#hidden wonders of Vietnam

[travelernight]

Vietnam’s Best-Kept Secrets Top 10 Hidden Wonders Revealed

[txttletale]

niceys positive anon!! i don't agree with you on everything but you are so clearly like well read and well rounded that you've helped me think through a lot of my own inconsistencies and hypocrises in my own political and social thought, even if i do have slightly different conclusions at times then u (mainly because i believe there's more of a place for idealism and 'mind politics' than u do). anyway this is a preamble to ask if you have recommended reading in the past and if not if you had any recommended reading? there's some obvious like Read Marx but beyond that im always a little lost wading through theory and given you seem well read and i always admire your takes, i wondered about your recs

it's been a while since i've done a big reading list post so--bearing in mind that my specific areas of 'expertise' (i say that in huge quotation marks obvsies i'm just a girlblogger) are imperialism and media studies, here are some books and essays/pamphlets i recommend. the bolded ones are ones that i consider foundational to my politics

BASICS OF MARXISM

friedrich engels, principles of commmunism

friedrich engels, socialism: utopian & scientific

karl marx, the german ideology

karl marx, wage labour & capital

mao zedong, on contradiction

nikolai bukharin, anarchy and scientific communism

rosa luxemburg, reform or revolution?

v.i lenin, left-wing communism: an infantile disorder

v.i. lenin, the state & revolution

v.i. lenin, what is to be done?

IMPERIALISM

aijaz ahmed, iraq, afghanistan, and the imperialism of our time

albert memmi, the colonizer and the colonized

che guevara, on socialism and internationalism (ed. aijaz ahmad)

eduardo galeano, the open veins of latin america

edward said, orientalism

fernando cardoso, dependency and development in latin america

frantz fanon, black skin, white masks

frantz fanon, the wretched of the earth

greg grandin, empire's workshop

kwame nkrumah, neocolonialism, the last stage of imperialism

michael parenti, against empire

naomi klein, the shock doctrine

ruy mauro marini, the dialectics of dependency

v.i. lenin, imperialism: the highest stage of capitalism

vijay prashad, red star over the third world

vincent bevins, the jakarta method

walter rodney, how europe underdeveloped africa

william blum, killing hope

zak cope, divided world divided class

zak cope, the wealth of (some) nations

MEDIA & CULTURAL STUDIES

antonio gramsci, the prison notebooks

ed. mick gidley, representing others: white views of indigenous peoples

ed. stuart hall, representation: cultural representations and signifying pratices

gilles deleuze & felix guattari, capitalism & schizophrenia

jacques derrida, margins of philosophy

jacques derrida, speech and phenomena

michael parenti, inventing reality

michel foucault, disicipline and punish

michel foucault, the archeology of knowledge

natasha schull, addiction by design

nick snricek, platform capitalism

noam chomsky and edward herman, manufacturing consent

regis tove stella, imagining the other

richard sennett and jonathan cobb, the hidden injuries of class

safiya umoja noble, algoriths of oppression

stuart hall, cultural studies 1983: a theoretical history

theodor adorno and max horkheimer, the culture industry

walter benjamin, the work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction

OTHER

angela davis, women, race, and class

anna louise strong, cash and violence in laos and vietnam

anna louise strong, the soviets expected it

anna louise strong, when serfs stood up in tibet

carrie hamilton, sexual revolutions in cuba

chris chitty, sexual hegemony

christian fuchs, theorizing and analysing digital labor

eds. jules joanne gleeson and elle o'rourke, transgender marxism

elaine scarry, the body in pain

jules joanne gleeson, this infamous proposal

michael parenti, blackshirts & reds

paulo freire, pedagogy of the oppressed

peter drucker, warped: gay normality and queer anticapitalism

rosemary hennessy, profit and pleasure

sophie lewis, abolish the family

suzy kim, everyday life in the north korean revolution

walter rodney, the russian revolution: a view from the third world

[nardo-headcanons]

Hello!

I'm currently planning out a fic centering around an oc from kiri, and I was wondering if you could expand a little on the scenery of kiri? Maybe just idea's of how kirigakure looks on the inside, specific buildings that could be of importance inside the village, ect if thats alright with you.

omg a request fjsanag

Hi there nonnie! Of course I can do that! I love talking about the scenery of different places in Naruto and Kiri is one of my favorite places to explore! I'm also currently planning on posting about holidays and festive occasions in the big ninja villages, where Kiri is included as well. So make sure to stick around ;)

This is the third expansion of my current Kirigakure Worldbuilding Headcanons, which can be found here and here.

Kirigakure Worldbuilding III - The Scenery of Kirigakure

Rice fields around Kirigakure

As previously established, rice is an important part in the local eating pyramid of Kirigakure. The population of the water country is very small and lives rather centralized, most water people are Kirigakure citizens. The few ones that aren't usually are rice farmers or fishermen.

Directly around the village

As we know, the village of Kirigakure itself is surrounded by mountains. However, there are also depictions of Kiri being a coastal city. This made me come to the conclusion that the landscape around Kiri probably looks similar to the coastline of vietnam.

Inside the village

Unfortunately, I haven't found any pictures resemmbling Kirigakure architecture. I even tried dabbling my toes into AI image generation, but the results were very bland and unsatisfying. Since the only canonical depiction of Kirigakure as a whole is the image below, we have a to use a little more imagination here. However, I got a little more inspiritation from imagines of the Kirigakure minecraft building project.

Buildings in Kirigakure

Kirigakure is criss crossed by rivers, so the urban planners of Kiri had to maneuver around that. Unlike Iwagakure, who can just erect buildings out of nothing due to their earth chakra affinity, Kirigakure's builds are carefully planned and constructed and involve a lot of bureaucracy.

The architecture of Kirigakure is compromised of large, cylindrical buildings which have vegetation growing on their roofs. This is a fantastic way to emulate the shape of the mountains surrounding the village, which makes it hard to spot, all hidden in the thick wades of fog. The residence of the mizukage is the widest and overall largest building of them all. It serves as both the home and the office of the mizukage, the Oi nin headquarters are also located in the same building.

Other important buildings of Kirigakure include the Kiri hospital, the Kiri academy and the Kiri waste management facility.

The Kiri hospital

As previously established, Kirigakure offers free healthcare for everybody, even lower castes. The kiri hospital is a tall, sky-scaper- like building which looks similar to the other buildings. Medic ninja are trained here, however their pay is very sparse. They are provided with housing and basic food rations and their salary is just enough to be able to afford eating out once a month. Members of lower castes often have to wait long waiting times to finally get an appointment with the only way of cutting it short being a 'voluntary' member of Kirigakure's experimental treatment program, where, as the name implies, experimental drugs and other therapies are tested.

The Kiri academy

As opposed to other villages, genin, chunin, jonin and anbu are all trained in the same building, which is the Kirigakure academy. Since the government has enrolled policies to encourage its citizens to eat and drink healthy, genin are handed out sauerkraut juice and lunch boxes for free, others are expected to pay.

The Kiri waste management facility

Kirigakure is a very clean village with a nationwide reclycling system. Inside the waste management facility, reusables are autoclaved and redelivered to the businesses that need them. Biodegragable waste is sorted by its biodegradation speed and then composted or used to produce natural gas. Due to its advances in scientific research, Kiri scientists have developed microorganisms that can slowly degrade many organic materials, including plastic. This is a highly controlled process, which is why the Kiri waste management facility is almost as well locked and protected as the Oi nin headquarters.

The Kiri waste management facility and the Kiri hospital both also serve as Kirigakure's main research facilities where biochemical, medical and general scientific research are conducted. Its advantages in research paired with the authoritarian nature of the goverment have proven to be an advantage in the face of catastrophes, such as endemic outbreaks of pathogens or natural desasters.

Aside from these buildings, there are other buildings important to the Kiri infrastructure, such as a thermal power plant on the outskirts of the village.

Other important places in Kirigakure

Big restaurants are a rarity in Kirigakure since most people can't really afford to eat out. Most of the time it's a small family owned business with a specialization in one dish or two. Cultural sites aren't found often either, since many ethnicities and cultures have been wiped out due to the ongoing political unrest in Kirigakure. The only remnants of clan culture in Kirigakure come from high ranking castes, such as the Hozuki and the Hoshigaki clan. The remaining places where people can meet up are Kiri's luscious parks and the public bathhouse. It is a place to meet and talk with all your friends, as Kiri bathhouses are traditionally unisex.

Dear anon, I really hope this is what you were looking for when making your request. As I said, finding fitting pictures really wasn't easy. If you have any more questions, feel free to make another request!

That's all, folks!

[oohnotvery]

Throwing Good After Bad (Chapter 21)

(Happy birthday, Dana Scully <3)

Scully

Scully wakes up tangled in stiffly-starched hospital bedsheets. Beside her, Mulder sleeps so peacefully that she presses her ear to his chest just to assure herself of his heartbeat. She rests there for a few long minutes, head against his heart, quietly contemplating the things that brought them to this moment and wondering how the next few hours, days, and weeks will play out.  

She is just starting to rise off Mulder’s chest when a noise at the door makes her jump. A.D. Skinner raises his hands in surrender, his mouth twisting awkwardly as he enters the room and shuts the door behind him. Scully sucks in a deep breath, surprised at how fast her heart is racing.  

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says, her underused voice cracking. “You startled me.”

Her boss’s eyes flicker briefly over the two of them and then down to where her hand rests on Mulder’s chest. He clears his throat, mildly uncomfortable with their entanglement, and Scully flushes under the scrutiny.

“How’s he doing?” he asks with a nod towards Mulder.

She swallows against the dryness in her throat, suddenly acutely aware of her thirst. “Better,” she says with an experienced glance at the monitors beeping around them.

A hint of a smile rises to Skinner’s face. “I heard the story. It’s pretty amazing he survived.”  

Emotion bubbles up in her throat and she finds herself momentarily unable to speak. She manages a short nod. Skinner takes a step closer, his fingers finding the railing of the hospital bed. He grips it tightly, his knuckles turning white. His eyes rise to meet hers and she sees that they are clouded with concern.

“It’s amazing you both survived,” he says after a moment.  

Memories start to roll in.

She can’t decide if she’s hallucinating. Could that be . . .? Is that really A.D. Skinner, out here on this twisted wild hellhole of an island?

Her legs shake with exertion as she climbs over a fallen tree and tries to get his attention. It’s not yet clear if he sees her.

“Sir!” she shouts feebly, because even in the jungle, she will insist on honorifics. “Sir!”

Skinner’s bald head turns and a fierce set of eyes pins her in place. Vietnam-trained, he doesn’t even seem to register the shock at seeing Special Agent Dana Scully dead on her feet, wearing only a bra and pants, trekking wildly through an untamed maze of trees. Instead, he breaks out into a run, shoving brush out of the way like he’s slicing through butter.

He reaches her in seconds, his strong, calloused hands gripping her arms and keeping her upright.

“Dana, are you okay?” he’s asking her, but she’s gesturing behind her, pointing towards the hidden beach where Mulder lies half-dead.

Her body trembles fiercely as she mutters directions to him, as she clings to his shirt and begs him to get Mulder to safety. Her legs seem to have realized that she has reached some semblance of safety, because they start to give out. Skinner wraps his arms around her more fully as she collapses to the ground.

“Find him,” she begs, just before her vision goes black. The last thing she feels are muscular arms encircling her body and lifting her into a sturdy, supportive chest.

In the hospital, Scully licks her lips apprehensively. “Sir,” she begins, her eyes flitting down to the blanket, “thank you for finding me out there. Thank you for getting us to safety.”

She chances a glance up at him and sees an uncharacteristic warmth spread across his face. He nods sharply, his eyes telling her everything she needs to know. I’d do anything for you, Dana. Maybe what Mulder said was true, she muses with pinking cheeks. Maybe Walter Skinner does have a bit of a crush.

Mulder stirs, his eyes blinking open, and Scully instantly places a palm against his stubble-roughened cheek. “Mulder?” she murmurs, and he smiles into her hand. “Mulder, Skinner is here.”

“Skinman saves the day,” her partner croaks as he comes to full consciousness, and Scully is reminded of the fact that no matter how much she loves this man, she will sometimes want to slap him too.

“Agents,” Skinner announces, his face morphing into solemnity, “when you’re up for it, you’ll join us downstairs, Room 208. We’ve commandeered a conference room here in the hospital.”

Scully frowns. “Is A.D. Kersh here?”

Skinner hesitates, his mouth pulling into a frown. He shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets, giving them a long, knowing look. “We have things to discuss, agents.”

**

Dressed in borrowed blue scrubs, they walk to Room 208, Scully still fuming over Mulder’s refusal to use a wheelchair.

“You almost died,” she mutters testily as they trek down the hallway.  

He flashes her a cocky grin. “You can baby me all you want later, Scully,” he assures her. “Just let me have this one final moment of dignity before we get the ass-kicking of our lives.”

After Skinner left, they both agreed that things on the home front were likely not good. Although everyone—everyone but Kersh, they agreed—would consider it a victory that they survived their ordeal, the Bureau was undoubtedly furious with them for going rogue during the investigation.

They reach the door to Room 208 and Scully turns to look at Mulder. He glances down at her warily, all his earlier joking vanished. An unspoken agreement shifts between their gazes—it’s us against the world.

Scully pushes the door open.

Immediately, she takes stock of the room, unsurprised to see Skinner, Lydia, and Grace—who was airlifted with her—sitting around the table. What shocks her, however, is Joe, whom she hasn’t seen in days. She senses Mulder’s surprise too, feeling him seize up beside her.

Joe rises from his seat at the table and takes a few steps forward, giving Scully time to assess him. He looks not only uninjured but also healthy. Whereas everyone else appears worn, weathered, and emotionally drained, Joe looks vibrant, his complexion glowing, his eyes bright. How this man, whose cowardice almost cost Mulder his life, could show his face around here, is beyond Scully’s comprehension.

Instinctually, she glances up at Mulder, whose expression has become unreadable.

Joe stops a few feet in front of them and his mouth falls open. Words of apology scatter out of him, but Scully isn’t listening. She’s watching Mulder. His face has shifted into a slight smile—warm, friendly, almost serene. He covers the gap between him and Joe and extends his hand to the man, who hesitates slightly before reaching out and shaking. Joe looks instantly relieved.

Mulder claps his left hand over Joe’s shoulder and Scully frowns, suddenly uneasy about Mulder’s uncharacteristic forgiveness. Has he experienced some sort of memory loss?

But then his expression changes, his eyes narrowing, his mouth curling into a grimace. He draws back his right hand and lobs a blow, sucker punching the life out of Joe, sending the man stumbling backwards. Wasting no time, Mulder advances quickly, fists flying at Joe’s head and torso, catching him in the groin for good measure.

“You spineless, heartless, cowardly son-of-a-bitch!” Mulder shouts, pounding his fist over and over into Joe’s face. Blood starts pouring out of the man’s nose and soaking through his shirt.

Skinner jumps forward, yanking Mulder away so forcefully that they both fall to the floor in a tangled heap. Scully rushes forward but Skinner reaches Mulder first, dragging him by the front of his scrubs to toss him violently into the nearest chair. Scully shoots her boss a sharp, disapproving look.

“Watch it!” she yells, her eyes warning Skinner not to make another move on her convalescent partner.

Ignoring her, Skinner stabs a stern finger at Mulder, his face red with rage.

“Sit down and shut up, both of you!” he barks.

Mulder looks like a wild beast about to pounce and Scully goes to sit beside him, placing a hand on his knee. He glances at her irately.

“I know,” she says, nodding supportively. “I know.”

No one bothers to give Joe a hand, and he eventually finds his way back to his chair, pressing the hem of his shirt to his bleeding nose.

“That man betrayed us,” Mulder spits furiously, and Scully squeezes his leg in warning. “He has no right to be here—”

“Mulder—” Scully cautions.

“I said shut the hell up,” Skinner growls, yanking off his glasses and furiously cleaning them on his shirt. “One more word out of you, Mulder, and I’ll make personally sure that you’re not released from this hospital for another month!”

The fear of confinement is enough to make Mulder’s mouth snap shut, but Scully can feel the energy thrumming off him. The room falls silent with anticipation. Skinner finishes cleaning his glasses and then takes a deep breath.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he begins quietly. “First and foremost, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, you should know that Joe and Lydia are not FBI agents.”

“What?” Scully breathes, her eyes flickering towards the table where they sit. Lydia meets her gaze briefly and her cheeks darken. At her side, Mulder tenses.

Skinner nods solemnly. “They’re not even American. They’re Canadian citizens. As you read in your briefing, the island you were on is disputed U.S.-Canadian territory, so this mission was a joint effort between the two nations. Lydia and Joe were sent to us as your Canadian counterparts, but they aren’t trained in the same skills you two acquired at Quantico.” He pauses. “They’re not field agents; they’re desk workers. Both highly trained in research, data analysis, auditing, ethics, and . . . internal investigations.” His voice peters out.

Scully stands before she even knows what she’s doing. “Desk workers?” she asks in disbelief. “You sent the two of us out into the field partnered with desk workers? Two untrained, wholly unprepared desk workers?” Her voice quivers with shock and she takes a step forward, pointing a trembling finger at Skinner’s chest. “Do you know how dangerous that decision is? How costly it ended up being for us? Desk worker Joe chickened out on us at a crucial moment, and Mulder nearly died for it!”

She feels Mulder’s palm warm the small of her back. “Scully’s right,” he says, but she shakes him off.

“We both almost died! For an entire day, I had to live with the thought that my partner was dead!” Her voice breaks. “How could you, Skinner? How could you authorize something like that?”

Skinner rips off his glasses again and rubs at his eyes harshly. He motions for them to sit down again but Scully doesn’t move. “There’s more to it than that, agents,” he finally says, his voice no longer angry, but fatigued.

“Tell me.”

But before Skinner can speak, Lydia stands. “Joe already told you all this when we were being held in the lodge, but we were deliberately sent to spy on you,” she admits quietly, meek as a mouse. Scully whips around, eyes pinballing between Joe and Lydia. Lydia looks like she’s about to throw up. “We didn’t know much about the two of you when we were assigned to this detail. But then we read your files and learned you had a history of . . . disobedience.”

Scully’s cheeks flame with rage.

Skinner places a hand on her arm and she smacks it away. “Agent Scully,” he says, his eyes meeting hers plaintively, “Dana.”

She meets his gaze distrustfully.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t know. Not until yesterday morning did I know the extent of this assignment. Kersh is the one who suggested the assignment, who vetted the Canadian candidates, and who suggested mixing up the marriages.”

“Why?” Mulder asks, although it’s becoming remarkably clear where this is going.

Skinner shoots them a meaningful look. “I’m just speculating here, but I think he wanted to see just how far you two would go to . . . misbehave. To disobey direct orders.” Skinner sighs. “I believe this was a setup. Not intended, of course, to go as far as it did. I don’t think Kersh ever dreamed you’d be placed in any actual danger. The entire existence of a cult—especially a blood-lusting one like the Black Sands turned out to be—was highly speculative in the first place. The fact that you got so entangled in this mess is really a mystery.”

Mulder slams his fist against Scully’s empty chair. “We almost died out there!” he reminds Skinner.

Scully is about to speak when Lydia steps forward. “Dana,” she pleads, “I’m so, so sorry. We never knew it would go this far. Our directive was to catalogue your behaviors and indiscretions. We never believed—nor dreamed—that we’d be faced with an actual threat.” She steals a glance at Joe, whose nose appears to have stopped bleeding. “I can’t speak for him, and I—I don’t agree with his actions. But I am truly, truly sorry.”

As she speaks, Scully slowly begins to realize that the woman was never intended to be backup or protection or even help. She was merely sent to collect data. The fact that she went as far as she did to save their lives . . . Scully swallows and turns away. Maybe Lydia deserves more credit than she’s been inclined to give.

Grace’s soft voice rises above the mix, surprising Scully, who’d almost forgotten she was in the room. “Lydia was really brave,” she adds. “I helped her and Joe get out of their bonds while you two were in the bath.” She glares at Joe contemptuously. “Joe ran off immediately. I—I can’t speak to his actions at all after that point. But Lydia was the one who insisted on following you all down to the beach. She had the idea to get the kayaks.” Grace pauses, then meets Scully’s eyes. “And I know it’s just killing her, what she did to Mulder.”

Scully breaks their eye contact, emotion clawing up her throat. She retreats to her chair, where Mulder throws an arm over her shoulder protectively. She rubs furiously at her temples as a headache begins to set in.

“And what’s your involvement, Grace?” Mulder asks. “Are you not a member of the Black Sands?”

Grace shakes her head. “No, I am, actually.” She looks nervous. “I—I wanted to help you all once I found out Evan’s plan.”

Scully regards her coolly. “And why didn’t you help the dozens of others who have been sacrificed before on your island?”

Grace fixes her with a dark look. “I told you when we met that my brothers left the island for the mainland. That was a lie. My brothers were sacrificed as teenagers, one right after the other. They were some of the youngest members of our community to volunteer their lives. Because that’s what we were taught from a young age—that volunteering for the sacrifice was our highest calling. But after they died, I stopped believing. And I started doing everything I could to convince others to stop believing too.” She pauses, swallowing hard. “You two were the first sacrifices I’ve ever had the chance to truly save.”

Scully feels a wash of shame pour over her as she hears Grace’s confession. “Thank you,” she eventually says. She meets Grace’s eyes, then Lydia’s. “Thank you both.”

**

It’s been half an hour since they retreated back to Mulder’s hospital bed, but Scully is still angry. Skinner sits at the end of the bed, his face creased with concern.

“Kersh is being investigated for this,” he assures them.

They both nod, but Kersh’s betrayal still hangs thickly in the air. Skinner clears his throat, glancing up at the ceiling nervously.

“But,” he says with a sigh, and Scully feels the room grow tense, “that wasn’t before he made some pretty serious allegations against you two.” When he refuses to meet her gaze, Scully knows what allegations Kersh must have made. Associations flit through her mind. Inappropriate sexual conduct between partners. Official reprimand. OPR hearing. Suspension. Termination.

“I did what I could to silence any speculation as to the nature of your . . . relationship,” Skinner says. “But that’s about as much as I can do for now.”

Mulder shifts as Scully drops her gaze to the blanket. “Exactly how much damage control did you do, sir? I may not have much of a reputation to protect, but Agent Scully . . .” His voice peters out.

Skinner shrugs. “I can’t say how much of this has reached the water cooler, honestly. There’s not much I can do about that.” He glances over at both of them, his gaze turning serious. “As for whatever it is between you two, I’d try to keep it as discreet as possible.”

Scully groans into her hands and Skinner rises to leave. Only when she hears the door snick shut does she open her eyes and turn to Mulder. He’s regarding her with just a hint of mirth.

“Jesus Christ, Mulder,” she moans, “everyone thinks we’re sleeping together.”  

He laughs, patting her knee in consolation. “Somehow, I don’t think it’s the first time people have thought that about us.”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing. To hell with what they think.”

They fall silent, Scully mulling over the mess that they’ll be returning to upon their arrival in D.C.

“Hey, Scully,” Mulder prods. She looks up, finding him staring at her with open curiosity. “I’m starting to put the pieces together. Grace said something to you, didn’t she?”

She frowns, crinkling her nose. “When?”

“I saw you two talking in the lodge, the night they kidnapped us.”

Her eyebrows rise as she remembers—Grace’s first kindness of many. Oh. Oh. A slight smile rises to her lips as she makes the connection.

“She warned me not to drink the tea.”

[somewhere-over-the-rynbow]

I’ve spent the past 3 years hyperfixating on fallout and punk music simultaneously, and I can NOT get the question, “did the punk movement happen in fallout?” out of my head.

Punk started mostly in the US due to a growing distaste for the idealism of the 40’s-60’s, from the blind patriotism of the conservative mindset to the hippies (which might be canon due to the graffiti at Hidden Valley, but is also muddy). The problem is, while there’s plenty of evidence pointing to punk being a thing, there’s also plenty of… lack of evidence.

There are “punks” in Fallout 2, by name and appearance. General ‘fuck off’ attitude, guys with long hair and leather vests, girls with short, neon green hair. We see a continuation of this style in Bethesda games, too. Raiders are often seen sporting punk haircuts and general aesthetics, similar to the Fallout 2 punks.

All of that points to punk existing in the Fallout canon, but here’s the problem- there’s no music left, and for a music based subculture, that’s a pretty big deal. Another issue is the fact that culture seems to stagnate in the 60’s at the latest, which is a problem when the subculture you keep referencing became a big thing in the mid to late 70’s.

We know the Vietnam War happens in Fallout because they mention it in Tactics. The consequences of the Vietnam War were a major catalyst for early punk, because the Vietnam War sparked apathy towards the USA and a wave of “unpatriotic” ideals. I wonder if it did the same in Fallout, and if the prevailing patriotic attitude through the next century led to a prevalent, never dying but still pretty small punk scene, leading to today’s raiders.

Who knows. The things I would do for a modern Fallout Bible, man. Or at least, like… raider pirate radio.

[slothful-sleep]

Obey Me Headcannons

What if you were the child of Hypnos?

(Demon Brothers Only, Part 1, Elder Three)

POV: You were always a unique... 'human' being born with wings ivory in color and a sleep schedule so horrid, your caretaker worried immensely because all you ever did was sleep. You were always tired and never had much motivation to do anything, the heavy wings didn't help. They worked as a blanket sometimes, so that helped. However, as of recently you had gotten dragged to the pits of the underworld, you had adjusted fairly well but you had kept the one part of you hidden. One even you did not know. Your wings and heritage. The demon brothers mistook you for a pure blooded human... How wrong they were. How do very wrong.

Rickety Bones (Lucifer)

Bro really thought you were a human at first

He usually beat your ass when you slept, talk about a skipper user 😒

I swear, you sleep more then Belphie.

He's also the one to find you in the most... Compromising positions in the most compromising places.

He once found you asleep on the chandelier in the main room.

It wasn't a chandelier with a bowl either, it was pointy. You went up there to hide from Mammon.

He still questions how you got up there to this day...

Until his ass saw your white wings in all their glory after you beat Belphie's ass by throwing him down the stairs after putting him to sleep.

Lucifer thought his ass was dreaming and ended up coming back drunk off his balls. He was Soo confused lmao

Eventually, with the help of some of his brothers he found out you were the kid of Hypnos. Really explained your sleep schedule.

I'm pretty sure when you wanted to escape punishment you just knocked his ass out with a sleep spell and skedaddled on your merry way.

Those of you who simp for him, you can get him to sleep by using the same technique. When chronic over worker needs sleep, you're his go to.

It's honestly scary to him so he watches you like a hawk

He fears what Satan and Belphie will do with you

Legit has Vietnam flashbacks when he sees your wings, so please... Don't show them around him

Mr Krabs(Mammon)

Wasn't he supposed to be protecting a human??

Hey! He didn't sign up to take care of some Belphie reject!

He had no choice

Usually carries you everywhere, acts like he hates it.

Likes it

Probably tried to make a credit card under your name while

You are easily exhausted by his out going nature and get fed up with him trying to wake you up all the damn time. Let me sleep dammit!

The most likely to find you in a compromising position in a peculiar area.

He once found in a cupboard wrapped up in a tiny ball snoring away.

He just quietly closed the cabinet door

You two hang up on the ceiling alot

Y'all buddies there lmao

Was bat shit scared of you to find out you can just put people to sleep

You probably do it when you wanna get away from him

Legit offended when he wasn't the first to find out you were a demigod even when you didn't know Jack shit either

Also bat shit scared of you when you threw Belphie down the stairs

Laughed it off later

Overall, y'all two just chill

Probably tried to sell your feathers though, so just be weary of that

Vietnam flashbacks pt 2, please put away your wings. Bro can't take it

Discord Mod(Leviathan)

Oh! This reminds me of this one anime where-

Blahhh blah, we get it Levi.

Bro makes hella anime references

Ur still a normie tho, bitch

He gets annoyed you sleep so much. You're gonna miss the best part of the anime! Hey! Wake up, you're gonna miss an important raid!! 01000010 01101001 01110100 01100011 01101000!!!

Least likely to find you doing random shit because his ass is a shut in, but he did find you asleep on his TV once. He streamed it

It went viral

He recorded you beating Belphie's ass, he thought it was funny lmfao!

He did get trauma from your wings though and hid in his room until you stopped having then out

He does stare longingly at them sometimes, wondering what could have been and metaphorical shit like that

You also put his pathetic ass to sleep when he stays up to long. He could just be in the middle of a game, then night night!

Out like a damn light

[eleanorblythe]

Romantic Homicide - Anton Chigurh x Original Female Character - One Shot - NSFW

This is a supplemental to my first three chapters and explores Anton and Her before the events of Romantic Homicide.

This is how she died (part 2)

Also on Ao3 with authors notes and translations - here

Winter of 1978

Filipe Andrews had lived a long life. An interesting life.

Living through two world wars and serving in both World War 2 as a soldier and the Vietnam War as a war doctor, Andrews was quite familiar with the darker side of life and humanity. He intrigued him. After Vietnam, he found he didn’t want to live the typical American life. He’d had a taste of the darkness and he wanted more. He had decided to put his medical skills to use in America’s underworld, serving the frightening (but insanely rich) people within it.

But he was tired now. And older. Semi-retired and finally living the quiet and sedate existence he rejected as a young man.

As long as no one saw the fully kitted out surgery suite in his basement, he had a perfectly ordinary home and life.

He supposed a lot people in his world must have also believed he was retired. In its heyday the basement would see any number of agents, gang members, corporate cleaners come through its soundproofed walls in a given week. But now, the space lay dormant.

He was currently standing over his stove slowly and rhythmically stirring milk in a saucer, for his now customary 2am warm milk to help him go back to sleep. Sometimes Andrews really hated getting older. His house was bathed in darkness with the exception of the orange street lights offering a soft glow against the Formica counters. The silence of the outside world was simultaneously peaceful and eerie. He was just emptying the contents of the saucer in a cup when the thumping of a fist against his front door nearly made him drop it.

Confused and cautious, Andrews removed the 12 gauge shotgun hidden under the kitchen island and moved towards the door. He hesitated wondering if the person had moved away or Andrews had simply made up the sound in his own head when he heard a muffled, but familiar voice.

“Andrews. I can hear you. Open up.”

Andrews carefully placed the shotgun down on a nearby table and opened the locks of his front door. He was met with a grim scene.

Anton stood, skin clammy and stained with dried blood. Not his, Andrews quickly noted. Although the crumpled body ensconced in Anton’s arms made it easy to determine where the blood was coming from.

“What’s happened to-“

“-She’s been gutted, she’s lost a lot of blood.”

“So I see…” Andrews passed a cursory glance over her. She was already dead. Or as good as. Anton would have known that. Andrews drew his eyes to meet Anton’s and was slightly taken aback by how desperate they looked.

“Filipe. Please.”

Holy shit.

So he was in love.

Andrews gave a single nod and moved aside as Anton carried her throughout the house waiting patiently by the false wall that would lead to the basement, as Andrews securely locked down the house.

The silence and stillness of the basement was cut off by the quiet tink tink of the fluorescent turning on followed by the rushed sound of footsteps on concrete stairs.

Anton lay her on the surgical table and quickly found something soft to place behind her head.

“You’ll need to wake her up.” Andrews said as he rolled up his sleeves and started to scrub in.

Anton shrugged off this jacket and tossed it aside as he held her face in his hands, quietly but urgently calling her name.

Her eyes fluttered open and was immediately met with a bright white surgical light shining in her face. She tried to turn away but was pulled back. She whimpered out a complaint. All Anton could do was apologise.

Filipe issued some instructions in Spanish as he approached the table. She couldn’t translate quickly enough but based on how Anton sprang into action, it was clear Anton was taking on the role of the surgeon’s assistant.

The two men continued to murmur in their native tongue as she saw occasional glimpses of glinting metal surgical tools and eyes scanning over her through blue scrubs and face masks.

The pain was blinding. A part of her was angry with Anton for putting her through this excruciating suffering, and from the few words and phrases she could hear and translate, it wasn’t looking hopeful.

She had expected to be shushed with all the noise she was making. She screamed and cried so much, her throat felt bloody and raw. However, for her sins, she was met with the occasional cool towel being dabbed carefully against her forehead (Andrews) and a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder or soft caress against her temple (Anton).

It was always a small wonder to Andrews how much blood a human body could hold…and lose. She had practically been ripped open on one side. At least, this meant he wouldn’t need to make too many incisions.

“She needs a hemicolectomy.” Andrews stated dispassionately before moving away to get out his supply of general anaesthesia.

Anton swallowed the lump in his throat, but started to clean her arm ready for injection.

“I think I understood more when you guys were speaking Spanish.” She slurred. Her head lolled to the side and weakly reached her arm towards Anton.

“He needs to remove a section of your small intestines. He’s going to put you under.”

“Why didn’t you let me die?” She whispered. Anton froze what he was doing and pulled down his mask. He went to say something, when Andrews came back holding what must have been the most intimidating looking syringe known to man.

“¿Estàs lista?”

“Lista,” She croaked. Andrews nodded and stuck the needle into the crease of her arm.

“Remember. No guarantees.” Andrews added.

She managed a small genuine smile, on her pale, tear-stained, face.

“I always did love your bedside manner, Filipe,” she said softly. That was all she said before her eyes drifted closed.

………

Early Summer of 1978

She couldn’t remember the last time she had woken up feeling so blissful.

She felt pleasantly warm. She watched the curtains sway slightly with the morning breeze, allowing pockets of sunlight to stream across her bedroom floor. She was taking a vacation - if such a thing existed in her line of work. She wondered if what she was experiencing was the “Friday feeling” she had heard her- what she would call - ‘normal’ friends talk about.

She stretched and made to get out of bed, but an arm locked around her waist prevented her from doing so. She turned around carefully to face, a still sleeping, Anton. It was one of the few times she could watch him where he looked totally at peace. He almost seemed to smile in his sleep, which made a nice change from the deeply unimpressed look he would usually wear. His hair was mussed and covering his eyes. She suppressed a girlish giggle and delicately combed her fingers through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp, and away from his face.

“That tickles.” Came a muffled and very deadpan voice. Anton opened his bleary eyes and gave a very deep inhale and exhale as if all the stress of the world had melted off his body.

“Apologies. Perhaps you should have taken the scrunchie I offered after all.” She said with a smirk. Anton scrunched his nose in distaste before leaning forward and nuzzling his face into her neck, pressing a light kiss here and there. She hummed and stretched again raising her arms to drape around his shoulders and back.

As Anton attacked her neck with lazy kisses and small bites and nibbles, she drew random patterns and traced over some scar tissue that littered his back. She was particularly mesmerised with an angry, twisted looking scar near his shoulder. She was trying to determine if it was a burn or a bullet wound when Anton lifted his head up and murmured in her ear;

“Napalm burn. Vietnam.”

“Oh.” She said apologetically and her hand dropped down to rest on his bicep. Anton grinned against her skin and suddenly rolled on top of her keeping her pinned with his lower half and searching to meet her eyes.

“Oh?” He mocked her, “What was that for?”

“I just know most guys don’t like to talk about ‘Nam’.”

He hummed noncommittally and roved his eyes over her naked form.

“I’d sooner we didn’t talk at all, right now,” he dipped his head to lightly nip around the edge of her breast.

She scoffed and wriggled underneath him slightly.

“You’re such an animal. You weren’t even awake 2 minutes ago,”

“I’m very awake now.”

“Yes. It’s hard to ignore.”

“You’re still talking…”

Her laugh was cut off as he leaned down to smother her lips. He ground into her soft skin, then used his knee to pry her legs apart. She lazily hooked her legs over his hips and crossed her ankles on his back. Anton deepened the kiss, as his calloused hands made a slow meandering path down her face, neck, chest and finally to that most intimate place of her.

He dipped his fingers into her folds, drawing slow circles on her clit. She let out a sigh and practically whimpered against his lips;

“Fuck me already, guapo,” she punctuated her request by squeezing her legs around his waist and pulling him even closer to her.

Anton, suppressing his smirk at his newest nickname, pushed into her warm, wet heat with little resistance.

He released a pleasurable groan and dropped his head to her shoulder, rocking gently into her. He felt her press a kiss to his hair and shifting her hips to match his languid pace.

Anton didn’t believe in heaven.

But if he did, he hoped it would feel like this.

It was his own fault, really. He had allowed himself to get too comfortable. He, sometimes, wondered if she was a bruja as she seemed to have this unexplainable hold over him.

He told himself right from the start he would never stay the night.

He was thankful he had no one to hold him to account for that. As he had abjectly failed to do so. In every instance.

The most infuriating thing was she was quite accommodating either way and even said she wouldn’t be insulted if he didn’t want to stay.

He hated that.

He loved her for that.

He hated that he loved her.

It had been a year since they met. Anton wouldn’t call himself happy, he didn’t know what ‘happy’ meant, but he imagined it was similar to this feeling, now - losing himself in her, feeling every inch of her, knowing her body so well that he knew just the right angles and depth that would make her-

He heard her hiss and felt her thighs tighten around his waist. She grabbed his face with both hands and pulled so they were nose to nose, cradling his head and kissing him desperately, asking him to do it again.

He happily obliged.

They continued to rock in tandem, calmly. Sweetly. Coming dangerously close to being considered “making love”. In a moment of panic, one of Anton’s hands that had been fisting the sheets, jumped up and gripped her throat. She quirked an eyebrow, but shifted one of her hands until it was pulling his hair. He grunted but, was once again, thankful that she was some kind of witch and she knew exactly what he needed in that moment.

God, how he hated her.

Her legs clamped more insistently, and the heel of her foot dug painfully into his back.

It reminded him of times they had crossed paths on the road. Anton pile-driving her against stained and peeling motel wallpaper with her heeled boots cutting into his back. Fucking each other senseless, before they got caught. Violence really was the most powerful aphrodisiac.

He was brought back to the present, by the sound of a high pitched whine beneath him. She was close. She leaned up to tug on his earlobe with her teeth, before using the Spanish she had practiced to whisper sensually in his ear.

“ven dentro di mi.”

Anton froze mid thrust. He had noticed the Spanish dictionary she had tried to hide when he arrived the previous evening. She had clearly practiced that phrase a lot, her pronunciation was near perfect. A part of him was touched she was trying so hard.

Another part of him was beyond turned on.

He pushed her back into the pillows and snapped his hips roughly into hers. She gave a little yelp, biting her lip to stop her laugh from bubbling over. She felt no small sense of pride from surprising a man as equable as Anton Chigurh.

She knew he was close, she had been holding on for the last five minutes, but wanted to see him come undone. She felt his hand tighten its grip around her neck and the sound of hips snapping together become louder and increasing in intensity.

“Pagarás màs tarde,” Anton gritted out between his teeth. She wasn’t quick enough (or knowledgeable enough) to translate what he had said, but hearing him speak Spanish made her insides clench, which was all Anton needed to tip him over the edge.

He hunched over her body and let out a grunt as hot streams of release hit her cervix. Finally satisfied, she dug her nails into his shoulders and fell off the edge with him. Feeling her flutter and constrict around him was almost enough to make him come again. If he was younger man, he might of. Instead he rolled over onto his back, bringing her with him. He didn’t want to crush her, but he wasn’t ready to stop feeling her skin against his.

She lay her head on his chest, trying to keep the smug smile off of her face. She could feel Anton stroking through her hair and along her back. They stayed like that, in post-coital bliss until one of them spoke.

“How long did it take you to learn that?” He finally asked. She tore her eyes away from her hand which was sifting through the small patch of hair on his chest and sat up to look at him properly.

“Not too long, but I wasn’t sure about the pronunciation - your reaction assured me it was correct.”

“It was…close enough.” He tried to dodge an incoming pillow and huffed out a rare laugh. “You have a good tongue.”

“Well, you would know,” she said suggestively. He hummed in agreement. She leaned forward and kissed him soundly on his lips before slipping out of bed.

“Where are you going?” He called, body unmoving except for his eyes.

“I’m going to shower and then…whatever we like, there’s a new cafe downtown that supposedly does the best eggs in the city. If you’re feeling adventurous we could go hiking…”

“I don’t care what we do,” Anton started.

“As long as we’re together?” She finished in a saccharine voice, she batted her eyelids and popped her leg. Anton’s face remained impassive and she scoffed and sauntered out of the bedroom, calling over her shoulder that he was welcome to join her in the shower.

He sat up and turned over what she said. Although she was clearly being facetious, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of…longing at her words.

No. That was ridiculous.

He didn’t need her, it’s not like he was forlorn when she wasn’t around, but he did notice, now. His existence was even quieter without her and he would, very rarely, wake up in the night and turn over expecting to find her there.

Once he spent a couple of nights at her place, when he knew she was away. He put everything back where he found it, but when she did return home, she phoned him and joked that he could just ask for a spare key the next time.

He didn’t need her.

He reached for his jeans, that had been strewn across the room and took out a coin. He would do it every now and then, when it came to her. He knew what he thought, but ultimately it didn’t matter. That was the beauty of the coin. He could never argue with it. It was simplicity. It was honest.

He flipped the quarter onto his open palm and stared down at the side he knew would greet him. Either she was living on an insane amount of luck, or it really was fate. He wanted to cringe at the thought, but he simply curved his lips up and followed the sound of running water coming from the other room.

………

Winter of 1978

Anton wasn’t sure how long it had been, it was certainly long enough for dawn to start peeking through the letterbox window at the top of basement. The dreary, depressing blue light started to creep its way across the bottom of the bed he was currently sitting on.

He had previously been sitting on a dining room chair that had been hastily dragged down from upstairs, needing to be close and diligently monitor her progress. However, after several hours he couldn’t ignore his discomfort and had, carefully, managed to sit against the headboard, leaving her undisturbed.

He watched her chest slowly rise and fall, she was still pallid, but no longer ashen. She had walked right up to death’s door, but had seemingly turned back at the last minute. Even Andrews seemed surprised she had survived.

For now.

Anton reached out and held her hand, under the guise of checking her pulse. It was slow, but stable. Consistent. Reassuring.

He would never cry. He wasn’t sure if he was even capable at this point. But, of this, he was sure: if she died, he would not stop until every single person involved, was hunted down and slaughtered.

Hell, they would be hunted down and slaughtered anyway.

He glanced over at the clock and stood to check on her IV. As he rose from the bed, Anton realised how exhausted he was. Filipe had recommended he rest immediately after surgery, but Anton had insisted he would wait until she woke up.

Anton finished adjusting one of the connectors and rubbed his eyes, trying to fight off the oncoming tide of sleep. He looked down to find her eyes open, watching him.

He immediately knelt down and softly greeted her. Her lapis eyes were dulled, and she seemed to be struggling to keep them open. She dragged up her hand until it knocked against his arm. He took hold of her pressing his dry lips against her fingers. She managed a small smile, but even that seemed pained.

“Did you mean what you said?” Anton asked quietly.

Her brow furrowed slightly and turned her head more to look at him.

“I should have let you die?”

She closed her eyes and gave a dry swallow, her other arm not attached to an IV, thumped the empty space next to her on the bed. She opened her eyes and met his eye.

“Come.” She barely breathed. Anton carefully put her hand back down, making sure nothing would catch or pull from the IV, and made his way over to the other side of the bed, removing his boots before settling down next to her.

She blindly reached her arm until she felt the soft locks of his hair and stroked along his jaw. As soon as Anton settled into the mattress and felt her hand caressing him, the tension could finally start to seep out of him.

He was home.

She turned her head and made small gesture for him to edge closer. With foreheads pressed together, she nuzzled against him and whispered;

“Thank you.”

Anton pressed a kiss to her forehead then settled into the crook of her neck. She settled into a more comfortable position but slipped her hand into his as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

Anton peeked his eyes open and waited until he could once again see the slow rise and fall of her chest. When he knew she was definitely asleep, he squeezed her hand.

“No me dejes,” he said lowly as he finally succumbed to sleep.

[drstonetrivia]

Ace of Spades

Cards come up a lot in Dr. Stone, such as joker cards, trump cards, or even the whole deck, but the concept of aces, specifically from the spade suit, come up a lot more.

We'll start by considering aces as a whole...

...Or aces in the hole, as Ginro and Suika have been referred to in the past. chapters 107 and 108 have matching ace-related titles thanks to them hiding away on the Perseus. Together, the pair make the double aces that save the day!

For those not familiar with the term, an ace in the hole means "a hidden advantage or resource kept in reserve until needed", which suits the way the Kingdom of Science operates. They wait until the last moment to reveal their plan, to dramatic effect.

If it's not spoiled beforehand, that is.

On the topic of double aces, the poker game that occurs in chapter 144 results in 5 aces being shown at the end.

The doubled card? The ace of spades.

(If you were wondering who had the imposter card, it looks like Senku had it. The size of the middle spade is smaller than the other cards, comparatively.)

So who was the ace? Senku, for winning the game? Ryusui, for getting what he wanted with the casino? Both of them had the ace of spades card, which is generally considered the highest card in the whole deck, but everyone involved in that game is an ace in their own right.

The only one who didn't get what they wanted in that particular instance was Gen, who was frustrated by his loss.

So let's look at one of Gen's ace-related wins: the gambit against Moz on Treasure Island.

Gen's opening move was to distract Moz momentarily using the still-unstabilised drone. The drone here is an ace for two reasons: first, to draw Moz's eye away from Gen so he can sneak closer, and second to make the Kingdom of Science seem more powerful than they actually are.

Gen uses his weak card against Moz, who is the strongest card in the Treasure Island deck.

Gen may have bluffed his way forward, but ultimately Moz never stood a chance against Gen, the man whose entire skill set revolves around manipulating cards...

Being the highest and most valuable card in the deck, the ace of spades isn't immune to superstition. One of the main superstitions marks it as an omen of bad luck.

This seems to follow in Dr Stone too with those associated with the card: Moz's loss against Hyoga, Ryusui's 5 petrifications, Senku's constant bad luck, the fate of the drone, ace pilot Charlotte crashing, Tsukasa's deaths*...

(*I'll get to that last one in a moment)

The other superstition around the card is how the ace of spades became known as the "death card". Military units used to use it as their symbol as it was the highest in the deck, and during the Vietnam war scattering the cards was used as a fear tactic.

The origin of the suit is also military in nature: the design is based on the pike or halberd, two European polearms.

The name itself likely came from the word for sword, similar to Spanish's "espada".

So now we have the final question:

Who in Dr Stone encapsulates the ace of spades card best? Who is simultaneously the strongest, unlucky, surrounded by death and also has roots relating to warfare?

If you guessed Tsukasa, you're right!

He was introduced as the Strongest High School Primate by Taiju, has a sad backstory and is constantly being separated from Mirai, has died twice now and uses an enormous sword wider than a shovel (that sword is the real spade here).

In case you still have doubts, even Stanley agrees! In chapter 189, Stanley's mind conjures up the ace of spades for Tsukasa, along with the ace of hearts for Kohaku and the ace of clubs for Hyoga.

Interestingly, cards with enemy faces printed on them were issued during the Iraq war (most-wanted Iraqi playing cards, if you're curious), so I wonder if this is why Stanley was thinking of them in terms of playing cards...

Also going back to the Vietnam war connection, both the battle in c.188 and the Vietnam war used guerrilla warfare tactics: launching attacks from hiding and using the terrain to your advantage.

In conclusion, the ace of spades repeatedly comes up in Dr Stone, but the only person it truly suits (haha) is none other than Tsukasa Shishio.

[terrence-silver]

ok the post the other day ab terry liking to be called mommy got me thinking about his actual mother and just

I feel like his dad was pretty similar to how people commonly interpret him: sleazy businesses man who expects too much out of son, cares more about money than people, and doesn't treat his wife too hot. he's manipulative, and for the longest time that's where terry thinks he gets it from

but his mother, on the other hand, anyone who saw her would assume that she was at silver sr.'s mercy. getting walked all over, pushed to the side, etc, etc. she has more than she needs, money wise, but from the outside she seems like a trophy wife to be pitied

but i like to think that mrs. silver used that to her advantage. she moved in the shadows, and had more influence on silver sr.'s business dealings than he ever realized. she always got what she wanted, and she wasn't starved for attention because she never needed it from him

and it takes terry decades to realize just how self-sufficient his mother was, just how much influence she had on every. single. aspect. of their lives. it takes him even longer to realize just how much he's learned from her, manipulation tactic-wise, things he previously would have attributed to his father, or even just his own cunning

idk just a personal headcanon bc i hate when ppl will write off a mother as a trophy wife and negate any real effects she had. none of this to say, of course, that his father did not have a major effect on his psyche still. and i like the idea of control freak terry slowly realizing things about his past where he didn't have as much control as he thought he did

I agree, because I think Terry Silver got everything he is from someone even before the trauma train in Vietnam hit him as badly as it did --- like, I don't think he was ever exactly a commonplace, ordinary kid. He even implied he had many teachers himself. And who else but his very own parents? Who else is every child's first teacher? A child's first set of Senseis? The family home the first ever dojo one steps foot in? The first ever dojo was one born to, in fact? Acquiring ruthless, old school business tenacity from one parent, and the ability to walk hidden in plain sight from another so one would never even outright know he's a ruthless businessman in the first place? It was nature as much as nurture. How do I know? Isn't it for everyone? Because even while he was Twig back in the war, he was already hidden in plain sight in certain ways; the scrawny, shy, clumsy kid being the undoubtedly richest one in the platoon who's capture is realistically, in a material sense, worth most back home, even though many of his team mates and Captain might disagree? Small wonder of profound irony.

I like to think Terry Silver's parents represent two sides of the same coin.

Two distinct aspects of power.

Yin and Yang.

One, direct, out in the open, undeniable, and another, behind the scenes, in the shadows, often pulling the strings. And guess what? Terry's a master of both, and the fact that he's gotten the more clever approach from his mother is a good point. He would've grown up somewhere in the 1950's, give or take, and women always needed to be smarter, one step ahead of the game, devising intelligent ways to conceal themselves in a society out to oppress them, earning them the title of traditional schemers. Not writing off Terry Silver as some sort of hidden feminist icon (goodness, no) but I do think that he learned his craft from wherever he could, and that he was always hyper-observant, absorbing everything he witnessed and utilizing it to his advantage. That he collected all knowledge and utilized it in his own life and circumstances and what better source to learn from than from mother? He's mother too. I mean, the pipeline between an antiquated, classical Stepford wife with a faux Stepford life and what Terry Silver had going on at the beginning of Season 4 is very, very small indeed.

[inviewadventures]

Ultimate Guide to Backpacking South East Asia

Ultimate Guide to Backpacking South East Asia

Ultimate Guide to Backpacking South East Asia

Ultimate Guide to Backpacking South East Asia

Welcome to our site, your go-to for exploring the diverse wonders of Southeast Asia! We’re here to guide you through the vibrant cultures, rich histories, and stunning landscapes of this fascinating region.

From the lively markets of Bangkok to the peaceful beaches of Bali, we invite you on a journey that spans ancient traditions and modern vitality. Dive into the diverse cultures, where ancient temples share tales of the past, and bustling cities pulse with energy. Discover hidden gems in Vietnam’s jungles, relish Penang’s street food, and unwind on the Philippines’ pristine shores.

Whether you’re a seasoned traveler or a first-timer, our site is your reliable companion, offering insights, tips, and recommendations for an unforgettable Southeast Asian adventure.

Let us guide you through the varied landscapes, cultural tapestry, and extraordinary experiences that await in this captivating part of the world. Southeast Asia isn’t just a destination; it’s a collection of moments waiting to be experienced. Join us on this virtual journey, and let the magic of Southeast Asia fuel your wanderlust.

Continue reading: inviewadventures.com

[stellarvisionary]

Surprising exactly no one, my mother doesn't at all understand the allegory and satire of the Starship Troopers movie. I tried explaining that the Heinlein novel was Jingoistic pro-Vietnam Conflict fiction, while the Verhoeven film is anti-World War 2 fiction.

Predictably, she didn't get it at all. She doesn't understand that a piece of fiction can be about a particular subject, but not physically look like the subject at all (she doesn't get the symbolism of the Earth-based story being in Argentina, or the deliberate Nazi officer symbolism of the uniforms, or even the Propaganda Filmic nature of "Would You Like to Know More?")

It makes me miss my dad that much more. He may have been as much of a dyed-in-the-wool Conservative as my mother, but at least he had decent media comprehension. It was from my dad that I inherited my own taste in fiction.

My mom wonders why I feel the need to explain the symbolism of the plot details in the movies we watch, but then she regularly misses the point of the media she consumes. She loves watching The Help and Hidden Figures, but she doesn't understand the concept of persistent systemic racism, and the fact that those movies were released recently to highlight how it's still as much of a problem now as it was then. She loves The King's Speech, but then calls Joe Biden senile (because she either doesn't know, or doesn't care that he's suffered from a life-long stutter).

I am just...so tired of being the only reasonably intelligent person in my house. I can't have intelligent conversations with my mother because she's so convinced that she's right about everything, and I can't argue my points worth a damn because I have a difficult time expressing myself verbally.

[spookykoalaphilosopher]

Ha Long Bay, Vietnam: A Natural Wonder

Ha Long Bay, located in northern Vietnam, is a stunning UNESCO World Heritage Site known for its emerald waters and thousands of limestone karsts. Cruising through the bay offers a mesmerizing experience as you witness the unique landscape and explore hidden caves and grottoes. The bay's ethereal beauty makes it a must-visit destination for travelers seeking natural wonders.

[noisycowboyglitter]

The Majestic Wonder: Exploring Son Doong Cave, Vietnam

Son Doong Cave in Vietnam is the largest known cave in the world and a geological marvel. In this article, we take a virtual journey into the depths of Son Doong, discovering its grandeur, hidden ecosystems, and unique formations. Learn about the challenges and rewards of exploring this magnificent cave and why it is a bucket-list destination for adventurers.

[abm-travel]

Time for it

𝑯𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒂𝒚: 👉 For people who need Vitamin Sea! You can explore the World Natural Heritage with thousands of limestones on the sea. Visiting the biggest Surprising Cave, joining Kayaking activity/ Bamboo boat sightseeing. Trekking on top of a small mountain to see the covering of Halong bay or swimming on the most beautiful beach in northern Vietnam.

𝑵𝒊𝒏𝒉 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒉: Almost every visitor coming to Ninh Binh cannot stop admiring the gentle and poetic beauty but also the very wonderful series of landscapes such as Hoa Lu, Tam Coc, Trang An, Bai Dinh, and Mua Cave, … Each destination in Ninh Binh is characterized by extremely different and profound characteristics, creating a highlight to attract more and more visitors.

𝑴𝒂𝒊 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒖: 👉 The “hidden sister” of SaPa! It rests in a peaceful valley, surrounded by mountains and rice fields. Here, the pace is much slower than in the big cities, providing a terrific opportunity to relax and unwind. We took our trip here in between visits to several big cities and it was the perfect tonic.

𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒊: We expose you to the REAL HANOI with a day-in-life experience, featured with the parts-unknown of the city with slices of life in the maze of backstreets, tiny alleyways, local homes, schools, random markets, and the black market, experiencing where & how locals live, work and play.

[diracsea]

on this very random fucking day, since my brain cannot absorb any more Chinese, I’m gonna list out some of my fav VNF Wattpad authors.

da_River, once D_LittleStar (D.): The absolute favorite, totally unmatched. The one and only author that can wreck me with every single one of her stories. Qua chơi cùng mình? So pure so wholesome. Let’s pretend the world stops turning? Also really wholesome with no shipping content whatsover. Em giấu điều gì trong đôi mắt? Damn girl you bet how many times I’ve cried reading this one. Take me home, country road (unpublished)? I think of this one every time I pass by my hometown river. Trúng số? Nguyễn Ngọc Tư’s level of emotional depth. Cách để chạm đến mặt trời? I feel like this one is the one story that will carry me through my bumpy young adult days. Hình người tâm ma? Holy fucking shit the sheer level of eroticism I can’t...

wreckedworld, once nine19enth (A.): I love her. I love reading everything she writes, no matter if they’re fanfiction, original stories, book reviews, diaries recording her days in Japan, or just random rants after a long tiresome day - most of which she has now hidden (or deleted, idk). I dedicated a story of mine (Hai đứa trẻ) to her, once, and these days I wonder if she still remembers it, after all those years. In my closet there’s still a Vietnam NT 2020 shirt with the name N. QUANG HAI that I bought to give her when I learned that she intended to return to Vietnam in Jan 2020 (oh yeah and since we’re mentioning that shirt, fuck you Quang Hải and fuck your misogyny). I never had the chance, as the pandemic struck.

Minbadend, also known as whereialive (N.): The 314 ficdom was great, and N. used to be one of its most prolific writer. She’s someone who never hesitates to try out new ideas, most of which are really breathtaking when executed. I loved her Hồn Hoang collection so much that I even commissioned her to write another collection in that exact format. She gave me Lặng (on the very first day of the Lunar Year 4 years ago), and while it was not as poetically written as Hồn Hoang, I feel like Lặng has a more solid structure and a more coherent plot. She still writes fanfic, as far as I know (we’re still friends on Facebook), and in fact I would gladly read everything she writes, even when I have no idea who the characters are, and even though I don’t always agree with her extreme views on fandom stuffs. Some writers’ styles are just that addictive

nolastgoodbye, once linnervard (M.): She didn’t write much, but most of her stories melted my heart with their sweetness. My favorite story by her would be Cingulomania, but I really enjoy her Felix Felicis as well, even though I’ve never touched a single Harry Potter book in my entire godforsaken life. Fun story time, I kinda know her irl through one of my closest friends, who participated in the University Club where M. used to be the chairman. Can’t spill all the details, but according to my friend, irl M. seems to be wildly different from her Wattpad persona. 

Hojua5 (T.): This person wrote a 500-fucking-page novel in the form of fanfiction over the span of less than one year, and that’s not to mention her other works (written during the same period, also impossibly long), as well as the fact that she still worked full-time and traveled a lot. Yes, I’m talking about the famous Đủ dũng khí để trân trọng cậu. Tell you what, I can never imagine myself with that level of dedication, productivity, or perseverance. T.’s stories never wrecked me the way D.’s or M.’s did (I guess this is mostly due to our generation gap - T. is 9 years older than me); nevertheless, they are always entertaining enough to keep me turning the pages. And now that I’m thinking about T., I’m assuming that incorporating friendship into fanfic is one of the things I learned from her, many many years ago.

smoothxcriminal (N.): Every single one of her social media account has this quote stamped under the profile picture: “I do exactly what you tell me not to.” Somehow, her stories generate that exact vibe: always unexpected, a bit unhinged, a little rebellious. For me, her most impressive work is Thick and thin ‘til our last day (turn my soul into a raging fire), a rather atypical collection that depicts the footballers as people with special abilities who just want to live their lives in peace yet always get pulled into dangerous situations (Stranger Things, anyone?): a Thành Chung who can switch between human and dog form, a Tiến Linh who can understand animals’ languages, a Xuân Trường who has psychokinetic abilities, etc. etc. Her Em chẳng có gì also left a really deep impression on me, especially that one shot in which Công Phượng commits suicide and his closest friends’ thoughts are brought to light.

andiethecheesetea, also known as the3rdandy (where’s the second Andie?) (T.): Olympia girl. Reading her story is like riding a rollercoaster. One moment you laugh your ass off, the very next moment you just want to crawl into a corner to contemplate life. I feel like she put that much humor in her stories just to mask the fact that she takes them all very, very seriously. Is this how having BPD feels like?

[vietnam-by-bike]

1. Immersion in the Ancient Khmer Empire:

Cycling allows you to fully immerse yourself in the ancient wonders of the Khmer Empire, with Angkor Wat and Banteay Srei being the highlights. As you pedal through the temple complexes, you will witness the grandeur and intricate details that have been preserved for centuries. Unlike exploring these sites by car or bus, cycling provides a closer connection to the historical context, allowing you to observe the architecture, intricate carvings, and experience their sheer magnificence firsthand.

2. Off-the-beaten-path Adventure:

Venturing off the main tourist routes in Cambodia and Vietnam is made possible by cycling. Kampong Thom, located between Angkor Wat and Phnom Penh, presents an opportunity to delve into the rich Khmer culture and explore lesser-known temples, rice fields, and local villages. By exploring these hidden gems on a bike, you can witness authentic Cambodian life, interact with friendly locals, and gain a deeper appreciation for this enchanting region.

3. Unforgettable Cultural Experiences:

Cycling through Phnom Penh, the vibrant capital city of Cambodia, allows you to absorb the vibrant history and culture firsthand. Visit the haunting Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and the Killing Fields for a profound understanding of Cambodia's dark past. Pedaling through local markets, sampling delicious street food, and interacting with friendly locals will provide irreplaceable cultural experiences that showcase the warmth and generosity of the Cambodian people.

4. Connection with Nature:

The journey through the Mekong Delta, a sprawling network of rivers, canals, and lush green landscapes, is a highlight of this cycling adventure. By cycling through this picturesque region, you can witness the daily life of locals living along the delta's banks, pass through verdant rice paddies, and explore charming villages. The peaceful and serene environment allows for a deeper connection with nature, away from the hustle and bustle of city life.

5. Mekong River: Lifeline of Southeast Asia:

Following the Mekong River by bike offers an extraordinary perspective on the region's livelihood and biodiversity. As you cycle along the river, you will witness local fishermen casting their nets, witness traditional fishing villages, and witness a rich array of wildlife. Furthermore, a cycling adventure along the Mekong River allows you to witness the magnificent sunrises and sunsets that paint the river's banks with mesmerizing colors, creating postcard-worthy moments wherever you turn.

✅ Cycling in Cambodia and Vietnam 10 days offers an unforgettable experience that combines historical wonders, cultural immersion, and a connection with nature. By taking this unique, off-the-beaten-path approach, you have the opportunity to engage with local culture, witness breathtaking landscapes, and experience the region from a completely different perspective. So gear up, hop on a bike, and get ready for an adventure that will create lasting memories and leave you with a profound appreciation for the captivating destinations of Cambodia and Vietnam.