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#not GAS as i got informed by an actual australian
wachtelspinat · 1 year
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4 photo studies (and one junkertown-ish landscape thingie) i did for last years christmas calendar (for my dad <3)
had some fun with these but i also realized while drawing landscapes concepts is nice and all, trying to color them correctly is HELL, hence the junkertown thing is in gray scales with fucked up tones...
i’m having a project in mind with a theme (for the junkers) and i might re-use some of these, rly don’t know yet... we might see
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beardofkamenev · 3 years
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1, 5, 7 :)
Thanks for the ask! This is kinda a long one without any pretty pictures, so I’ve tagged it for anyone who doesn’t want it clogging up their dash.
1. Historical figure you used to like before you learned more about.
I’ve never actually liked him, but Winston Churchill. I knew he was 'problematic’ to an extent, but I was pretty neutral on him since, you know, he “saved Europe” from the Nazis. I also didn’t learn about him in school, so I just took the established opinion of him at face value. But MY GOD he was a racist, white supremacist, imperialist, genocidal piece of shit. Here are some choice quotes from the man himself:
On the Boer War (1902): “[It was] great fun galloping about.” “[My only] irritation [is] “that Kaffirs should be allowed to fire on white men” (The ‘great fun’ being the war in which the British sent 100,000+ black Africans to concentration camps, and ‘Kaffir’ being a racist term for black Africans.)
On the use of chemical weapons against the Kurds (1920): “I am strongly in favour of using poisoned gas against the uncivilised tribes … it would spread a lively terror.”
On Mussolini (1927): “In the conflict between Fascism and Bolshevism, there was no doubt where my sympathies and convictions lay.” (Hint: it was fascism.)
On Palestinians (1930s): “Barbaric hordes who ate little but camel dung.” On self-determination: “I do not agree that the dog in a manger has the final right to the manger.”
On Jewish people (1937): “It may be that, unwittingly, they are inviting persecution — that they have been partly responsible for the antagonism from which they suffer.” (Hitler was already in power, so YIKES)
On the genocide of Native Americans and Indigenous Australians (1937): “I do not admit, for instance, that a great wrong has been done to the Red Indians of America or the black people of Australia. I do not admit that a wrong has been done to these people by the fact that a stronger race, a higher-grade race, a more worldly wise race to put it that way, has come in and taken their place.”
On the partition of India (1947): “I’d rather see them have a good civil war.” “The Hindus were [a] race protected by their mere pullulation from the doom that is due” (’Pullulation’ meaning ‘to multiply rapidly’, and ‘the doom that is their due’ being the brutal, sectarian partition in which millions were killed and displaced. Churchill may have helped create Pakistan — or as he called it, Britain’s “bit of India” — but he despised Pakistanis, who he considered a “lower manifestation” of humanity.)
On the Bengal Famine which killed 3 million (1944): “I hate Indians. They are a beastly people with a beastly religion.” (Keep in mind that, like the Irish Famine, the Bengal Famine was a direct result of his own government exporting rice from India, despite the fact that crops had failed and that Churchill was repeatedly warned that continuing to export rice would lead to famine. Not only did Churchill deny relief to Bengal, but he also blamed the Bengalis for their own starvation for “breeding like rabbits.”)
His opposition to Nazism wasn’t nearly as principled as most people believe. Far from being an anti-fascist and anti-Nazi, Churchill was himself a fascist eugenicist, who only opposed the Nazis insofar as Hitler’s imperial ambitions threatened British dominance. This was the same Churchill who once boasted that the “Aryan stock is bound to triumph,” and whose main criticism of Hitler was that he had “not been mellowed by the great success that ha[d] attended him,” lamenting the loss of “the Hitler of peace and tolerance.” I was neutral on Churchill before, but now I’m pretty comfortable placing him in the same league as other racist mass murderers, if not in death toll, then certainly in his views. The British Viceroy of India said that “Churchill’s attitude towards India and the famine is negligent, hostile and contemptuous.” The Indian Secretary of State said that there wasn’t “much difference between his outlook and Hitler's.” His own secretary attested to him saying that Indians were “a foul race ... and he wished Bert Harris could send some of his surplus bombers to destroy them.” And those were just his view on Indians. While Churchill’s own colleagues saw him as an extremist, the cult of British exceptionalism demands that these inconvenient aspects of his legacy be ignored, lest they contradict the narrative of the Empire as an ultimately beneficial, civilising force.
Don’t get me wrong, I do think that Churchill is worthy of serious study, as all influential and complex figures are. But he is uncritically considered The Greatest Briton of All Time purely because of his whitewashed wartime legacy, which has been used time and time again to dismiss the very real harm he caused to millions of people and continues to cause harm today. Stalin also “saved Europe” from the Nazis, but it would be insulting to say his role in defeating Nazism somehow excuses his atrocities. Yet Churchill’s atrocities are constantly excused because his victims were mostly brown “savages” (his words), who needed to be ‘civilised’ anyway. You only have to look at this BBC article to see his apologists’ mental gymnastics in trying to defend him (here’s my favourite: “Although Churchill did think that white people were superior, that didn't mean he necessarily thought it was OK to treat non-white people in an inhumane way”). As a POC from a former American colony, I find the systematic erasure of the atrocities committed by the Anglosphere and the knee-jerk defensiveness towards any acknowledgement of the intergenerational trauma caused beyond irritating. The Cult of Churchill is but one example of this.
5. Historical figure we should talk more about.
JASPER TUDOR UNCLE OF THE CENTURY. Now that was a man who was actually loyal to his brothers and protected his nephews, unlike... some other uncles I could name lol. He’s also the one Tudor man (aside from Arthur) that PGregs couldn’t demonise, although she did still portray him as a 26 year old man being in hopelessly love with his 13 year old sister-in-law, which uh, NEVER HAPPENED.
Anyway, I have a whole tag devoted to Jasper here if you want to learn more about him. There are also three historical biographies dedicated to him: Jasper Tudor: Dynasty Maker by Terry Breverton (2014), Jasper Tudor: Godfather of the Tudor Dynasty by Debra Bayani (2015), and Jasper: The Tudor Kingmaker by Dr Sarah Elin Roberts (2015). I haven’t actually read them myself so I can’t give you my opinion on them, but I have read Wales and the Wars of the Roses by Howell T. Evans (1915) which discusses Jasper in detail and I highly recommend.
7. Favourite primary source.
Oh man, it’s so hard to choose! Purely in terms of aesthetics, it has to be Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry. I even have a whole tag devoted to salivating over the pretty colours lol. In terms of textual information, I’d probably say Henry VII’s letter to his mama, Maggie B. It reveals so much about Henry’s relationship with his mother, including how close they were, how much he respected her, and how often they collaborated in matters of state. It also includes this cute line:
I shall be as glad to plese you as youre herte can desire hit, and I knowe welle that I am as much bounden so to doe as any creture lyvyng, for the grete and singular moderly love and affection that hit hath plesed you at all tymes to ber towards me.
I was supposed to write a post about it, but I got lazy so it’s still sitting in my drafts. In terms of both textual information and literature, I think Gwaith Lewys Glyn Cothi is pretty underrated as a primary source. They’re poems, so naturally there’s a lot of embellishment, but they give a lot of insight into the under-explored Welsh aspect of the Wars of the Roses from someone who actually lived through the era. I’m also Jasper Tudor trash, so of course I’d like anything that talks about him.
(The history asks meme is still open!)
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lu-undy · 4 years
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Hi!❤️. Spy is a romantic. He always makes nice things for Sniper, and the dates he plans are amazing. Sniper wants to be romantic too, so, this time, he wants to surprise Spy with his own planned date. He'll take him camping and they'll watch the starry together. Convincing Spy to go camping was a little hard, but totally worth it, Spy completely loved that date.
Alright, a date in the forest it is! I hope you’ll like it!
“Non, Sniper, I cannot accept.”
“How can you not like it if you’ve never tried it?”
Spy got up from the shade of the van and walked further away, his more-than-friend on his heels.
“Let us be serious, Sniper. Do you see me in the middle of a forest with squeaky plastic green boots?”
The Australian sighed and let his shoulders sink. He put a hand on Spy’s back who had just lit a cigarette.
“Spook, please… You always take me to wonderful places I’ve never been before, luxurious hotels and restaurants, and there was the tailor too, that fancy hairdresser… I want to try and open yer horizons too. I-I’m sorry I’m not a fancy city man like you but-but I’m sure I can make it worth your time.”
Sniper saw the cloud of smoke float in the air like the steam of an old train. Thoughts were racing in Spy’s head.
“Please, Spy. It’s not all about dirt and wilderness. There are beautiful things outside of a city’s walls.”
The Frenchman turned to face the reason his heart was beating for and Sniper put his gloved hand on his cheek.
“Like you, right now, you’re in the middle of the desert and uh… Y-you… You’re just beautiful.” 
Spy raised his eyes to Sniper. His lagoon blue eyes shone so gently that he didn’t find it in his cold stone heart to refuse.
“Fine.”
“Really?”
“Oui. Let us go camping tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much!” The Australian squeezed the slim Frenchman between his arms.
“S-Sniper!”
“Ah, yeah, sorry, the suit, alroight, I’m sorry.” Sniper took a step back and wrapped his arms around his own self, lowering his head. He knew the Frenchman didn’t like anyone to touch his absurdly expensive attire.
“Sniper, look at me.”
The Australian shyly raised his eyes.
“I don’t like when other people touch my suit…” Spy added a smug smile, for good measure.
They had spent the night in Sniper’s campervan and when the sun rose up, the Frenchman found himself entangled in his lover’s limbs. His first reflex was to free himself certainly out of professional habit but then he realised that he liked that embrace more than he could admit. The warmth of his lover, the comfort of his soft body, the touch of his rough skin against Spy’s…
“Mornin’, Spook…”
“Oh, you woke up?”
“Felt you movin’ on me.”
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep. You may go back to your dreams if you will.” Spy took Sniper’s hand in his and kissed his knuckles. He couldn’t see it but the Australian’s eyes snapped wide under the gentle touch.
“Not a chance. I’m likin’ this way too much…” The embrace tightened.
“So, when are we going to the jungle, Tarzan?” 
“Oi, I’m no Tarzan and I’m takin’ you to a forest, not a jungle.”
“I don’t see the shadow of a difference.”
“Between me and Tarzan or between a jungle and the forest?”
“Oui.”
“You’re a bloody mystery and a half.”
“It is indeed my job title.”
About an hour later, the van was crossing the empty golden, flat desert, on the thin strip of grey asphalt.
“Are we there yet?”
“Spook, not yet.”
A few seconds passed and the van's engine was roaring.
“And now, Bushman, are we there yet?”
“Do you see anythin’ that looks like a bloody forest?”
“Non, I can only see the dull, boring orange desert.”
“Well then that means we’re not there yet, roight?”
“How long is this journey, Bushman? Are we going to make it before you get baby kangaroos?”
“Oi! A bit of patience, Spook!”
The Frenchman sighed and let his head fall back on the headrest.
“Also, I can’t get babies on my own, this isn’t how it works.”
“Is this an invitation?” Spy smirked.
“Shut up!” Sniper nudged him with his elbow.
The journey took an extra hour before they could see the end of the orange and the beginning of the green. The Australian lifted his foot off the gas pedal and eventually parked somewhere that the Frenchman would describe as “the middle of nowhere”.
“Roight, this is it.”
“Ah, oui, merci Sniper, for this delightful ride to the middle of nowhere, forest edition.”
“Oh get out and cheer up, I’ll show you some nice stuff!” Sniper answered and cut the engine off.
“After you, Mister guide…”
They got off the van. 
“Uhm, I am not really dressed for this, Sniper.”
“Come ‘round. I can lend you some clothes.”
“Non merci.”
[No thanks.]
“You’d rather walk around in yer suit and nice shoes, then?”
“I did not say that.”
“Then c’mere.”
They walked to the van’s back and Sniper jumped in. He rummaged through his belongings and found an old flannel shirt and a pair of jeans as well as some white trainers.
“Here, wear this.”
“I do hope that you are kidding me, mon beau.”
[my handsome one]
“Nah, I’m not. It should be yer size more or less and it’s fine to get them a bit dirty, although you’ll see that we’re not gonna go through any survival things. This is just to show you that you can find as many beautiful things in nature as you can in a city.”
The Frenchman winced.
“Alroight, I can uh… I mean if it helps, I can… Ahem…” Sniper put a hand on the nape of his neck. 
Spy jumped in the van and got close to his lover. 
“Tell me, what is it?”
Sniper glanced over his lover’s shoulder and seeing the door shut, he lowered his head and whispered.
“I… I can remove yer suit for you and dress you up… I-if that helps I mean…”
“Oh I don’t know if that would help.” Spy smirked and put his index finger under Sniper’s chin to push it up until their eyes met. “On one hand, if you do remove my clothes, I might get carried away. Should you proceed anyway, I would find it most enjoyable.”
“Is that a yes then?”
“Oui.”
“Alroight…”
A few minutes later, both men were out in the green. Spy kept his gloves and balaclava on. He took his lover’s hand in his.
“Show me then, please.”
“Alroight, see those trees here, well, you gotta understand somethin’ about the way they work…”
It wasn’t a visit, it was a trek, an excursion, a hike across the green. The Australian unveiled the secrets of the forest, the local wildlife as well as the typical flora around this parts.
“Oh and what is it about the mosquitoes! it’s getting worse!”
“Ah that must mean one thing, Spook, we’re getting closer to some water. Oh, look here, on the ground.”
“What are those fluffy, uhm, mille-pattes?”
“Mill-what?”
“What do you call those insects with a lot of legs?”
“Ah, caterpillars. These are called caterpillars.”
“Why are they so fluffy? Can we touch them?”
Spy got his finger closer to them.
“No, no, don’t! They’ll sting you!”
The Australian took his lover’s hand away.
“And why do they walk in a line like this? They look like they’re queueing for something…”
“Haha, my poor city man, they’re blind, that’s why they follow the only one that has any idea where it’s going!”
“Oh… I see…”
“What do you think about’em?”
“They look actually quite pretty. And very organised.”
“Glad to hear you say it, they’re amazin’ these creatures, see? Blind but they know what they’re doing! Let’s continue.”
“Fine, I’ll follow you.”
The guided tour lasted the entire day and to Spy, it seemed that he had received an entire encyclopaedia of information about the place. Everything had been accounting for, every straw of grass included. The sun was now gently setting in the distance.
“Hungry, luv’?”
The Frenchman raised an eyebrow.
“Did you just call me…?”
“Oh, uhm, sorry, that came out like that, I didn’t think about it, uh…”
“Don’t apologise, now I am quite hungry indeed…”
Spy winked at his lover and Sniper’s cheeks turned red instantly.
“R-roight, uhm, I-I’ll get the fire goin’ uh…”
“Sniper?”
“Yeah?”
“Let me light the fire, please.”
Sniper’s eyebrows jumped.
“You know how to do it?”
“May I try?”
“Alroight, go ahead. I’ll get to the van and arrange some stuff meanwhile.”
A few minutes later, the Australian exited his van again.
“Crikey, you did it! You lit a fire!”
Sniper jumped out of his van and leapt at his lover.
“Mon amour, non-oof!”
[My love]
The momentum of the Australian’s jump made them both tumble and fall on the grass. The Frenchman rolled his eyes.
“Oh now even my balaclava will be dirty…!”
“Yeah, but it’s protecting yer hair! Why are you always seeing the glass always half-empty?”
Spy smiled.
“I guess you are right.”
“Also, did you just call me-?”
“My love, oui, I did.”
“I… I love you.”
Sniper wrapped his arms around his lover and buried his head in his chest as he laid on top of him on the earthy ground of the forest.
“Sniper, y-you are crushing me…”
“Don’t care, I just love you.”
They enjoyed their sausages and marshmallows, sat on a tree log, Spy leaning his head on his lover’s shoulder. The sun had now fully set and the sole source of light on which they could rely was the dancing flames of the campfire that the Frenchman had made. 
“It’s cold now, mon amour.”
“It is. Climb up the van’s roof, I’ll be a minute.”
“The roof?”
“Yeah.”
“But it’s cold!”
“Trust me, Spook, please.”
“Fine. I have been so far so why not go all the way?"
A few minutes later, both men were on the van’s rooftop. Sniper had put the flames out and only the smoke floated in the air, evaporating through the darkness of the night. 
“Here, a duvet, we’ll be a bit warmer.”
The Australian sat next to his lover and threw the cover on their shoulders. Spy snuggled up against his taller man.
“Now look up, luv’. See those stars in the sky?”
“I see them in your eyes.”
Sniper looked down and saw the Frenchman’s eyes riveted on his, his wide black pupils reflecting the moonlight. 
“Oh, uh, they must look tiny on my eyes, uh, y-you better look at the sky to see them better, I think.”
“You are adorable.” Spy took Sniper’s arm in his and looked up. 
“See those stars shaped like a saucepan?”
“Oui.”
“That’s the Great Bear.”
“It doesn’t look like one, does it?” Spy tilted his head left and right, trying to see where on Earth anyone could see a bear up there.
“Nah, it’s true… And that one there, the upside down saucepan, that’s the Small Bear.”
“It doesn’t make any sense, Bushman. Who are these people who decided on that, their vision is terrible! Have they ever seen a bear in real life?!”
“Oi, don’t blame me, I have nothing to do with that, luv’! I’m just explaining it to ya.”
“I know, but still. They should have called it the saucepan and the upside down saucepan.”
“I agree with ya. Now there’s that one there, that’s the Dragon.”
“And unsurprisingly, it does not look like one.”
“Oh cause maybe you have seen a dragon in real life?”
“And what if I did.”
“Oh, shut up and c’mere…!”
They snuggled up closer to each other under their white fluffy blanket and  the dark one God had laid above their heads.
“So what about today? Did you like it?”
“Oui, I think I did. You know a lot of things about this… Nature business…”
“Well, yeah, I’ve lived most of my adult life outside and in me van, so I guess it makes sense.”
“I find this interesting.”
“Is that a way to say that you would like a second trip some time?”
“Maybe, Bushman. It all depends on one thing, you see.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“The way that you decide to spend this night with me.”
“Well, we’ve got the cover here and no one around for miles…”
The gaze they exchanged in the night sealed their decision and as the day had started with their limbs entangled, it ended the same way. 
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lunawings · 5 years
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Free! Dive to the Future Special Event 1/13/2019
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Yesterday I went to the live viewing for the evening performance of the Free! Dive to the Future Special Event. 
The structure of the event was kind of unique I thought. The first thing they did was play scenes from the anime chosen by each of the voice actors, who would then comment on them. They they started into a looooong skit which basically lasted until the end of the event. It was a pretty great skit though, and made the event feel like more of a stage performance than a talk event. 
The following voice actors were present: Nobunaga Shimazaki (Haruka), Tatsuhisa Suzuki (Makoto), Mamoru Miyano (Rin), Toshiyuki Toyonaga (Asahi), Kōki Uchiyama (Ikuya), Ryohei Kimura (Hiyori), Chihiro Suzuki (Kisumi), Akeno Watanabe (Gou). 
Also Kenji Nojima (Natsuya), Tsubasa Yonaga (Nagisa), Daisuke Hirakawa (Rei), Yoshimasa Hosoya (Sousuke), and Satoshi Hino (Nao) gave special messages which they showed on the screen at intervals during the event. (While the others were backstage having a water break or something.) 
The scene Ryohei Kimura chose to show the scene with Ikyua and Hiyori on the slide, and for some reason the audience just erupted with laughter. I guess maybe because it’s so overboard. Like, after it ended Mamoru Miyano said something like “Even I didn’t go that far!!”
It was kinda neat to have the voice actress for Gou there. When she said “oniichan!!” the audience screamed. For her scene she chose an Iwatobi scene where Rei was talking about aiming for nationals and then she talked about how she was so proud of him and felt like his mom watching the scene. She kept saying like “Mamma’s so proud, Mamma’s so proud” over and over again and I was like... SISTER. I FEEL YOU. 
Chihiro Suzuki was a fairly big part of the skit, which was a nice surprise to me considering Kisumi isn’t on the show a lot. But Chihiro Suzuki is really popular, at least in the Tales fandom. It was a trip to see him reading a script for something that wasn’t Tales. 
So the skit was about Kisumi taking the boys (Haruka, Makoto, Asahi, Ikuya, Hiyori) around to tour different circles (clubs) around the Hidaka campus. He keeps recommending incredibly obscure circles such as the bamboo shoots and mushroom club over and over again. They are later joined by Rin escorting Gou to the open campus. 
First Haruka, Hiyori, Ikuya, and Asahi visit the Karaoke club. 
Asahi yodels. 
There was a running gag about “singing from the heart”... here is a paraphrase:
“Haruka can sing?!” “I sing all the time. I sing from the heart. I’m singing right now...” “How can you tell?!” “There I just finished.” “What?!” 
Later Ikuya is going to sing and they all make a big deal about it. Then the song starts up and he’s not singing. He informs he’s also singing from the heart. 
When Rin and Gou make it to the campus Gou enjoys the view of all the muscular boys from an athletic school. She somehow ropes Rin into rapidly listing his top ten muscles with her (as she judges his choices) and she almost gets taken away to the top ten muscle deciding circle.
Then Kisumi, Makoto, Rin, and Gou visit a comedy circle. Kisumi recommends this circle in particular for Makoto because apparently he did a comedy routine in the past for something?! (Makoto is incredibly embarrassed by this.) 
Somehow Rin and Makoto then get roped into performing a routine, and Rin is like Makoto “What did you do in your routine before?!” And Makoto is like “Uhhh Kansai dialect....” 
So then they just both talk in really bad Kansai dialect about nothing haha. At one point Rin finished a gag he didn’t know how to end with “SHARK!!!” which is an inside joke from a different Free event ahaha. 
Here is where the skit really derailed (heh pun intended) for a while as they just started doing.... train impressions. First with Tatsuhisa Suzuki. Like he would just say the name of a very specific train line, then make an expression. Sometimes blank, sometimes unusually happy. Then it spread to Mamoru Miyano as well because I guess they didn’t know what else to do haha. 
It’s kinda unclear to me what happened at this point, but either a.) The script just said to improv until Chihiro Suzuki and Akeno Watanabe called it off or b.) Tatsuhisa Suzuki got them so far off script they didn’t know how to get back on. I think maybe the latter. Because Mamoru Miyano started reading Gou and Kisumi’s lines desperately to just try and get the scene to end because they weren’t helping him aha ha... pretty funny but I also felt kinda bad for him at the same time. He seemed a bit frustrated with Tatsuhisa Suzuki for going off script.
The in the next part Kisumi, Haruka, Makoto, Ikuya, Hiyori, and Asahi (I think) visit the drama circle, which Kisumi is actually a part of. He was supposed to write a script for their next play but he hasn’t done it yet. So he decides to do it now, based on a phone call from Rin. Rin has lost Gou and is looking for her, so he creates some dark swimming plot about Haruka’s character's sister being kidnapped. 
He has the boys actually read the lines for his characters with Makoto as the villain.  Tatsuhisa Suzuki suddenly started reading the lines in a completely different villain voice, perhaps the actual voice of one of his other characters, it was pretty amazing and hilarious.
Kisumi gets Ikuya to play the sister, and when he’s not being girly enough he keeps asking him to redo it until eventually he sounds so girly that Rin bursts into the room thinking it’s Gou. 
The last circle the participate in is a quiz circle, where they compete to win some mascot toy that Haruka really wants. At one point the “question” is to sing the Hidaka school song and Haruka just desperately yells the name of the mascot character over and over again. So that wasn’t correct. 
Suddenly they hear the ding of a correct answer. It turns out Ikuya sung the song from his heart. 
Then finally the last “question” is to do a comedy routine. (They wonder how someone could get that right or wrong.)
But Rin steps up to the plate and does...... Japanese Australian animal puns..... in English..... 
So like follow me here. Mamoru Miyano went up the mic, and said very seriously in English and super over enunciating... “A kangaroo.... is thinking.......”  and then another character would be like “Oh! Kangaruu ga kangaeru!” and he’d be like “THAT’S RIGHT!!!!” 
I tried so hard to remember all of them but as soon as I left the theater the rest were gone ahaha there was also one about a koala, a wombat, and a crocodile. This scene also went on like forever eheh. 
So they won the quiz, or Rin one, not sure but Rin gives Haruka the mascot character and all is well... the end! 
After a quick goodbye we were left with “See you in 2020 on the screen” which stayed for at least a minute or so until suddenly the numbers began to flip. They stopped at 2019, revealing the new compilation movie with a new episode and then flipped back to 2020 to reveal the new movie. 
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raaven-nerd · 5 years
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the epic mega tag of tags
I’ve been inactive for an eternity so I got tagged in a bunch of things by a WHOLE BUNCH OF PEOPLE (THANK YOU ALL FOR TAGGING ME I LOVE YOU ALL <3) 
So i decided to combine all these tags into ONE MEGA TAG!!! I’m sorry if I don’t have every single tag that people have tagged me in, because I was kinda... inactive lol 
I honestly have no idea how many questions are in here, but I’m really excited to answer all these questions. Subtle hint for you guys to ask me questions lmao!! My ask box is always open ;)
//INTRO//
Time: 9:00AM (i’m on summer break, i’m not ditching school rn lol) 
Name: Michelle
Nickname: Mich (pronounced mish,,) and Michy (fun fact: all my friends spell this differently but the correct spelling is michy!! At least that’s how i spell my nickname lmao)
Gender: Female
Nationality: Australian
Star Sign: Cancer
Height: like 157cm LMAO i’m really short
Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw (hence my branding lmao)
Languages Spoken: English, Cantonese (but badly), Japanese (but only because i learn it at school)
Dream job: GOOD QUESTION LMAO umm something medical?? But like if i was remotely talented, doing something creative would be really cool.
How many pets do you have: 1, I have a pet dog named Pepper
What am I wearing: A T-shirt from last year’s school musical that’s way too big for me and black shorts (and by that i don’t mean a T-shirt that was like part of my costume,, i mean like a merch kinda t-shirt?? but not really merch bc i was in the musical) 
Instruments/sports played: I don’t play any instruments ,, well i play ukulele badly lmao, and i play soccer and volleyball for grade sport :)
//ABOUT THE BLOG//
When did you make this account? Like,, 2 years ago?? YIKES
Why did you join studyblr? Honestly i don’t remember why,, probably bc i wanted to get better at studying and get more motivated
How many followers do you have? Surprisingly around 4800
Why I chose my url: because i’m a nerd,, and my hogwarts house is ravenclaw
//BELOW THE CUT//
Things about my personal life :000 (get that juicy goss!! lol not really tho my life is pre uneventful)
Study tips and my study routine I guess? Just about how i study lol  
Music/Book/Film/TV faves and other related thingos (aka how cultured am i?? again not really tho i’m just trying to make this sound interesting lmao) 
And some more just RANDOM things lmao (like some of these things get really random lol) 
//PERSONAL//
What are three basic facts about you? Okay so whenever a teacher asks me to introduce myself at the start of the school year, my default interesting fact is “I have a dog” and every single year the teachers are super amazed that i have a pet dog and it’s absolutely hilarious bc everyone else is like “I’m not sharing any personal information with you guys”, and the teacher ends up interrogating me about my pet dog.
That’s not a basic fact lol um.. My birthday is on the 15th of July, I’m the youngest of 3 siblings and I graduate in 2020 :))
What was the best part of your day today? Ngl this is actually a really hard question for me to answer because I am NOT in a good mental state right now… but probably watching Joe Sugg’s new vlog. That was a good way to spend a study break. OR REPLYING TO THAT ANON MESSAGE OMG everyone sending me messages saying that they’re glad to see me back just wow ;; i can’t believe people even noticed i was gone it’s just ahhughsgs thank you all so much <33 
Relationship status: um… single… yeah let’s just leave it at that
who is the first person you go to in a crisis, when you’ve had a hard day, or when you need to vent? Well… my best friend would be the first person i go to.. Except we’re on holidays right now and they have the worst reply game (bc they’re kinda not allowed to talk to me,,, it’s complicated lmao)
what is your love language? (if you don’t know it, there are plenty of love language quizzes on Google! I definitely encourage you to look it up and find it out for your benefit!) :ooo I did a quiz for this ages ago BUT I GOTTA DO IT AGAIN bc i forgot LOL 
OKAY i did it! I used 5lovelanguages.com so yeah.. Just in case anyone was wondering? But I guess my love language is quality time/words of affirmation and from highest to lowest it’s quality time (9), words of affirmation (8), physical touch (6), acts of service (4) and receiving gifts (3) 
what are the little things in your life that make you happy? Lmao all my friends bc we’re all SHORT AF.. but seriously,, just really small things can make me so happy, just being able to spend time with my friends makes me really happy?? Like we can just sit in (comfortable) silence, but i’ll be so content to just be there with my friends..  Quality time with friends?? thanks love language Does that count idk how to answer this
What is your favourite thing about yourself? Um physical thing?? Probably my hair tbh.. But like my actual fav thing about myself is um the fact that i’m empathetic, generally pre organised and good w/ time management and i can like teach myself stuff?? or maybe how i could be having the worst day of my life and i’ll still want to spread positivity and good vibes?? Yeah that’s pre cool 
what accomplishment in your life are you most proud of? Uhh i got dux of english a few years back? I was in the top 10 of 4 subjects last year so that’s pre cool? But tbh the accomplishment i’m most proud of is probably just going to the school I go rn.. OR surviving last year lol 2018 was a mess 
What’s one piece of advice to yourself a year ago? GIRL things are gonna be tough. Like really hecking tough. But it’s not worth it to hold grudges, there’s no point letting fear of what could happen stop you from doing things you want to do and you will survive and you will be stronger because of it. Don’t let what other people say about you get you down, yes, it sucks to hear people speculating about you and your private life, but they have no idea what’s actually going on, and they’re just curious . No one has anything against you. You are loved, and you are worthy, and you are strong. You got this.
what is a skill you wish you had? To play guitar!! Or to be able to sing!!
Name three places you’d like to go to. Richard Rodgers Theatre to watch Hamilton, Music Box Theatre to watch Dear Evan Hansen and the Warner Bros Studio Tour in London. (but also, Japan, London and New York)
//STUDY & ACADEMICS//
What’s your degree/favourite subject? Uhhh it was drama but i dropped that and the 2019 school year hasn’t started yet so.. Who knows?
What motivates you to study? The fact that I gotta do well and get good marks in order to get into a good uni course… and the fact that i just want to keep getting better,, and i don’t want to disappoint people and i also don’t want to do badly bc yikes its real competitive at my school so like lowkey fear of failure
What time do you do your best studying? Tbh it really depends, it’s either the morning not long after i wake up (esp if it’s holidays or the weekend), right after i get home from school, or like late at night if i get a burst of motivation (like sometimes i’ll end up studying from 10:30 to 1am which isn’t sustainable if i have to get up at 7 for school) 
Best self care tip for exam season? Don’t spend your time around people who get really stressed out. It only makes you more stressed, and you don’t need that extra worry. Positive vibes only. Stay chill!
Do you listen to music when you study? Yeah. I just listen to music with no lyrics and I’ll use @studyquill​’s playlist :DD
Where do you do your best studying? I do pretty much all my studying at home so.. home?? but i have this spot at school that i like to go to in the mornings when no one’s at school yet because it’s super quiet and i can get some quality work done there 
What’s your go to thing when studying? Write notes, do practise questions, draw summary mind maps and try to recite my notes from memory
//MUSIC//
put your music library on shuffle, list the first 15 songs
Oh boi this is going to be interesting
How Would You Feel - Ed Sheeran
Part of Me (Bonus Track) - Dear Evan Hansen
If I Could Fly - One Direction
Better Man - 5 Seconds of Summer
If I Could Tell Her - Dear Evan Hansen
Somebody to Love - Queen
Moving Along - 5 Seconds of Summer
Candy Store - Heathers the Musical
Cabinet Battle #2 - Hamilton
Guns for Hands - Twenty One Pilots
Sunrise - In The Heights
The Judge - Twenty One Pilots
Radio Ga Ga - Queen 
Defying Gravity - Wicked 
Shine a Light - Heathers the Musical 
Song stuck in your head: for some reason Acid Rain by Cimorelli just randomly came into my head when I woke up this morning?? so that i guess lol 
Last song you played: Alaska by Maggie Rogers
What are you listening to right now? well right now it’s Shine a Light lmao
what are your 5 favourite songs right now? THIS IS HARD OMG okay um Photograph by Ed Sheeran, Shout Out To My Ex by Little Mix, Fire Away by Niall Horan, Walking in the Wind by One Direction and I discovered Light On by Maggie Rogers today so that too!!
What’s your favourite lyric right now? Darling you don't have to hold it/You don't have to be afraid/You can go 'head and unload it/'Cause you know it'll be okay
Fave artist? GOOD QUESTION.. I don’t have an answer lmao but I like 5SOS, Ariana Grande’s new songs, Ed Sheeran and the soundtracks to quite a few musicals but that doesn’t answer the question lol 
//FILM, BOOKS & TV//
Last movie you saw: I rewatched Crazy Rich Asians :))
Top three TV shows: lol i don’t watch TV but all times favs include Gravity Falls and The Simpsons annnnndd um… yeah I really don’t watch much TV lol
What are your favourite books? All time fav is Harry Potter, but rn my fav is probably 13 Reasons Why (i know it’s also a TV show so i might check it out!!)
Which ones are you currently reading or want to read? Right now, I’m reading Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver. I’m only a few pages in though.
What’s the most recent book you’ve read? Finding Audrey by Sophie Kinsella
//MISCELLANEOUS// 
Describe your favourite colour without saying the name! Soft colour of love
What’s your favourite season? Probably autumn
Favourite animal? My pet dog lmao (i really like dogs but i love so many animals but we’ll just say dogs)
Last thing you googled: ‘fire away lyrics niall horan’ because i wanted to check i had the right words lol
How many blankets you sleep with: 1
If you could be a celebrity, who would you be? Probs Emma Watson or Ariana Grande
What is the last text you sent? Ummm i’ll check AND i quote “I AM,,, somewhat certain that’s correct bc like.. I don’t have any confidence in myself”  I was talking to my friend about an assignment lol
Average hours spent sleeping? 7-8 ish??? But during the school term, it could be more like 6-7 but still ain’t that bad???
WOW THAT WAS LONG if u actually stayed throughout all of this and read it all,, (which no one probably did) umm dm me your fav lyrics of the moment? yeah do that lol i wanna meet some new people 
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Craft Of Paleo Soup
As if dropping weight had not been hard good enough, effectiveness usually triggers a plateau: a discouraging, and also sadly common, amount of time where weight-loss relates to a comprehensive stall. As well as in the end, if weight-loss is actually not attained or even preserved, that surgery is actually most likely looked at a failure (oh wait, that corrects, the fat loss treatment is actually never looked at a failure; this is actually the person that is actually the failing); as well as I'm suspecting that the individual which had the completely healthy and balanced body organs severed or repositioned for weight loss are going to be actually rather dissatisfied, also. Sandra: Absolutely no that is actually very various, therefore as soon as your body weight stabilises you're no more receiving those beneficial bolsters off your atmosphere, thus you are actually refusing latest, smaller clothes, your buddies are no longer discussing the modifications and you've sort of got utilized to the important things you have the ability to perform at your lesser body weight. One vivid factor on the scene resides in simple fact both the Western side Australian Unsparing authorities and right now the Victorian Benevolent authorities have actually launched this brand-new Live Lighter in weight campaign, which is the initial really potentially quite helpful social advertising great communications that can definitely assist us begin to change our personal beliefs as well as perspectives around a healthy diet regimen. My favored person (okay, certainly not really) to argue along with on this subject urges that the trick to weight-loss (even lasting!) is actually http://montrez-vousblog.info (in spite of total absence of evidence) When I state that I raise weights and also I'm still fat, the response is actually invariably, Well, you are actually just not doing it enough." When I inquire how much and how typically I ought to lift weights, the solution is, More than you're performing right now." Which is http://montrez-vousblog.info/iheater-experience-de-test-amazon-commandez-forum-presentation/ , considering that he doesn't know jack about just what I'm performing currently. While in theory people who shed smaller amounts of body weight could look at the same metabolic stagnations and leptin deficiencies, that is actually far more challenging for an individual to keep a huge fat burning if they begin at a BMI of FIFTY compared to a BMI from 30. This initial number falls into one of the most severe group from obesity, phoned tremendously obese." For perspective, a person crosses over into obese" region with a BMI of 25. All the relevant information is actually wonderful insight except for the ones who hardly consume anything and wish to reduce weight, ha ha your killing your metabolic rate and your simply heading to obtain everything back faster than just what you dropped this!!! and that could simply induce you to provide secret is personal recognition some times counting callores may be awfel and personaly i do not perform that because compared to i began to cheat myself. After chatting an although I found out a few other traits: 1. She was slammed for her body weight at a young age, 2. She began self-restricting biscuits when she was 7 or 8 years old, and 3. She was commonly a much higher body weight, attempted all the diet regimens, and also this complete sobriety regimen is actually the only one that has functioned" for her in terms of keeping her body weight down long-term. I want to invite you to participate in a research venture I am working with and will greatly appreciate your aid to do thus. The title from my analysis is Customer Assumption from the Efficiency of Herbalife Supplements." The reason of my research is actually to check out just how Herbalife individuals view that taking Herbalife supplements assistance in weight management and/or weight management. Greetings there, my little girl and i are both on the holsford diet plan and also in merely 10 times our company have actually both dropped over 5kgs each.ijust might certainly not believe this, presuming that our range had was out of kinds i contacted above my taiwanese good friend and also asked her to tromp the scale, she examined me as well as pointed out whye mee i no put on weight" i answered no no no i presume the range is actually all washed up damaged" she answered no is accumulate" so a hearty major thankyou to MR HOLFORD as well as we are each heading to proceed consuming healthy and balanced food.
I'm sorry since you was available in telling me you wanted to consume organic as well as weren't sure concerning all the chemicals in the meals, as well as I composed some BS regarding exactly how it was a strategying stone." I am actually sorry because a lot of you possessed thyroid issues and the SURVIVE point you ought to have been performing was eating a gluten-filled, chemically-laden starvation diet. Web site creator Stan Rak has a highly specialized, data-driven background and has utilized his skills to produce a data bank of over one hundred 1000 food to ensure his visitors could obtain complete active ingredient listings, AND ALSO different colors coded info and also a certifying device that pinpoints damaging components as well as highlights healthy versus certainly not so healthy and balanced possibilities. Sorry, can not aid myself reply your article yet as an Accredited Athletics Dietitian seeking advice from for ballet colleges, I don't assume this dish program appropriates for you as you discussed you are actually a professional dancer and a teen, I can't possibly observe there's enough iron for you not to mention other nutrients like carbohydrates (gas for your dives as well as rotates), calcium mineral etc. chance that helps. When I review it with chance I was actually quickly let down along with anguish when I realized that this diet is actually damn near impossible in my globe, I believed overcome also considering that. I am actually from the North yet live in the South, I bring in routine funds working as a center training class government worker, I rest at a workdesk all day, I work an elliptical device at nights and also and I am actually overweight by merely about TWENTY extra pounds.
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wiym · 3 years
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MY BIRTH STORY
Trigger warning/s: Birth trauma and postnatal mood disorders
Less than a quarter of healthy, low risk, first time parents will have a normal birth in an Australian hospital. With the recent release of Birth Time: the documentary in Australia and New Zealand, I felt that revisiting my birth story was timely.
It’s a clichéd adage but it’s true: for me, the birth plan went well and truly out the window. In fact, it was never let into the building.
EST. READING TIME: 5 minutes
In my early twenties, I used to avoid making eye contact with the family planning section at the chemist. These days I have an emergency stash of tests in my bedside drawer. I’m not even late - my period tracker says it’s due today - but I have a nagging feeling that won’t go away.
I pee on the stick, and there’s only one line. Oh well. I shrug, insouciant, throw out the test and go about my day.
Until four in the afternoon, when I sit bolt upright on the couch and realise that I, generally a rule follower, hadn’t waited for that result. In fact, the box tells you to wait five minutes. So much for sitting on the couch with an egg timer.
 I dig through the bin and in my shaking hands is a positive pregnancy test (note: those trying to conceive affectionately refer to this as a BFP). I test again, and again. I can’t wait, I race in my car to Victoria Park where my boyfriend of two years is working, with three BFPs sitting in the cup holder.
And so begins the uncontrollable for the Type A control freak.
In a pandemic, there are already things I can’t control. I’m redeployed to a different unit at my work and can no longer take potential COVID patients.
I’m anxious, exhausted and most of all - experiencing morning sickness that will turn into hyperemesis. Then, I have to take extended time off work.
As I do with most things, I jump straight into the deep end of pregnancy world and obsessively research. I avoid the foods you’re meant to avoid, and I buy all of the pre-baby accoutrements. Birthing ball, new yoga mat (and maternity yoga pants to boot), and the books. Oh my god, the books.
I do the hypnobirthing classes and listen to birthing stories while hiking with my dogs.
Being pregnant is simultaneously my new persona and hobby. I honestly still wouldn’t change a thing now, in spite of what I know, because even through vomiting for 7, nearly 8, months; I love being pregnant with all my heart.
I neatly type up a birth plan, beautifully formatted and fonted. Natural, natural, natural. No episiotomy. No pain relief. Don’t even offer it to me - I’ll ask. No interventions unless necessary. Delayed cord clamping. Immediate skin to skin. Quiet, low lighting, music. To me, this was a covenant between myself and the computer. Absolute, resolute and set in stone.
By the third trimester my partner and I have the hospital bag meticulously packed, nursery ready, and the big waiting game to do. Eager for our little family to be complete.
At my 38 week appointment, our obstetrician informs us that baby isn’t showing any signs of coming any time soon. I take that as a challenge and research a litany of labour-inducing old wives’ tales.
PSA: none of these actually work. If you are healthy with no complications, your baby will come when ready. Don’t rush. Even when you feel as if you can’t possibly be pregnant for single millisecond more. Your baby isn’t term until 40 weeks.
But here’s the kicker; the impending threat of an induction and/or caesarean looms overhead. I’m told I am a small girl. He appears to be a big baby. His head isn’t engaged at all. And that the clock is ticking.
Now I wonder what might have happened had that idea never been put into my head. If I had been given the space to accept my birth as it would come. Real birth. Normalised.
The pitfalls don’t just lie with mainstream media. You are being sold something. The expensive classes will tell you that having a natural birth without medication is possible, if you buy our book. The private obstetrician will tell you that you need an induction, an epidural, a caesarean; pay us.
At 39 weeks, the Friday before Christmas, my baby is showing signs of coming. What follows is 9 days of latent, or prodromal, or pre, or (my least favourite term) false labour.
On the Monday we go into hospital. With contractions 3 minutes apart, we are told my cervix and uterus aren’t agreeing. Simply put: head isn’t engaging, cervix isn’t dilating. And that I’ll know it when I’m in real labour.
During the week that follows I try exercises from Spinning Babies to get some relief from the round the clock contractions, Jack gives me massages and on one night I even give a glass of red wine and a bubble bath a go.
Websites that want to sell me something tell me that it’s because I’m too stressed for the labour to progress. Try our tea. 
Why are we capitalising on something so sacred as birth?
 I walk with one foot on the curb and one foot on the path - and I do this for kilometres. Through King’s Park in 30-degree heat. Along the coast. Around the neighbourhood.
On Christmas Eve, I can’t sleep, speak or move through the contractions and we wait as long as possible. We camp on the fold out bed in the living room (those without air conditioning throughout improvise), the birthing playlist quietly crooning and candles burning. I do my breathing and mantras; relax, relax, relaaaaax. And the contractions stop as abruptly as they started, 20 hours later.
I cry. Low keening, animalistic sobbing. I don’t understand what is happening to me. I don’t feel confident in making the choice whether or not to go to the hospital anymore.
They tell you the hospital is the safest place to birth and in the same breath tell you to avoid the hospital unless you’re damn near crowning.
I’m new to this. It’s my first time. I feel scared, unsupported and alone. I’m in so much pain.
I just want to meet my baby.
 Barely two days later, I shake Jack awake. I’ve got a Miss Clavel feeling. Something is not right. Instinctively I know that after nine days of exhausting labour that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, I will be too tired to push.
I call the hospital and ask if I can come in.
Have you just had enough? A voice asks on the other end.
So I don’t take the Panadol or the shower or the bath. We roll into the birthing unit and I’m put on the monitor. Like the High Striker at a fairground, I get the sense that the rolling peaks on the screen need to reach acceptable heights before I’m taken seriously.
The midwife is watching for decelerations, which don’t happen, but also doesn’t see any accelerations. My baby is tired, and I don’t blame him.
And then I am asked the question.
What do you want to get out of being in hospital today? Do you want to have your baby?
I nod, because yes. So comes the new plan. Break my waters and start the syntocin drip tomorrow. Temazepam and Panadeine Forte tonight. So quickly everything I imagined for my birth is going out the window, but I’m desperate.
The next morning we waddle into the birthing suites to start my induction bright and early. I feel robbed of the moment my waters break as it is cracked with something that looks like a crochet hook on a glove. With a gush and then a steady trickle, all the amniotic fluid keeping my baby safe and sound floods out. My obstetrician tells me it’s meconium stained, the paediatric RN in me fleetingly panics. But it is all systems go. I race from active labour to transition. I can only focus on the contractions.
I want my mum.
I’m offered the epidural I’d refused the day prior again but I shake my head. Not in the birth plan. Gas and air only, please. I end up screaming into the Entonox mouthpiece every 2 minutes and throw up all over myself before I allow myself the grace of an epidural. Which only works for about fifteen minutes before I’m once again writhing and screaming, one leg ice numb but the rest of me on fire. Intense pressure between my legs, the urge to push. But it’s only been a couple hours.
My mum arrives in the hospital. On the birth plan, she was meant to be waiting outside. She stands near me now, in the birthing suite.
I’m making noises I am not proud of and inform my midwife of my need to push. Oh, it’s too soon? Pardon me. Before the midwife’s assessment I steel myself to be told I am nowhere near, after a week of disappointment and being nowhere near.
Oh. You’re having a baby.
I ask if we need to wait for the doctor when she tells me she’s calling my obstetrician.
No, she laughs. You don’t have to wait.
With my knees to my chest, I’m told to stop pushing and so I stop. Afterwards, my partner tells me that our son was getting distressed despite my best efforts to get him out and the obstetrician was pulling back on the cord that was tight around his neck. And my poor tired baby’s heart rate drops dangerously. I’m given a deadline to push him out, but I can’t and I’m given the episiotomy I had expressly verboten on my birth plan. He is vacuum assisted out. He is safe.
I’m handed a small, beanlike baby covered in blood and vernix. I kiss him and end up with blood on my face. He doesn’t cry.
He’s taken off my chest and it feels like the longest pause before he lets out the best scream I’ve ever heard.
My mum looks at me. He’s beautiful, she mouths. Is he okay? He’s okay.
My partner cuts the cord. No delayed cord clamping, breathing is more important. Oliver is soon enough placed back onto my chest.
And he is beautiful.
What starts days later as the baby blues progresses into postnatal depression and anxiety. It took me a long time to accept what happened was birth trauma. That my birth story is ridiculously common, even amongst my group of friends, and that’s not due to our failure as the birthing parent. I can’t tell you how long I felt I only had myself to blame for having false expectations. And how much value I put into my ability to birth the “right” way as a direct translation of my ability to mother. How I felt that my son’s birth complications were my fault (it wasn’t). Too many Australian birthing parents are made to feel this way.
So I write this birth story once more, and I let go of what happened for my own sake. I didn’t fail. My son is beautiful, and worth every second of the agony it took to get him here.
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A previous version of this post was published on my friend’s blog Mummy Neutral as ‘Type A and the Uncontrollable Pre-Labour’ in January 2021.
Please check her blog out as she posts some really raw and beautiful insights into pregnancy, birth and motherhood.
If you’re feeling distressed about anything discussed or about your own birth experience, please click the life ring symbol at the top of my blog for some helpful links. Call Lifeline on 13 11 14 if you need immediate assistance.
Birth Time: the documentary is showing in select cinemas now. You can visit the website to find out more and if you have birthed in Australia in the last 5 years, you can complete a survey about your experience.
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rufusdawes · 3 years
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Rays of Sunshine
Like most children, I too am trapped inside the body of someone no longer able to identify as a child. It does mean however, that I still want to climb trees, stick my tongue out and screw up my face after eating disgusting grown up foods like mushrooms or oysters (to be fair I won’t actually go near either), and have a favourite animal. Well, on that last point I have several. Obviously dogs. Especially ones from my past, present and future, as well as every single one I will never meet, and all their canid cousins. Secondly, reptiles. Again this is not restrictive, though if an adult were to ask then I’d say snakes and then fine if pushed, pythons. OK, if you’re really interested, let me get my book of Australian reptiles and I can show you all the ones I’ve seen in the wild since I’ve been ticking them off since I got here. Lastly, rays though specifically this time, the stingray family.
Fortunately, I was spending holidays just after New Year’s at some friends’ house in south-west Western Australia. A stunning property sitting atop 30 acres with an olive grove, fruit trees, a small dam, and enough potential to create quite the permaculture retreat, it’s also nestled just a short drive from each of the Indian Ocean, the Southern Ocean, and the Blackwood River. Two of these supposedly contain at least four species of our stingray family which, in turn, could make me one happy little traveller.
On January 1st, 2005, I landed in Perth, WA, with a mate as we set off on an Australasian adventure from our homes back in Bristol, UK. Our very first week on Aussie soil saw us take a drive into the south-west corner of WA, including a night in Bunbury where we were able to handfeed the resident dolphins. Further down the coast, and following some Lonely Planet advice, we rocked up at a beach called Hamelin Bay. Here, we were advised, one would often see stingrays humbugging the returning fisherman for scraps as the caught haul were prepared in the shadows of what remained of a decaying wooden jetty, once used to service timber milling operations.
In 2005, we were not disappointed. My memory of the entire five week trip largely following the urban coastal part of this isle is somewhat hazy. Not through any drink or drug induced haze but merely through my own inability to remember anything other than that which may crop up during a round of Jeopardy. However, my one crystal clear memory is of stroking these huge cartilaginous cousins of sharks in the lapping shoreline of the tranquil Indian Ocean (pic below).
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It was another thirteen years until I saw another in the wild. This was during a free diving adventure off the coast of Bali, involved the largest of the stingray family, the manta ray, and can be read about in a previous blog ‘Among the Fields of Bali’. Three years further along and I’m back at Hamelin Bay, just a ten minute drive from my friends’ house and almost just as I remember it.
The friends have an eleven month old son and it was he we were entertaining with an evening dip at the beach. I spent the appropriate amount of time pretending not to be excited about being back at Stingray City before getting unnecessarily excited about being back at Stingray City. To mask my inner stan, I casually sauntered towards the boat ramp and beyond, the dilapidated pillars of the jetty to find… nothing. Nada, zilch, squat. Natch. Uh oh. Upon my return to my friends I was informed that some rays had been brutally butchered by a few callous locals a few years ago. Unprotected as they were, they were fair game for a ‘catch’ and the laws insufficient for those actions to be classed as illegal. Now, the shoreline is a protected zone for the rays however, it seemed that they had not yet returned. I left deflated.
A day or two later I was in the township of Augusta which sits just up from the estuary of the Blackwood River before it empties into the Southern Ocean and is also just a ten minute drive from my holiday basecamp. Along the riverbank sit numerous cleaning stations. These are small, wooden structures utilised for the cleaning and filleting of caught fish before they’re thrown onto a barbecue at the campground behind for the freshest of feeds. The resident rays are wise to the process and loiter when someone is nearby. Here I was able to amble among eagle rays and spotted rays. If no scraps are on offer, the rays will nudge into you like a hungry puppy and loiter at your feet expectantly. I spent too many hours across a few days paddling with, and photographing these rays. In the absence of the Indian Ocean mob, I was delighted to be entertained by half a dozen or so of these wee fellas, but it wasn’t the same.
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A week later, I returned alone to Hamelin Bay and trundled down to the shore to reminisce. It was sixteen years to the day when I was there earlier this trip. Now, these seven days on, I was enjoying the twilight views and a cooling ocean breeze in ankle deep water. From the corner of one eye, a dark shadow caught my attention. Watching carefully, is it a rock? Are the gentle undulations of the tide suggesting underwater movement where none exists? Perhaps it’s just a mass of seaweed. And then, a turn! A tail flicks behind it as the shadow nears. A ray is back! It turns out they didn’t disappear. My attendance earlier just unfortunate timing. On this occasion I counted a dozen or so patrolling the shoreline, a mix of black and silky stingrays. As more onlookers arrived, the rays approached, seeking the scraps they are so often presented. Considerably larger than their freshwater brethren, they are just as demanding nudging the calves and resting above feet awaiting their feed. They are rewarded often enough though are unable to distinguish between the mass of legs as to who may be a provider. It can be a surreal thirty seconds or so feeling the sand move between the toes as a result of the ray drawing water through its mouth an inch from your foot and out through the gills where gas exchange occurs, before the ray loses patience and moves onto the next grounded limb.
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I returned one further time, on my last evening in the region, to wander among these graceful beauties. Sitting on the beach after my final frolic and staring out across the Western Australian horizon, I was a pretty content human. The inner child had been allowed out to play for a fortnight and is delighted to announce that his favourite animal is now the stingray. Well, at least until someone lets me pet their dog.
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downeystarkjr · 6 years
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The Swan and The Ghost Chapter 3
Emma Swan was never one to believe in ghosts or in any superstitions of the kind. However, her beliefs are soon to be tested when she moves into the beautiful yet mysterious Jewel Cottage. The manor known to be the home haunted by Captain Killian Jones.
The story can also be read on AO3 here
(This is one of the two stories I was working on for the Captain Swan Big Bang - it’s still a WIP but I have quite a few chapters complete that I really wanted to share)
Other chapters found here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
Chapter 3
When the two friends arrived in England, it was nearing ten at night, leading Ruby and Emma to decide that it was best for them to check in to their hotel situated outside Storybrooke and have some food before getting a good night’s rest to recover from their lengthy plane journey. The next morning, Emma, after needing to convince Ruby, left alone to meet the property vendor in Storybrooke.
During the taxi ride, a wide smile was plastered on Emma’s face as she took in everything she saw around her in the traditional English town of Storybrooke. It was like something out of an Enid Blyton novel, Emma also loved how Storybrooke was by the ocean, even as a child, she always wanted to live near the sea, having been raised in a busy New York city. Storybrooke seemed to be a small town trapped in time and Emma could imagine herself living there in an instant. She just hoped the house was just as perfect as she had seen from the material online.
“Hello madam, I’m Belle, is there anything I can help you with today?” a woman with a strong Australian accent and a kind smile with soft blue eyes said, whom Emma assumed to be the secretary at the estate’s agency where she was supposed to be meeting the vendor.
“Er…hi, I’m actually looking for someone I’ve been in correspondence with online, Mr Gold?” Emma explained, taking out a folder containing the relevant paperwork she had from her handbag, always one to be organised. “I’m in the process of purchasing Jewel Cottage?” Although, it was more like a manor than a cottage. Needless to say, Emma was stunned to see the look of horror on Belle’s face at the mention of the house. Why would that be? Was there something wrong with the house? If there was, surely Mr Gold would have informed her of this sooner?
“Oh y-you must be Miss Swan?” Belle stammered and tried to maintain, or rather, regain her composure. It still surprised her that someone would want to even have interest in the house riddled with rumours and stories. “Mr Gold is expecting you, please, feel free to go into his office, it’s through the double doors to the left corridor,” the secretary gestured and picked up the phone, letting her employer know that Emma had arrived.
After thanking Belle, Emma found her way to the set double doors that had Gold’s name displayed on a sign attached to the door. “Hi, you must be Mr Gold, I’m Emma Swan,” she greeted with a professional smile but couldn’t hide her excitement about getting the keys to her new property.
“Ah yes, Miss Swan, I’ve been expecting you,” Mr Gold, clearly a local from the town judging from his accent and age. “Please, take a seat,” he gestured to the seat in front of his desk while wiping the small milk moustache from his upper lip after taking a few sips from his mug of coffee. “I hope your journey to Storybrooke wasn’t too exhausting,” the vendor smiled at the American newcomer. “So, you were desirous of moving into a house in this wonderful town, preferably a property close to the sea.”
“That’s right, I was hoping to finish the process of purchasing Jewel Cottage?” Emma nodded with a questioning tone to her words, quirking an eyebrow. She was confused, didn’t Gold know what property she was going to buy? Hadn’t she made that clear during their online correspondence?
Again. There was that same shocked reaction on Gold’s face that Belle sported earlier.
“Oh, yes, but I do have other options, should you want to change your mind,” Gold offered, trying to persuade his customer to at least browse through a few of the properties he had picked out for Emma. Anything to lure her interest away from Jewel Cottage. “I've selected several prospects suitable to young lady like yourself. There is a detached house in Bowles Yard. A Seaside villa with three bedrooms, a reception, and of course we can start the heating, electricity, and gas for you, ready for when you move in. It’s located near bus stops and isn’t too far from the town square either,” the vendor went on to describe the property and handed Emma the papers containing the relevant information for the house in Bowles Yard, including pictures and the asking price.
Emma became suspicious to hear that. Was there something wrong with the house she wanted? To humour Gold, she looked through the papers but wasn’t exactly impressed. Emma just couldn’t get Jewel Cottage out of her mind. “I'm afraid this property is a little too out of my price range. Jewel Cottage was perfect for me, and I can easily afford the mortgage on it.”
“Oh? Well I- “Gold was about to show Emma another potential new home for her but she merely pushed the papers back to the vendor. Not interested in any other property except for the one she had her heart set on.
“I’m sure all of the properties you have on offer are wonderful,” Emma interrupted before the old man could finish his suggestion, growing increasingly annoyed by Gold’s insistence to try and persuade her from Jewel Cottage. “However, Jewel Cottage is exactly the sort of place I'm looking for.” She said firmly.
Mr Gold looked at Emma as if studying her. Which did nothing but make the woman uncomfortable with the way his eyes met hers. What was he hiding from her? “I mean no disrespect, dearie but a situation has presented itself and it’s in your best interests to decide on a different property. Jewel Cottage wouldn’t be suitable for you at all.”
“Okay, so you should have told me there was something wrong with the manor,” Emma didn’t make an effort to hide her annoyance. She also chose to ignore the name Mr Gold used to address her, figuring that calling people ‘dearie’ was just a habit of his. “For a furnished house, it’s on offer for a brilliant price. From the videos and pictures, it also looks to be in a fantastic condition for a house of its age. So, tell me what the ‘situation’ is? Has it got something to do with the drains?”
It was as if Emma’s words struck a chord with Mr Gold, injuring his pride about the business he ran. His reputation for being a highly reliable vendor and estate agent was something Mr Gold held in high value. “Dearie- “
“Miss Swan.”
Mr Gold tilted his head and gave Emma an apologetic nod. “Miss Swan,” he corrected himself, seeing it was going to be a challenge to deal with the young American woman who was proving to be quite headstrong. “Let me assure you that when Gold & Cage put up a house for sale or rent... you can be rest assured that there is nothing wrong with the drains.”
“Then why shouldn't it suit me?” Emma pursed her lips, challenging Mr Gold. Taking offence to how this stranger thought it best to act on her best interests. Was it because she was a woman? If Emma had been a man, would Gold have had a problem with her choice of home? “Because if I'm going to live in the house... I should be the judge of that. And please, don’t worry about me wasting my time. Because well, it’s my time,” she shrugged.
“Very well, Miss Swan if you insist.” Mr Gold conceded. It was going to be pointless to convince Emma to choose another property. Instead, the vendor presented Emma with the relevant paperwork. “As you’re aware, you will need to pay rent for one annum before making a purchase or taking out a mortgage on the house,” he reminded. After how difficult it was to secure a tenant or buyer, due to the stories surrounding it, the estate that owned the manor decided it best put the property up for a compulsory year of rent. “If you like, you can sign the paperwork after seeing the property in person? And I can drive you to Jewel Cottage myself.”
“That's very good of you, Mr Gold.”
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wallpaperpainting · 4 years
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Everything You Need To Know About Sunset Ocean Painting Easy | sunset ocean painting easy
Life isn’t accessible in rural Australia, area your abutting acquaintance ability be hundreds of afar away, and it could be years amid anniversary rainfall. But farmers in southeastern Australia accept had it decidedly asperous over the accomplished brace of years, with crippling droughts banishment abounding to advertise off their livestock to survive or akin airing abroad from their agronomical businesses for good.
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In southwest Queensland, the cotton- and sheep-farming association of Thallon (population 257) is one of abounding Australian outback towns now at accident of actuality wiped off the map by altitude and citizenry changes. Passenger railway casework to and from the town—located almost 355 afar southwest of Brisbane—stopped in the 1990s, dispatch its decline.
“By 2015 Thallon was on its knees, so we got the association calm to see what we could do to brace the town,” says Leanne Brosnan, secretary of the Thallon Progress Association. Ideas the accumulation helped to apparatus included a bronze of a six-foot-tall hairy-nosed beatnik in a esplanade and, in 2017, a massive mural accoutrement four 98-foot-tall atom silos adverse the boondocks campground.
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Brisbane artists Joel Fergie and Travis Vinson covered a atom silo in Thallon, Queensland, with an angel of bounded acreage animals and birds at sunset.
Dubbed “The Watering Hole,” the outsize mural by Brisbane artery artists Joel Fergie and Travis Vinson depicts a ablaze dusk over a mural dotted with sheep, rainbow-hued rosella parrots, and a aching tree—a nod to the region’s aboriginal community, which strips case to accomplish weapons. It took the artists—who go by The Zookeeper (Fergie) and Drap (Vinson)—21 canicule and 500 cans of aerosol acrylic to assassinate the piece, animate from the bassinet of a long-armed crane.
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Their aerial efforts were account it: “The Watering Hole” has been a buoy for the community, and it was alleged the best assignment of accessible art at the countdown Australian Artery Art Awards in 2019.
“Thallon wasn’t a day-tripper destination at all before,” says Brosnan. “The mural now entices visitors to appear out actuality and maybe absorb a few bucks at the bounded pub. It has acclimatized locals a bit of achievement for the future.”
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Thallon’s mural is one of 30 larger-than-life works that accept been corrective on silos all above Australia over the accomplished bristles years. Some go up on still-working agronomical sites, others adorn alone storehouses. Dotted forth six active trails in bristles states, the astronomic paintings anatomy a affectionate of amphitheater arcade crawl. It’d absolute 4,700 afar if all the silos were affiliated together—and addition had a lot of gas in their car tank.
From corrective silos to day-tripper dollars
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wallpaperpainter · 4 years
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How Sunset Over The Ocean Painting Is Going To Change Your Business Strategies | Sunset Over The Ocean Painting
Life isn’t accessible in rural Australia, area your abutting acquaintance ability be hundreds of afar away, and it could be years amid anniversary rainfall. But farmers in southeastern Australia accept had it decidedly asperous over the accomplished brace of years, with crippling droughts banishment abounding to advertise off their livestock to survive or akin airing abroad from their agronomical businesses for good.
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In southwest Queensland, the cotton- and sheep-farming association of Thallon (population 257) is one of abounding Australian outback towns now at accident of actuality wiped off the map by altitude and citizenry changes. Passenger railway casework to and from the town—located almost 355 afar southwest of Brisbane—stopped in the 1990s, dispatch its decline.
“By 2015 Thallon was on its knees, so we got the association calm to see what we could do to brace the town,” says Leanne Brosnan, secretary of the Thallon Progress Association. Ideas the accumulation helped to apparatus included a bronze of a six-foot-tall hairy-nosed beatnik in a esplanade and, in 2017, a massive mural accoutrement four 98-foot-tall atom silos adverse the boondocks campground.
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Brisbane artists Joel Fergie and Travis Vinson covered a atom silo in Thallon, Queensland, with an angel of bounded acreage animals and birds at sunset.
Dubbed “The Watering Hole,” the outsize mural by Brisbane artery artists Joel Fergie and Travis Vinson depicts a ablaze dusk over a mural dotted with sheep, rainbow-hued rosella parrots, and a aching tree—a nod to the region’s aboriginal community, which strips case to accomplish weapons. It took the artists—who go by The Zookeeper (Fergie) and Drap (Vinson)—21 canicule and 500 cans of aerosol acrylic to assassinate the piece, animate from the bassinet of a long-armed crane.
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Their aerial efforts were account it: “The Watering Hole” has been a buoy for the community, and it was alleged the best assignment of accessible art at the countdown Australian Artery Art Awards in 2019.
“Thallon wasn’t a day-tripper destination at all before,” says Brosnan. “The mural now entices visitors to appear out actuality and maybe absorb a few bucks at the bounded pub. It has acclimatized locals a bit of achievement for the future.”
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Thallon’s mural is one of 30 larger-than-life works that accept been corrective on silos all above Australia over the accomplished bristles years. Some go up on still-working agronomical sites, others adorn alone storehouses. Dotted forth six active trails in bristles states, the astronomic paintings anatomy a affectionate of amphitheater arcade crawl. It’d absolute 4,700 afar if all the silos were affiliated together—and addition had a lot of gas in their car tank.
From corrective silos to day-tripper dollars
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the-desolated-quill · 7 years
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Cold Blood - Doctor Who blog
(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)
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Did I mention how much I don’t like Chris Chibnall as a writer and how I really, really didn’t want him to write a Silurian story? I’m sure I did.
‘But Quill,’ I can hear you saying in my head, ‘it’s not that bad. The only reason you’re being so negative about it is because you’re comparing it to the original. Why not judge it on its own merits?’ Well first of all, it’s impossible not to compare this to the original because Chibnall is trying so desperately to emulate it (and failing miserably), and second, even by its own merits, it’s still shit.
The reason why the original Silurian/human debate worked so well was because there was no clear right or wrong answer. Both sides had a point and neither side was presented as being 100% good or evil. It was complex, nuanced and thus interesting. The debate in Cold Blood however is so cack handed and so extreme that it’s impossible to be invested in this at all.
Let’s start with the Silurian side of the debate. You have Restac, a character who’s even more boring and one note than her twin sister Alaya (i didn’t even think that was possible). Her solution to every problem is to kill all the humans. A mysterious drill from the surface is detected. Kill the humans. The perimeter has been breached. Kill the humans. You lose your car keys. Kill the humans. She never considers the possibility that this is all one giant misunderstanding. Nor is there ever an explanation for why she hates humans so much. She’s just a dull cardboard cutout foaming at the mouth.
Then there’s Eldane, played by Stephen Moore. The leader of the Silurians and who is so insanely nice to the point where it almost starts to become comical. Even when Rory, Ambrose and Tony show up carrying Alaya’s corpse, and Ambrose threatens to kill all the Silurians with the drill, Eldane still tries to help the Doctor and everyone escape at the end even by going so far as to gas his own people. What the fuck?! You could probably sit there quoting excerpts from Mein Kampf whilst jetting heroin into your eyes and defacing a library book in front of him and he’d still insist that peace could be brokered between our species.
Finally there’s the Silurian scientist Malohkeh, played by Richard Hope, who is by far the most confusing character. In this episode they go out of their way to present him as this cuddly, reasonable person who abhors violence and confrontation, but in the previous episode he was the one torturing Mo and Amy and threatening to dissect them. Talk about inconsistent.
The humans are just as bad. Tony, Ambrose’s dad played by Robert Pugh, was poisoned in the previous episode and is slowly dying, so he secretly offers to let Alaya go in exchange for a cure. Now this could be interesting. Deceit, backstabbing, survival at all costs etc. Except it’s never brought up again and even at the end he’s still treated as one of the good guys. What?! It gets even weirder when he chastises Ambrose for killing Alaya as though he’s the moral authority when a few scenes earlier he was prepared to sell out his own grandson in exchange for his own miserable life, the conniving bastard.
Ambrose too, played by Nia Roberts, is just plain daft. She’s desperate to save her son and dad (and husband Mo, although she keeps forgetting to mention him. Bad writing or a sign of marital problems? I’ll let you decide... but the answer is bad writing), and threatens to torture Alaya for information. Three problems with this. One, it’s already been established that Alaya isn’t going to talk, so torture is pointless. Two, she already knows the Doctor has gone underground to negotiate an exchange of hostages, so if she just sits patiently and doesn’t interfere, everything will be fine. And three, there’s no buildup to this whatsoever. She’s not suitably desperate enough to resort to such drastic action. All that’s happened is that Alaya has taunted her a bit and now all of a sudden she’s a cold blooded murderer. This isn’t subtle character shading. This is just picking random scenarios out of a hat.
And then there’s the Doctor, who is quite possibly the biggest idiot of the bunch. He insists that a peace can be brokered and that despite all their atrocities and crimes and violent actions, humans are still nice, kind, lovely people that the Silurians can totes be bezzy mates with. Where the Doctor is getting this idea from I don’t know considering this is the fourth time he’s tried to get the humans and the Silurians to play nice and it never works out. But my biggest problem is that he makes it all sound so simple. He claims there’s no reason why the Silurians and the humans couldn’t work together, but as I’ve already mentioned at the beginning of this review, it’s not as simple as that. We have trouble sharing the planet with members of our own species. How are we going to cope with another? And Nasreen sensibly points out that we can barely sustain our population due to limited resources. We can’t just shove another population of people on top. But no. The Doctor says it’s possible, therefore it must be so. I’m sick of New Who constantly squashing any chance for a complex moral debate in favour of overly simplistic answers. I would much rather watch Nasreen and Eldane debate about their futures rather than watch boring chase scenes and the Doctor pissing about like a tit in a trance.
Also how are Amy and Nasreen qualified to negotiate on behalf of the human race? I know Moffat and Chibnall are trying to sell the idea of the everyman hero, but again, it’s not as simple as that. How are they going to explain this to the people on the surface? Are the Silurians just going to march into the UN and go ‘Hi guys! Sorry to disturb you. We’re the Silurians. Basically these two humans that you don’t know and have no authority whatsoever have said we can share the planet with you guys. Hope that’s okay. Bye.’
Also Amy makes the idiotic suggestion that the Silurians can populate the Sahara, the Nevada Plains and the Australian Outback because they’re ‘uninhabited.’
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Blimey, I’d hate to be the one that has to tell the Tuareg or the indigenous Australians that they’re going to have to share their lands with a bunch of lizard people.
Anyway the negotiations break down, everyone scarpers, the Doctor tells Tony that he’s not in fact dying but actually mutating (Huh?), and so has to stay underground to be decontaminated while Nasreen elects to stay with him (it’s a shame. I’d love to have seen her as a companion. She got on so well with the Doctor and Meera Syal is always fun to watch). Then Eldane poisons his own people (da fuck?!), the Doctor blows up the drill and then makes the insanely stupid suggestion that Mo, Ambrose and Elliot spread the word that in a thousand years time the planet is to be shared.
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That is quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. There are two possible scenarios to this. Either everyone dismisses them as a bunch of weirdos or UNIT and Torchwood get wind of it and venture underground for a bit of pest extermination. (Also doesn’t the Earth get scorched by solar flares a thousand years in the future in The Beast Below?)
And then just when you think things couldn’t possibly get any worse, that bloody crack shows up again. It has the same effect as the one in Flesh And Stone did, effectively trampling all over the narrative. But then things take an unexpected turn when Rory kicks the bucket. Both Matt Smith and Karen Gillan are to be commended here because they both act their socks off in this scene, but it’s hard to be emotionally invested because Rory’s not dead. And I’m not just saying that with the benefit of hindsight. Even at the time I didn’t think Rory was actually dead because we saw him and Amy’s future selves waving at the beginning of The Hungry Earth. So I suspected that Moffat’s hand was hovering over the reset button. It was just a question of when he was going to press it. So yeah, it did dampen the emotional impact ever so slightly.
Now usually I like to inject some humour into my reviews, usually in the form of cynicism, bad puns, and occasionally through the use of smutty innuendo because I’m really, really childish. Believe it or not, I don’t sit there thinking of naughty things to say. Sometimes the best ones are just handed to me on a silver platter, and this is one such occasion. I see it as my reward for putting up with an hour and a half of crap, so if you don’t mind I’d like to take this opportunity to just savour the moment.
Ready? Here we go.
The Doctor sticks his hand up Moffat’s crack and pulls out a shard of the TARDIS.
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Oh thank you God! You’re too kind to me!
Cold Blood is terrible in every way. Chris Chibnall tries so hard to replicate the success of the original Doctor Who And The Silurians, but forgets what made the original so good to begin with. If you’re interested in the Silurians and/or want to get into the classic series, I urge you to watch the original Silurian story. It’s dark and morally complex with well written, nuanced characters and the ending has a shocking and tragic impact because you actually grow to care for both sides. If you’re prepared to look past the bad 70s special effects and cheap looking rubber latex monster designs, it’s a treat. The Hungry Earth and Cold Blood on the other hand is an absolute failure that pales in comparison to the original. The characters are one dimensional, the moral debate is reduced to two sets of extremes with none of the complexity or nuance the story requires, and I didn’t give a single shit about anyone or anything. The Silurians deserve so much better than this.
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abnahaya · 5 years
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It’s That Bad That Now I Talk Politics: A Rant
That was a clickbait, guys, I’m not going to preach about political things as I am not in a proper capability to do that. I’m sorry (not sorry) but I do still think that we all can and need to educate ourselves with the current social issues instead of hoping that someone “better” would spoon-feed it to us. However, I will provide a few reliable news link by the end of the post to give you insights about what happened.
Things are getting worse that people like me, who prefers to look up about how JLo learned how to pole dance from the internet rather than what my own President is doing, actually got off my comfort bubble screaming “HOLY SHIT!” then changing my profile pictures into some plain black hashtags in solidarity of my peers and fellow Indonesians. Yup, it’s that bad. If you hate politics as much as I do, understand this: I get it that you just wanna get everything over with, and you’re tired of all the negativity and you don’t know who to trust, but sadly, we’re not 10 years old anymore, we can’t afford to stay at the same level of ignorant as when we were a kid just because it’s not our cup of tea. I mean, look at Greta Thurnberg, that kid is screaming for her future, and so should we. I mean, in 30 years we are most probably still alive, though not in our prime age anymore. So yes, for people with big egos like us, think about our own futures! 
In this post, I will only stating my opinions and concerns towards a massive student demonstration that took place is various cities in indonesia yeterday. This is another complex and urgent issue, that has been spread out in many misleading ways by the western medias: the demonstration against the revision of the criminal code, anti-corruption bill, urging government to execute the anti-sexual violence bill, and of course, the environment issues.
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As I mentioned before, many western media wrote misleading articles about the movement. Most of them only highlight a piece of the first point, that in the criminal code draft, pre-marital sex could be criminalized, including for the foreign tourists. So they simplify it into “sex laws”. like EXCUSE ME? There are so many problematic points in the code yet of course you gotta pick the sex points because Indonesia as the stereotype of taboo-ing the matter and/or because it actually the thing that can affect the western. Like, seriously, I had to lecture my husband when he shared a Facebook status about how Australians should stop taking vacation to Bali because of the “new law” while he had no idea what it was about (and so did the author of the post). White people seriously need to check their privilege and educate themselves regarding the issues that aren’t their story.
Anyway, As per this morning, the hashtag #HidupMahasiswa (Long Live the Students) has been #1 worldwide trend as the demonstrations that took place yesterday in many cities in Indonesia were conducted by hundreds of students from different Universities. Each of them wore their alma mater jackets to show solidarity and status as they didn’t want other civilians with hidden agenda to join. This honestly is the peak of my nationality, it’s like the best historical moment I’ve ever been through all my life. I tear up and sincerely having mixed feelings of worry and proud every time I stumble on the news.
I followed the real-time development of the movement since many of my peers are sharing it through social media. Yeah right, said the baby boomers, why believe social media? Oh maybe because the mainstream media doesn’t talk the truth about big issues due to some private interests. These are real people with real friends and communities, some of them I know personally, and let’s admit, social media is our power in this generation. These people share their genuine experiences and tackle the false issues based on what they see in the field. 
Some points that I noted from people who actually were in the field is that many of the allegations by the parliament on TV were NOT true, such as the claim that the students demonstrated with violence. The thing is the students did not start the chaos, police started shooting them with tear gas and they panicked and started running away. Imagine hundreds of people that can’t see clearly, in pain, panicking and running to so many directions. The students asked the police to stop but they didn’t stop, many students actually warned each others not to get provoked. The chaos mentioned started when it was getting dark by unknown civilians who didn’t wear alma mater jacket. The clarifications were very precise, from many angles, and even civilians who happened to be in locations said the same thing. Not to mention the victim of police violence, many students had to be taken to hospitals for injuries.
It’s very sad to see people with privileges posting on their Facebook page shaming these brave students saying that they were dumb for not calculating other civilians who could use this opportunity to start chaos. I am filled with rage reading how they conveniently type from the comfort of their homes, that demonstrating is stupid and irrelevant and inviting violence. These people watched the news from mainstream TV medias who only interviewed the elites of the governments being in denial of their mistakes, and never show the other side of the story. Some became a delusional fan of the President, only caring about news saying that there were never any request from the students to drag him down.
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What was even more upsetting, when I looked at the creative demonstration posters uploaded to Facebook, I found a lot of disgusting comments towards women protesters. People, mostly men, wrote like, “I should start raping then.” And even one of the elite government officer tweeted how the demonstration was “infiltrated by liberals who wants to do adultery sin”. The head of People’s Representative Council of Indonesia called a female journalist, “honey” as he was answering questions in an interview, followed by men’s audience laughter.
These are exactly why we need the anti-sexual harassment bill! Look at our sex education system, it lacks so much because of the “taboo” culture that tends to block information, so that people keep being clueless and missing the real point of the education: how to use contraception, the importance of consent, etc. And instead of educating properly, they suggest to block the entire sex education?  Sex will always be there and people will always find ways to do it, it’s one of human’s basic instincts, The problem is how they can have better, safer sex instead of how they to make them stop having sex at all.
These old geezers should face that values have changed in today’s society, they should’ve realized that the old Indonesian way to block everything “bad” is never the answer. It’s 2019 and we need to catch up with time. As time flows, things change, values shift, and we need an open mind to always be “relatable”. Today, ageism is no longer acceptable, just because you’re older, doesn’t mean you always know better.
The seniors said that students should be at their class studying, when on other times complaining about how much millennial and Gen Z don’t care about the government. They want us to listen to them coz they are the adults, forgetting that we are adults too, just because we haven’t worked as long as you, doesn’t mean we haven’t developed the same (or maybe better) critical thinking that makes an adult, adult. We have the rights to speak up and be listened to, especially because we’re the ones going to suffer all the consequences in the long run.
I believe yesterday’s movement would become one of the turning points of Indonesia, we still haven’t gotten an exact, satisfying answer towards our demands, heck we still haven’t gotten the respect we deserve as the citizen of this nation. However I’m sure, more young people are becoming more aware of what’s happening in the country and hopefully more will join us in the fights for humanity and justice.
Recommended articles:
https://uk.reuters.com/article/uk-indonesia-politics-rights-bill-explai/explainer-its-not-only-about-sex-indonesias-divisive-criminal-bill-idUKKBN1W91DE
https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2019/09/indonesia-protests-80-students-hurt-police-clashes-190925044211780.html
https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/asia_pacific/indonesia-students-rally-against-changes-to-corruption-law/2019/09/24/e860a64a-deb5-11e9-be7f-4cc85017c36f_story.html
https://nasional.tempo.co/read/1252142/gelombang-demonstrasi-mahasiswa-menggulung-dominasi-dpr
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Sacred Song (Post 101) 8-12-15
                        Natalie and I have continued our game of YouTube tag throughout the last several weeks.  It passed the time nicely on our Maryland excursion, but we have also found that it is pretty fun to play on short expeditions as well.  The pop music stations that Natalie prefers become drearily repetitious when we don’t break things up, although it is entertaining to listen to her accompany the artist as a background singer.  Sometimes Nicholas sings along to his music as well, but I probably shouldn’t disclose that.  Playing music on YouTube instead means that I can intertwine songs that I like in between the sandwich ends of inevitable Taylor Swift anthems.
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One night last week we carried the game of tune tit-for-tat that we were playing on our phone into the house, across the kitchen and to the breakfast table where my mother was getting ready to serve my father his supper.  Curious and knowing that he likes all things Gaelic, I pulled up a video of a scene from the movie Empire of the Sun in which a young British lad stands at attention and salutes through the barbed wire fence of a Japanese internment camp singing the Welsh lullaby Suo Gan as zeros takeoff into the sun. For me Suo Gan is a particularly haunting song because the melody is the same as the hymn Christ Before Us which I first encountered on my Emmaus weekend nearly two years ago.  Hearing a particular hymn at a peculiarly emotional time can add a spiritual impact to a song for a specific person that it may not have for other people.  Morning Has Broken can similarly bring tears to my eyes, because it was sung at Pam’s funeral service.
As it turned out my father’s love of Gaelic music did not include any special feelings towards the Welsh classic, but we did share some memories about walking into an English church in some town that I could not recall where we arrived just in time for an afternoon rehearsal of the parish boys’ choir.  They were very talented.  The idea of pulling up hymns on YouTube did intrigue my father, surprisingly.  He asked me to play Jesus I Come for him, which, he explained, was the hymn they were playing at the Tremont Baptist Church when he entered there for the first time. My mother had evidently invited him to her church when they were dating.  My father agreed; he would have also probably agreed to try bungee jumping had my mother suggested it and that particular form of stupidity existed anywhere else other than in the Australian outback at the time of their 1960’s courtship. Instead of the Sunday morning’s boredom that my father probably expected, he experienced a powerful intervention by the Holy Spirit into his life through the gateway of a beautiful hymn sung by a talented choir.
So I searched his request, queued up the hymn, hit play and passed him his favorite sacred music on the little midget screen of the IPhone5 that I most often use for scrolling Facebook.  Although the music didn’t sound special to me, it caught my 78 year old father like fly-paper.  He sat transfixed at the breakfast table totally oblivious to me and to the usual bustle of my family interacting about our kitchen at dinner time.  The kids could have been having chicken fights and he would not have noticed.  As far as I could tell, my father was 650 miles and 60 years eastward sitting in a pew in a famous New England church with the girl he loved, encountering awesome beauty of Jesus Christ sung about him by angelic voices.  I wished that he could stay there for longer than the odd five minutes of the hymn.  I envied him. For a time he was through the looking glass or had tumbled through the fur coats of the magic wardrobe that I often hope to find but rarely do.
You would think that it would be easier to have that type of heavenly experience than it usually turns out to be.  I had hoped for a trip back through the years to simpler times on the family excursion we took to a Cleveland Indians game last Friday night.  Nicholas, Natalie, Stephen and I made the trip, but it didn’t turn out quite as I had planned.  First of all I was very tired, having worked some early and long days on Monday through Thursday completing a project that we had begun almost a month before.  Things were also progressing well with our house purchase.  It seemed like a good chance for some family-style rest and relaxation. Also the Tribe was having a dollar hot dog night promotion with a fireworks show as a nightcap.  Our plan seemed all in order.
 Like a good father, I had wielded the proposed trip as a motivating sledgehammer thought the preceding week.  Stephen, for instance, because of his illness, habitually complains about small or imagined injuries like blackouts and falling out of bed on a near continual basis.  The last week he had added mysterious arm stiffness to his list of hypochondriac symptoms.  Whenever I offered to delay our trip until he felt better, his maladies made an immediate improvement.  Stephen is gravitationally attracted towards quality meat products at entirely too reasonable a price-point.  He is not above taste testing gas station sushi so dollar hot dog night is right up his alley.
Natalie was also on her best behavior throughout the week.  She was quite excited on Friday night when I arrived home from the boomerang ride of my Youngstown round trip.  That is when the threads of my carefully woven plan began to unravel. I had arrived home early and, unfortunately, exhausted, hoping to catch a quick cat-nap before H hour. Unbeknownst to me, Nicholas had committed me to driving over to my brother’s house to pick up Abby’s car for which my father was paying to have a stereo installed as a birthday present. I stayed awake for the mini-excursion that set us off our Cleveland bound time schedule by about an hour. We would be significantly late.  Strike one.
Still, we were a happy bunch as we drove towards the RTA Station on Shaker Blvd (RTA is Cleveland’s BART.)  Natalie and I sat together.  Nicholas and Stephen sat separately as Stephen had acquired a case of oppressive halitosis that he attributed to dry mouth from his medication.  Natalie and I talked quietly until our train came to a kerchunking halt at an interchange station for us.  Natalie, Nicholas and I assembled in column formation in the aisle. I looked over to Stephen to see why he was not following.  I could see that he had adopted a posture to arise, but was stuck in place.  He was frozen and I could tell that he was experiencing a focal seizure, the malady that he had been reporting to the disbelieving me for the last several weeks.  I had watched Pam have hundreds of focal and full seizures during the period of time between her two brain surgeries.  Like my dad’s trip back to Boston, I was transported to another place and time as I watched my son struggle to stand, a time that I had hoped never to visit again. Father Groeschel would describe that location as a point on the pathway inclining up a hill called Calvary.
Because he finally stood after a few dozen seconds and showed no ill effects, we decided to proceed to the game despite the scare.  I think I am glad we proceeded; it was an excellent and terrible outing all at once.  We got there late, but the seats were the best that I have ever bought – that’s what happens when Nicholas goes to the box office with my credit card.  Interestingly we discovered that Natalie despises hot dogs, but will eat three in close succession when she is starving and Nicholas is buying American sausages like he is feeding Slimer from the movie Ghost Busters. Stephen had another focal seizure with a similarly quick recovery when one of the Indians unexpectedly knocked a hanging curve into the bleachers to tie the game late.  It was an Indians game, though, so they lost in the ninth inning on a home run to a Twins outfielder that is old enough to have been in high school while I was in college. Happy that Stephen had made it through the game without a more significant medical incident we headed home without waiting for the fireworks.
So it is Tuesday, as I write this.  I am in the ER with Stephen to get his condition checked out.  He seems to be OK, but without a local doctor, the ER seemed the quickest alternative to get blood work, a CAT scan and access to medical specialists without the bureaucracy of referrals.  Frankly, I don’t care to be in another hospital, ever, but I realize that this is a necessary trip.  I would feel better if Father Luke from St John Vianny in Walnut Creek would happen in soon to anoint Stephen and pray with us, but I think we are out of his jurisdiction.  John Muir was tough to revisit for Nicholas’ treatment, anyway, but it was also seemed as comfortable as an old shoe, albeit with the possibility of a chance meeting transporting me back to a good or bad place in another lifetime.  
Today things turned out well with no bad news in either Stephen’s scans or labs.  I drove him home later after discharge thankful that he is relatively healthy.  We stopped on the way back at Arby’s and at one of the parishes that we might eventually choose as our own to visit Jesus in Adoration.  On the road again towards Streetsboro, I reconsidered again why all this inconvenience might have happened knowing that Stephen’s actual health remains largely the same.  Sure it was good to get him checked out, discover a good hospital and get assigned a family doctor for a follow-up visit, but why was I put through this dry run of worry and fear for the umpteenth time.  Was God holding me back a grade for some lesson that I should have learned one, two or three years ago?  
Then I remembered the conversation that I overheard among the doctors at the nursing station from my perch by the door of Stephen’s transient ER suite.  They were preparing to inform a patient and family that multiple unexplained lumps had been discovered throughout the lungs in some other poor patient’s scan. Thoughtfully, I removed the mini rosary that I had received at Emmaus from its place on my dashboard and prayed a Divine Mercy Chaplet for another family that got bad news while Stephen and I received our discharge paperwork.
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Copenhagen in 10
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1. The cozy/friendly/sophisticated vibe. Denmark’s interior design recently became very trendy as the concept of hygge caught on in America. The Danish word, roughly translating to “coziness,” was introduced to us on a large scale in 2016-7, when the books The Little Book of Hygge, Hygge: The Danish Art of Happiness, and The Book of Hygge: The Danish Art of Living Well were published and met significant success. Upon our arrival in Copenhagen, we got to see for ourselves what hygge was all about. Looking in windows of houses and shops in the evening was cozy. Our bed and breakfast was cozy. Several restaurants we went to were cozy. We also quickly noticed that Danish people seemed more considerate and law-abiding than most—the people we saw jaywalking were almost exclusively tourists. It also doesn’t hurt that Copenhagen is a wealthy city. Things and people seemed well-kept. With all those elements combined together, the atmosphere was perfect for our winter vacation.
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2. The sunrise/sunset. Copenhagen was the furthest north we went on our trip (the equivalent latitude in North America is smack dab in the middle of Canada). So, the days were very short. Short days bum me out when we are at home in the French Alps, because the mountains block basically all of the day’s direct sunlight. But Copenhagen is extremely flat, so the short days meant that the whole day felt like either sunrise or sunset. I am a big fan of the golden hour, so the short days actually suited me quite nicely! The only downside to the city’s flatness was the consequent cold, cutting wind.
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Around 2pm.
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Around 3:45pm. 3. The tours (two by land, one by sea). Copenhagen is wealthy, which also means that Copenhagen is expensive. When I was planning this leg of the trip, I tried to stay conscious of how much we were spending each day, so I booked two tours with a company that provides free (or pay-what-you-want) walking tours. We had the same guide both times—an Australian man named Daniel. These tours were fun, informative, and professional. Daniel even recognized us when we came back for the second tour, saying, “Oh, there’s the couple from America by way of France!” Our third tour was a boat ride through the city’s canals. The difference from Daniel’s tours was jarring; it began 15 minutes late, the plexiglass windows were so scratched they might as well have been opaque, and the tour guide seemed to be constantly out of breath and improvising her script as she went. The boat was warm, though, and we enjoyed the opportunity to rest our legs in a warm place. We were also quite amused by the tour guide’s observation that the decorative golden onion atop the royal pavilion we were (supposed to be) looking at had gone missing since the day before.  Even after we were far away from the pavilion, she said multiple times, “I do wonder who took that onion!”
4. The Copenhagen card. Another part of my strategy for saving money in Copenhagen was to get two Copenhagen Cards for us. For five days, we had unlimited rides on public transportation, as well as “free” entry to many tourist attractions. Of course, these cards cost us money, but when I compared the cost of them to the cumulative cost of transportation and the activities on our itinerary, the cards ended up being a very good deal. The cards were also extremely helpful psychologically. I would never pay full admission to an art museum 45 minutes before it closed, but with the prepaid Copenhagen Card, I had no problem spending 45 minutes in the museum because it meant we were getting more for our money than if we had spent zero minutes in the museum. The cards did a lot to help me relax and enjoy the trip (except for the time the wind was so strong that it ripped the card out of my hand right as I was about to board the bus, but that wasn’t the card’s fault).
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5. Not being able to predict how words sound in Danish. I’ve had enough exposure to German that, although I couldn’t speak it in Germany or Austria, I could at least look at the name of a train station in those places and recognize it when it I heard it on the intercom. This was not the case with the Danish language, which features those lovely “ø”s and “å”s. Our best predictions for how a word might sound always turned out to be incredibly wrong. On that subject, be sure to ask Nicolas about the convenience store cinnamon rolls. 6. Tivoli. We spent the our New Year’s Eve evening in Tivoli, which is known as the world’s second-oldest amusement park and Walt Disney’s inspiration for Disneyland. Tivoli has separate tickets for people who just want to walk around and for people who actually want to ride rides. We opted for the former. We spent a couple of hours strolling around and looking at the wintry decorations still up from Christmas time. There was fake snow and twinkle lights everywhere, plus a train engine à la Polar Express, in addition to all the normal rides and decorations. We even happened across a peacock wandering around. For someone who’s not a big Disney World fan, I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. I think I especially appreciated the combination of the whimsical aesthetic and the absence of branding/trademarked names and characters.
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7. The fireworks. Given the cozy, mild-mannered, sophisticated perception of the Danes that we had built up in our heads, we were not anticipating the kind of fireworks displayed on New Year’s Eve (or the days before or after it). Copenhagen doesn’t seem to have any kind of law against using fireworks within city limits. Even in the very center of the city, we saw and heard fireworks being set off in close proximity to us. When we were on the bus to our bed and breakfast, someone exploded a firework directly under our bus. We thought surely we would find some respite back at our place, which was in a quiet suburb far away. Nope—even at 7pm on NYE, not even close to midnight, it sounded like a war zone just outside our window. The most reasonable solution I can think of for this reckless obsession with fireworks is the fact that Denmark is still a constitutional monarchy, and never had a revolution or independence movement of any kind. They must think that NYE is their only chance in the year for fireworks, so they make the most of it! 8. Favorite fun fact: Danish danishes aren’t called danishes. The pastries we know as danishes in English are called wienerbrød in Danish. That word translates literally as “Vienna bread.” They have that name because, in the mid-1800s, the Danish bakers went on strike, and Viennese bakers came to replace them, bringing their own baking techniques with them. The Viennese bakers popularized their pastries in Denmark. Later, a Danish immigrant popularized the pastries in the US, where they finally got the name “danishes.”
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9. Not being able to get the check. Tipping isn’t obligatory in many European countries because servers are paid a reasonable wage by the restaurant. Servers are not as doting as they are in the US, therefore, since they are getting paid the same amount no matter the quality of their service. Nicolas and I, as “Taco Bell people,” aren’t usually bothered by this. But on this trip, and especially in Copenhagen, we had the most difficult time getting our server to give us our bill so that we could exit the restaurant. On multiple occasions we waited over 20 minutes after finishing our meal, trying desperately to make eye contact with our server, social anxiety levels increasing all the time. On one occasion, we were quite happy to find that we arrived at a restaurant 45 minutes before it closed. “Perfect,” we thought, “when they close they’ll have no choice but to let us pay!”
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See the desperation just behind the eyes?
10. 7-Elevens. I was surprised to discover that 7-Elevens convenience stores are ubiquitous in Copenhagen. The phenomenon of gas station convenience stores is largely missing in the places we’ve been in Europe. These 7-Elevens had no gas station attached (60% of people in Copenhagen use bicycles as their primary means of transportation), but the coffee dispensers and comfort foods were there, practically on every street corner. This sort of surprising and comforting reminder of home always makes me say to Nicolas, “Rivers in the desert!”
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lesbrarians · 7 years
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Junkrat/Roadhog: Voyages Ch 2
I’m so happy you guys enjoyed the first chapter ahhh I hope you continue to like it! I’m gonna go to a Monday-Friday update schedule starting next week :> 
Title: Voyages
Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog
Rating: R
Summary:  After a rocky start and some ups and downs, Junkrat and Roadhog are officially partners, even if things haven’t progressed quite as far as Junkrat would like. With his treasure at the heart of their grandiose plans, they take their adventures overseas and leave their mark on the world, for better or worse. (Mostly for worse. They’re criminals.) Sequel to “Origins.”
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He woke up to find that he had drooled all over Roadhog’s arm when he was conked out. “Whoops. Sorry, mate, got a lil’ somethin’ on ya there.” He rubbed off the saliva with his forearm and wiped it on his shorts before climbing to his feet. The alcohol’s effects had worn off in his sleep, leaving him dry-mouthed and slightly achy in the temples, but it was nothing that a few gulps of water couldn’t fix -- one of the packages Ava had mailed alongside them was a slab of flavored mineral water, an obscure Australian brand that she could provide justification for sending overseas. He propped his hands on his hips and scanned the cargo hold for his next conquest.
“Gross,” Roadhog told him, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Junkrat giggled. “Not like yer not used to havin’ my spit all over ya!”
“True,” Roadhog agreed with a huff of amusement. Junkrat was not the neatest of kissers.
“Y’know, there’s somethin’ we can do to pass the time...” Junkrat sniggered as he scrambled on top of a large box. He estimated that sitting on top of it would put him roughly at Roadhog’s eye level. He made grabby motions with his hands in an attempt to lure Roadhog over to him. “Mind takin’ off that mask of yers?”
Roadhog gave a grunt of assent as he stood up. He reached for the straps of his mask, and Junkrat felt his heart quicken. He technically knew what lay beneath, having felt the swathe of twisted, scarred flesh that marked Roadhog as a survivor of a nasty fire, but Roadhog still refused to show him his face entirely. Unfortunately, this time was no different, and he pushed the mask up just far enough to reveal his jaw and mouth.
“Still deprivin’ me of yer beauty, eh?” Junkrat said, unable to stop himself from bemoaning Roadhog’s reticent nature.
Roadhog’s wide grin was lopsided: a crooked grin with crooked teeth, and Junkrat loved it. He wondered how many times Roadhog had smiled without his noticing, shielded by the barrier of his gas mask. “Yeah,”  he said. “This is all you get.”
“Good enough for me! All I really need, roight?” Junkrat wrapped his arms around Roadhog’s neck and kissed him with all the fervour of a man starved of intimacy. He was enthusiastic, if sloppy, but his poor technique made for more opportunities to practise.
Roadhog took control of the kiss in the hopes of teaching Junkrat a better technique than all tongue, no temperance. A little restraint went a long way. Junkrat didn't mind relinquishing control, not when it meant Roadhog gripping his face in those two hands and leaving him -- literally -- breathless.
Junkrat gasped into Roadhog’s mouth, grinding up against him. He probably should have been embarrassed that he was already hard after a few minutes of making out with no below the belt touching to speak of, but Roadhog tended to have that effect on him. He didn’t care how he looked, shamelessly rutting against Roadhog’s belly, not when it felt so fucking good.
The last time things had gotten this hot and heavy between them, they'd been interrupted by the sound of approaching police sirens. The time before that, it was an ambush by a scraggly group of Junkers. Before that, their dinner had started burning. There was always a crisis to be dealt with, and Junkrat had nearly given up hope on ever getting laid. Now, however, there were no distractions, nothing to keep them from doing as they pleased. It was positively exhilarating. Junkrat pushed Roadhog away from him, putting just enough distance between them to give him room to hop off the box he was sitting on. He fell onto his knees with a breathless giggle and tugged at Roadhog’s belt, attempting to figure out how to unfasten the custom plate that served as a buckle. It took a great deal of concentration. His tongue poked out of his mouth as he tried to decipher the mechanism, which didn’t catch in quite the same way as his own belt buckle.
“Whole lotta work just to suck yer dick, but -- heh -- worth it!”
His focus was broken when Roadhog pulled on his hair, tugging his head up to look at him. It was too urgent to be sexy, and the odd look that twisted the corner of Roadhog’s mouth only confirmed that.
“No,” Roadhog said.
Junkrat dropped his hands and frowned up at Roadhog. “Whaddya mean, no? Thought y’were into this.”
“I am.”
This made less than zero sense to Junkrat. “Then why not?” he demanded to know.
“Because.”
It was as valid a reason as any, but it wasn’t one Junkrat was satisfied with.
He was still on his knees. “Fine,” he said shortly, climbing to his feet. At least the pressing situation in his pants had lessened in all the confusion. He jerked his head in the opposite direction, nodding at the far end of the cargo hold. “Just gonna dip for a bit, then.”
He slinked off to be alone and process, his mind a jumble of thoughts. He picked his way through the cargo hold to put as much distance as possible between him and Roadhog, and he took out his frustrations on the various packages that stood in his way.
Maybe looking through other people’s mail would help him forget the buzz of indignation and sudden sense of inferiority that clouded his head.
He recoiled in disgust at the first container he broke into. It took him a few moments to realise that he wasn’t looking at an actual omnic, but a detailed, life-sized photograph of one, a diagram depicting the contents of the package being shipped. He inspected it further.  
“This a fuckin’ sex bot?” he muttered to himself, simultaneously incredulous and revolted. It wasn’t an omnic, but a “personal pleasure device,” or so the label said. He hadn’t realised that there was a market for functional, non-sentient robots built for the pure purpose of masturbation -- but apparently there was a global demand for them, if some corporation was shipping one from Sydney to Tokyo. It might not have had any consciousness or free will, but it could walk, talk, and fuck. Too close to an omnic for his taste.
It wasn’t like Junkrat didn’t have any perverse ideas of his own, and he had certainly entertained the thought of building a mechanical device to help him get off, but you couldn’t pay him enough to fuck anything that even remotely resembled an omnic.
Rationally, he knew that the robot before him couldn’t think and possessed no artificial intelligence, but still, its visual similarity to the bots who could do so gave him the heebie jeebies. He tore open the box. “Disgusting,” he said aloud, critically eyeing the robot, which had clearly been built as a facsimile of a human woman with ridiculously exaggerated proportions. He raided the husk of the sex bot for any parts that he could repurpose for his own inventions, then vowed to use the box to take care of any personal business, because really, fuck whoever had ordered this.
He stuffed his pockets and the bag slung around his bony hips with various mechanical odds and ends.
Moving on, he thought to himself. Looking at the fake omnic for too long was gonna make him sick. Robots -- proper, non-feeling mechanical devices -- were only good when they didn’t represent the humanoid second-class citizens that he so detested.
He tried another box.
It took him a few moments to figure out what he was looking at. The case was filled with soft, white toys, each with a cartoonish happy face, pink blush markings, and green tendrils.
Junkrat picked up one of the plushies and studied it. He didn’t get it -- was it an onion? A peach? A lump of garlic? Why did it have tentacles? -- but it looked like something Roadhog would like. It was pretty cute.
He stuffed the plush toy behind his back. “Roadhog!” he called out as he started making his way back to their corner of the ship. He had cooled off significantly. So Roadhog wasn’t in the mood tonight. He guessed it made sense, they were in the middle of pulling off a complex operation. He’d try jumping his bones later, once they were settled in Japan.
Roadhog gave a questioning grunt and tilted his head at him. Junkrat climbed over the last box standing in his way. “Gotcha something.” He held out the plushie. “Happy birthday!”
“It’s not my birthday,” Roadhog said, but he accepted the gift. He held it in both of his hands, carefully examining it.
“S’called a pachimari,” Junkrat informed him, having read the label. “Thought maybe y’d like it. Cute stuff’s kinda yer thing, ain’t it?”
Roadhog squeezed it. It squeaked, causing them both to emit small noises of surprise. Junkrat hadn’t anticipated that bonus. Roadhog looked at him. “I love it,” he stated. The tacit approval made Junkrat glow with pride, and a grin threatened to split his face in two.
“I knew ya would! It’s all cuddly, roight? Like you!” He sat down and took the pachimari from Roadhog. He stuffed it behind his head as a makeshift pillow and leaned against their motorcycle crate. Roadhog promptly tugged it away from him, causing the back of his head to crack against the box.
“Ow!” Junkrat rubbed the base of his skull. “Watch it!” Roadhog didn’t apologise, responding only with a vaguely threatening hum. Junkrat shifted to use his his belly as a pillow instead.
“What’re we gonna do first when we land?” he asked Roadhog. Even with a direct path to Japan and the miracles of modern technology, it would still take them the better part of five days until they arrived in Japan. They might as well use the time to strategise.
“Get more of these,” Roadhog replied, tenderly cradling the pachimari in his hands.
Junkrat cackled. “Good a plan as any!”
 ---
 As they neared the last leg of their journey, Junkrat was going stir-crazy. He was used to being cooped up for a week or so; he did it every time he and Roadhog needed to lay low after a particularly successful string of crimes. The key difference between then and now, however, was their choice of shelter: a deserted house in the desolate Outback, long abandoned by Australians who had the sense to get away from the irradiated region, was very different from the storage hold of a cargo ship. There, they could venture outside briefly to get some fresh air and sunshine, or at least crack open a window. Here, not so much.
“I don’t know if I can make it, ‘Hog,” Junkrat moaned. At present, he was draped over a crate, arm flung over his eyes.
“You’re being overdramatic again.”
Junkrat feigned indignance. “What a load of crap, I have never been overdramatic a single day in my life!”
"You are always overdramatic," Roadhog pointed out.
Junkrat popped his head up to glare at him, then sat up straight. "Am not!"
They were too busy bickering to notice when the boat stopped rocking beneath them.
"Hang on," Junkrat said, shoving his hand into the snout of Roadhog's mask in an attempt to silence him. "D'you feel anything, or am I just mental?"
"You’re mental. What am I supposed to be feeling?"
Junkrat pointed to the floor of the ship, and it clicked.
"Get back in the box," Roadhog said, shoving Junkrat off of the crate he had reappropriated as a lounge chair and in the direction of their own crate. "We must be here."
"S'your fault we didn't notice," Junkrat said, being antagonistic purely for the sake of being antagonistic. Roadhog pushed him in response, and he giggled maniacally.
Roadhog hefted the lid of the crate, prepared to seal them both back in once they'd secured their hiding spot, while Junkrat climbed inside.
The door to the cargo hold, a scant few metres from them, slid open, and a slim man trundled in, loading cart in hand.
All involved parties froze: Junkrat mid-climb, one foot still in the air, Roadhog with the massive lid still in his arms, the dock worker still holding onto his trolley.
Junkrat was the first to break the silence. "G'day!" he said with a jaunty salute. Roadhog dropped the lid with a resounding thump. The dock worker responded, clearly nervous, but neither of them could understand Japanese.
Junkrat hopped down from the box and approached the man, who looked at him warily. “Mate, I got not the faintest idea of what yer sayin’, and even if I did, I don’t care. Roadhog?”  He held out his hand, fully expecting his bodyguard to understand what he was requesting. Roadhog tossed him his frag launcher. Junkrat promptly fumbled the catch and dropped it to the floor, although he made a quick recovery and pressed it to the man’s temple. “Anyway. So, howsabout you forget what ya saw, and we take our leave?” The man likely understood his words just about as much as they had understood his, but violence was the universal language. He nodded frantically, a droplet of sweat beading on his forehead.
"Righto!" Junkrat said brightly, lowering the grenade launcher and glancing back at his partner in crime.
Roadhog had used his time constructively and torn down the side of the crate, freeing the motorcycle and creating a ramp. Junkrat booked it back to the bike and leapt into the sidecar while Roadhog revved up the engine.
"Outta our way, ya dingus!" Junkrat shouted, and the cargo worker dove to the side, abandoning his trolley, which Roadhog promptly smashed into.
They peeled down the gangway and through a crowd of mail couriers, smashing through the first fence they saw.
"Okay, so we went to all that trouble, what with the rebreathers and all, and yer telling me that we coulda got away with just bargin' on-- camera!" They both smiled for the security feed, Roadhog taking his hand off the handlebars long enough to flash a thumbs-up, while Junkrat struck a dramatic pose. "--board? Forget it mate, I'm not even tryin' anymore. Let's just bludgeon our way through everything, eh? Who's gonna stop the two scary Australian Junkers? Caution's fer chumps."
Roadhog laughed, that deep, low chuckle that always reverberated in Junkrat's bones. "Fair enough," he said. They tore off down the streets of Tokyo, in search of a truck from which they could illegally siphon petrol for their motorcycle.
 ---
  The streets of Tokyo, Japan were vastly different from the wasteland of the Australian Outback. For one, Junkrat had never seen so many people in one place in his life. Even their trip to Sydney hadn't been so saturated with pedestrians. At first, it was overwhelming, all the hustle and bustle turning him skittish. However, once he realised that they could get away with committing crimes a lot easier when they were in crowds, any misgivings he had vanished.
Junkrat had every intention of scouting out the city's omnic population, but first, he felt they deserved a vacation. What better way to unwind than at an arcade?
He was glued to the soft drink machine. “Look, 'Hog, they got all kinds of fizzy drinks here!” He hadn't heard of any of the brands before. Most of them weren’t in English, but he could make out Kiki Cola, Murloc, and Nano. Despite having no idea what they tasted like, they were making him salivate. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Which, oh which, should I try first?” When he didn't get a response, he turned around. “Roadhog?”
Roadhog had abandoned him to check out the machines that dispensed an entirely different kind of loot: stuffed toys. There was one claw machine in particular that Roadhog was fixated on, the one affixed with a sign that read “UFO.” Junkrat recognised the pachimari that they had strapped to the back of their chopper.
Roadhog’s snout was pressed against the window of the machine, much as Junkrat’s tongue had been against the glass of the vending machine. Besides him was a small boy with a tuft of blue hair and a pachimari tank top, quietly sucking on a lollipop as he stared up at Roadhog.
Junkrat shoved the child aside with a shout of, “Move, he’s mine!” and squeezed next to Roadhog. “Looks like you found where baby pachimari come from.”
Roadhog gave a grunt of assent, and they were silent for a split second. Junkrat eyed the crane inside the machine, wishing that he had some yen so he could test it and study the machinery.
Roadhog spoke first. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
“Depends what yer thinkin’, mate. I'm thinkin’ we gotta liberate some of these city wankers of their wallets. I wanna see this beaut in action.”
“Not what I was thinking.”
“Or,” Junkrat continued, raising an imperious finger in the air to silence him, “we liberate these poor souls from their prison. We'd be doin’ ‘em a favour, really, givin’ them all homes. You, me, and a million pachimari. One big happy family!”
He could sense Roadhog's smile through his gas mask. “Yeah! That's more like it.”
Junkrat flashed a grin back at him. “You take care of them, then. I'm gettin’ us some bevvies to celebrate!” He unholstered his frag launcher and bounded off towards the vending machine.
He wasn’t going to discriminate between flavors now -- although he was making it his personal mission to sample them all during their time in Japan -- he simply launched a grenade at the nearest dispenser, causing the thick pane of glass to splinter, cracks spreading out from the point of impact. He finished the job by kicking it in, sending shards and cans flying, and grabbed all the soft drinks he could carry. There was a similar crash behind him as Roadhog punched the claw machine, his spiked brass knuckles absorbing the shock and smashing the window entirely.
Junkrat had overestimated how much he could hold at one time and promptly started spilling cans when he took off running. Roadhog lumbered after him, hot on his heels, and he was doing a much better job at holding onto his purchases than Junkrat was.
Junkrat gave up trying to carry them all and settled for guzzling what he could, letting the other cans fall as they may. “Oh, that’s good,” he said out loud, studying the can to figure out what brand it was -- Kiki Cola -- before tossing the empty can behind him.  
They burst out of the arcade into the afternoon sunlight, the small child wailing in the distance at the loss of all the plush toys.
Miraculously, they made it back to their new home base without too much trouble. Most people leapt out of their path, alarmed and intimidated by the two Junkers barrelling down the street.
“Gotta get me a cart or somethin’, next time we do that,” Junkrat said, pushing aside the tarp that served as their front door. “Or make use of them arms of yers! How the heck did ya manage to carry all those?” He gestured at the heap of pachimari still in Roadhog’s arms.
Roadhog shrugged. He carefully set the pile down on the ground. “Practice.”
Junkrat eyed him. “Betcha y’could carry me.”
“Bet I could,” Roadhog agreed. He sat down on the throne of pachimari with a whumph and the sound of a million squeakers going off at once. Junkrat giggled gleefully and joined him, squirming under Roadhog’s arm. He picked up one of the plush toys and squeaked it, over and over, until Roadhog finally ripped it out of his hands. Deprived of entertainment, Junkrat took stock of their new, albeit temporary, home.
It had been impossible for them to find an abandoned place to squat, given their determination to stay within the more urban areas of Tokyo, where concentrations of omnics were highest. An empty apartment did not stay empty for long. They had been ruminating on alternative options -- Roadhog had suggested staying under the bridge, but Junkrat had been adamant that he was “not gonna share with a buncha derros” -- when they stumbled across a portion of the city that had been blocked off with fences and tarps, surrounding several half-built skyscrapers.
They couldn’t read the sign that marked the company that was behind the construction zone, but by the looks of the logo and some general deductions, they had concluded that it was meant to be the site of future residences for omnics.
As it turned out, Japan had a relatively small population of omnics. The country was an island with limited space, and as such, there was a nationwide push to relocate omnics to the mainland. Robots were one thing; omnics were actual citizens who needed resources and living space. With new regulations in place and political, pro-omnic protests, Tokyo was redeveloping a portion of the city to house omnics with no place to go, providing them with dwellings that suited their non-human needs.
It was the stupidest thing Junkrat had ever heard of, and he had had quite a lot of stupid ideas in his lifetime.
The fence had been plastered with signs, mostly likely warning individuals not to trespass and espousing the dangers of entering a construction site with no safety gear. They were all in Japanese, however, and the only sign Junkrat had recognised was a bright red stop sign.
Stop signs didn’t stand in his way, nor Roadhog's: he always had preferred to think of them as “suggestions” rather than “rules,” and Roadhog's command of the road entailed blowing through red lights more often than not. With a brash laugh, Junkrat had immediately instructed Roadhog to toss him over the fence.
They'd found a fairly solid structure with tarp tacked between its pillars to protect the half- finished interior from the elements. It was a risky choice of dwelling, but given the dearth of heavy machinery, they had concluded that construction had been halted due to some bureaucratic nonsense or other.
“Maybe the good people of Tokyo are seein’ sense!” Junkrat had speculated. “Those heaps of junk don't deserve fancy flats.”
It was a good decision, Junkrat thought as he burrowed deeper into the pile of pachimari. Anywhere was home as long as he had Roadhog by his side, but having the basic human comforts of a relatively enclosed, private space made it all the better.
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