly what’d happen. When he glanced up, he understood he’d have said it to no one: the man had already left.

“...I know.”

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

The door opened and shut, and a pair of shoes approached Galen, who’d curled up into one corner, lost in doldrums over the conviction that his family would not want him back until he was stable.

“Good morning,” O’Donnell started. “I brought you the paint you requested.”

He looked up over his shoulder to see the chemist had come alone, and he rolled over to sit up. When O’Donnell sheepishly handed him the can, he readily took it, but tucked it into his lap.

“Thanks.” He shied from eye contact.

“...Oh! You must be upset because you didn’t just ask for paint. Fret not.” O’Donnell reached into the hip pocket of his lab coat, and produced a reader and held it out to him. “You asked for books. I wasn’t sure what you might like, so I just downloaded a mess of things. You’re free to download whatever you like. The reader’s registered with the Central server.”

Galen stared at the device, and didn’t know how to respond to being offered such a thing. When he’d asked for books, he’d thought asking for a book would produce the physical copy of something, not a reader. He’d never had a reader to himself--the whole family had shared one, and Vana used it more than anybody. The irony was not lost on Galen, either, that O’Donnell had outfitted the thing with an impact-resistant protective case. Maybe this had been the man in white’s idea: a test of whether Galen could keep himself from eating something, when overcoming the compulsion would reward him by providing mental stimulation and alleviating isolation.

He caught himself glaring at the dark glassy stain in the floor and took the reader from O’Donnell.

“Y’all are... too generous. Don’t deserve this kindness.”

The chemist frowned at the sentiment.

“It’s the least we can do for you. You’ve been through so much already, and we haven’t even gotten to your diagnostics screening.”

Galen tapped the power button on the side and flicked the screen on. The navigation keypad along the bottom edge befuddled him and he pecked at it.

“Can I... ask a stupid question?”

“I don’t imagine it’s very stupid.”

“Has this place got security guards?”

O’Donnell crouched to be closer to the boy’s eye level where he sat in the floor, and tried to determine how to answer based on what reason Galen could possibly have for asking such a thing.

“This building is very secure. We have several guards, and extensive surveillance.”

“An’ their uniform, it’s an all white suit? Grey edges?”

The chemist’s eyes narrowed, brow shifting from scrutiny to concern.

“Why? Did one of them come in here?”

Again, Galen glanced at the vitreous slurry-stain. Left unattended, the stomach enzymes had reduced the food to carbon, and the mess had dissipated into the melted glass before the enzymes lost their potency and let the whole thing set up like it had been there all along. A lump formed in his throat.

“Long, greyish hair? But not all that old, I guess? Gold tooth. He’s one of yours, yeah?”

The chemist’s features flattened in a squint for a moment, but he reached out to hold Galen’s shoulders to look him in the eye.

“That’s... Michael. What did he want?”

“...Dunno.”

“Galen, I meant it when I said you could speak to us without consequence. The guards aren’t permitted in here unless they’re accompanying Lyst or me. No one but James and I have clearance to get in here. Did he say anything to you?”

Follow all instructions to the letter.

Galen shook his head and opened the first book he could click on.

“Thought it was weird, is all, that he wasn’t with you guys.” He tried to look like he had gotten absorbed in the romance novel, uninterested in conversation. “Guess he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“No. No, he wasn’t. Will you be all right for another day or so? We had to rent out a lot of the machines we need to run your diagnostics, but they won’t be here until tomorrow.”

“I’m fine.”

The flat affect indicated otherwise, but O’Donnell didn’t press him further.

“Please tell Lyst or me if Michael, or anyone else, comes in here again. You don’t have to go into detail, if you don’t want. But I promise you that the two of us want to keep you safe. If Michael doesn’t make you feel safe, neither of us want that.”

Galen didn’t have a response.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

Galen flinched when Lyst and O’Donnell next visited, and withdrew into the corner before either could even greet him. The paint, can and all, had vanished, as had the reader. Balled up inside his head, he upset himself all over again over his own lack of self-control.

“I, I, I, I, I-- couldn’t help it--” He swallowed hard, trembling. “There’s gotta be a way t’make it up t’ya somehow.”

“You... how did you...” Lyst uncrossed his arms, and was looking around the room for proof he was wrong. He didn’t find any. “How did you eat the reader? --And the can?”

“I--” He looked to O’Donnell for an affirmation that it was okay to speak. “Ss, sssuck on it ‘til it melts. Like candy, or s, somethin’, I guess...”

“Incredible.” Lyst dropped all incredulity, now again fascinated. “Really, though, Galen. If you’d known you were going to eat it, you could have simply asked for an old, broken reader. It would have been fine to ask for that.”

“I-- I thought y’was gonna bring me a paper book. Know it sounds real sorry of me t’say, but... I forgot readers could even have books.”

“I don’t know that our budget could allow for antiques like that.” As tactfully as possible, O’Donnell asked, “You mean to say you don’t think you would have any compulsion to eat paper?”

“Haven’t had one so far. Not that I noticed.” Galen sighed and stared at their shoes in dejection, trying not to remember how the security guard had removed all the paper from the room on his way out when he’d been there. “I... get y’all not entrustin’ me with antiques. It was dumb of me t’even ask. Knew better. I ate my own damn e-cig, an’ Walkman, and--”

“Hey, now.” Lyst wagged a gracious finger at him. “You needn’t beat yourself up. So you had an expensive meal. It’s quite all right. Part of this is learning how your appetite works, little Galen. Galenula. Hhn.” He grinned, scrunching his nose.

“You finished off that can of paint in no time,” O’Donnell began. “We expected it to tide you over for at least a day, but that’s clearly not the case. Do we need to bring you larger, ah, servings? It’s difficult to bring things more frequently, but if we need to figure out how to schedule that, we will.”

“Metal.” Galen got doe-eyed at having blurted out the craving, envisioning what a larger serving might resemble. “Lots a metal. Computer parts if y'can.”

O’Donnell smiled, able to get their subject on a thought which seemed to calm him.

“We’ll see what we can do. In the mean time, Galen, we did come today for more than to just see you... We can start one set of tests this afternoon, if you’re up for it.”

Galen shook his head in dismissal that he could tell them no, and stood compliant.

“Whatever you need of me.”

Lyst left the room long enough to wheel in a small cart with two trays on top. In one surgical tray lay a fistful of stoppered vials, while in the other lay a variety of tubing and sterile-packaged implements. O’Donnell retrieved a pair of folding chairs once his colleague had returned, as not to leave Galen unattended with the door unlocked, and set them out opposite one another next to the cart.

“A blood panel.” The pharmacist refrained from mentioning even anecdotally that it had been since college that he’d had any phlebotomy practice. “A rather extensive one, I’m afraid. I’ll be gentle.”

“Drawin’ blood? Don’t bother me any.” Galen sat in the chair Lyst did not, and already found himself eyeing the glass on the tray. “One of y’gonna hold me?”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’m right behind you,” O’Donnell reassured, both hands on the back of the folding chair.

“First, vitals.”

Lyst produced a sphygmomanometer from a drawer in the cart. He wrapped the cuff around Galen’s upper arm, then depressed the auto-inflate mechanism so that the gauge pressed against his antecubital fold could take the composite measure of the boy’s blood pressure. With a holographic chirp, it annotated the measurement, and Lyst let the pressure out of the instrument and put it away. He got the infrared thermometer from the drawer next, and waved it over Galen’s forehead twice, and annotated its measure as well. Then, from the bottom drawer, the pharmacist set out a scale between the two of them, and suggested Galen stand on it. The only measure Galen saw for himself, it registered 81.6kg. The stalker never really had dealt much with metric, and he sat back down.

“Hm.”

“Hmm?” Hoping for an understanding, Galen looked expectantly to Lyst, who kept tapping away at calculations and annotations, then up behind him to O’Donnell, who also watched Lyst.

“How tall are you?” Lyst asked.

“Five-five. ‘Bout 130, last I checked.”

“Closer... to 180 pounds, it seems. Bell gave us his patient chart data when we overtook your care. You weigh nearly 82 kilo today. That’s about twenty-five kilo over what you should reasonably weigh. But, clearly you’re not overweight. Just... over what you ought to weigh.”

“He means to say, that kind of weight would normally factor as fat,” O’Donnell translated, concealing how wild his mind went with speculation. “Something internal has to be denser. The chemical composition of your muscles, perhaps. Or your bone mass.”

“Diagnostics will better inform us than any speculation.” Lyst put on a pair of latex gloves with minor flourish. “Now, Galenula, offer up an arm. And ball up a fist for me.”

When Galen did as instructed, Lyst gingerly tourniqueted it with a length of yellow rubber. The bespectacled pharmacist then cradled the elbow and palpated for a good artery. He took an alcohol-soaked poly swab to sterilize the area, then tapped at the resultant blood vessels again to test them to satisfaction. He nodded to himself, and unwrapped the catheter needle. Then he looked over his glasses up at Galen, who watched attentively all the while, then proceeded to eyeball exactly where to stick.

“I’m going to count to three, and you’ll feel a pinch, all right?”

Galen nodded. He had to look away, but it didn’t hurt too badly. Bell had hurt worse, he recalled, the doctor seemingly more compelled by speed and efficiency than avoiding exacting pain in the process. The stalker only looked down again once Lyst had snapped the first vial into place over the open tip of the tubing. Something about it felt wrong, and Galen tried not to squirm.

“...Shouldn’t it... be... red...?”

Rather than blood, a bright orange substance filled the vial.

“It wasn’t this color when Dr. Bell drew it?”

“...No...”

Lyst soon switched out the first vial for the second, going down the line. Some vials already contained something with which the blood was to interact, and one of these popped within a minute of the pharmacist setting it down on the tray. The burst startled all three of them, and Galen cried out when Lyst pulled the needle out and pressed down with a fresh poly swab, rather than accidentally jam the catheter further in. They all stared at the tray, wary that the others might follow suit. Galen nudged the caster-wheeled cart with his toe, to push it further away from all of them.

“I... only got seven of the eight vials drawn, but I think it’s safe to say that one wouldn’t have been a viable test sample.” Still holding the boy’s arm to apply pressure, he chuckled at how Galen had done what all three of them had thought of doing. “It’s fine. We got almost all of them, and these will definitely give us much information to work with. I won’t terrorize you further right now.”

Eyes glazed in revulsion, Galen couldn’t stop staring at the vials, many of which had turned nearly neon.

“That... that ain’t blood. Ain’t my blood.”

“It came out of your veins, Galen,” O’Donnell soothed, putting his hands to Galen’s shoulders. “The tests will tell us whether it’s supposed to be there.”

“It’s going to be all right,” Lyst seconded. “Once I get the chance to send off this panel to the lab, we’ll be sure to come right back with something you’ll like.”

“--Hhmetal,” Galen reflexively repeated, transfixed upon the fluid in the glass.

“Yes, yes. We know. Hm! You liked paint. Would you like soap as well, perhaps?”

“Soap sounds nice,” he agreed, becalmed by the idea of eating.

Lyst applied a patch of paper tape over the poly swab, and let go finally.

“Soap. And something metal. Absolutely.”

The pharmacist collected up all the vials into a foam-lined medical-grade mailer carton. From what Galen could tell as he watched, it wasn’t at all unlike a test tube rack fitted inside there, and it seemed to have thermal insulation to keep it within a certain range, as well. He noticed the side of the carton read BF Meehl before it vanished safely into the cart drawer, and Lyst tucked all the remainder of nonsense into the sharps bin in another drawer. O’Donnell patted Galen on the shoulder reassuringly, to shake him out of his stupor enough that he’d notice them leave.

“I’ll come and check on you in about an hour, all right?”

Galen took the shoulder pat as urging to stand so the scientists could retrieve the chair, then he returned to his favored corner next to the bathroom.

“Yeah. ...Thanks, any rate.”

He watched them exit, and observed this time the door opened in a series of magnetic buzzing. Maybe the security guard was watching the whole time, and let them in and out.

Once they were gone, he stared down at the taped poly swab, and forcing himself to take a nap was the only thing that kept him from ripping it off to see if the catheter had gotten out all the orange stuff.

[the-busy-ghost]

I feel like I rant about this a lot but… just the attention to detail when *certain* history writers who cut their teeth on English history start writing about Scotland is rather shabby. Like this is not everyone, and it’s to be expected, but given that so often this is the only way that the wider public will read about Scotland (if written as an extra or something by a writer already known for their focus on the Wars of the Roses or Tudors or whatever) it seems a bit annoying, especially given the fact that books on some of these figures do already exist, just by Scottish historians. I’ve just kind of had enough of the typos and mistakes, and if it were one or two that would be fine but it seems so prevalent, especially on the naming and titles front. For example I have in the last month alone, in more than one book, come across figures referred to as ‘bishop of Arbroath’, ‘archbishop of Dunbar’, and 'bishop of Inchcomb’ (last one’s my favourite because it’s apparently a phonetic spelling of Inchcolm as an English person would say it). This is also the case for secular titles, and constant mixing up of family members and people of the same name and sometimes referring to apparently invented incidents and people who have been dead for decades. And all if this is completely understandable- mistakes are common in history books, in fact often unavoidable, but I’ve noticed so many in a certain class of book that it’s concerning me. It also does seem to smack of a sense that those who have decided to write about a Scottish historical figure (and rightly so, people should be able to) after years of painstaking research into English history seem to feel that they are less likely to be held accountable for errors, perhaps as the Scottish historical community is smaller and less public than its English counterpart. Whether this is an unconscious feeling or not, and even if people do earnestly try to get it right, it does seem to subconsciously affect their work and they end up with a much slacker book.

The reason I’m getting into this now- not to pick on any one example this is simply the most recent and certainly not the worst- is because my flight was delayed at the airport today and I ended up flipping through stuff in the bookshop and saw this book about Lancastrian women (it was called something like Red Roses) so obviously I picked it up to have a look, because it’s great that people would be writing about Blanche of Lancaster or Catherine de Valois or Beauforts, and it won my heart further when I saw there was a chapter on Joan Beaufort, Queen of Scots- and anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time will know she’s high on my list of faves. But like, aside from the usual litany of incorrect titles and wrong dates, there were also some larger, odd arguments, like placing the birth of Joan’s first child in Perth (which seems unlikely, according to the exchequer), and also stating quite plainly that she was either murdered or killed in an attack on Dunbar. Now I’m not ruling those possibilities out, as Joan’s death WAS shady but in everything I’ve read people have only ever acknowledged that the death was mysterious, and few have even stopped to outline a theory of murder, let alone stated it boldly. I had to flip through the chapter very quickly so I could have missed something, and I have taken a note of the author’s source so I can look into it further (it IS an interesting and, I suppose, vaguely plausible theory) but I just don’t see why the author didn't even cover themselves by being more clear that this is also a bit of a mystery. I also didn't think the references/bibliography for that chapter were at all inspiring, and this goes doubly for another recent book I read, which was a new book on Mary of Guise. It wasn't bad, though it had its mistakes, but I suppose my major beef with that book was that it claimed to be the first full-length scholarly biography of Mary in forty years (or sonethibg along those lines) and yet it was barely two hundred pages long and the bibliography was mostly secondary sources even though some primary sources were cited in the text that didn't appear in the bibliography. Anyway not to be a literary snob or bitchy or even direct this solely at popular history writers or those unfamiliar with Scotland (because boy do I have a hitlist of Scottish historians too) I'm just rather tired of flipping through (apparently for light reading or pleasure) books that are apparently about Scottish history and yet are both littered with errors and more informed about England, and where the writers- probably unconsciously- don't seem to feel as much pressure re: mistakes and sweeping statements. I'm sure this happens in a lot of other fields though and I may just be bitter from lack of sleep and also the Scottish Shoulder Chip(TM).

[supere1113]

The Artist In Me - Track 6: Gifted Alien

Here in the album lies a palpable tone change. We're 5 tracks in, and I wanted the first five tracks of TAIM to be sort of a mirror to the 5 tracks that make up Identity, as they are transcendent projects: TAIM explores the ideas that Identity lays the foundation for. This was a happy coincidence, but those five tracks almost mirror Identity in length, too! Just 2 or 3 minutes difference, Identity being longer. They ALSO mirror each other in the sense that they are kind of an exposition of me, my beliefs, my core and my values. 1) Inspiration is your friend. Love it. 2) "I can hang out with my friends, the next day, I'll be fine with reading books at my house!" Ha ha ha! 3) I'm multi-talented, and I do what I want. "And you can, too!" 4) I have big dreams, and I want to achieve them all. And 5) Imma stay original, Imma stay authentic, I tell my story, and you can come along for the ride! (I kinda set you up for what comes next in that last one ha ha ha!)

I also put a tone change here to signal a switch in the narrative at this point in the album. I go from telling you about myself and things about me, to telling you stories about my life as a preteen after I got all those values and what I experienced that defined that era of my life... while also telling you one more thing about me. I'm on the Autism spectrum.

In this, the very heart of the album, I tell you about my developmental make-up. I tell you that I am autistic. High-functioning autism is what they call mine now. If you personally know me, or have seen any of my content online, this may surprise you because you're probably thinking, "Evan never seemed autistic to me." I'll get to that in a second. Anyways, I got diagnosed when I was in 4th grade, but my mom didn't tell me until I was 11 (it was called Asperger's Syndrome at the time, but the people who diagnose it have put all of the different types of autism under the umbrella of Autism Spectrum Disorder, or autism for short since then, so I'll call it that since it's not 2009 anymore. Technicalities). Michael Jackson had died that same year she told me and that really affected me deeply. It had never happened to someone I cared that much about. Amidst that loss, I was... "gifted" with this new information as well.

My perception of autism has changed over the years, and I see it differently than I did then. But at the time, I was really confused about what that means to and for me. I didn't know how to make sense of it, how to perceive it. I was led to believe that I was like everyone else mentally, and then my mom tells me that I'm not, but in fact, markedly atypical from other kids, other people. I could write a book on autism and how to notice it in minorities, but the most prevalent "symptoms" (I hate that word) you can find in me are that I struggle to make and especially maintain eye contact. It's scary and really just... overstimulating to observe all the features of the human face. Even the moon is terrifying to look at sometimes because it looks like a giant abstraction of a human face floating in the sky! Doesn't that sound scary?! I also was born without a "social chip" in my brain if you will. "How is he able to be so nice and mannerable and perceptive without a social chip?" You can't really tell on the surface because I learned how to socialize early on, but I had to learn it like I learned math and science and reading. I'm an incredibly fast learner, so I've gotten really good at it, but socializing will never be second nature to me. Always a weird art that every other human likes to do, and I learned how to do it because I want to connect with said humans. For nearly 40% of my life, I was overtly enthralled by the Titanic. Everything about her (you can tell my enthusiasm as I address the ship as a she. This ship is my everything). The circumstances behind her sinking, the arithmetic of the dead and the survivors, the morals of the passengers, how the disaster affected human history, random facts, and most of all, her technical specifications and visual appearance. And the (in)accuracy of the many movies made about her. She's the reason I'm a designer. How's that for defining a kid's life?! For most of my childhood, I spoke mostly about Titanic and it annoyed a lot of people to hear me talk back then. The thing is, I didn't pick up on the fact that they felt that way. That's Autism. Right there. Many people "on the autism spectrum" as were categorized, are also very smart and typically skilled and blessed with some sort of talent, or multiple talents in my case. I know I'm not the only one like that, either. Michelangelo and Sir Isaac Newton were autistic as well.

So after mom told me about that, I had connected all the dots between my behaviors. So the big question became, "What am I?!"

In postmodern society, kids and honestly everybody are led to perceive diagnosable developmental differences or so-called "disabilities" as just that - disabilities. So I slowly began to believe that something was wrong with me. It became weird to have great gifts, to have a vast collection of knowledge in your head about this one thing that you're interested in. To have trouble socializing and blending in, all because God made your mind to function differently than everyone else. I wasn't mad at God, I just confused about the whole situation... and that's what this song is about. Whew!

The musical ideas explored in Gifted Alien stem mostly from hip hop of the early to mid 1990s. Boom-bap and G-funk stuff mostly. A lot of 2Pac and Biggie influences, also some gospel sauce in that mix, too. Donnie McKlurkin, Kirk Franklin/God's Property, all that. Cool stuff.

I think that Gifted Alien is the most important song on this album because of its message and the fact that it sheds light on something that isn't really discussed to the point of people having a significant understanding of it. Autism. Also minority autism. Black autism. You don't see very many musical artists talking about this stuff in pop songs or songs made for the mainstream. So if you want to share only one song from this here album, let it be this one if you like it. I want so desperately for other autistic people, regardless of age or ethnicity, diagnosed or undiagnosed, that they are not alone. I hear them, and I'm speaking for our shared community.

Hi. I'm Evan, and I am a gifted alien. And I love you personally. ❤

You can listen to Gifted Alien here if you want. This link will take you to wherever you listen to music. YouTube included. ❤

[go-john-smith-posts-blog]

The Time Is Running Out! Think About These 10 Ways To Change Your Top 7 Best Soccer Cleats For Wide Feet

With various games, you can quickly choose your spikes in case you can pick running shoes. With soccer spikes, you can not just buy on inspiration. Buying without preliminary research is a significant risk you probably won't want to get. If your feet are more broad than the run of the mill player, you will a little while later experience uneasiness and regret. It isn't difficult to find what you are looking for the present, in light of the way that the brands produce spikes for unequivocal purposes and for express feet assortments. Scrutinize if you are scanning for the best soccer spikes for the wide feet.

Acquiring Guide for Best Soccer Cleats for Wide Feet

The targets for suitably fitting soccer cleats for wide feet projection are versatility and strength. One can all the almost certain achieve these goals by understanding the existence frameworks of a soccer fitting and organizing the perfect targets of the existence structures of the projection with spending prerequisites.

Components You Need to Look at Before Buying a Cleat:

Adaptable Materials

Perhaps you can adjust your choice of soccer spikes as showed by their ability to alter and shape to feet. That limit is huge in case you have wide feet since you need something that can withstand advancement without losing practicality or faithfulness.

Your spikes will probably expand and stretch out, as there will be more weight from the sides, so the adaptability is one of the top essential. That you should look at in the materials used especially for the upper.

Designed

Nowadays, there are only two sorts of uppers that are either normal and genuine calfskin or built materials. There are different sorts of built materials. Generally, made soccer spikes are commonly progressively sorted out and less adaptable to your wide feet. In any case, development has empowered brands to be progressively inventive in making built materials that can show the adaptability and nature of veritable calfskin. To some degree, it may be proper for wide feet.

We have had soccer spikes made of weave or work material, and now and again it is better an immediate aftereffect of their lower cost, yet essentially indistinguishable quality. Going for made is probably an undeniably practical choice for non-standard players. It may moreover be for those scanning for soccer spikes that are not troublesome now and again. It can in like manner be the choice for kids with wide feet who are swapping spikes every so often, as their feet grow more.

Evaluating

There is a standard if you buy soccer spikes that you should attempt not to break. Make an effort not to buy bigger than normal soccer fitting. It is very easy to consider since the fitting standard speaking has a half size to oblige people whose sizes are unadroitly between the two sizes. Also, still, by the day's end, it is normally not fathomed instantly for people with wide feet.

The size of the soccer spikes made especially for the wide feet can not so much be proportional to the size of standard soccer spikes, comparably as there are changes in its improvement. It is extraordinary to know the proportionate size of the shoe by size. Notwithstanding whether by people who have recently obtained the thing or the size graph of the brand, if possible.

Comfortable Fit

During the time spent acquiring soccer spikes, you will encounter the term 'comfortable fit'. It is noteworthy in case you have to do the best in games since whatever else will in all likelihood decrease your ability to play well. Shoes guarantee your feet, and this can improve your presentation, anyway can not be appeared differently in relation to the definite precision of being shoeless. That is what projection is endeavoring to achieve and satisfy the necessities of a close by fit. You will understand that it is incredible if the spikes are not tight that it is troublesome and not extremely free that your feet are moving in the spikes.

Both are dangerous, anyway there are two things that wide-footed players are constantly doing fighting. Most of the spikes will when all is said in done be littler along the edges, yet completely in front and back, while the alternative is the backwards. It isn't reasonable to deal one for the other, as every circumstance has its own one of a kind negative results, paying little respect to whether distress or untidy play. If you are looking for spikes for wide feet, guarantee the comfortable fit is a quality that the fitting gives.

Quality

Wide feet are regularly the basic role behind the early retirement of the shoe. This can happen even before you get the estimation of your money from the amount of wears you get from it. At any rate with soccer spikes made for wide feet, are starting at now arranged for the brunt that they will get from the extra width on the sides. Nevertheless, not all are proposed to keep something fundamentally the same as. These soccer spikes don't wear a comparative way.

Some plainly and certainly give out as most shoes do. Some will remove up to the point of pointlessness on the field. They may look comparatively as they at first looked everything considered, anyway they would not have a comparative comfortable fit as previously. Quality in wide-footed soccer spikes shows up as the ability to be pleasant and comfortable for the player during his proprietorship. Unequivocal mileage that ought to be adjusted to foresee this is the brief change in the fitting.

Best Soccer Cleats for Wide Feet and Their Reviews

We pick the Top 7 best soccer spikes for wide feet to review today. They are:

Adidas Performance Men's Copa Mundial

Jaguar Men's Evo-control Vigor 1

Nike Magista Obra II

Jaguar evoTOUCH

Jaguar Future 18.1 Netfit

Adidas X16+ PureChaos

ASICS Men's Ds Light 6

Adidas Performance Men's Copa Mundial

The Copa Mundial is undeniably a pleasing fitting shown by many, capable and accommodating players. Crafted by workmanship and nostalgic arrangement of the old school is adequately seen. For wide footed players, the reinforced effect point board or cowhide support loosening up from the effect point is what empowers the unordinary foot to position. It gives progressively critical sufficiency and evening out that can shield the heel and shield it from rolling a ton inside. It is also not made with designed calfskin. This projection is made of affirmed, sensitive kangaroo calfskin that supports the feet just as molds itself.

Stars

The outsole is made for firm typical grounds

Calfskin materials ensure longer strength

Completely pleasing

Cons

Not many concealing blend

No cushioned sole in these spikes

Puma Men's Evo-control Vigor 1

Puma spikes are a phenomenal technique to improve your game and get support on your feet. It has been around for a long time and is seen as one of the most trusted in brands of sports equipment. Evo's ability makes the spikes impressively progressively strong and will by and large offer essentialness to the feet, making it phenomenal and outstandingly convincing for the customer.

A combination of fiery tones and the best soccer execution with this footwear make it cognizant to be the top for soccer spikes. The Accu foam makes these shoes perfect for people who need better scattering to clean their field capacities.

Masters

Upper material is stretchable that gives a prevalent fit

Totally pleasant

Accu foam

Cons

No neck area support

Poor soddenness security

Nike Magista Obra II

Buy From Amazon

The thing has the going with points of interest

Nike is a brand that needn't mess with any introduction. It is one of the best brand all around the world that produces choice games things to make your game less difficult and pleasant. These Nike spikes are made of built material. The firm ground design impacts the customer in the ground by helping them stay firm in sodden, wet domains.

Experts

Dynamic fit neck area

Made calfskin material licenses playing in to some degree wet grounds

High top offers assistance to wide feet

Cons

Not very ventilated

Hard to clean

Low quality

Puma evoTOUCH

Buy From Amazon

The thing has the going with subtleties

Experts

Evo Sock improvement

Basic and brisk break-in

Very open toe box

Cons

Hard to clean

Poor soddenness security

The heel can cause annoys

Jaguar Future 18.1 Netfit

The thing has the going with conclusions

This time around Puma genuinely step the game up with the new restricting structure, which on a very basic level empowers you to make the individual fit and feel for each foot type. The Netfit structure allows wide feet, flimsy feet, increase strike zone, or makes a predominant lockdown. The fundamental break-in is short, and these spikes are genuinely pleasant just out of the compartment.

The strike zone is also verified with Netfit, which, like Predator spikes, extends the surface and allows strike the ball reliably. There are two variations of the Future 18.1 – High and Low. For wide-footed players, I would recommend picking a low structure. The low structure goes with a confined language that empowers you to open the fitting totally.

Specialists

Netfit restricting Technology grants making an individual fit

Totally pleasing

High strength

Cons

The upper material is unyielding

Poor sogginess security

Adidas X16+ PureChaos

End

Our obtaining associate is potentially intended to choose better choices when you buy spikes for your wide feet. To empower you to get the best soccer projection, our thing reviews on the best spikes in the market will empower you to grasp the various things you can buy. Each thing seems to have its quality and characteristics that m

[oflgtfol]

been thinking about death/the afterlife a lot lately...

i think the way rick riordan explained the afterlife in pjo was really interesting and optimistic, how all kinds of afterlifes exist and all religions are true in their own way, and when you die you go to your own version of the afterlife. but in a way its also freaky because he also accounted for the people who don’t have any belief or think that you cease to exist after death

and it’s just.... it’s scary to think about idk. because when i really think about it, i just. can’t really imagine there being an afterlife. we can all hope for one but based on the facts we as human beings have at this point in time, it just feels like a hope and not a reality.

even the more supernatural things in general, i just can’t... truly take them as fact? hell i’ve even had a very supernatural experience in second grade, and my brother was there with me and we saw the exact same thing so i can’t even say it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but even looking back on that it’s just... i cant say it was a ghost? it’s fun to think about ghosts and all that and it’s fun to think about What If They’re Real? or even to act like they ARE real but when i really rationalize it i just... don’t see it. and i think all the experiences that have probably the most basis for something supernatural at work are just... unexplained. outside of our knowledge for some reason or the other. maybe both me and my brother had our eyes playing tricks on us, i mean it’s not very hard to find the shape of a person in the darkness. 

and so the only ~definitive~ proof we have of what happens after death would be the people who have died but came back. and they tell of stories of a white light at the end of the tunnel, of god, of christianity, but like. even then i dont believe it. all these stories are all from people obviously raised christian. i wonder what people of other religions see when they die and come back? do they see their version of the afterlife or do they still see what christians do? like i just feel like maybe these are just hallucinations or something, dreams, your mind trying to make sense of something like death. and at that point you have to think, is this someone’s internal bias taking over? if you’re raised with the idea that the christian afterlife is what happens after death, as christians are, then you’ll of course see it. and if you’re a part of another religion/not religious at all and still see this - well, that makes sense, since christianity is so prevalent in society and shoved in everyone’s faces to where even if you believe something else it may have still gotten under your skin subconsciously 

i don’t really know WHAT i believe. because as i said, logically i just don’t see anything happening. life came about by chance on this hunk of rock we called earth. i dont see how life has any inherent meaning either, so death doesn’t have any meaning as well. life and death are just things that happen. the world existed before life ever did here and the world will continue after we’re gone. life and sentience are just a complex phenomenon in nature

but.. i dont really WANT to believe that. it’s scary to think that this life is all we have. if life has no inherent meaning, then it’s up to us to make meaning of it, and it’s so scary to think that yes i really have been wasting my whole life doing absolutely nothing meaningful. and to think that i could die at any point, soon or later, unexpected and still without having made something of my meager time, and i couldnt even continue in ANY capacity afterwards because i’d just... cease to exist. i couldnt even look on as a ghost and lament how i Died Too Young, Too Soon. i wouldn’t feel anything. i wouldn’t even be apathetic because i wouldn’t Be. and that’s so scary to think about, to go from Being to Not Being and have it mean absolutely nothing to the rest of the world, the rest of the universe. it’s scary to think about but i can’t help but feel like this is the most likely option

but on the other hand, thinking about if there is an afterlife is equally as scary. i was raised catholic, as i’ve talked about before, and i hate how much it really impacted me even down to subconsciously, to this day. because when i think about if there is an afterlife, i can only ever picture the kind i was raised with. and by god that afterlife is scary.

heaven is cool and all yeah whatever but like, i was raised catholic. and i’ve been a Bad Christian for years now. my best case scenario is going to purgatory and suffering my sins out for however long till i can go to heaven. but i mean with my track record, and the way that the church was like “you’ll go to hell for being a nonbeliever!!!!” i can’t help but feel like... yes i am going to hell. and it fucking terrifies me still. i’ve rejected the church and yet i’m still terrified of the wrath of god because of the Catholic Guilt i was raised with and i hate it. i hate it. because when i think about if there’s an afterlife and i think about how god will smite me down, and how scared it makes me, it makes me want to grasp at straws and cling to any chance i have at going to heaven.

and GOD. thats so ANNOYING. i should not want to be a Good Christian simply because i fear god! and that’s what annoys me so much about catholicism. i disagree with so much of the doctrine and honestly? i don’t fucking want to worship that kind of god if the stuff they told me is true. what kind of god rules his subjects with an iron fist like this. like “you’re going to hell if you dont worship me and dedicate your entire fucking lives to it.” like “i will offer no evidence that i even exist and expect you to continue to believe in me even when there is no factual basis and especially when horrible events occur to you and i do nothing to intervene despite me being a Benevolent Being who Loves You, and then when you have no faith in me, i will cast you into hell, because Good Christians Have Faith.” like “you’re automatically going to hell if you kill yourself even if you have a mental illness and shouldn’t be faulted for your actions because life was already suffering enough for you to be unable to take it anymore but now you’ll suffer for all of eternity just because you didnt value the life that god gave you, simply because its a gift from GOD.” like “you’re still going to hell even if you kill yourself to save other people, yes including literally the entire human species. you threw away god’s gift and so you must suffer for all of eternity.”

one of the first lessons i had as a child and we were learning about hell was with the teacher telling us about how the suffering was for all of eternity. do you know how long eternity is? its unfathomably long. it has no end. i was a child and being taught that If I Mess Up Badly Enough, i will suffer for literally longer than my feeble human mind can even understand, because it has no length, since it literally has no end!!!! do you know how terrifying this is for a kid. especially a kid like me who was anxious over literally everything like 2012 and alien invasions and zombie apocalypses. i was in 5th grade and i learned about the rapture and it scared me so badly that it made me suddenly really invested in Becoming A Good Christian So That My Eternal Soul Is Not Suffering For All Of Eternity

it makes me so angry to think about the church i was raised in and i cant tell if this is just how catholicism/christianity as a whole is or if my church was especially bad or what. but either way i just cannot voluntarily dedicate myself to this religion anymore ever since i started realizing everything wrong with it

and the fact im still terrified of eternal damnation just goes to show how deep this shit goes. and it makes me MORE angry . and it makes me want to separate myself from this as much as possible. but thinking of actually having to fact eternal damnation makes me doubt if i could hold true to this if i actually face judgment, and it makes me EVEN ANGRIER to think that god would be so cruel that he’d force people to be bootlickers just to avoid something like burning in the fires of hell for ALL OF ETERNITY simply for not believing in him.

so yes, the idea of an afterlife is just as scary as the idea of their not being an afterlife. and i guess in the end i’d prefer to just cease to exist. but sometimes i’m still worried that oh no! what if there is an afterlife! and it’s not even like you can choose, like oh no this is the only afterlife and now we’re all going to hell for being nonbelievers. and sometimes this worry makes me contemplate what it’d be like to return to the faith but then it’s like. i shouldnt do this simply because i’m afraid of god. it’d be disingenuous and i’d still go to hell anyway since it’s not like i can even love god with this kind of view towards christianity, so he’d see right through my fake ass practices and it’d all be futile in the end, having wasted my whole life slaving away for this god damn religion like i’ve always wanted to avoid. and even despite that, it’s like, i shouldn’t have to do this in the first place. what kind of god is so full of himself that he’d punish someone for ALL OF ETERNITY because they’re not kissing his feet 24/7 and Dare to doubt him

i wish i was raised without any religion at all. like, because i was raised with this, i don’t think i could even convert to another religion. i admire a lot of religions for the story aspect, but i simply don’t have the drive to carry out the everyday routines and discipline behind them (even if i can admire those too), and what’s the use to them really if i don’t believe in the more uh, supernatural aspect of them, for lack of a better word.

my ideal afterlife would probably be reincarnation maybe. or maybe like the greek afterlife. hades seems really fair in how there’s various tiers for people and their goodness levels.. outside of set religions though i think my ACTUAL ideal would be to just... spectate the living world. like, i’m dead, but i’m able to just. observe what’s happening. i’d love to do that. i don’t want to die but i don’t want to live forever, but my GOD i really want to see where humanity goes in the future and it pains me to think about everything i’m going to miss. if i could just observe it as some sort of outside spectator...

anyway, back in terms of like organized religions, i just can’t make myself truly believe in them. i can hope but that’s really all i can do. because of how i was raised it’s just, christian afterlife or nothing at all, and both seem so bad that death in itself is scary to think about. if only i was raised without a religion, then i think i could maybe do something. if i could choose a religion and rationalize it on my own and come to believe in it then okay. but i’d probably stay non religious then, but at the very least i’d at least be rid of this stupid catholic guilt and fear of god so i could at least ponder the possibility of different afterlifes without being afraid of going to hell beyond the abstract concept of it

[thedarkcloakedlioness-blog]

The Lakshmanrekha

*Religion often subtly changes our worldviews about gender relations. Read how Dadi’s bed time story widens the horizon for little Anu.**

///WARNING: Heavy Sarcasm, might be offensive if you're too touchy about religion.This piece contains heavy references to Hindu mythology. If you're a Hindu, I did not mean to be blasphemous to offend you. So no death threats please, chill. it is an objective take on the gender discourse prevalent in stories of religion, from a sociological viewpoint.///

Why does Mama insist on brushing teeth every night? Mia said that she doesn’t have to do so.

Little Anu found this mundane task terribly annoying. Especially when she couldn’t wait to go to bed today, as her Dadi ( Grandma) had come from the village to stay with them. Dadi usually stayed in Anu’s room whenever she came to visit and she knew a lot of stories which Mama didn’t. Anu believed that maybe Mama’s class teacher had not told her good stories like Dadi’s had. Anu quickly brushed her teeth and rushed back into the room to find Dadi changing the sheets.

‘ Anu, Did you brush your teeth’?, Mama was at the door.

‘Yes Ma’, Anu replied in a resigned voice.

‘ Good girl. Don’t trouble Dadi too much and go to sleep fast, okay?', Mama said, as she closed the door softly.

Anu climbed into the bed and watched as Dadi swallowed a bunch of multi coloured pills in all sizes and shapes. She decided that when she would be old, she would eat only green pills which was her favourite colour.

‘ Dadi, Dadi, tell me a story’ , Anu chirped excitedly.

‘ Haan, haan*, my dear. Shall I tell you the story of the ever kind Lord Sriram’? (* Hindi word for Yes, showing agreement.)

‘But I wanted to hear stories of animals’, Anu could not help but pout.

‘ Haan dear, this one has plenty of animals in it too’ Dadi reassured her.

‘ Okay then, Dadi’ Anu hoped this story was as good as the story her teacher had taught in class today. It was about a fighting priness called Jhansi Rani whom Anu had grown to admire very much.

‘Ah, so where was I the last time? ‘ Dadi ‘s brows wrinkled, matching her face as she tried to remember.

‘ Lord Sriram, Sita and his brother Laksham were living in the forest now!’ Anu remembered exactly where Dadi had stopped the last time, when she had come to stay with them for Diwali holidays.

‘Lakshmana dear, not Laksham. ‘ Dadi smiled kindly. Anu could never imagine her sweet Dadi ever being angry as her Mama would sometimes.

‘ One day, Sitadevi saw a beautiful deer as she was sitting outside their hut in the forest. It had the most innocent eyes and the grace of an apasaras as it pranced about.'

‘ What's an apsaras, Dadi?’

‘Apsaras are beautiful women who dance and sing in heaven. They are well known for their beauty which has been said to have tempted even the most strong willed men.'

‘ Tempt men?’ Anu was confused as she looked at Dad’s troubled face. What she would be tempted by was when Mama brought a family pack of icecream and not let her have it whenever she wanted. How can women tempt anyone like icecreams? They were not something to eat.

‘How can beautiful women tempt anyone, Dadi?’ Anu was determined to know. Dadi looked a little troubled and unhappy with all the interruptions Anu made.

‘Anu, dont interrupt me like that child! Your cousin, Tina does not do that when I tell her stories. So where was I?’ Dadi’s tone was a little harsher than Anu was used to. Could Dadi get angry if she asked many questions. She could not imagine how someone sweet like her Dadi could get angry and yell at her.

‘But when Sitadevi got too close to the gentle creature, the deer pranced away into the thick forest. So Sitadevi asked her husband Lord Sriram to catch that deer for her.’

‘ But Dadi, why couldn't she go and catch the deer herself?’, Anu piped up.

‘ Because it was a large and thick forest with roaring lions, tigers, jackals, elephants and slithering snakes. It was very dangerous for her to go alone.’

‘ But why was she afraid, Dadi? You said she was the avatar of Goddess Lakshmi. And God made all plants, animals and us. Dadi, you said that Sitadevi was a brave, smart and beautiful princess.’, Anu said as her little brow clouded in her confusion.

‘ Haan dear. But at present, she was human.’ , Dadi continued. 'So she asked Lord Sriram to get her the deer.’

‘ But Lord Sriram was also human. Why wasn’t he afraid?’ Anu asked.

‘ Because he was the avatar of Lord Vishnu, dear. He was the brave prince of Ayodhya. Hai ram*, Hai ram’, Dadi chanted, as she closed her eyes in devotion, touching her prayer beads.( *Hai ram – Hey Lord Ram).

'But Dadi', Anu protested, 'You said before that Sitadevi was a brave lady as well.'

Dadi sighed, closing her eyes. ‘ Listen dear, Men are brave and courageous. They go out into the world and get things done. The duty of an ideal woman is to be faithful to her husband and help him discharge all his worldly duties, as she is dependent on him. Women cannot go out like men do. Its too dangerous. ‘ Dadi tried to impart some wisdom to her grandchild that she had inherited from her own Dadi.

‘ But Dadi, My Mama gets everything done here. She buys all household stuff, water all the plants, takes care of me and our cat,Loopi. She goes to the clinic like Papa goes to the office. She can also drive like Papa.’ Anu did not understand what Dadi was talking about.

‘ Haan, haan dear. Now the times have changed. Women who are brave enough can do some things that men do too. But don't forget that our religion and scriptures put the duties of women as what I have told you- To her husband. All these things women do now are fine, but not as important as being an ideal woman and wife like Sitadevi.'

Anu looked unconvinced. ‘ You will understand when you grow up, my dear.’ Dadi resorted to her ultimate weapon to avoid anymore questions.

‘ So Lord Sriram decided to go and catch that deer. She left Sitadevi in his younger brother Lakshman's protection. But hours passed by and there was no sign of Lord Sriram or the deer. Sitadevi got worried. She asked Lakshmana to go look for her Lord. But Lakshmana did not wanted to leave her alone in the jungle. What if somebody came while he was away and kidnapped Sitadevi.'

‘ They could go together Dadi. Why should she be left alone at their home. Like my Mama takes me with her to clinic if our Auntie doesnt come for work one day.’ , Little Anu was sure that Lakshmana would have done exactly what her Mama did.

‘ No dear. I told you it was a dangerous forest. So Lakshmana, drew a circle around Sitadevi and asked her to stay inside that circle. It was called the Lakshmanrekha. As long as Sitadevi stayed inside the circle, she would be protected from any kidnappers.’ Dadi explained.

‘But what if Sitadevi wanted to go to the bathroom?’, Anu was troubled with this arrangement. Even her strict class teacher who let them go to the bathroom whenever they wanted seemed kinder than Lakshmana.

‘Anu! Don’t ask silly questions my child. ‘ Dadi said sharply.

'So anyway, as Sitadevi sat alone inside the circle, an old man came begging for some food. Now Sitadevi, the most ideal woman could not help but feel compassion to the poor man. But if she had to go in to get the food, she would have to breach the Lakshmanrekha. But she was too kind to let the man starve. So as she stepped out of the circle, there was a loud cackle of laughter.', Dadi paused dramatically.

'Who was it? Who was it?', Anu could not contain her excitement.

'The old man transformed into the hideous Demon King Ravana who captured her and flew away in his flying chariot.', Dadi said.

‘Why didn't Sitadevi fight Raavan like Jhansi Rani fought the men who came to take her kingdom? She was also a princess.'

Anu was outraged, as she sprang up from the bed.

'Sitadevi was not strong enough to fight a hideous and powerful demon like Ravana. She was just a woman. What could she do all alone, with no one to protect her?’ , Dadi asked.

‘ But Jhansi rani fought men alone and..'

Anu! What did I tell you about interrupting me often. ‘, Dadi’s brow clouded in anger. So even Dadi can get angry, Anu thought silently.

‘Where was I? Ah, yes. So you see, all the terrible things that would later happen in the story was because Sitadevi did not heed Lakshmana’s warning and stayed within the Lakshmanrekha.’ Dadi spoke softly, as she turned to face Anu’s troubled expression.

‘ So now do you understand my child, why women should always obey men. You don’t want to be in trouble like Sitadevi did, do you?'

Anu frantically shook her head. Kidnappers were frightening, but demon king kidnappers were much worse.

‘So what did we learn today, then?’ Anu did not want the story to end there. She was not sleepy as yet and was a little worried that demon kings might come to kidnap her while she was asleep.

‘That men know better and women should be like Sitadevi, the ideal woman except when she disobeyed. If women disobey, bad things could happen to them’ , Anu replied in a soft voice as she laid back down.

'Goodnight my child', Dadi turned off the bedside light. Little Anu tried to sleep, a little bit shaken but intrigued by the new knowledge she had acquired. She asked Dadi if she could ever be as good as Sitadevi.

‘Yes, my dear. You would grow up to be a beautiful and well behaved woman like her’, Dadi reassured her.

Little Anu went to sleep a little wiser than she was before.

Author Notes: The piece was a satirical take on sexist ideologies fed to us when we are children in the form of stories. It tries to explore the messed up world from the innocent view of a child. No blasphemy intended. Primarily written as a subtle and satirical feminist discourse. How victims of sexism creates more victims. Also, don't question the logic of the mythological story. It's not my creation and yes, people make all those interpretations that Dadi did.

[le-ciel-estbleu]

so i’m

a little confused.  

now, at this juncture, i can only imagine that i am going to remain confused for as long as i live. or until i have some unfounded revelation that comes to me in the middle of the night explaining everything i’ve never understood. At which time... i will lay down all my burdens. hahaha. 

This is what i’m confused about.... a little bit ago when matt and i were starting to watch the blind side. love that movie, one of our go-to’s. Now, while i understand the background of the reason and the nature of it, i still can’t understand why. I suppose it’s because i grew up in a.) a different paradigm and b.) the south is very different from the north. 

i voiced my opinion on the matter of him constantly saying nigger. While i say constant, its just often. And even though it may be done in a light-hearted manner, for all the reasons i can list, it just... offends me. upsets me, irritates me, whatever. Whatever you want to call it. now i don’t think i was... rude, or mean in the way i went about the conversation but it ended up us just disagreeing on the matter. I guess i simply can’t see his side, because i never grew up the way he did. 

Now, after this being said, he related another situation regarding something i said or did, to him often saying nigger. 

Earlier today, we were outside my job while i was having my dinner break and group of teenager boys came out and i said something along the lines of, ‘well i just lost my peace and tranquility on my break’, and apparently i was disgusted by them he says, and he didn’t think that was fair that i said that, because they weren’t doing anything wrong. 

to be fair, i was not ‘disgusted’ as he suggested, merely irritated.  i was trying to have some peace, when all i have is customers surrounding me all day everyday, so yes i was irritated.  

Now, to my confusion. How in the hell can you relate my irritation over you calling blacks niggers often, to me saying that about a group of moderately loud teenage boys bursting the tranquility and peace of my break?

I can understand why he would say that from the standpoint of saying that blacks are irritating and annoying. And that’s just simply unfair. What, your green so you bother me?  

eh, i don’t know. just ranting. i guess these are things i can talk about with the therapist. not that they may give me any advice anyway. just disagreements. two people disagreeing on something. 

i’m not trying to change him. After 5 years, you really think i’d even bother to try? it’s just something that offends i guess. i never thought something like that would irk me to where my significant other and i are having a fight about it. Truly, we grew up different. Blacks hated whites just as much, if not more so.  

Him and i spent a summer down there a few years ago, and i definitely saw the difference in culture. it’s a different world. segregation legally doesn’t exist, but it does in the eyes of most. in peoples hearts they truly feel separate, different. 

i was involved in a theatre production while i was down South. my audition, as well as the rehearsals following were in a rather dangerous area of downtown Charleston, and in that respect, not many whites were frequent. I definitely felt.. almost alien when i was there. When i was among my friends during rehearsal i could feel our differences. it was very prevalent. I never understood it. it was a feeling that was practically hanging about in the air. it has to be about the saddest quality of humankind i’ve ever witnessed. 

I grew up in safe, moderately low crime ridden New England in Massachusetts. Nothing i ever lived through up north could have ever prepared me for the way i felt down south. the way i guess we all made each other feel. Regardless, they were my friends none the less. i didn’t see anything different with us, especially when we were all there for the same reason. We’re all here for the same reason, we all inhabit the same planet. at the very fucking least, we could all just get along. Or try. Most of us try our hardest not to get along, and that’s what seems to start wars. the goal, to be the most pigheaded and stubborn. the one who will come out on top and win. 

All of this crap aside.. i just wonder.. out of this whole rant, this whole conversation with matt and i.. why can’t we all just get the fuck along? My hatred in others never started till i really got into the trenches of customer service and i saw for myself, what the real day to day warfare is like. It’s hell. It’s disgusting, and saddening, and confusing and navigating through it all is feeling like your walking through thick mud. Just trying to pick your foot up and escape the grasp of the prior steps muddy footprint. Life doesn’t have to be so hard. Life could be a hell of a lot easier if people looked at each other and saw not an enemy or a stranger, but a fellow friend passing by. Someone whose struggles most likely match their own. Someone who is just like them in every way.  

Life hurts, and all the baggage that comes with it. But it doesn’t have to. It just.. doesn’t.