#extroardinary

[luna-nigthshade-wood]

Sam and Cas, after finishing a hunt on an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by dead vampires:

Sam: We need to torch the bodies

Cas, agreeing: We should just torch the place down. Alright, give me your flamethrower.

Sam, confused: What are you talking about?

Cas: Dont you carry one always?

Sam: Have you ever met a human hunter before?

__________________________________

Dean, answering the phone while braiding Claire´s hair: Dean´s baby sitting service extroardinary

Cas, putting him on speaker, while watching Sam pile the vampires: Hey, its me, beloved. Quick question, do you always carry a flamethrower with you?

Dean: Of course I do, what am I, some kind of animal? I never leave the Bunker without it

(To this day, neither Sam nor Cas are willing to say what happened next, but the result was a black eyed on Cas and burn marks on Sam)

[heaven-said]

{{ the existential depth of meaning that wrath is both a sin and divine the existential depth of meaning that wrath is both a sin and divine the existential depth of meaning that wrath is both a sin and divine

In this essay I will--

Sorry, I vaguely gesture at this alot, but I just will never get over it. In the context of ultrakill or hazbin hotel. Wrath's duality is always in Gabriel's twin swords, and they have names: Justice and Splendor Justice you understand to be a sword, but notice how even Heaven considers violence to be a show of "splendor" or beauty and magnificence. It represents power, which is awe inspiring. It represents the ability to afflict your will onto others to achieve peace or your ideals. Which is important for beings of authority, beings that keep order. You have to use force to keep order. Nothing short of mind control can circumvent that indefinitely. And God, in most stories, actively avoids outright revoking free will from humanity. So when the god afflicts his will forcefully? He's likely to use violence of some kind. But for that to be true, that means the god must be capable of EXTROARDINARY violence. Magnificent, insane, incomprehensible amounts of it, for his will to be absolute. Smiting you with lightning, the plagues, the flood, tornadoes and earthquakes, etc, etc.

And because he does this after being offended or seeing injustice, it is referred to as wrath. We interpret it as God being angry. One of the more human things we empathize with in gods as an emotion we express near identically.

But that does mean that wrath is the only sin that is often purely subjective while also still having the same consequence no matter who is doing it. Someone will be hurt or something will be destroyed. But sometimes... that's a good thing. Its purely a matter of who is doing it and why. The wrath must only try to be justified. You can't justify envy, you can't justify lust beyond claiming its harmless, you can't justify pride, but you can justify wrath, no matter how severe, in the eyes of Heaven. Its the only one like that of the seven deadlies. And its the only one with an entire division of angels who are dedicated to carrying out that virtuous sin. Its baked into how heaven functions.

And so that puts Gabriel in this really difficult position where he is constantly walking a thin line trying not to abuse his position as the person who carries out wrath on behalf of Heaven. But most alarmingly, restrains himself NOT because he fears punishment-- ( notice how he never falls because he was too oppressive. He falls for treachery or losing faith )-- but instead because he earnestly, deep in his heart, really does want to do the right thing. That was his ONLY restraint. If it weren't for that, he had the power to kill every authority in Heaven if he wanted to and avoid punishment. ( in ultrakill, that is lol )

But inevitably this is why Gabriel gets misused by the Council or ends up taking drastic measures that aren't worth their cost. He's an imperfect thing doing the job of a usually omnipresent entity, following the command of very misguided people who are weaker than him. So the second he has to deal with gray areas, it becomes painfully clear how blurred the line between sin and his own virtue, "strength", is. }}

[beawrts]

UNCHARTED HEART

summary: a retelling of your past, who you were, and where you came from. a mental battle stirs on the edges, slowly seeping to the centre.

warnings: all characters aged up, mentions of death, ravenclaw!reader, fem!reader, slow burn, mention of bugs

cover: @dvinaamesca

word count: 2183

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series masterlist

CHAPTER: PIECE FOR PIECE

father was an indomitable man, a trailblazer in his field. it was rare to see him without a smile on his face. his unbreakable spirit was surprisingly the most remarkable thing about the man.

gathered around the dining table, laughing over toffee pudding at stories retold of his past. you remember how his eyes crinkled from his puffed up cheeks as he regailed the tale of his teacher launching a board eraser at his head when he was caught staring out of the schoolroom window. still had the scar on the fold of his ear, he’d shown you, wiggling his ear between two fingers.

it was a troubling story, in reality, and if you’d had heard it through any other means it could have brought you tears. but having it repainted through his jubilant spirit, the tears in your eyes and cramp clutching your stomach was from laughing.

life was hard for him. in his youngest years, he’d been a young student of st michael’s academy for boys, where the board eraser incident had happened. regardless of his absent-minded nature as a school boy, the work he handed in was extroardinary and well ahead of the subject material often scrawled onto a blackboard in chalk.

your grandfather and grandmother were convinced nothing would come of him due to his rebellion. that he would ruin them, scathe their name and reputation. they had stopped trying with him at the age of ten and two, leaving him to his own devices to ‘soil his future’ as they would put it.

he never made it seem so, often reclaiming his past with a giant smile on his face, laughing heartily at his adversities and tribulations. even when the exemplary condition of his work had him prematurely graduated to blackwell grammar school in bath, where he studied alongside the higher class and completed a bachelor of honours in law.

despite the dismay and ignorance of his classmates for the rare anomaly of a middle class student being allowed to study with the upper class, his work preceded him. he was singled out by professor gordon kildare to complete his postgraduate and immediately work under him.

fighting to earn his respect in the law body, most often looked down upon from the ranks he’d risen from. ostracised, isolated and ridiculed. more times than not, his name was scraped out of legislation written single-handedly by him.

during later years, his experience with kildare granted him a place at a smaller law office in ireland, spending under ten years writing small-town legislation that solidified and upholded the local community, making waves in how people were punished for petty theft and violence.

he’d met your mother whilst making rounds in dublin, going house to house to gather vocationals on a public health bill where he’d passed her drapers. they were raised of the same class, but now coming to her in his fine fabriced short lounge jacket and wide trousers, she’d assumed he was of better ranking and paid him no mind as a suitor as he tried to court her.

“your clothes do not fool me, sir.” her bubbling irish tone spoke, as she set out fresh yellow roses in hanging baskets.

holding his hat to his chest, he’d smiled earnestly, “of course not. i’d wager an assumption that you, of all people, couldn’t be fooled.” approaching her, as she feigned distraction with her arrangements.

when he’d got closer, she turned to him with an impassive expression, clearly not impressed with his attempt.

“perhaps, then, you can tell when the attire does not truly fit the person wearing them?”

his words were not lost on her, a smart man like himself would be silly to miss the curiosity that came over her at the forward englishman.

“well, i regret to inform you if you’re here for better finery i’ll have to direct you to the men’s tailor across the way there.” she entered her shop, a smirk gracing both of their faces.

this brought on a series of visits to her drapers where he’d visit her opening up and they’d engage in witty, bantered conversation.

he’d made requests of her working on clothing for him. and even though there was no need for it, eventually she allowed him inside and started tailoring him an evening suit. some fine chaps. two dress shirts. as she finished up his day suit, he’d asked her to dinner, and she accepted.

they married in scotland, bright-eyed and bushy tailed with a small reception. vows strung together like lyrics of a song of the highest devotion. weeks were spent in blissful matrimony, swept away in each other in a whirlwind honeymoon spent traipsing along the coast.

thus began their life together, moving back to london to turn his fine, two-story, well-roomed house, into a home.

and when they were finally settled in busy working days and delightful evenings, there you came. a small, bright eyed child with a fiery spirit and inquisitive nature.

you took after your father, mostly, with his insatiable curiosity of all things, lots of afternoons spent between the two of you taking apart a pocket watch just to put it back together again. to understand something in its entirety. you were plagued with his unending questions that had you travel far and wide in every sense when the familiar tickings of your mind commenced.

it was easier, in your younger years, to be forgiven on your outlandish quests and eccentric hobbies. your big eyed stare melting away any accusations of trouble on account of your eager, innocent character.

for who could deny a child their beloved obsession when existing outside of societal expectations? something you would too soon be entered into, unwillingly.

one evening spent crawling around the garden lawn, identifying different bugs from their wingspan and jotting down your findings. to the next, being enlisted in extracurricular activities of cooking and cleaning and acting proper and how to attract a suitor.

your father, the rare exception he was, indulged your craft behind closed doors and rather encouraged it, often times returning from a long days work with a new puzzle he had acquired for the both of you to scratch your heads over.

most often, you’d complete it first, but sometimes he would best you in minutes, your mother scoffing from the fireplace, embroidering a shirt collar or hem as she condemned you soundlessly. concerned predominantly with security, she’d mutter something about you needing to take your future seriously as she’d set down your plate for dinner.

you didn’t despise the lessons you’d take on making a home. cleaning, you didn’t care for. it was consistent maintenance, something you were familiar with in the upkeep of your personal tinkerings and projects. you were well acquainted with the notion that for things to live long, they had to be well-kept. a bearable burden of a mindless task that required no brain power that you could tolerate.

but cooking you had taken a shine to. your nature made it so that your mind would deconstruct meals as they were plated in front of you, a course of trial and error as you intended to work out their timings and measurements, wanting to recreate it in its entirety.

your mother was thrilled, of course, seeing her hopes fulfilled and a distant and fruitful future. in those few months, it was the most carefree you had seen her. until your brief fascination expired, and she had returned to her impassive resolution.

even in your young age, you understood it was through love that she held your future in high regard. she wanted to be certain of stability for you as soon as possible, so much so that it came through in bouts of stress and control.

she didn’t want to see you in ruin. society was less forthcoming to a woman who wanted to make something of herself and even worse to women who had a chance of doing so. noting the troubles your father had been through, it would be double the same for you.

which is why she prioritised marriage, solidifying a name for you. a strong reputation you couldn’t disparage even with your unique pastimes. your relatives were in agreement, eager to see you whisked off to an illustrious husband and bask in his privilege.

you couldn’t picture it. the vision of yourself you’d continuously held had always had you stood alone, going after another subject to wholly master. who would even be a match for you? you weren’t sure such a person existed.

a ludicrous assumption it would be to acknowledge just the impression of your father in your personality, the bountiful persona you carried was not only to the credit of him alone. you knew all too well the candid, persistent side of yourself resided in your mother. her rigid, practical no-nonsense attitude bloomed inside of you as you’d reached your teens, where you’d became much more outspoken—off putting to some. but, endearing to those who took a moment to consider your word.

you were an amalgamation of their best qualities, a force to be reckoned with.

then, they’d learnt of your magic. you’d awaken from nightmares with smashed stain glass lampshades and carafes of water, your body as cold as ice but palms burning with heat.

once, in a morning rush, your overwhelm had reached s pinnacle as you brushed your teeth in haste, looking up to your reflection as your mirror cracks and shatters the moment you looked into your own eyes.

like anyone would, they first suspected a phantom. a poltergeist from beyond that taunted you in your miserable destiny. you knew it was wrong but you didn’t have words for it back then. something deep and nameless inside of you ached and writhed in restlessness.

it wasn’t until you joined your mother in front of the fireplace, book in hand, where blue sparks had sputtered from your fingertips as you turned a page. static electricity, you’d agreed.

until it happened again, in your stillness, standing for a family portrait. it sputtered from your palm, and scattered across the floor, catching a spark on carpet. that had done nothing for your panic, but it was quickly resolved with a pail of water. that’s when it had truly stirred inside of you, it yearned to be called upon, to be caressed and wielded.

then, when a wax-sealed letter arrived in the post announcing your admittance to hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, things scarcely made sense, but the wheels had started turning.

it had taken a few weeks for them to come to terms with it, and as mentioned in the official correspondence, professor fig had made a house call to your village home.

your poor mentor had been bombarded with questions of all kinds from your dear parents, which he had answered with grace and care. you remember your mother nearly fainting when he’d done a simple demonstration of levioso. a spell so common to you now, it’s astonishing to look back on.

they’d sent you off to hogwarts with professor fig with uncertainty. the future they’d picked out for you, now distorted and ill-fitting in hindsight, they’d had no idea what to expect.

you’d kept most of your school time out of your letters to them, mostly writing on your friends and your lessons, what the wizarding world was really like and how it differed from the muggle one you were raised in. and they’d respond in shock and eagerness to know more, even in their incompatibility with your new lifestyle.

returning over the school holidays had proven a very different home life than you’d have ever imagined. before learning of your powers, your mother was arranging for you to meet suitors of wealthy name. the next time you saw them, you were cleaning pots and pans within milliseconds and tidying rooms in record times with your arsenal of spells and charms.

your parents had no choice but to accept that you were going to forge your own path, the milestones they’d previously set for you now incomparable to the new story you were unfolding.

in a funny way, the witch you had become was a part of both of them. your unyielding spirit that had you go to the ends of the earth for justice belonged to your mother. your intellectual craving that had you chase odds and ends for universal understanding belonged to your father.

it explained your guilt, how you’d felt about kissing sebastian sallow. it went against every rule they’d held for you, that every part of your being already betrayed. the rest simply being from your nature and who you were as a person, kissing sebastian sallow was a choice. repeated over and over again, what had been ingrained in you for years.

it wrecked you inside, when you’d realised.

how you wanted him to take you apart. see you piece for piece, and put you back together again exactly as you were. to celebrate the pieces that built you and adore you in their finish.

it was a mistake.

previous chapter next chapter

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playlist:

better - khalid

jaded - drake

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b/n: smaller chapter this time as i have some stuff going on but just some background building for mc! still eager to get ideas for this story out, so some interesting things happening next chapter! hope u look forward to it, peace!

p.s, still editing this one! pls bear w me <3

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tags: @helendeath

[ourelectricshadows]

I MAKE THE MOST OF IT IM AN EXTROARDINARY MACHINE

[linkspooky]

Hey, I was wondering what you think of Queem/Quiem McMann from Choujin X? He hasn’t had much screen time besides a couple flashbacks, some lore dumps and a few quotes, but I think he’s already very interesting. His quote that states that humans only have one real emotion being fear (which implies he was extremely fearful) and the fact that he has a similar obsession with weapons and violence makes him sound like a parallel to Azuma, perhaps the Zora to Azuma’s Tokio.

As well, you’ve often analysed the series from a Nietzsche lens, and I think Quiem is by far the most overtly Nietzschian character. He outright refers to himself as the Ubermensch of War (in his backstory page in a volume extra), comes from a Choujin (supermen) supremacist country and doctrine and even explicitly hates God and religion enough to commit terror attacks on the clergy. I think his rivalry between Zora has very interesting connotations from a Nietzsche pov. Both are Choujin supremacists who treat Choujin as having more of a right to live and be free than humans, but while Quiem sees the Choujin as having moved past the need for God, Zora and her followers think the Choujin are the very manifestation of God

Hello, sorry for taking some time to think this over but I believe I'll be even better able to answer this question in light of what we learned in this most recent chapter. You're right in that Queem seems to be a heavily important character to both the lore and the themes of the series. I discussed the religious angles of his character and Zora on another post, but there's still more to be said about Queem as an embodiment of war.

Historically, Queem seems to have started what was this world's equivalent of the world wars, especially in the Asian pacific theatre. However, instead of speaking on the world war two allegory that seems a bit obvious, I think there's an interesting analysis in regards to the intersection of nihilism and the "great man theory."

Rather than looking at Queem as an allegory for Hitler, let's look at him as a napoleon instead, someone often mentioned in the same sentence as Julius Caesar. Instead of looking at Nietzsche's words himself though, there are other works of literature written in Nietzsche's time when political nihilism was becoming a prevailing philosophy of thought.

Crime and Punishment is written by Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky, it depicts aman who murders a pawn shop owner with an axe, and the only witness to the crime. After committing the murder, Raskolnikov goes on to justify this murder along nihilistic philosophy lines that his actions can't be judged as good or evil for many reasons.

His most famous theory to justify the murder is that he divides the world into extraordinary people, such as Solon, Ceasar and Napoloen, and ordinary people who simply serve to propagate the species. Extroardinary people, he theorizes, must have "the right to transgress" or progress would be impossible.

“No, not exactly because of it,” answered Porfiry. “In his article all men are divided into ‘ordinary’ and ‘extraordinary.’ Ordinary men have to live in submission, have no right to transgress the law, because, don’t you see, they are ordinary. But extraordinary men have a right to commit any crime and to transgress the law in any way, just because they are extraordinary. That was your idea, if I am not mistaken?” “What do you mean? That can’t be right?” Razumihin muttered in bewilderment. Raskolnikov smiled again. He saw the point at once, and knew where they wanted to drive him. He decided to take up the challenge. “That wasn’t quite my contention,” he began simply and modestly. “Yet I admit that you have stated it almost correctly; perhaps, if you like, perfectly so.” (It almost gave him pleasure to admit this.) “The only difference is that I don’t contend that extraordinary people are always bound to commit breaches of morals, as you call it. In fact, I doubt whether such an argument could be published. I simply hinted that an ‘extraordinary’ man has the right… that is not an official right, but an inner right to decide in his own conscience to overstep… certain obstacles, and only in case it is essential for the practical fulfilment of his idea (sometimes, perhaps, of benefit to the whole of humanity).

Queem's belief mirrors Raskolnikov's own, that Choujin because they are superior, have the right to transgress over others in pursuit of a greater goal. Which is why I say you can compare him to a napoleonic figure, believing he has the right to start a war in order to make france a great nation. A figure in history who threw the whole world into a series of chaotic wars, was praised for their military genius, only to ultimately lose.

There is a scene in another Russian novel by Leo Tolstoy named War and Peace, which tackles this similiar Great Man Theory in regards to Napoleon. A main character enters the war out of his admiration for Napoleon who he considers to be a military genius, only to come across him at the end of a terrible battle and realize how small of a man napoleon really is.

“Voilà une belle mort,” said Napoleon, looking at Bolkonsky. Prince Andrei understood that it had been said about him, and that it was Napoleon speaking. […] But he heard these words as if he was hearing the buzzing of a fly. He not only was not interested, he did not even notice, and at once forgot them. […] He knew that it was Napoleon— his hero— but at that moment, Napoleon seemed to him such a small, insignificant man compared with what was now happening between his soul and this lofty, infinite sky with clouds racing across it. 

I think Queem as a character exists to explore two questions, do Choujins because of their power do bear the right (or even the burden) to transgress, and do their powers, or actions, or genius, or whatever you might believe them to have make them more significant than other people?

This is where we get to the obvious parallels between Azama and Queem's character, as obsession with war and inherent greatness are ideas that run deep down into Azama's psyche. When he raises with his choujin powers for the first time, it's accompanied by knives, guns and tanks, the same kind of warfare imagery we always see go hand in hand with mention of Queem.

A lot of Azuma's motivation comes from following his own personal philosophy of justice, his desire to be a great enforcer of law like his father the policeman.

The quote about two people always, inevitably going to war with each other comes from Queem and it was used to describe Azuma's relationship with Tokio.

Azuma's deepest motivations are well described by these two quotes. Number one his secret fear / insecurity that Tokio is the kind of great man that Azuma wants so desperately to be, which is why he's always living in fear of Tokio surpassing him and clings to the pedestal that Tokio puts him on. Number two, his desire to go to war in general.

Azuma from the start wanted to become something like a choujin, to transform into something greater and do something with his life because he was lacking in something.

Azuma seems to embody these two sides of Queem. Queem is the kind of person that Azuma is striving to be, a great man of history. Azuma deliberately seeks out war in order to prove himself, the way that Queem threw the entire world into war to prove the inherent greatness of him and the choujin surrounding him.

While striving for larger than life ideas they are both also, like Napoleon in War and Peace shown to be rather small. Azuma's driven by a combination of fear of other people and his inferiority complex.

With what we learn about Queem to his ending was rather pathetic. He never conquered or held onto any territory after the war he started, and he died right in the middle of it. He also died as an opium addict after having lost all of his humanity and even the ability to change back.

In striving to be something greater than human, Queem ends up falling down into something less than human and losing everything. Which seems to be the same dangerous path that Azuma is now walking in his attempts to strive for a greater ideal of justice.

[msfbgraves]

"WTF are you doing, science, can you please focus?!"

No! No no no! I'm so sick of "Applied science" and R&D's focus on making a lot of money out of something as quickly as possible!

A scientist needs adequate enrichment, which is the permission to be absolutely fuckin useless. Entirely pointless. Only therein lies the genuine passion that leads to the extroardinary. Or indeed not, but it was fun!

I spent months of my life excessively researching very little known playwright Reinaldo Povod. Was there a point to that? Not that I know. Did I learn anything useful? I couldn't say! But a little madness is the only thing that could entice anyone to go to the level needed to piece together something truly unknown. No one can be arsed to go to these lengths on practical matters, that's why they're asking scientists to do it. Feck off with that, will ye? Innovations happen when a scientist and another scientist end up in a game of 'yes, and', sprinkle in an artist going "what if?" which makes the scientists go - "It doesn't work like that - or...?" and everyone scuttles back to their computers with stars in their eyes and their brains firing. Honestly, if all the oil subsidies went to scientists for even six months, even if the only things they would try to figure out is how to implant vocal chords in a chicken leg, they still wouldn't be doing anything harmful and somebody might, completely unrelatedly, figure out an undisciphered language and find a cool new subspecies of venomous plant in Côte d'Ivore which may or may not cure ALS but what if it didn't it's still cool. Leave them to play is what I'm saying. Science and art should never focus, if somebody wants to pledge their life to curing cancer, they already are, and also, a million solutions are already ready to go, but capitalism wants to kill us instead, and then they blame scientists having fun figuring out Vlad the Impaler might have been vegetarian [this may have been a joke?].

Focus. Feck. Off.

[l-myrddin-l]

Time Anxiety

Do you ever feel like you're not making the most of you life ? Do you often think, when you're in vacation or resting : I should do more things... But you don't know why or what to do, and that can make you feel miserable "Size the day, make your life extroardinary" is a quotes from dead poets society that run in my head all the time I don't know if that's happening to many people but I have this fear that i'm going to waste my life : every moment is precious, and wouldn't it be sad to not live life at its fullest? I want to travel, do things that have never been done and, when I'm old, I want to be able to sit down and say : My life was extroardinary.

And I know each life is different and special but I think people who are going through the same thing will understand what I mean

And I feel like talking to people that feel the same might help me deal with it before it become a burden.

(Sorry for my english btw)

[batmanwholxughs]

STARTER FOR @notabirdnotaplane​​

    { ⛓ } – Call it incomprehensible reasoning, insanity even, to challenge Superman of all heroes. A Kryptonian of immense strength and abilities far surpassing that of a human being, any man would cowardly shudder beneath him. Yet the idea of the hero’s downfall wasn’t foreign to the darkly-clad sinner - rather a welcome treat to a contingency used on several occasions. That murdered his own Clark Kent, and countless more. The unadulterated joy that swelled in the former-vigilante caused a bout of laughter to slip from bared teeth, and there he sat, eagerly waiting at the edge of a building rooftop facing the distinguished Hall of Justice. It stood so magnificantly with nary a light on he could just-- Not yet. What the Batman Who Laughs required was a calling card before the plan began. 

Head turned down towards the surface below, that maniacal, widespread grin somehow broadened even further upon anticipating what would become a travesty for the public in moments. Three large sheets of metal, melded into the renown shape of the Batman sigil stood protruding from the field just outside the entrance. Displayed on the front of said pieces however, were three crucified corpses - each sloppily dressed as a member of the Justice League being Wonder Woman, Superman and Green Lantern, from left to right. And etched upon the middle body - namely the unfortunate soul dressed as Superman - was a crudely drawn, bloodied smile across their lips, resignating with that of wide smile. A fascinating gimmick, he thought, but not Batman enough.

So without further ado, the villain rectified that. 

Within his alabaster hand sat a remote button, and that relishing opportunity finally arrived. This Universe’s Bruce really should have improved the overall security system to detect other Batmen... but then again, who would’ve assumed the existance of a much more unfortunate kind coming through? “ Time to wake up! ” Laughs claimed into the night air, and pressed the switch. What transpired in seconds, was the instant illumination of two bat signals crossing over into the air, notably stained with a bright green rather than yellow light. And an array of similarly hued lights brightening up the shadows of the three corpses so deviously on show for everyone. And the worst of it, was the two following explosions of nearby supporting pillars that lined the extroardinary architecture. Collapsing them - though not causing detrimental damage to the entire facility itself. No, that was a brief warning, and enough to stir the Justice League into action. Namely the Man of Steel, he suspected. But Laughs retreated somewhat back into the shadows, awaiting Superman’s presence. 

[cripplecryptid]

I started watching extroardinary attorney Woo and im fucking HOOKED it makes me so happy to see someone with soo many similar traits to me!! The way she walks, the way she gets confused about certain things or takes certain statements very seriously.. AND she isnt infantilised by the writers or anything!

[suzetteshea]

Charles Vickery, (An extroardinary American painter, 1913 -1998)

[psych---ologically-deranged]

1x02 spellingg bee commentary

Steve Franks, Kelly Kulchak, James Roday, Dulé Hill

JRr: That's me, you were seeing my butt, now you're seeing me from the front

DH: Hi I'm Dule Hill. *doesn't say anything else for a sec.* This is how I'm going to talk this whole episode

KK: I'm Kelly Kulchak, producer. *lauhing too hard so she;s just quiet*

Moved this episode in the air order

They took this scene from another episode bc of the air order. "It was plucked"

An extroardinary amount of fake cat hair.

JRr: I actually spoke like thi swhen i was twelve years old

This scene was a lot longer originally.

Her parents have NOT been together for 30 years now...

The paper the layout the vantage point, oyou're totally a cop! (Shawn: got himself a paper, sitting in the same point)

All the cops leave & she's ust there

"They asked me if I wanted anything to drink :)"

SF: That's actually Corbin's real hair. We shave it off for the modern scenes & then he grows it back at the end of the week

Different child actors. They needed an older pair.

"You can see that young shawn has a moustache"

Wearing the same shirt XD. DH as gus: Shawn probably took it out of my closet that's what happened

they ad libbed "is that my shirt" but had to cut it :(

They made a lot of money on the first case to afford an office space like this beachfront

They had to colour correct his suit bc collins brought his own suit

bummed bc the tivo bar.

Fine details lost on everyone. "It would have been more impressive to pull it off ["it" being the tivo bar implication that it happened in the past] considering we couldn't put shawn & gus in different shirts, but did manage to get the tivo bar"

cupils? batche balls? crouqet balls on his desk

"blue to help offset the blue" "we painted the trash can blue just to get some colour"

Budd collins basically made up his own dialogue XD

the comfort room doubled as the basement in the chainsaw massacre

Gus speaking with his really big words

"Dule lent collins that [ugly] tie"

improv "this is more interesting than the woodcarving finals"

"you can't chew any more gum tim" *shows up with popcorn*

He borrowed that tie from Bud too

On Wall Seizure, fave of Jacquie DeCrenezz (idk how to spell her name)

SF "like he's stuck to the wall" JRr "I got you"

DH: I really started being confused about what James was doing

That little bit of life before he succumbs to the demon

That was his stunt double who did the extra flail

introduction of the supersmeller. Gus & Steve Franks.

Shawn vision is the actual term they use for when they light something up

*really fast zoom into the face & then staring at something*

JRr: That's what the poeple want, as much of my head filling the screen as possible

*happens to have an evidence bag*

My gal was the reporter in the stereo robberies too!

seven different versions of screaming chinese food names

Mel Dambsky

I DID notice the hill 100ft above the ocean & now they film from the backyard

Shawn has created the office with his connections with contractors in the area

The dog house that has been under this tarp for 20 years

SF: When I wrote this, it was in the attic & he had to climb into the rafters to pull out this decrepit thing

DH: You'd think that with Shawn Vision he would have seen it when walking by

SF: You forget they are estranged. You can eplain anything

KK: Who is surfing in there?

SF: ... Season 3

Oh hey they are three flashbacks in this ep.

SF: You know it's a flashback because of the sepia tone.

KK: I thouhgt it was the hair

The pineapple is in the bag OR in shawn's hand, a slice, I can't tell

When did shawn get his jacket & sweater

SF: James, why does Shawn have a pineapple at this time of night

JRr: A selfish attempt at getting pineapple into every episode.

SF: It was a hard day of work

JRr: & pineapple is very refreshing

KK: Didn't they have a plate of fruit for you to choose from?

JRr: I had to ask Clive

I haven't seen motorcycle acting like that since Fonzi jumped the chicken shack

"That's why we don't see much more of James on the motorcycle in season 1"

Had to reshoot the stunt

"They grew all the plants on the sound stage"XD

Gus' scene with dr sloan (named for lindsey sloan) was added later & gus is actually smart

A limp is hard. Even I'm struggling to limp & I stepped on a nail yesterday. You want to keep weight off your foot, but it is so awkward, idk how to limp properly when I'm legit injured, let alone acting.

DH: That's coming out in season seven, Gus has strong vision too

Hill I love gus I think he is so smart & deserves more credit.

Keeping the leg straight while building the doghouse. My man was biking home from his dad's last night, went to the hospital, called gus, & never had the chance to change bc he immediately went back to finish the doghouse

HS: I thought u gave up

SS: Nope. *doesn't tell his dad he just went home to sleep & didn't show up at 6am the next day bc He Was In The Hospital

HS: What happened to your leg?

SS: Absolutely nothing

SF: idk anything about running roofing vertical

I mean neither do I & I had a job roofing for a bit

DH: Henry has a heart henry hears a who

Shawn IS on pain medication or will have to drive or smth, hooray for responsibility

improv: Park Hyatt for Poodles

I jut realized, Henry plays poker. He forbade shawn when he was a kid, but he WAS a kid.

The network's fave shirt he's worn all season. I can see why.

JRr: *gasping in pain as his character gets up*

I just noticed the visitor badge on his brace XD

TO's hair: it's tight & smooth & real. The most stable thing on the show

Between the pilot & this episode, "she, what we like to call, gave birth" (sf why say it like that XD)

SF: Our show is very subtly anti smoking & we make fun of... say smoking is bad for him.

DH: When you smoke you get locked outside doors.

SF: & lung cancer. Those are the two tings

Just like when shawn says he won't let gus date a man who smokes

SF: Mitchum is my deodorant of choice

Ok bestie

For Shawn, any name tag of any sort goes on the pants

*discussing what BS means on his weird short" We know it's not a black sabbath concert t." 'Bring socks.'

I didn't know they cut commentaries but now I AM wondering what inappropriate thing you said bud!

SF: When I remember things I think of them as 8mm home movies

SF: I wanted you to solve three crimes in a hotel in one episode, but then I realized the episodes weren't four hours long

DH: I had to grab his neck a couple times.

JRr: You should piledrive me, pin me in front of a group of onlookers

SF: If we had that on film, I would have put it on the show

JRr: Shawn says it's his neighbour's dog, which implies that Shawn has a home

School of marco!

[astingliamberry]

My Ideas So Far

I decided on what book I could be inspired from, at first I had no ideas and I was a bit lost. I took a break and I drew this dinosaur from a photo I took from a dinosaur park I visited over the summer holidays with my family. I am a fan of dinosaurs so taking all those photos and the experience was extROARdinary. Anyway, I am getting off track I will make a little post of that soon. After drawing the dinosaur I went over the base of the story, the bare minimum and vague description. "Some people go to uncharted territory and discover what happened to the last people who visited." As I focused on the words "uncharted territory" I started thinking about the Bermuda triangle. The Bermuda triangle is this triangle of land that is uncharted, for the reason people seem to keep disappearing from it. The most famous instance was when a plane was flying through in 1945, he described it as strange new and unfamiliar. It looked different from any sea or land or ocean, but I will make a post about it soon. Anyway, I thought it would be cool is there was an island, that a few plesiosaur somehow escaped to before the extinction. They went through the stages of evolution and have become the ultimate predator. I haven't fully decided what I want the guy too look like but, I have decided that it will camouflage easy, it will be partially amphibious and will have sharp teeth as well as a long neck. You can probably tell I'm heavily inspired by the Jurassic Park movies especially the one where they make this apex predator dinosaur that can camouflage like a chameleon. You can see in the corner there is a little comic that I need to get a better photo of, it tells the story of how I imagine them arriving and exploring the island.

[qudachuk]

The row between former bandmates David Gilmour and Roger Waters has roared back into life after an extroardinary attack from Gilmour’s partner and Floyd lyricist, Polly Samson. Ed Power delves into a feud that’s incorporated everything from live shows...

[thedragonemperess]

Me, at Stony, rewatching Avengers: How the hell did I ever ship you?

Me, seeing the way Steve looks at him after he's scared back to life by the Hulk: Oh.

Me: That's why.

[mayfifolle]

[septembersghost]

@arthurwilde I can’t fit this into a reply, so we’re just going to go fully emotional on main.

at the beginning of S3, Vanessa writes Sir Malcolm a letter. I could wax poetically for ages about the depth and lyricism to the dialogue in Penny Dreadful, how perfectly it leaned on its Gothic Romantic sensibilities, to the point where I would run episodes back to hear it again (and on occasion write it down), but this particular section meant more to me than anything else in the entire show (I’m editing it slightly, but the meaning remains the same):

Where this letter shall find you, I don't know. I hope, on some far-flung adventure. I don't want this to cause you any alarm, but I've not been entirely honest in my previous letters. I didn't want to worry you. Or perhaps I have lived too long with secrets, and have become over-reliant on them. All has not gone well with me here. I've been low and sedentary, unwilling to go outside. Sunk into a kind of unhealthy lethargy, sunk into something like my own sadness. [...] If I believed in the old words, I would pray [...]. But that's gone for me now.

Perhaps that is the root of what has been troubling me. I have left my faith. Or it has left me. Thus, my prospects seemed only a long, dark corridor without an end. I have done things in my life for reasons that seemed right, and even moral, in their violent immorality. And now I stand without that God upon whom I have always depended.

But please do not fear for me. I have no fear myself. The old monsters are gone. The old curses have echoed to silence. And if my immortal soul is lost to me, something yet remains. I remain. 

So I sign off now with hope, and, as ever, with love...

It meant so much to me that I sat with it for several days, and then actually sent it to my own father, because I was seeking some help or consolation from him (which...I did not receive and don’t know why I tried...).

She said, “I remain,” and I just wept for some reason. Because she’d been through so much suffering and so much loss, and she had such an unrelentingly brave, empathetic heart, she loved everyone around her no matter their own darknesses, and after all that hurt, after even her faith had been stripped from her, she still knew she mattered, she was there, she had worth. Something about the way she was treated, the misogyny, the metaphors with (and the literal depiction regarding) mental illness and not being heard/believed, resonated with me in regards to my own physical illnesses (and the mental aspect that accompanies them). in January, I had just gotten out of weeks of physical therapy that didn’t help, and I was so wrung out and I’ve...really not been okay for a very long time...but I remain, I remain. She still has hope, she still has love, she still has her heart and spirit, and if her faith in other things has been stolen or lost, she’s finding faith in her own strength, in herself.

She reads that Tennyson poem: "Beat, happy stars, timing with things below; beat with my heart, more blessed than heart can tell; Blessed, but for some dark undercurrent of woe; that seems to draw, but it shall not be so: let all be well, be well.”

It’s such an exquisite moment of self-actualization, of reverence for her own humanity, of solace even in a brutal world.

And then they take it all from her. Everything. They steal her hope, they diminish her fierce resistance and impossibly bright humanity, they tell us she’s ultimately damaged, too wrapped up in the dark, too scarred by the trauma, they force the person who was supposed to fight beside her to accept that there’s nothing he can do, and kill her. And they give her a throwaway line about seeing the face of God or Heaven or whatever at the end, as if that’s supposed to help, when she never gets to live her own life and be free of the forces plaguing her at all, when she never gets a chance to love and thrive and find whatever she wants, and not be ashamed of her desires or her struggles or her keen mind or her expansive heart. It’s supposed to be “peaceful,” but it’s not. I couldn’t believe that was what they did to her. It crushed everything that she was. It broke my heart, despite only being with Vanessa for a few weeks, I loved her, she held immense meaning for me.

Then it happened, almost beat-for-beat, if you look at the parallels, to Dean. As much as I cherish Vanessa’s flame in the dark, by comparison, Dean’s an entire constellation. That’s the kind of heartbreak time could never mend.

Tell me that “I remain,” and “That’s not who I am,” aren’t the same tremendous moment. Tell me their defiance and love against all odds isn’t rooted in the same place. Tell me the absolute desolation of their deaths isn’t a gaping void for the same reason, the same hopelessness. Their stories utterly betrayed them both.