#real talk i can look for some sources i quoted from memory tomorrow if you wanna but only for my mutuals

[ohsalome]

@feralwomb asked and i’m here to deliver (also not @ing op because i don’t want to start a fight i’m just here to rant)

the basic premise of the original argument: freud’s patients were raped by their fathers, in therapy they opened up to him about this, but since he was paid by the womens’ families, and not by women themselves, freud made up a handy-shifty “seduction theory” and misdiagnosed them with hysteria (even though they had ptsd)

1. what kind of a moron would confuse ptsd with hysteria not touching the fact that ptsd is being unjustly overdiagnosed today, especially among armcoach specialists (real talk - a huge issue in relation to our ATO situation), they have very different clinical pictures. just compare the dsm-5 criteria for yourself if you’re wondering also, keep in mind that hysteria used to present inself with very different symptoms at victorian times. it is a super versatile diagnosis. as far as i know, modern dsm-5 has divided it into “histrionic personality disorder” and “conversion syndrome”, but tbh it’s basically the same thing. back at ye olde times, though, the conversion syndrome was THE reason women were hospitalised. like,.... you simply don’t get blind/lose control of your limbs/get seizures from ptsd. these are very definite hysteria/conversion syndrome symptoms. today, it is very rare to find a histrionic person with such symptoms, but back then it was common. dostaevsky has a lot of such characters in his books, think кликуши

2. author either intentionally, or by indolance, misrepresented freud’s works i mean you can fuckin read it in the very same wikipedia page op cites noone on this site knows how to read. freud wasn’t labelling every patient who reported sexual abuse hystrionic; he admitted that some of them actually were; and whaddaya think, some of his patients in this category were men as well. the “seduction theory” (which he discarded later in his life btw) wasn’t based on patients’ reports, no. freud practised hypnosis, and during the sessions he believed he was uncovering “unconscious repressed memories”, usually of the times where patients were under the age of four. firstly, modern neurological research proves that although repression of memories is A Thing that our brains can do, it happens dramatically less often than freud originally suggested (and, according to him, we repress stuff наліво і направо). secondly, hypnosis is an altered state of consciousness which makes people very very suggestable (put a pin on it...i’ll return to this point later)

3. incestious families are complicated there’s also a psychological portrait of incestuous family, and although, like any theoretical model, it doesn’t 100% cover every single case that happened in the history of humankind, ever, they do present a certain pattern. basically, they are very isolated, they have fucked up family dynamics, and i’ll repeat once more that they are very self-isolated bc that’s a huge point. they are the “get out of my lawn!!!” people, “don’t stuck your nose into our family, this is none of your fucking business” people. i personally find it really unlikely that this type of people would willingly send their victim daughters away (!) to a mental institution (!!) where she will spill the family secrets (!!!). even considering the “noone will believe you because you are a woman” factor. also, freud had a lot of patients... was there, like, a victorian incestuous pedophilea craze that we weren’t aware of? man, what happened to all of them?

4. hysteria is, actually, a thing tfw you’re so cought up in your conspiracy theories that you forget that psychology exists freud had medical education. originally, he was looking for biological, plausable, material theory to explain human behavior. sadly, medicine/technology wasn’t advanced enough back then to allow that, so instead he created a metaphoric theory of mind. keep that in mind, when applied to hysteria and aedypal complex. i’ll quote modern psychoanalytical understanding of these things, from nancy macwilliams. parents treat kids of different gender differently. and kids are very attentive to the world around them. so, when a girl notices that she’s treated like an inferior in comparison to her brothers, or that her mother in powerless before her father, she quickly learns that femininity=weakness. and, basically, all of the characteristic treats of hystrionic personality (theatrality, helplessness, flirtyness, anxiety, lying-so-hard-i-believe-my-own-lie etc) come from this worldview. you see where i’m leaning? yeah, you can follow freud’s road and go “the difference between a girl and a boy is a penis, so, when a girl notices she doesn’t have one, she links her inferiority to it = penis envy”, but there is much more sense to view it metaphorically, in the upbringing theory. a dick is a metaphor for gender inequality, dude and, add the factor of repressed sexuality (being shamed for having normal human urges is not A Great Thing, psychologically) and an abscence of any way to express your feelings/needs/etc... and you get what you get, classic victorian-style hysteria. bonus fun fact: to quote macwilliams once more, freud considered himself to be somewhat of a histrionic personality, just to a less dramatic extent... 

all these things considered, my own theory on how things actually went down. return to the pin we made, about the hypnosis usage. freud’s hypothesis was the following: early sexual abuse - memory too traumatic to accept so it gets repressed into unconsciousness - hypnosis allows direct access into unconsciousness - memories can get retracted. well...only that’s most probably, most likely, wrong. there is no evidence that hypnosis is like your backdoor into unconsciousness, or into your repressed memories, for that matter. what hypnosis does is it makes you extremely gullible, suggestable, easy to influence, etc. it turns off your critical thinking. and, considering freud’s undeniable obsession with sex, i theorise that he might have unintentionally suggested himself to his patients that they were abused. something similair to this often happends to minors when they are questioned on the basis of possible sexual abuse, which is why interviewers are taught to be extremely careful. you can only imagine how traumatising it can be... and how absurdly stupid, if - if! - the abuse in question turns out to be not real. on topic of “uncovering repressed memories”, stanislav grof practices something similair to that, only he claims to reveal memories from previous lives. naturally, in his practice there is some lsd involved, because of course lsd would be involved. it is only my hypothesis tho. just something i added up from what i know. i haven’t researched it properly, or discussed with my superiors... so take it, and take a huge grain of salt with it. sorry that’s ranty and bitter but thank you for asking because i’m glad to get it off my chest 💖

[turkisherlockian]

A Touch From The Past - The Rainbow 🌈 - Request [Benedict Cumberbatch AU - Teacher x Soulmate Student Reader] (Part Two)

The professor could not wait for the drama class to start. To see her again. To remember where he saw her. His mind was forcing him to remember, he knew when he had someting on his mind he would have trouble focusing on one another. He had to know.

There were some students who took the class because they loved theatre, but it was compulsory for the rest. They seperated into opposite-sex couples as they were asked, Professor Cumberbatch was going to decide which one of them could play Richard Plantagenet and Anne Neville from Shakespeare's "Richard III".

He was on the stage with the playscript in his hands. The students were seated with their partners and his eyes found Y/N's quickly, but his stare only lasted for 3 seconds as he warned himself. He was there to teach.

Being a professional, he managed to focus on educating without any distraction, however he couldn't wait to go home because his head started to ache.

"As you all must know, we're going to perform Anne Neville's story by Shakespeare's Richard III. I believe all of you read the book and not only the script before memorising your lines," he said sarcastically and made his students smile, as always. "But I would like to remind you about her story before we get started."

He took a deep breath, "She is the widow of Prince Edward of Lancaster, whom Richard helped kill."

One of the students raised her hand and asked, "How could she love him after all he's done?"

The professor smiled, "She is the only person to follow her father-in-law Henry VI’s coffin to burial and to mourn him. Suddenly courted by Richard at the height of her grief, she is taken off her guard but finds herself unable to resist his performance as a lover. Despite her quite genuine hatred and mourning, she ends up completely seduced by him. Though this ends up making her Queen, it does not bring her happiness, which she blames on her having cursed Richard’s future wife before taking on that role. Richard’s bad dreams keep her awake at night, and she does not sleep well. She is soon perfectly aware that Richard does not care for her, and grows certain that he will kill her. She grows ill and dies, very likely poisoned by him. Anne is a weak and passive woman, though she attempts to be a good aunt to the various children of her husband’s brothers. Her ghost comes to haunt Richard the night before the battle of Bosworth and to bless Richard’s opponent Richmond."

Y/N felt blessed, he was so enthusiastic! She fell for him once again.

A boy raised his hand now, "But that's not what actually happened, right? I've read that he loved her and she died due to the plague of the time. Can we say that Shakespeare didn't really like the royalties at all?"

"This is where poetry and the benefits of technology takes place. We're lucky to be able to judge his work and compare it to the history." He was happy that some of the students were actually interested in this class.

"Kings are the slaves of history," he quoted Tolstoy with a smile and continued, "Let's get started."

He watched them all and helped them with their lines, but none of them was good enough. He knew they needed to practise but they didn't have much time. While watching them, his mind was also pondering if it would be Y/N's turn before the class ended. He shaked his head slightly and didn't notice that he was tapping his foot.

And it was her turn, now. There were 5 minutes left and he stood up when she came on the stage with her partner.

Y/N was actually good, but his partner was terrible. He just wasn't her match, and it seemed like they didn't even know each other much.

He clapped his hands to draw attention to himself, "You are talking as if someone's forcing you to say it. You're a wicked man, with your own reasons; and you try to seduce her. And you don't need a stage-kiss if you both are okay with it..?" It sounded like a question and Y/N would never say no to anything he suggests. They both nodded and he stepped aside to let them play again.

It was obvious that Y/N studied the character very well and he could see tears forming in her eyes. The young man did try to do better, but it just wasn't his thing. Professor Cumberbatch had this desire to show his students how to do it and he turned to them. "I need you all to watch, now. I'm afraid I'll ask those who want to take part to perform again tomorrow. We're running out of time and we need to be quick. Now..." He turned to Y/N, and blinked a few times when he realized that he had to kiss her. It could cause him to get distracted again, but he had to do it.

He knelt in front of her after taking the knife from the young man, and Y/N could swear that the look in his eyes changed. He raised one of his shoulders because Richard III was misshapen, his eyes were darker now and he tilted his head to the side. "Take up the knife, or take up me."

Y/N who played Lady Anne didn't say anything, and managed to tear up. He was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her. That was the only thing on her mind now.

He stood up slowly and kissed her. It only lasted for 5 seconds but it felt like forever to them. They didn't see blurry images or memories now, they saw each other. Benedict saw her smiling, crying, laughing, glancing at him, looking at her ring, in a wedding dress, in a rush, in his bed, naked...

Y/N saw him holding her hand at the beach, driving with his sunglasses on, coming home with grocery bags in his hands, holding her, dancing with her, touching her, hugging her, kissing her..

A rush,

A glance,

A touch,

A dance...

It was like thunderstorms at first, but they both knew that after a thunderstorm, comes a rainbow.

She was supposed to pull back and leave him there, but before she could - not that she could at that moment - the bell ringed and the professor forced himself to stop kissing her and she walked away from him.

He kept stuttering while saying his final words to the students who were jealous and muttering to each other about how real that kiss looked. Thankfully, they left quickly.

They were alone on the stage, now. None of them spoke, and Y/N just knew it was her mind toying with her. She went too far, she shouldn't have loved him that much. As tears formed in her eyes for real now, she tried not to look at him and leave the stage but his velvet voice stopped her. "You were pretty good, actually."

She couldn't dare to look at him as she thanked him quietly, and attempted to leave but he spoke once again. "You had them too, didn't you? Did you feel it?" She looked up at him. He couldn't be talking about what she saw, could he?

He walked towards her and turned her to himself by holding her arms gently, "The electricity when our hands touched, a flood of memories that were brought back to our minds-- please tell me you had them too."

He sounded like he was begging her, because otherwise, he would lose her mind. What was it, did he fall in love with her? He knew he could have considering that she was the only thing in his mind all day, which was very unprofessional...

"I did," she spoke excitedly, "I saw you but I thought it was because I lo--"

He kept quiet, waiting for her to finish her sentence but she couldn't. Tears were rolling down her reddened cheeks. "We were married." He spoke quietly and held her face in his hands. "I never thought I would believe in things like that, but I think we are soulmates." He looked into her eyes and felt an overwhelmingly nice feeling in his chest. She seemed like a fairy to him and he suddenly needed to kiss her again. So badly.

"We were together in another life..." Y/N spoke in amazement, "I can say it then."

The professor wiped her tears off her red, hot cheeks, she closed her eyes and finally said it.

"I love you."

He kissed her passionately and all he saw was darkness now. He knew she was the one. They were under each other's spell now... She loved him, and he loved her back. Once again, and forever.

They were smiling when they pulled back, and they spent the rest of the day with getting to know each other.

---

Info source: https://www.playshakespeare.com/richard-iii/characters/lady-anne

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! ❤️ @inner-thoughtsofnelia

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

dance

Written for Day 4 of @aangweek! Read here on AO3.

~*~

4. dance - if you hit a wall, climb over it, crawl under it, or dance on top of it

What year did Fire Lord Sozin battle the Air Nation army?

The Air Nation army.

What army? The ashen remains of bones that littered the Air Temples? The memories of a past erased and rewritten by the conquerors? The whispers and cries of voices drowned out by roaring flames? That army?

Aang shuddered, pulling his knees to his chest. Was that how his people were remembered? As part of a history reformatted and reworked? As aggressors instead of defenders? As casualties, no, as soldiers instead of victims? Was that how the world had chosen to immortalize his people?

Aang sighed, releasing his legs before slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. He wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon. And besides - he could see the sun inching upwards over the horizon. Daybreak had almost arrived, which meant it was only a matter of time before everyone woke up and they continued travelling. There was no point in him trying to catch an extra hour of shut-eye.

Maybe he could meditate for a bit. While he waited for morning to come. It could help him clear his mind, he supposed, of… of those more painful memories. Of false knowledge force-fed down his throat.

But as Aang stood to find an open place for meditation, he was distracted by the presence of Sokka. His friend was already awake, hunched over and scribbling away at his lengthy schedule.

“We can shorten our stay here,” Sokka muttered, “and taking this route shaves two hours off our total travel time if we only take one break instead of two -” He stopped when Aang joined him, the airbender plopping down on a patch of grass. “Good morning?” He paused. “Uh… What are you doing up so early?”

Aang gave his friend an amused smile, folding his legs criss-cross. Considering he himself was usually the first one up, Aang couldn’t help but find Sokka’s question rather hilarious. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Sokka shrugged. “Just trying to rework our schedule. I have to take in account the extra days we stayed in that cave if we want to arrive at the meet-up point for the eclipse invasion on time.”

Aang flinched at the reminder. Of the upcoming eclipse or the additional days he’d encouraged his friends to stay in the city, he wasn’t sure. When Sokka glanced at him, Aang looked away. Down at his feet. “Right. Yeah. I guess we do need to make up for that… lost time.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow, at first not commenting. He rolled up his schedule and placed it aside. “So, why again did you say you were up so early?”

Aang hadn’t.

He sighed, leaning backwards to stare up at the arrival of dawn and bracing himself with his palms. Clouds of orange and red and yellow burned before Aang. Hues not dissimilar to fire. “Dreams.” Memories.

Sokka nodded. “Nightmares?”

“Kind of.”

“Want to talk about them?”

The Air Nomads didn’t have a formal military.

Aang shook his head. “Not really.”

Sokka nodded. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.” He tucked the group’s schedule into his bag. “Want to talk about something else?”

Aang didn’t answer immediately. Stuck on some twisted loop, his mind traced over and over and over the surprise, the shock, the disbelief of every kid’s face in the cave as he’d danced before them. They, too, had been robbed of their childhood. Not in the same way, no. Not at the same price. But it had been stolen from them all the same.

“Do you think I helped them?” Aang finally whispered. His fingers dug into the dirt beneath his palms, collecting behind his nails. “The Fire Nation kids, I mean.” He sat up straight again, this time making eye contact with his friend. “Toph told me I helped them to be free.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Do you… Do you think she was right?”

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “Uh, what are you talking about?” Aang opened his mouth to explain, but Sokka continued before he could get a word out. “Of course she was right.”

Aang’s voice disappeared into his chest for a full ten seconds before resurfacing. “She was? But it was just a dance par-”

“It wasn’t ‘just’ a dance party, Aang,” Sokka interrupted, giving him a wry smile after his use of dramatic finger quotes. “You gave those kids their first moment of independent thought. I know I called them ‘depraved little monsters’” - Aang snorted at the reminder - “and while I don’t think I was too far off with that assessment, I’ve come to the conclusion that…” Sokka pursed his lips. “Well. Deprived might be a better word.”

Deprived.

Yes, that was fitting.

“I still can’t believe they didn’t know how to dance,” Aang said after a pause. “A hundred years ago, the Fire Nation was - was the place to be for dancing!” He learned everything he knew from Kuzon, after all. “And now…” Aang sighed. “Sure, I gave them a taste of fun, but they’re all going to be punished for it.” If they hadn’t been already. “Was that - Was it even worth it for them?”

“I think it was,” Sokka answered, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “Like I said - it wasn’t just a dance party.” A beat passed, and he winked at Aang as he held a finger over his lips. “It was a secret dance party.”

Aang laughed. “What are you talking ab-”

“You taught them to challenge authority!” Sokka continued, throwing his hands in the air. “You taught them that sometimes, to learn the real truth, you have to think outside the box and track down other sources.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Aang, you showed them that adults can be wrong. That people in power are not infallible.” Sokka grinned at him. “So you didn’t just teach them to be free. You taught them how to find their own freedom, too. And in a brainwashed, messed-up country like the Fire Nation?” He snorted. “Spirits know they need that.”

Brainwashed… Not an inaccurate term to describe the misinformation - the lies - Aang knew their country had built its new foundation on.

“Thanks, Sokka,” Aang said, giving his friend a soft smile as tension eased from his shoulders. Maybe it was a good thing, then, that he’d stayed those extra days in the cave. Those kids were the future of the Fire Nation. Change would have to start with them.

“You’re welcome, buddy.”

Aang bit his lip. A beat passed. “Can I ask you another question?”

“I mean, you technically just did - kidding, I’m kidding,” Sokka amended as Aang rolled his eyes. “None of you have a sense of humor.”

“Sokka, you know I think you’re the funniest guy in the four nations.”

“And you would be right!” They both laughed, and Sokka continued once their snickering had died down. “But sure, go ahead. What’s on your mind?”

Aang opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, out of nowhere finding that it was thrice as difficult for air to enter and exit his lungs. How embarrassing for an - the last - airbender.

Deep breaths. In and out.

Well, I don’t know how you could possibly know more than our national history book.

“What… What were you taught about my people?” Aang found himself staring at the ground, at his feet, at anywhere but Sokka’s eyes. “The Air Nomads?”

“Uh… not much,” Sokka admitted, and Aang grimaced. “We knew Sozin massacred them in an attempt to kill the Avatar, which started the war. Gran Gran told us they were a peaceful people, too, and were all really gifted benders.” He hesitated, giving Aang an apologetic glance. “I’m… sorry I don’t know more.”

Aang’s chest ached with an emptiness he sometimes feared would never be filled. But at least Sokka hadn’t been told -

“You know my people didn’t attack first, though?” His voice faltered, and Aang cleared his throat. “That - That they never wanted to fight?”

Sozin defeated them by ambush.

“Yeah,” Sokka said quietly. “I know.”

He forced down the lump in his throat, and when Sokka moved to pull him into a tight embrace, Aang allowed himself to fall apart in his friend’s arms.

When the sun had risen and his tears had dried, Aang spoke.

“After I defeat Fire Lord Ozai… you’re going to dance with me.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “I’m gonna what now?”

“Dance with me.” Aang gave him a small smile. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’re too much of a picken to dance with your best friend.”

Sokka rolled his eyes. “You know what? Sure. Why not. When you defeat Fire Lord Ozai, I’ll dance with you.” He grinned at Aang. “I look forward to it, hotman.”

Aang laughed. “Flameo!”

~*~

i am prepared and willing to throw hands with anyone who says "the headband" ep was pointless filler (it really and truly was not). also, i read something and it said flameo was a curse word, and idk if that's true, but you're welcome to interpret the final line as aang being like "fuck yeah!" if you'd like. thank you for reading, and i hope to see you tomorrow for day 5 - air temples!

[notcompliant]

Headcanon :: The Dynamic Duo :: Steve and Bucky 

This headcanon is based as a sort of meta but also default for my dynamic’s between Steve and Bucky. Please note two things, firstly this is adaptable as varying portrayals obviously have different canons and styles and secondly it is a basis for mainly my MCU default verse. 

As such, if parts of it weren’t in your canon, or you really love the MCU dynamic you don’t have to worry but also please be aware this isn’t gushy and St.ucky praising. Because on this blog I will spill truth about Bucky no matter the cold chill it takes to swallow it. 

Don’t worry though it has soft openings and a chance to be better. I’m just not a popular sugar coater whoops. 

So on we go!

1940′s the Brooklyn Boys:

Bucky meets Steve as a young teen, helping him get out of a tight spot during a fight and taking him back to his mothers diner for patching up. The two bond quickly over sciences, technology, an enjoyment of games and a want for a better tomorrow. Becoming best friends is easy, and Bucky cared for Steve like he did all of those closest to him.

This care extended to helping Steve in other ways, some he didn’t know about. As Steve’s illnesses became worse the Rogers were struggling with paying for the multitude of medication. Already having a paper route Bucky knew it wouldn’t give much, so he began looking for a second job. 

The one he found wasn’t the best of things, or entirely legal. Bucky ended up boxing for money. Already having the athleticism and training for it from his self defence classes (his mothers insistence with the turning tides of society, his father wasn’t fond of it but understood) meant that he was good. Good enough to stay alive anyway, and good enough to make some bucks from it. 

Steve’s parents didn’t ask and he didn’t tell where and how when he turned up with the medication. Glad for the help, and happy to help the silence worked well and Bucky got to see his best friend keep going and well enough to be the fighting little shit he was.

Now at this point in my portrayal Bucky doesn’t have romantic feelings for Steve. More he doubles as both a carer and a friend. It’s platonic, but intense due to the twist that comes when your life revolves around keeping someone else alive. You’ve got to understand, between boxing for Steve, fighting people with Steve, spending time with Steve and studying with Steve almost 80% of his day was wholly and entirely given to Steve who became a major part of his daily routine and life. That’s important later so keep it in mind. 

The War:

Being drafted was what changed Steve and Bucky’s dynamic, oddly enough. Away from Steve for an extended period of time, with the memories of games and the comfort of his friend Bucky did what a lot of people do when memories all they got. 

He got rose tinted glasses.

Steve became a sort of safe space mentally along with his family, to the point that Bucky’s feeling to Steve went from the role of carer and friend to more romantic in nature. Separation makes the heart fonder and all that.  

When Steve then saved him from Hydra the first time, Bucky’s mental romanticisation of Steve lingered into something close to hero worship that most people experience when being helped. Attraction comes with it. At this point, Bucky is inexplicitely heart eyes and willing to follow Steve into deadly hydra operations against any and all form of fucking logic. But hey, they’ve got their best friends back! Yay!

God don’t we wish that lasted. 

TWS onwards:

Breaking conditioning isn’t easy. Contrary to MCU belief a cutesy hand touch from a pretty redhead you potentially banged one night wont do it will i ever not drag mcu? no It’s got to be something substantial enough that your mind has made it a long term memory, not a short term one. 

Steve is that substantial memory. 

For Bucky, Steve was 80% of his daily life for years, and then someone who saved his life, who he was very likely in love with, who he idealised. Steve was a long term memory and oof did that come back with a vengeance. 

The only problem we have here is that whilst Bucky’s memory is jagged pieces and he feels affection for Steve, it’s not at strong or as all consuming as war Bucky had it. Think of it like the difference between seeing someone you love in person, and waking up from a dream you can’t really remember but you knew they were in it. You still feel warm, but you’re not all that sure why or how warm. 

Steve however, is now in the situation War Bucky was in. Idealisation and Romanticising of memories and lost potential. Or, rose tinted glasses. 

Problem with rose tinted glasses? They have the potential to make you blind, and in like in this case, make things worse. 

Steve and Bucky’s dynamic becomes toxic. Yeah, yeah I embrace the rumble of an angry fandom with a smile as I walk back into the truth of hell. It WAS toxic and you can quote me on that. 

Here’s why though since I’m going all out with this.

Steve is currently in a stage of denial, and likely due to his PTSD though remember kids mental illness isn’t an excuse to be an asshole, is currently desperately trying to cling to his image of Bucky that is right now being shredded by reality. 

Bucky’s popping his Bucky bubble and Steve isn’t taking it well, it sucks all around, especially for us watching. 

Steve is currently Bucky’s only source of information about his past and his identity, Bucky trusts him because the memory of trusting Steve is a strong and driving factor. Steve meanwhile is driven by having his Bucky back. 

In any way.

Even if for instance he has to traumatise him into reliving potentially false memories, degrade him when he doesn’t fit the mould the way Steve wants, i will fight him for the “that’s not good enough” line alone try and stop me to outright just dismissing anything Bucky says or wants and gaslighting him into “no, no I know better! I know YOU” ( “i’m not bucky” “yes you are” “no im not” “you fucking well will be even if I have to drag you through a civil war and to wakanda by your pigtails” ring any bells?) 

NOW DON’T GET ME WRONG I DON’T THINK STEVE DOES IT DELIBERATELY. Please don’t confuse me here, I’m not saying Steve is a deliberate piece of shit, only that in his own desperation he accidentally becomes the worst possible way of helping. 

And uh, well, it kinda goes downhill from there. Sadly because Steve tried to protect Bucky and in doing so lost the trust of Bucky. This is especially fitting in my portrayal where IW didn’t happen, so buckle in we’re on our last legs. 

Steve lied to Tony about his parents yeah yeah we all know blah blah civil war BUT what people don’t want to talk about is that Steve didn’t just hide it from Tony. He hid it from Bucky also. 

Look, when Bucky watches that Video not only does he go through pretty violent flash backs and border on a panic attack, but he also comes to the realisation that he can’t trust Steve to tell him the truth. 

You can see it in the way he flinches back from Steve (who is closest, reaching out, and moves first) and the way he fully intends to bolt before the real fighting starts. 

In my portrayal he steps in to try and break it up, and only fights against Tony when Tony actively starts gunning for his ass. Which is fair. Well, it’s not because neither should have been in that situation and it’s a shitty situation but like, it’s fair he’s defending himself. 

BUT from there on Bucky has an issue, and that issue is that he doesn’t know who he is, he doesn’t trust his own memories and he knows he can not trust Steve to tell him all of it, or be honest about it, or to not keep things from him. 

Which is why Wakanda happens. Bucky no longer trusts Steve, and it’s not safe for him to be out. So he willingly agree’s to be frozen for a while, and let them see if they can help. Now in my canon once unfrozen he slips out of the hold because he desperately needs to learn about himself without Steve’s influence or control over the story. He NEEDS to find himself, he doesn’t hate Steve but he needs that.

By my main verse Bucky isn’t on either side, he doesn’t fully trust either side and he’s moving alone to try and figure out who he is and who he wants to be. Whilst the affection remains for Steve, it’s not romantic at that time, and Steve will have to earn his trust back just like all the other people who have (inadvertently or not) manipulated him. 

So that’s that! Thanks for making it this far, please come and cry with me about how both of them deserve better and then please give Bucky a friend he can trust, and also build a really dramatic and heart breaking reality stucky with me thank you. 

[deliverydefresas]

we know the start, we know the end, masters of the scene

here you have it my friends, part 3. shout out to my baked goods for helping me in this long and boring process xD 

1 | 2 

AU: Matteo Balsano is a famous singer who has been crushing on this one girl he saw every day behind a window many years ago, back when he first started recording his debut album and inspired his first big hit, “Princesa”. Luna Valente, professional Olympic skater turned actress is at a local (and very popular) talk show to promote her breakout movie. This is where it all starts.

BENSON VS SMITH: LOVE RIVALS?

After a couple of weeks of the stars of SHATTERED WINGS being photographed together with Matteo Balsano in what appeared to be a heated discussion, sources to the off and on couple conformed by Smith and Balsano, confirm it was all caused by Smith’s jealousy.

The actress was apparently ‘incredibly upset’ when she learnt what had really happened in JA JAZMIN’s dressing room minutes prior to their cast interview in the show, more so after in said interview Mexico’s ‘Little Sun’ hinted the incident to its international audience.

However, as their promotional tour around the globe for their very acclaimed movie continues, the duo has done nothing but deny all rumors regarding their rivalry; with Smith going as far as calling Balsano ‘an idiot I wouldn’t fight over for’. Benson affirms it’s a matter taken out of context by the fans and media.

The SHATTERED WINGS stars are set to return to the city after two months on the road two days from now, bringing home numerous ticket records from all around the world, as well as the critic’s overruling acceptance.

For more scoop on these three, click here!

Had it really been two months?

They hadn’t even able to finish their conversation, much less his apology from coming off as a creep. Now it’d been two months, and probably wouldn’t have the chance to see her again. Ámbar had warned him she’d kick his balls if he even dared to ask about her when she came back, and his relationship with Simón was anything but close to ask such manner.

Basically, he’d be stuck in her mind as a creepy memory. He didn’t like it, but he might as well accept it until he found a way to clear the water; not only for her sake, but for his too.

“You keep track of the media, now? We have a PR team for that, y’know?” his manager asked from over his shoulder, not missing the open article on his phone.

“I’m not. It was just a suggested article, that’s all.”

“Suggested means you’ve read articles like that one more than once.” Delfi arched her brow, questioning him while she sat on the chair next to his. Maybe citing her in his apartment wasn’t a good idea, he had no way to evade her questions in his own home.

“Maybe Gastón has.”

“From your phone?” He didn’t have an answer for that. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m not judging you. There’s nothing wrong with keeping personal tabs about what the world has to say about you. Just don’t get too fixated on with it, it’s not healthy.”  

“It’s not even an article about myself.” He admitted. There were no secrets between them, and he’d learnt that the cleanest they were between each other, the less problematic it’d get when it came to talk about and planning his career moves. Plus, Delfina knew how to keep everything confidential, which was the reason he’d chosen to take Ámbar’s advice so many years ago when she suggested Delfi to work with.

“Let me guess, this is about the Sol girl?”

“Luna.” He corrected quickly, not even realizing he’d done it until Delfi gave him ‘the look’. She didn’t comment on it, though.

“Luna, right. What worries you in that matter? You were the one who told me not to release any statement.”

“I guess I just – I don’t know, she’s new to this world.”

“Are you worried she can’t handle it? I wouldn’t, I know her team, she’s in good hands. And from what Pedro has told me, Simón warned her about everything that’d come her way, so she wouldn’t walk in blind.”

He’d forgotten she was seeing Simón’s best friend. “Still, I haven’t apologized yet.”

“Is this the reason of your writing block?” she asked suspiciously, folding her arms. Her tone wasn’t accusative, nor was her face annoyed, but he still felt bad it was that noticeable.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’re not subtle, buddy, but don’t worry because no one else has noticed.” Yet. “You got time, the deadline isn’t for another year, there’s no pressure from the label.”

“But?” he knew better than to think there wasn’t one.

“But you know post-production is long AF, and your perfectionist ass will drag it as much as your brain can… if you don’t hurry with the base songs it’ll only make it longer.”    

He groaned lowly, “I know.”

“I’m going now. I’ll call you tomorrow to schedule another time, okay?” She told him as she stood from her seat to grab her purse. Their meeting had gone nowhere, but then again, he had no progress in his songwriting and he was on a break until his next album released, so there wasn’t much to discuss to begin with. “I’d advise you to go and try to find yourself a muse, though.”

“Yeah, I’ll-” Wait. A muse. He needed to find his muse. Matteo called for her before she could get out of the apartment, startling the even more confused girl.

“I need you to help me find her.”

“Are you excited to be back?”

“Aren’t you excited to be back? This is huge for you Nina!” she told her friend excitedly, holding onto her arm while they walked through the airport to wait for Simón, who was picking them up. “A new book! That’s not an everyday thing!”

“It’s just a photography book, Luna. Not a big deal.”

“Just? What have I told you of selling yourself short? The book and the quotes are beautiful and it’s definitely a big deal!”

Nina beamed at her, “thank you. I’m nervous, what if people don’t like it as much as the others? I would die if it flops, or if they question why I’m even still coming out with these.”

“Nonsense! Felicity’s fans are loyal, and they’ll love your work no matter what, have more faith in them!” she bumped her shoulder against her lightly.

“You never answered me.”

“About what?”

It was Nina’s turn to bump her shoulder. “I asked you if you were excited.”

“I’m so happy I’ll finally be in my bed again. I hate sleeping in unfamiliar places.”  

“You got to sleep on your house in México, though.”

“I almost didn’t leave.” She admitted with a giggle.

Both fell into a comfortable silence afterwards, in no hurry to keep the conversation flowing. Travelling together, living together, and knowing each other after so many years made it easy to stay in silence without it being awkward. Simón joked all the time that they were a married couple, and the only thing they needed now was a dog (mostly because he wanted one, too), and Luna could swear they’d have one already if it weren’t for Nina being strongly allergic to pets.

That, and that their time was mostly spent travelling between competitions and cool places for Nina to take photographs for her blog or her books.

She sighed silently when she remembered the competitions. Now that her ties with the movie were almost over, she needed to get her thoughts straight and decide what she was going to do next. Will she be able to compete again after the break? Did she even want to? Everyone had warned her already that everything in the skating community would change for her after this. More exposure usually meant double the pressure; and she wasn’t sure it’d sit well with her. She skated because she loved to, not because she wanted to be the best, or have everyone thinking she was. Juliana had told her that was why she fought so hard for her to play her in her movie, why she reminded her of herself.

But, did she want to change her career? She loved the experience of acting, loved how fun it was to pretend to be someone else for a while every day, but she didn’t love it the way she’d seen Ámbar do it. For the blonde, you could see, hear, feel how much she loved what she did. The girl poured everything into what she did, and she succeed marvelously. The thing all critics agreed on from all over the continents was exactly that: Luna glowed the most when she was skating, and when she spoke about how much the sport meant for her; yet, Ámbar shone in all of hers because she made you believe them, which made up for her lack of experience in the sport.

So, now she had to pick what exactly to do. If she wanted to go to the next Olympics she’d have to start her training as soon as possible, even if she was on a technical ‘break’.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Huh?”

Nina smiled, “you seemed to be lost – even more than usual- in your thoughts. What’s up?”

“Nothing, just… the future, I guess.” She sighed again. Luckily, her friend knew her better than anyone and gave her a short, but strong, hug.

“You still have some time to think about it, don’t go crazy.”

“Time flies, though.”

“Aren’t you the first to say time isn’t real?” Nina joked, mocking her accent a little.

“I don’t speak like that!”

Both laughed, ignoring the annoyed looks some – probably jetlagged- people threw their way.

“But, for real, Luna, you don’t even have to choose between the two. You can always pick something else; some people will be disappointed, yes, but it’s your choice. Do what makes you happy.”

“What would I do without you, Watson?” she half joked, half seriously questioned. Nina beamed at her once more.

“The same thing I’d be without you – be my less great self.”  

“True that.” Luna pretended to cheer with her imaginary cup, her friend being quick to follow her suit. “Now, call Simon. He’s late and Felicity can’t be late for her own book release.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n!”

He wasn’t going to lie, he was nervous. (He also could almost hear Gastón’s voice in his head correcting him to nervous-wreck – he kinda agreed).

Delfi, bless her, hadn’t even bait an eye when he asked her to ask Pedro about Luna’s possible whereabouts in the city. He felt like a total stalker, so he ruled out her house and the rink she skated at, as well as the gym and Simón’s apartment. Thankfully, Delfi was able to get him last-minute invitations to an event she was going to be at.

Originally, he’d thought about going solo, so the possible – or most likely, probable- embarrassments would be for him only to know. However, as soon as Gastón heard the event was Felicity For Now’s newest book launch he’d made him ask Delfi for a plus one pass (God forbid his friend asked his ex for a favor). And, since Pedro was apparently a close friend to Felicity herself, she tagged along too. She was a lot more considerate than Gastón, though, because she promised not to cross him while his ‘apology’ took place.

“I can’t believe we’re going to see Felicity’s real identity.” Gastón gushed beside him, now at the party, careful to keep his tone low. Not because he didn’t want to embarrass him, but himself.

“Calm down, fanboy. We still have the whole party to look forward to.”

Matteo, on his own, was more worried about making himself look like a fool. He knew he’d already stood out – his black suit was a lot more formal than everyone else’s semi-formal attire- but if that wasn’t enough, the way he kept glancing around like a lost puppy made more than person stare at him for a moment.

He was too concentrated on finding her on the crowd.

Not that the crowd was too big – it was rather small, actually- but still, he didn’t want to miss her; if she was there at all.

“Do you know how long I’ve wondered who she was or how she looked like? Years! I’ll finally put a face to the character!”

“Character? I thought her book was consisted only of pictures.”

“Well, yeah. They’re pictures but they’re ordered in a sequence that tells you about her life and short quotes to help you understand the concept. It’s like a photographic journal of herself.”

“Yet she never shows her face?”  

“Nope, it’s always shadowed or blurred out.” Gastón sounded bummed out by this. He must’ve really been wondering about this mystery girl longer that he knew about. Matteo felt almost bad he wasn’t aware of this, even if his best friend never really told him about his fanboy life.

He palmed his back lightly, “cheer up, bud. Tonight’s your night.”

“Matteo, Gastón!” he knew that voice. When he turned to the direction of the call, he wasn’t surprised to see Simón. Matteo should’ve figured out that if not only Luna, but Pedro were here, then he would too.

“Hi, man.”

The guitarist threw him a smile. “What a surprise! I’ve never seen you two in events like these before.”

“Yeah, well, Gastón here is a big fan of hers.” He pointed to his friend, “and I was free from songwriting, so I came too.”

“How’s that coming along? Wrote another hit yet?”

Matteo grimaced slightly, “I’m blocked, so no. How’s your album?”

“Ouch, man, that sucks.” Simón patted his shoulder sympathetically, “we’re still editing ours out, gotta choose the right songs before we pass the final demo.”

That brought back memories. Hadn’t they been in the same exact situation six years ago, the same day he saw her for the first time? He, staring on a blank music sheet, desperately trying to find inspiration for his debut album, while Simón – and her- were on the room across listening and trying to choose which tracks to pass?

He mentally sighed. Everyone was right, he was a creep.

Simón must’ve not noticed his momentary train to his memories, because he continued talking, “- she’s not here yet, if she’s the one you’ve been looking for the past hour. Felicity is arriving with her.”

“Who?”

The guitarist was amused. “Luna. She’s arriving with Felicity in ten minutes.” His heart almost busted with this information. However, when he realized what Simón was probably thinking, he went into denying mode.

“Oh- no, no, no. I wasn’t- I didn’t- she’s not why-” Simón laughed.

“Don’t worry, man, Delfi explained to us you came to apologize to her for the headlines. It’s chill.”

He was so firing her for this (no, he wasn’t). “She did?”

“Getting last-minute invitations for this is hard, if not impossible. Especially since Ni- Felicity handpicks her guests for privacy reasons.”

“I didn’t know Delfi was that close with her.”

“She’s not, Pedro is. I gave my five cents in your favor, too.”

“Thank you.” He meant it. Simón just patted his shoulder once more and reminded him of the time, pointing to the entrance before leaving to mingle with other guests. A question popped in his head, “are they always late?”

Gastón, who’d remained quiet during his exchange with Simón, chuckled, “you really went to la la lunaland, didn’t you?” Matteo flipped him off, “Simón said he was late to pick them up at the airport, so they went behind schedule because of this.”

His friend went quiet after this, anxiously waiting for the main door to open. Matteo sipped on his forgotten drink, trying to calm his own nerves. Five minutes later, it happened.

The door opened, and in came Luna and her friend – Felicity, as his friend had mumbled beside him, smiling and hugging everyone that came to greet them. He noticed how Luna would fall a couple steps back from the photographer, letting her take all the attention.

He wanted to go there and say hi, he really did, but it was as if he was glued to his spot. Watching her laugh, smile, and talk to others from afar was the sight he was used to, and to get closer, on his own (Gastón had fled to Felicity as soon as she’d entered) was something he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Just jail him already, really. His creepiness was scaring him too.

In the end, he waited until the whole book introduction was made, the food was eaten, drinks were drunk, to go ask her for a minute (or twenty). When she saw him, he could see she was taken aback; no one had told her he’d be there, however, she still smiled at him.

“Hi.” Gosh, was he lame.

“Hi!” she managed to sound somewhat excited to see him. Surprising, really.

“Do you think I could steal you for a couple minutes? I still haven’t apologized.” He got closer, being careful not to step into her personal bubble, and offered her his hand.

She didn’t even hesitate to take it, leading him to a quiet place to talk. They ended up in the terrace, sitting down on a bench near a lit – and warm- candle arrangement.

He wasn’t sure how to begin his apology. Should he just say sorry? Should he explain why he knew her? Why he knew she liked to be called Luna instead of Sol? Should he pretend he was star-struck that day?

“I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t his voice speaking for him.

“What?”

Luna sighed quietly, posing her bright green eyes on his own, “I know it’s my fault our names – and Ámbar’s- have been on the headlines lately. I’m sorry I put you in this situation, it must be very annoying, since you’re on your break from it.”

He shook his head, “no, no, no, no. It’s my fault. I was the one who dragged Ámbar with me and the only one who should be apologizing for my actions the night we met.” He didn’t add that his creepiness was an on-going thing, “you have nothing to apologize for. It’s all on me.”

Her face scrunched up. It was cute. “I was the one who answered wrongly with Jazmín. Had I not, the media would have no idea, or perhaps would write a different story.”

“That’s on Jazmín, not on you, Luna. She lives for making other people gossip about their lives.”

“Still, I feel bad and I apologize for it.”

Matteo sighed, “I told you, you have no reason to do so. I, on the other hand, am sorry I came off like I did. I just, well, you remind me of someone I met many years ago.”

She smiled, “do I?”

“Yeah. She was just as tiny and pocket-sized.”

“Okay, now you’re pulling my leg.” Luna laughed, her bright eyes shinning even more as the laughter reached them.

“Jokes aside, I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable.” Her smile remained.

“Apology accepted; but only if you accept mine.”

“Oh, but I can’t do that. Such a beautiful miss like yourself shouldn’t be apologizing for nothing.” He could see her compliment affected her in the light pink shade that now covered her cheeks, “besides, you seem to be forgetting I’ve been on the headlines longer than you. This is nothing, really.”

“But you’re on a break.”

He sighed, “yes, but like it or not it’s still publicity. It helps me stick around for a little longer.”

“So, you don’t mind being in the headlines even if they’re lies?”

“They have an image of me already; it’s not a lie, and it’s not a truth, but it’s still a part of who I am.” He had confused her now, he knew it. The small frown was proof of it. “If you choose to stick in this job you’ll understand.”

“I’m not sure I will.”

He guessed so. “Going for another gold, then?”

“Not sure of that, either.” That surprised him. Partly because he was sure she’d stick to skating, and partly because he couldn’t believe she was being this open. There was a reason he spoke in riddles sometimes, just like Ámbar, Simón, or literally any ‘famous’ person he knew. Privacy, and sometimes inner thoughts had to remain for close and trusty people only.

She’d just admitted something he knew she’d been avoiding in every interview he’d watched of her, and she’d done it freely. Was she this open always? Or did he give her the vibe that he could be trusted? Maybe she didn’t think it was as big of a deal as he did?

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I still have time, though. Not a lot, but there’s some.”

“There’s no bad in what makes you happy. I’d go for that.”

“Is that why you chose music? Because it makes you happy?” she questioned him, sincerely curious. He nodded.

“It’s the only constant thing that has made me happy since I was a kid. I fought hard for it, and I’m lucky it’s worked out this well.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m glad I bore you.” He joked, when she seemed to be lost in her contemplating after a moment in silence. She laughed, shaking her head and making a couple ringlets fall around her neck.

“You don’t. You’re actually a quite good companion, I’d like to keep you as a friend.” She shot him a quick smile, “creepiness aside, you’re pretty cool.”

His heart did a flip. “Friends, huh?”

Luna offered her hand, beaming. “Friends.”  

[demonphannie]

dan and phil - july 2017

7/12

first week (1-7): crash bandicoot review from dan. wow phil tweets about crash bandicoot. more crash bandicoot tweets (when will they play for the gaming channel?!?!?!). thomas sanders is a darling and loves dan and phil. phil ordered pizza to the old phlat. dan and phil in YOUTUBERS REACT TO BTS (K-Pop). phil liked baby driver. new gaming video: DIL GIVES BIRTH! - Dan and Phil Play: Sims 4 #42. dan enjoys sharing with the internet that phil finds it stupid that dan wears a hoodie and his boxer briefs around the house. fourth of july pancake tweet #content. dan liveshow! (highlights: missing the america flight, people were doing shots on the plane, he pet a lot of dogs in la, cool fka twigs merch, dan basically just took a facebook pillow from vidcon without consent, dogs and babies make him happy, also asparagus, he doesn’t wanna give dalien to the aliens, lorde is good, also vince staples, he was nervous curling phil’s hair, dan is dumb and thinks yoi is queerbaiting, dan wants a grand piano). phil hates grapefruit. dan loves it when you call him danyul howul. phil bought a v v tall houseplant and also they have round walls. phil liveshow! (highlights: he thought it would be a smaller plant, jetlaggy, he feels a sore throat coming on, phil is not an iron man supporter, get on the right team, iron man is overrated, stop living in the past, fruity juggler, cat’s dog sigma is v v good, the next sims is a house decorating, baby driver was good, phil is a finger guns kinda guy, scary spider means it’s time to move, he took a quiz and he is a humanitarian, hamsters are my city). anthony padilla series pt i:  Stop saying we look alike! (ft. Daniel Howell). marshmallow drinks from phil. 

second week (8-14): london pride tweets from dan and phil ❤️💛💚💙💜. also dan is there in spirit and if i’m not mf crying right now??????? wow. new gaming video: STOP SEARCHING FOR THIS! - Dan and Phil Play: HIGHER OR LOWER. dan is the mom friend as confirmed by anthony. phil loved spiderman homecoming. “Does it count as half a press-up if I just lie on the floor?” inspirational quotes from phil lester. watch dan and phil play ddr it’s good. the rain is god peeing on you. new daniel howell video: Would you date THE REAL Dan? (what a loser honestly). phil gets emotional over undercover boss. dan realized that he was flirting with all his neighbors on tinder. phil liveshow! (highlights: he placed a plant behind him but it doesn’t usually go there phil lester is a fake, he isn’t sick as he thought, fruity boye, crash bandicoot playing with dan, it’s not vodka it’s water, going to wimbledon on sunday!!!!, appreciating tennis face, voting for what shirt he’s going to wear, dan thinks he looks like a white science teacher, the pug shirt wins, he’s happy dan is taking care of the houseplants, excited for game of thrones, ice cream floats are good, the lesters used to go to lagos every summer in the same house, portugal with the lesters stories, excited for stranger things, get someone that knows law to check your renting contract, phil is a unicorn hipster, he does a buzzfeed quiz, anthony uploading bloopers with dan is an excuse to leave). anthony padilla series pt ii: Stop saying we look alike! [BLOOPERS] (ft. Daniel Howell). dan and phil raised a lot of money for the red cross with the manchester shirts good job boyes! new amazingphil video/anthony padilla series pt iii: Anthony, Dan or a RAT? NATHAN ZED POSTS A PIC OF THEM TOGETHER WOW THANK YOU GOD.

third week (15-21): dan is back in his hometown acting like a fucking ninja. dan posts a really good pic of colin (the howells’ dog) and i would not only like to thank god but jesus as well. time isn’t real (source: AmazingPhil). dan and phil in YOUTUBERS REACT TO ODDLY SATISFYING COMPILATION #2. day in the life at wimbledon: dan posts a really genuinely super nice selfie thank you god, strawberries and cream selfie, selfie from the court, some nice shots of dnp at the game, also spotted in this video. phil is blocking out the GoT spoilers (and i guess dan is too). phil asks what the next season of dan and phil plushies should be and pastel wins (what the fuck guys why didn’t pajamas win i’ve literally be screaming). phil has laryngitis and dan weighs in for honestly no reason why does he keep trying to be noticed by phil. dan liveshow! (highlights: dan has social anxiety but he’s plenty confident, dan likes his youtube comments, big ant, he flirted with everyone in a kilometer radius so he literally was just flirting with his neighbors, that’s why he can’t leave the house, dan watched back phil’s liveshow to hear him say anal tampon, being back in wokingham was scury, wimbledon talks, they got there in a taxi in the special entrance and almost got arrested, dan loves pimms, jim and tanya were there, filmed a tomska sketch, dunkirk talks, philly is still sicky). phil’s voice is coming back! PHIL HITS FIVE MIL!….on twitter :/. fdjknvxc someone received merch that’s not released yet. phil liveshow! (highlights: it’ll be short because he was told not to talk, he went to the dentist, vocal range testing, hah what merch that leaked, fruit flies but no fruit, phil is the fruit). dan is a heckler. anthony padilla series pt iv: wtf am i doing (ft. Phil). new merch! backpacks and pastel edits poster.

fourth week (22-31): happy coaster via phil lester photography. dan is just stupid and thought he was stuck in a lift. new gaming video: ‘Stormy Ascent’ - THE HARDEST CRASH BANDICOOT LEVEL EVER (this is god tier gaming). twitter games with phil. dan is in a tomska vlog: Last Week I Got A Gun. new daniel howell video/anthony padilla series pt v: PSA: Stop Emo Shaming. guilty pup phil knocked down soundproof boards in the gaming room with his thicc ass. dan liveshow! (highlights: in the moon room, he doesn’t want to share the room with the internet because it’s not aesthetically appealing, mirror themed items, he wrote the emo shaming video in the car on the way to anthony’s house, dan waxes poetic about emo culture, phil cursing, he got rejected from mark and spencer’s, they are trying to do livestream gaming, unironic candle haul maybe, make a wish tomorrow, guild wars two things, myspace talks, he likes tyler the creators new album and i agree, likes new louis tomlinson, he’s a shorn sheep, they will get evicted like jake paul, diss track one of this best videos). cute make a wish pic. slime floor via phil lester photography. phil liveshow! (highlights: glasses, pupils dilated, floater in his eye, voice is back, shorn sheep, goth phil, drinking glasses are iridescent, he can hear his neighbor sneeze so they can probably hear dan screaming, nicole from make a wish beat phil at mariokart, parents are going to be in london next week to celebrate his mum’s birth, he doesn’t know london that much, phil has a clean sheet fetish, phil has an afternoon cookie and coffee fetish, he likes his red bomber jacket the best, also his nice suit for weddings, he hasn’t used his new red glasses frames at all, phil tried really hard to get the g note for dan’s video, he has a good visual memory). dan and phil appear in DARKIPLIER vs ANTISEPTICEYE (and accompanying bloopers). dan in tomska sketch First Contact (feat. Daniel Howell) (and accompanying bloopers). new gaming video:  SOLVE THIS CRIME - Dan and Phil play: Layton’s Mystery Journey! phil’s review of dunkirk is good. hint to a sleepless night. new amazingphil video: A HUNGRY Sleepless Night With Phil. dan has to go to a meeting and not be in pajamas?! heresy. dan is a woman from olden times.

[scripttorture]

Sources

So this isn’t exactly a Masterpost. Good sources on torture are hard to find and it’s not always obvious what they cover. I’ve had a couple of people recommend fictional titles in the comments and while fiction can be helpful for working out how to handle torture in stories it is rarely accurate and no substitute for factual sources.

 I thought it might be helpful to give everyone a quick run down of the sources I’ve found most useful and what they cover.

 This may well be edited in the future as I find more books. :)

 Torture and Democracy by D Rejali

 This is basically the book on torture.

 It’s the size of a breezeblock.

 Rejali covers torturers and victims, provides a systematic breakdown of why torture fails, gives a history of electrical torture, an analysis of factors that encourage torture in society and an overview of how the law fails torture victims. Interrogation is extensively covered.

 This book covers torture in the modern era globally and in that area it is very thorough. Historical torture is not extensively covered.

 But for a thorough understanding of the topic and modern torture, Rejali is a must.

 Why Torture Doesn’t Work: The Neuroscience of Interrogation by S O’Mara

 O’Mara’s book is much more focused on science than Rejali’s. It is a point by point analysis of some of the most common ‘clean’ (ie non-scarring) torture techniques used today, explaining exactly how harmful they are and debunking claims that they’re not ‘real’ torture.

 O’Mara’s speciality is the brain and he uses his knowledge to show the biological under-pinings of why torture can not work.

 An excellent source on torture generally and a brilliant explanation of how pain, memory and distress work. This is useful for writing any traumatic event but doesn’t cover a wide range of torture techniques and is very Western-focused in its approach.

 Cruel Britannia: A Secret History of Torture by I Cobain

 While I have some problems with Cobain’s book he remains an excellent source.

 My problems are pretty simple, Cobain’s a journalist not a scholar and he often allows apologist arguments to creep into his book. He often takes torturers’ word for it and believes them when they suggest that valuable information can come from torture.

 Rejali and O’Mara will tell you why that’s wrong.

 But the interviews in this book are incredibly valuable. Cobain interviews victims and torturers and sets them in a wider political context, showing how governments have supported or ignored torture.

 His interviews on the London Cage and the collected work on Ireland, Aden, Cyprus and the Mau-Mau is well worth a look for anyone interested in those conflicts in particular or the British ‘National Style’ of torture in general.

 Sourcebook on Solitary Confinement by S Shalev

 Shalev’s Sourcebook is a free resource that’s available online and an excellent break down of the damage solitary confinement causes.

 While this is obviously focused on one technique this Sourcebook contains pretty much all the information you could want on solitary.

 The majority of the data comes from US prisons and the book is obviously biased towards confinement in a prison context. But the discussion of symptoms, risk factors and long term effects makes this utterly invaluable.

 Any author who writes about solitary confinement or isolation should consult at least the second chapter.

 Mao’s Great Famine by F Dikötter

 One of the best books on famine in print.

 The style is somewhat impersonal, but I think that works in its favour. The focus is essentially on how widespread famine can occur rather than how starvation affects the individual.

 The discussion on community and the role of enforcers is particularly good.

 I’d recommend it for anyone writing a large-scale natural disaster or atrocity.

 Amnesty International Reports (Annual 2016/2017)

 Amnesty’s annual reports give good concise updates on torture globally, year by year. They are freely available online and generally contain a lot of survivor accounts.

 It can be difficult to find specific information using them. You can not, for example, tell from the summaries whether particular techniques are covered. They rarely contain follow-ups on survivors and so are not a good resource for the recovery process.

 But the accounts of survivors, in their own words, are invaluable.

 World Food Programme

 An excellent resource on starvation and malnutrition. If you want to know how a starving or malnourished character would be treated or recover this is probably the best free resource you can find.

 Very good for physical effects and for descriptions of disaster relief programs. Not so great on survivor accounts or giving an idea of what starvation feels like on a personal level.

 International Rehabilitation Council for Torture Victims

 If you’ve been following my blog for a while you may have heard of these guys. Not only do they work to support torture victims but they also publish a free online journal dedicated to helping survivors recover.

 Rather academic and dense, this material often requires a lot of effort and engagement. This is very much the academic side. It can be incredibly helpful, but it’s not always easy to find the information you’re after.

 A Darkling Plain by K R Monroe

 A collection of interviews with survivors of a wide range of atrocities, Monroe’s book shows a real range of both traumatic events and responses to them.

 The main focus of the book is how people move on with their lives after atrocities and how they hold on to their sense of humanity. As such it’s incredibly useful to authors whose writing touches on these themes and authors who want to include a wider range of realistic responses to traumatic events.

 Highly recommended.

 The Wretched of the Earth by F Fanon

 The appendix contains some of Fanon’s notes on people he treated during the Franco-Algerian war.

 These notes include two torturers, a family member of a torturer, victims and relatives of victims.

 This is still one of the most valuable readily accessible sources on torturers’ behaviour.

 The Question by H Alleg

 Alleg’s account of torture during the Franco-Algerian war is a classic for a reason. This is a lucid, often harrowing account of torture failing from a victim’s perspective.

 I talk about victims refusing to cooperate. Alleg describes what it feels like from the inside.

 I strongly advise anyone writing from a victim’s perspective to read this book.

 We Wish to Inform you that Tomorrow we will be Killed with our Families by P Gourevitch

 The Rwandan genocide. This book provides both an overview of the events, interviews with survivors and transcripts/quotes from the time period.

 A difficult but important book, and extremely useful for writing conflict and war crimes.

 A History of Torture by G R Scott

 This book was written in the 30s and boy does it read like it was.

 The casual racism and sexism is extreme and off putting however this remains one of the most thorough books on historical torture globally. Just…read it with a critical eye.

 To the Kwai and Back by R Searle

 This collection of war drawings is, in my opinion, Searle’s best and most affecting work.

 They chronicle Searle’s experience of the Second World War as a prisoner of the Japanese. The drawings document torture, starvation, forced labour and death marches and are interspersed with Searle’s commentary and memories.

 The book serves as both a survivor’s account and (as Searle is looking back) a discussion of how he as an individual recovered. It serves as a very good source on large-scale atrocities seen from a personal perspective.

 Nonviolence: The History of a Dangerous Idea by M Kurlansky

 The focus of this work is in the title but torture crops up in this wide ranging historical narrative time and time again.

 It won’t be relevant to everyone’s stories, but I’m including this book for its numerous moving examples of people across cultures and history resisting torture, slavery and genocide without violence. We have very few fictional examples of this kind of action, and the history is rarely remembered.

 I want you, my readers, to be aware of as many sources as possible so you can break the mould if you want to.

 Tell Me Where I Can Be Safe: Human Rights Watch report on LGBTQ Rights in Nigeria

 This is a pretty harrowing read containing a lot of rape and sexual violence as well as torture. Victim accounts are prominent and the report only covers a relatively recent period in one country.

 I include this because my reading strongly suggests that it is typical of anti-LGBTQ violence across much of Africa and the Middle East. The methods and tactics used crop up across multiple countries and have been known to occur in Europe (though Gay and Trans Rights legislation has helped combat such violence).

 As a result I think this is a very valuable resource for writing torture and abuse of LGBTQ people specifically and an extremely important resource for Western writers who wish to write LGBTQ characters who are not from the West.  

 The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by R Skloot

 An incredibly valuable overview of unethical experimentation in modern America.

 While far from a complete survey this book covers unconsenting or uninformed experimentation on minors, mental health patients, black people and prisoners.

 It talks about how experiments were conducted, how subjects were chosen and the effect on both the victims and their families.

 Highly recommended for anyone who wishes to write unethical experimentation.

 The Horrible Histories Series by T Deary and M Brown

 Yes these are children’s books and yes I am sure they deserve a place here.

 With their focus on the ‘gruesome bits’ of history these books generally contain quick and accurate overviews of historical tortures. Descriptions of punishments, methods of execution and medical treatments at the time are present in almost all of these short, accessible books.

 The focus is on English history as such there’s a lot that isn’t covered, but they’re very good for getting a sense of the tortures that were used during different historical periods quickly and easily.

Men and Hunger: a psychological manual for relief workers by H S Guetzkow, P H Bowman, A Keys, 1946 (The Minnesota Starvation Experiment)

 This is not the full text but the 70 page summary sent out to relief workers immediately following the experiment. This covers all the important psychological and physical effects of starvation in enough detail for an author writing a starving character to find it extremely helpful. It contains a lot of specific examples of behaviours and quotes from the men involved with the experiment, giving a rounded, detailed sense of their experience.

 However it does contain some racist and sexist language common during the 1940s when it was written.

UN Human Rights report on Rohingya refugees from Myanmar

 This is the UN report on the on-going genocide/ethnic cleansing taking place in Myanmar.

 The report contains accounts of murder, rape, gang-rape, torture and the murder of children. It also contains brief statistical analysis of the crimes survivors reported witnessing or experiencing (over half of Rohingya women reported being raped or sexually assaulted, over half of the survivors interviewed reported that a family member had been murdered).

 This could be useful to people writing about ethnic cleansing and genocide. I think it gives an overview of the situation within countries where these crimes occur, giving a sense of what they’re like before, during and after these atrocities.

War Child: Reclaiming Dreams

 This is a quick summary of the effects war has on children by the charity War Child. It focuses on the work they do in various countries; it aims to raise money for the charity and awareness of the causes they’re involved in.

 It provides a decent, quick overview of the many factors that affect children in war; both as civilians and as combatants. It talks about how children are used by armies (pointing out that the idea of they are always forced to fight is false) and how families and children caught in the cross fire are affected.

 A useful source for authors writing about children in combat zones and a good starting point for anyone planning on writing child soldiers.

The UN Standard Minimum Rules for the treatment of Prisoners, aka the Nelson Mandela Rules

This is a pretty dense legal document outlining how prisoners should be treated and the conditions that are a minimum acceptable standard for keeping them.

It’s tough reading but it could be useful for anyone planning to write about prisons and prisoners in a modern setting.

The collected works of S Kara

Kara’s research on slavery today is based on almost twenty years experience and thousands of interviews with enslaved people across continents.

He covers both individual experiences and the larger global picture of modern slavery. He covers multiple countries and slavery in different kinds of industries.

He also provides a thorough and convincing breakdown of the numbers; how many slaves there are today and where. This is accompanied by a clear analysis of how slavery has been allowed to continue and what needs to be done to stop it.

Brilliant, harrowing, necessary books that are a must for anyone writing about slavery.

Disclaimer

[raygarraty]

Nice Cream Man

Gucci Mane, Neil Martinez-Belkin

The Autobiography of Gucci Mane

Simon and Schuster, 2017

 It is a new, special kind of genre of American docu-fiction – not a confessing one but rehabilitating. The right to publish an autobiography during one’s lifetime is given only to one who “gave up”, “realized”, “opened one’s eyes to past mistakes” – any verb in post-rehab conjugation works. A life without this turning point seems like not worth telling about. You just need to live it and shut up about it. You get a right to tell only when there are a breakthrough along with a rebirth. Then the whole reading flock with all their horns and hoofs start to listen to the new shepherd until the new one comes. And a new one comes every day, sometimes three times a day.

Gucci Mane, the main (pardon for the pun) contemporary poet (after John Ashbury’s death it’s become even more evident that all true poets are either dead, or in prison, or fresh out of prison), has now joined the penitential pleiad of celebrities before, it seems, he’s been released out of the federal pen where he spent three years. From the final chapters we find out that he’s waken up, realized his sins and ready to confess. Gucci gave up drugs, started to read various self-help books (self-help now is a new Bible), began to work out in gym, stopped insulting people on Twitter. After being released he’s got new teeth fixed and moved to his mansion. The public, judging by his Instagram pics and first albums, quickly written and released with the help from Gucci’s trusted producers, sniffed a general promise of a rebirth. But a public confession was needed – a solid book in a solid genre.

Agents pulled some strings, and this confession was shortly “written”. The written nature of the book immediately is put under some doubts. Gucci was paired up with the journalist Neil Martinez-Belkin, who milkshaked the poet’s autobiography in one sweeping narrative. «The Autobiography of Gucci Mane», naturally, is not the first autobiography of a poet, neither it is the first autobiography of poet-slash-rapper. There has been a lot of different approaches to this kind of book; in this case the paradox of this book is that «The Autobiography of Gucci Mane» is a book of prose as far from poet’s prose as it’s possible.

One refuses to imagine how Gucci sits down behind the laptop’s keyboard and begins to type the episodes of his life. The rapper who refused to put his verses on paper, preferring freestyle during recording sessions, surely wouldn’t write in prose anything longer than a tweet. Different omissions and rhetorical figures of speech (Gucci from to time says to his ghostwriter ‘Listen’) give us a clue that the autobiography was pasted and glued from poet’s oral stories, magazine articles, police and court reports, talks with relatives, friends and business partners. Keeping in mind Gucci’s history of drug abuse, his bad temper and a lack of any methodology, we can assume that Neil Martinez-Belkin just went and wrote Gucci’s bio and then rewrote it from the first person. The repentant poet didn’t repent in too many details, allowing the ghostwriter to dig out all the sins of the past, and Gucci just signed under them.

The autobiography turned out – tautologically – too autobiographical. Instead of relying on his own memory, Gucci (Belkin-Martinez and the publisher, more like it) is relying on the sources. Instead of writing of crossroads and potholes of Gucci’s career, his career is laid out before us like one smooth narrative ride: a life path “pre-school-school-streets-prison” written so conventional and by the book you won’t find a single formal reason to quibble. The ghostwriter sweated over it so much, he even inserted fragments of Gucci’s “poetry”, police reports, quotes from reviews. With every such verified life episode Gucci’s spirit is washed away from the book. Docu-repenting exorcises the life way from the autobio along with the devil. For biography and facts (and state of mind behind the facts) one needs to go to songs, even though they cannot be called trusted.

In his songs Gucci uses language of the streets, ghetto English, and without a doubt the poet feels the difference between ghetto language and fake ghetto faux-language:

«I knew that life, and I could tell if a rapper was playing Scarface. I had an ear for that. I knew Project Pat did the shit he was rapping about. Can’t nobody tell me different. I knew C-Murder did what he said. I knew Soulja Slim did what he said. I knew BG did what he said. Their music was real and it motivated me. My music had to be the same way.»

Then it is more surprising that Gucci doesn’t feel how false some of the sentences written by the ghostwriter sound, as if they came from a bad thriller:

«It wasn’t until I declined Def Jam that things started to turn sour.»

«I wanted everyone who stepped inside to see it. But my dream come true transformed into a nightmare when I walked off the set.»

«I knew if I could just get through this temporary pain that tomorrow could bring a better day. That mentality would serve me in the years that followed.»

Confession turns out second hand: your own sins said by other people’s words. The confession was short and not pretty, but the co-author-priest out of best intentions made it too literary.

And the problem is not only the clichéd delivery. Sin repentance and a rush to a new, drug-free life cohabit with authors’ wish not to offend somebody. This is a flaw of an autobiography written in one’s lifetime and the whole media industry. For every beef you have “no offence”, for every “fuck you” – “I’m sorry”. Everybody suddenly is given a forgiveness, despite the recent «If you wasn't there for me when I was all alone then bitch don't expect no love when I'm back!» from the song. Is it one more step to the new “I” or is it just a game by show business rules: any offence might leave you without a contract in the future?

The book has a big problem with sincerity, though it’s more our, readers’, problems. The status of Gucci as a rapper and a gangsta gets in the way when you want to test Gucci’s level of truth in «The Autobiography of Gucci Mane». Lyrical persona on Gucci’s tracks smokes a truck of marijuana a day and drinks almost a pint of lean. Lyrical persona has a name Trap God, and this god from Atlanta can’t make any sins. He has nothing to confess, has nothing to repent.

Gucci’s street persona allows himself only that level of confessions that won’t sabotage his street positions among killers and drug dealers. In the past Gucci could make mistakes and could have weaknesses but only those that can be explained from his “street” positions and that led later to Gucci’s rising up in ghetto, show business and life in general. The sincerity of the confession is under some doubt, since a street hustler can make any promises to a “straight” citizen and not follow on them later. And a priest – a reader in this case – is that straight person. As well as God, even though they tell he’s not. How many bullshit he’s fed to us, how many exaggerations he’s made, how many omissions he’s made – we won’t find out any truthful answers from this autobiography.

Some time ago, in the middle of his career, Gucci in one of his tracks wrote that he’s «threw with this shit» – drugs, hoes, jewelry. Can this premature confession be trusted? If not money, then time will tell. After all, Gucci still looks like he’s selling heroin.

[libralita]

Way of Kings Reread to prepare for Oathbringer

“Almighty above, Kalak thought. You’re broken too, aren’t you? They all were.”—Page 17

And thus the Radiants must be broken as well.

“‘They see us as divinities,’ Kalak whispered. ‘They rely upon us, Jezrien. We’re all that they have.’”—Page 17

So they aren’t, they were just people.

“The tempest within Szeth gave him many advantages—including the ability to quickly recover from small wounds. But it would not restore limbs killed by a Shardblade.”—Page 30

So a Honorblade can’t restore limbs killed by a Shardblade but being a Radiant can.

“Kharbranth, City of Bells”—Page 61

I forgot that Kharbranth was called the City of Bells.

“I’m dying, aren’t I? Healer, why do you take my blood? Who is that beside you, with his head of lines? I can see a distant sun, dark and cold, shining in a black sky.”—Page 73

Ah, Brandon and his foreshadowing.

“‘Kaladin,’ Syl said, landing on the log, ‘I’m going to leave’ He blinked in shock. Syl. Leave? But…she was the last thing he had left. ‘No,’ he whispered. It came out as a croak. ‘I’ll try to come back,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know what will happen when I leave you. Things are strange. I have odd memories. No, most of them aren’t even memories. Instincts. One of those tells me that if I leave you, I might lose myself.’ ‘Then don’t go,’ he said, growing terrified. ‘I have to,’ she said, cringing. ‘I can’t watch this anymore. I’ll try to return.’ She looked sorrowful. ‘Goodbye.’ And with that, she zipped away into the air, adopting the form of a tiny group of tumbling, translucent leaves. Kaladin watched her go, numb.”—Page 149

Oh, boy, fun fantasy series!

“She cowered down, kneeling on his palm, misty skirt around her legs, drops of rainwater passing through her and rippling her form. ‘You don’t like it then? I flew so far…I almost forgot myself. But I came back. I came back Kaladin.’”—Page 161

My poor sweetie, Syl.

“‘Today,’ King Elhokar announced, riding beneath the bright open sky, ‘is an excellent day to slay a god. Wouldn’t you say?’”—Page 183

Killing gods is so passé, Elhokar. You should really keep up with trends, you’re king after all.

“‘I know,’ Renarin said. His voice was measured, controlled. He always paused before he replied to question, as if testing the worlds in his mind. Some women Adolin knew said Renarin’s ways made them feel as if he were dissecting them with his mind. They’d shiver when they spoke of him, though Adolin had never found his younger brother the least bit discomforting.”—Page 184

Fight me!

“The king beamed.”—Page 188

C’mon, Elhokar, I believe in you! You can be a good king!

“‘Wit!’ Adolin called, waving.”—Page 197

Wit!

“Adolin—stalwart as always—had dismounted beside the king. He tried to stop the claws, striking at them as they fell. Unfortunately, there were four claws and only one of Adolin. Two swung at him at once, and though Adolin sliced a chunk out of one, he didn’t see the other sweeping at his back.”—Page 208

Adolin VS 4 is becoming a pattern.

“But the other one? You saw how he ran out onto the field today. He even forgot to draw his sword or bow! He’s useless!”—Sadeas, Page 227

COME AT ME, BRO! NO ONE TALKS SHIT ABOUT RENARIN!

“‘He is relying heavily on Brightness Lalai to act as clerk.’ Perhaps that would make Jasnah return. There was little love lost between herself and Sadeas’s cousin, who was the king’s head scribe in the queen’s absence.”—Page 422

Whoa, there, Sadeas’s cousin? I’m sure she won’t be a pain in the butt.

“‘Forgiven? Me?’ [Taravangian] seemed to find that amusing, and for a moment, Shallan thought she saw deep regret in his expression. ‘Unlikely. But that is something else entirely. Please. I stand by my questions.’”—Page 464

Ahahahaha.

“Gaz had never gotten used to having just one eye. Could a man get used to that?”—Page 472

I dunno, ask Kelsier.

“Roshone fell still, skewer held limply in his hand, brilliant green eyes narrowed, lips pursed tight. In the dark, those eyes almost seemed to glow.”—Page 546

Panic.

“‘Yelig-nar, called Blightwind, was one that could speak like a man, though often his voice was accompanied by the wails of those he consumed.’—The Unmade were obviously fabrications of folklore. Curiously, most were not considered individuals, but instead personifications of kind of destruction. This quote is from Traxil, line 33, considered a primary source, though I doubt its authenticity.”—Chapter 45, Way of Kings

Everyone in this series think the Unmade aren’t important which makes me think that they’re incredibly important.

“Kabsal hesitated, then walked over, taking the picture in reverent fingers. ‘It’s wonderful,’ he whispered. He looked up, then hurried to his lantern, opening it and pulling out the garnet broam inside. ‘Here,’ he said, proffering it. ‘Payment.’”—Page 639

Why would Kabsal try to pay Shallan for her drawing? Does he know she’s a radiant?

“The flashes of light came from directly ahead. So transfixing. Brushing past a pretty gold- and red-haired woman who huddled frightened in a corner, Kaladin burst through a door.”—Page 648

Who’s that?

“But that implied that they had limited themselves before. Did they do it because they realized that the battlefields left little room for maneuvering? Or was it for speed? But that didn’t make sense—the Alethi had to worry about bridges as choke points, slowing them more and more if they brought more troops. But the Parshendi could jump the chasms. So why commit fewer troops that their all?”—Page 781

They just trying to keep the Alethi distracted?

“The soldiers pulled Sadeas’s helm off, and Dalinar was relieved to see his former friend blinking, looking disoriented by largely uninjured.”—Page 786

Oh, good, Sadeas is still alive…

“I hold the suckling child in my hands, a knife at his throat, and know that all who live wish me to let the blade slip. Spill its blood upon the ground, over my hands, and with it gain us further breath to draw.”—Page 789

What do you guys think of this death rattle? I find it interesting that it first refers to the baby as “he” and then in the next sentence says “its blood” instead of “his”. So there’s possibly some baby possession going on here.

“When a surgeon failed, someone died.”—Page 790

Kal, dear, if a farmer fails to produce food, people will die.

“‘Yes,’ Elhokar replied. ‘And yet they are savages, and easily manipulated. It would be a perfect distraction, pinning the blame on a group of parshmen. We go to war for years and years, never noticing the real villains, working quietly in my own camp. They watch me. Always. Waiting. I see their faces in mirrors. Symbols, twisted, inhuman…’”—Page 826

Oh, poor Elhokar.

“‘Every bridge run,’ Kaladin said. ‘You’re going to make us go on every one.’ ‘Yes,’ she said idly, tapping for her bearers to raise her. ‘Your team is just too good. It must be used. You’ll start full-time bridge duty tomorrow. Consider it an…honor.’”—Page 833

Ah, now I remember why I hate Hashal.

“‘The world as we know it has quite nearly been destroyed,’ Nohadon said. ‘Barely a family exists that hasn’t lost half its members! Our best men are corpses on that field, and we haven’t food to last more than two or three months at best. And I’m to spend my time writing a book? Who would scribe it for me? All of my wordsman were slaughtered when Yelig-nar broke into the chancery. You’re the only man of letters I know of who’s still alive.’”—Page 852

Okay, so Yelig-nar is one of the Unmade. And he existed so, you’re wrong Jasnah.

“None of the soldiers rushing across the chasm had made any specific effort to attack the archers firing on Kaladin, but the weight of numbers had forced them away. A few gave Kaladin loathing gazes, making an odd gesture by cupping a hand to the right ear and pointing at him before finally retreating.”—Page 896

Odd.

“‘Don’t worry,’ Kaladin whispered. When had he started to cry? ‘I’ll bring you home. I’ll protect you, Tien. I’ll bring you back…’”—Page 924

MY HEART.

“‘On your horse, lighteyes’ ‘We should finish him. We could—’ ‘On your horse!’”—Page 940

Get on your fucking horse, Dad!

“Navani steeled herself, folding her arms, trying to quiet the screams of denial and pain that came from the back of her mind. This was a pattern. She often saw patterns in things.”—Page 946

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

“All is withdrawn for me. I stand against the one who saved my life. I protect the one who killed my promises. I raise my hand. The storm responds.”—Page 945

Possibly foreshadowing Kaladin having to save Roshone or Amaram?

“Wait. You—That—What just happened?”—Page 956

I love this.

“For all I know, there are many groups searching for these secrets.”—Page 992

What? Pffft noooooo. There isn’t a ridiculous amount of secret organizations looking for these secrets. You’re crazy, Jasnah.

[marcusssanderson]

100 Friendship Quotes Celebrating Your Best Friends

Looking for inspirational friendship quotes that honor and celebrate your best friends?

After searching the web here are some of our favorite quotes about friendship and best friends!

What is it to be a true friend? Why are we drawn to certain people and not others?

Specifically, what is the difference between the people who will be our friends for life, and those who will pass through our lives for a reason or a season? Hopefully, these quotes about friendship can give you some inspiration about the people you surround yourself with and why.

Below is our collection of inspirational, wise, and warm friendship quotes, friendship sayings, and friendship proverbs, collected from a variety of sources over the years.

Friendship quotes about distance, life and time

1.) “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.” — C.S. Lewis

2.) “The only way to have a friend is to be one.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

3.) “There’s not a word yet for old friends who’ve just met.” – Jim Henson

4.) “One measure of friendship consists not in the number of things friends can discuss, but in the number of things they need no longer mention.” – Clifton Fadiman

5.) “Friendship is delicate as a glass, once broken it can be fixed but there will always be cracks.” — Waqar Ahmed

6.) “When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are.” – Donald Miller

7.) “A good word is an easy obligation; but not to speak ill requires only our silence; which costs us nothing.” — John Tillotson

8.) “Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in, continue firm & constant.”’ – Socrates

9.) “Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.” – Washington Irving

10.) “A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud. I am arrived at last in the presence of a man so real and equal, that I may drop even those undermost garments of dissimulation, courtesy, and second thought, which men never put off, and may deal with him with the simplicity and wholeness with which one chemical atom meets another.”

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

Best Friend quotes about life

11.) “No friendship is an accident.” ―O. Henry, Heart of the West

12.) “Be slow to fall into friendship, but when you are in, continue firm and constant.” ― Socrates

13.) “A single rose can be my garden… a single friend, my world.” – Leo Buscaglia

14.) “Never idealize others. They will never live up to your expectations. Don’t over-analyze your relationships. Stop playing games. A growing relationship can only be nurtured by genuineness. “ – Leo Buscaglia

15.) “Only a true friend would be that truly honest.” — Shrek

16.) “Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” – Anais Nin

17.) “A good friend can tell you what the matter with you is in a minute. He may not seem such a good friend after telling.” – Arthur Brisbane

18.) “For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.” — Audrey Hepburn

19.) “True friendship comes when the silence between two people is comfortable.” – David Tyson

20.) “Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?” – Abraham Lincoln

Friendship quotes about distance

21.) “I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light.” — Helen Keller

22.) “True friends are like diamonds — bright, beautiful, valuable, and always in style.” ― Nicole Richie

23.) “Don’t make friends who are comfortable to be with. Make friends who will force you to lever yourself up.” – Thomas J. Watson

24.) “Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense, and to have her nonsense respected.” – Charles Lamb

25.) “A friend to all is a friend to none.” ― Aristotle

26.) “If you make friends with yourself you will never be alone.”

– Maxwell Maltz

27.) “Do not keep on with a mockery of friendship after the substance is gone — but part, while you can part friends. Bury the carcass of friendship: it is not worth embalming.”

– William Hazlitt

28.) “One’s friends are that part of the human race with which one can be human.”

– George Santayana

29.) “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

– C.S. Lewis

Best Friendship quotes about change

30.) “The tender friendships one gives up, on parting, leave their bite on the heart, but also a curious feeling of a treasure somewhere buried.”

– Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

31.) “Friendship marks a life even more deeply than love. Love risks degenerating into obsession, friendship is never anything but sharing.”

―Elie Wiesel

32.) “Some people go to priests. Others to poetry. I to my friends.”

—Virginia Woolfe

33.) “You can make more friends in two months by becoming interested in other people than you can in two years by trying to get other people interested in you.”

— Dale Carnegie

34.) “Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”

– Marcel Proust

35.) “When a woman becomes her own best friend, life is easier.”

—Diane von Furstenburg

36.) “A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked.”

– Bernard Meltzer

37.) “Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.”

— Oprah Winfrey

38.) “Growing apart doesn’t change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I’m glad for that.”

– Ally Condie

39.) “I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen.”

– Ernest Hemingway

Friendship quotes about love

40.) “Whenever you’re in conflict with someone, there is one factor that can make the difference between damaging your relationship and deepening it. That factor is attitude.”

– William James

41.) “Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It’s not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.”

―Muhammad Ali

42.) “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12.”

—Stand by Me

43.) “A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are.”

– Unknown

44.) “If you go looking for a friend, you’re going to find they’re very scarce. If you go out to be a friend, you’ll find them everywhere.”

– Zig Ziglar

45.) “Ooh you’re the best friend that I ever had

I’ve been with you such a long time

You’re my sunshine and I want you to know

That my feelings are true

I really love you

Oh you’re my best friend”

—Queen

46.) “The greatest compliment that was ever paid me was when someone asked me what I thought, and attended to my answer.”

— Henry David Thoreau

47.) “There’s one sad truth in life I’ve found

While journeying east and west –

The only folks we really wound

Are those we love the best.

We flatter those we scarcely know,

We please the fleeting guest,

And deal full many a thoughtless blow

To those who love us best.”

– Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Friendship quotes about time

48.) “If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together… there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.”

– Winnie the Pooh

49.) “If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus 1 day, so I never have to live without you.”

– Winnie the Pooh

50.) “It is not so much our friends’ help that helps us, as the confidence of their help.”

– Epicurus

51.) “A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow.”

―William Shakespeare

52.) “True friendship is never serene.”

—Marquise de Sevigne

53.) “How many slams in an old screen door? Depends how loud you shut it. How many slices in a bread? Depends how thin you cut it. How much good inside a day? Depends how good you live ’em. How much love inside a friend? Depends how much you give ’em.”

– Shel Silverstein

54.) “In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

– Martin Luther King, Jr.

55.) “There’s not a word yet, for old friends who’ve just met.”

―Jim Henson, “I’m goingto Go Back There Someday”

56.) “Many a person has held close, throughout their entire lives, two friends that always remained strange to one another, because one of them attracted by virtue of similarity, the other by difference.”

– Emil Ludwig

57.) “The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart.”

– Elisabeth Foley

Best Friend quotes on learning and love

58.) “Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It’s not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.”

– Muhammad Ali

59.) “A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out.”

– Walter Winchell

60.) “Someone to tell it to is one of the fundamental needs of human beings.”

— Miles Franklin

61.) “Dear George: Remember no man is a failure who has friends.”

—It’s a Wonderful Life

62.) “I get by with a little help from my friends.”

—The Beatles

63.) “Ultimately the bond of all companionship, whether in marriage or in friendship, is conversation.”

– Oscar Wilde

64.) “You can always tell a real friend: when you’ve made a fool of yourself he doesn’t feel you’ve done a permanent job.”

– Laurence J. Peter

65.) “Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.”

—Oprah Winfrey

66.) “People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges.”

— Joseph F. Newton Men

67.) “Some of the biggest challenges in relationships come from the fact that most people enter a relationship in order to get something: they’re trying to find someone who’s going to make them feel good. In reality, the only way a relationship will last is if you see your relationship as a place that you go to give, and not a place that you go to take.”

— Anthony Robbins

Insprirational Friendship quotes about love

68.) “It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.”

– Friedrich Nietzsche

69.) “You have been my friend,” replied Charlotte. “That in itself is a tremendous thing.”

—E.B. White Charlotte’s Web

70.) “There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.”

– Diana Cortes

71.) “Anybody can sympathize with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathize with a friend’s success.”

―Oscar Wilde

72.) “A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself — and especially to feel, or not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at any moment is fine with them. That’s what real love amounts to – letting a person be what he really is.”

―Jim Morrison

73.) “What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others.”

– Confucius

74.) “Keep away from those who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you believe that you too can become great.”

– Mark Twain

75.) “There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.”

―Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

76.) “Friendship is like a glass ornament, once it is broken it can rarely be put back together exactly the same way.”

– Charles Kingsley

77.) “Anybody can sympathize with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathize with a friend’s success.”

– Oscar Wilde

78.) “A loyal friend laughs at your jokes when they’re not so good, and sympathizes with your problems when they’re not so bad.”

– Arnold H. Glasgow

79.) “A friend who understands your tears is much more valuable than a lot of friends who only know your smile.”

—Anonymous

Friendship quotes about change

80.) “Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it’s all over.”

– Gloria Naylor

81.) “There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate.”

―Linda Grayson

82.) “An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.”

—Buddha

83.) “A true friend never gets in your way unless you happen to be going down.”

– Arnold H. Glasgow

84.) “Flatter me, and I may not believe you. Criticize me, and I may not like you. Ignore me, and I may not forgive you. Encourage me, and I will not forget you. Love me and I may be forced to love you.”

– William Arthur Ward

85.) “Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow ripening fruit.”

―Aristotle

86.) “A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.”

– Donna Roberts

87.) “Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer.”

– Ed Cunningham

88.) “The real test of friendship is can you literally do nothing with the other person? Can you enjoy those moments of life that are utterly simple?”

– Eugene Kennedy

Friendship quotes about love

89.) “We’ll be friend ’til we’re old and senile. … Then we’ll be new friends!”

—Anonymous

90.) “It is the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter.”

– Marlene Dietrich

91.) “Don’t walk behind me; I

[thiscatsbell]

"The Girl with the gaslight"

I'm 15 when I see Viv for the first time.

I'm at wrestling practice, warming up for a long day of drilling in two pairs of sweats so that I can make weight tomorrow. In my mind I'm imagining myself as something else: a cartoon rabbit. Most days at practice I imagine I'm something else. Somewhere else. Anywhere and anybody but a corn-fed teenage boy trying to make weight for a saturday meet. Most days I can lift off from my body during practice and enter into a dreamworld so vivid that it feels real.

"I am a bunny rabbit," I think to myself. I try to imagine the ears, the feeling of my tail against the mat each time my wrestling partner takes me down.

"That's bullshit," Viv says, tugging at my waistband.

She's a lithe girl: 14, maybe 17 at the most. Dresses in black skater-punk wear. Jet-black, flatironed hair. Wallet on a chain. I'm sweating and desperate to get back to my bunny rabbit fantasy but she follows me, hangdog and bored, both hands locked into my waistband.

"Why do you bother?" she asks.

My teammate works through a new takedown. Stand up. Let the guy hurl me to the floor. Stand up again.

"You don't want to be here anyway."

She paces around the circle as I get tossed over and over again.

"You don't even like this sport."

She's right. I only got into wrestling because the bullies did it. I got better than them. The bullying stopped. Survival has a weird way of motivating you when you're 15 and feel like an alien in your own body. Familiar, too. Befriend your bullies and you won't be bullied. Get stronger than your bullies, and never be bullied again.

But Viv? Viv is something new. She slithers around the mat, stalking me. "It's not like you can escape this anyway. This is who you are: going through the motions because it makes people like you as a person. That's all this is to you, innit? A ticket to punch for a few moments of admiration?"

A break. The coaches are talking. I close my eyes. Breathe. I wish I were a bunny rabbit.

I feel Viv lean on my shoulder, her breath hot on my neck. Her lips touch my ear.

"You don't really want that. You just want to be gone.

"You should just end it."

I write my first suicide note that week. As a kid with an active imagination I kept a piece of computer paper folded up in my pocket at all times. I'd jot down notes there, and when the paper filled up it'd join a heap of other papers on my desk, mostly to be forgotten. But that day, Viv followed me home from practice. Whispering. Always whispering.

"You hate yourself."

"I hate myself."

"You wish everything would stop."

"I wish everything would stop."

"You don't matter anyway," she added with a thin smile. "You never mattered because you can't get anything right. Not like it's going to get better anyway. This is what life is for you."

"This is life for me."

"Good boy," Viv says, patting me on the head. I feel empty but calm. Clairvoyant, even, in the knowledge that this didn't matter.

I discover two things that week.

One: my stepmom snoops around my room. The note sat on top of the pile. She tells my father, and they sit me down for a talk. I don't tell them much. Anything I say can and will be used against me in some later argument. This is the nature of things. They get a friend of the family to give me samples for Zoloft. We don't talk about it again.

Two: Viv is right. I can't even write down my own thoughts without fucking it up.

I learned how to fight Viv by screwing up the house rules.

Chores, for me, means three things: laundry, cleaning the room, and dishes. Unless someone forgot to take out the dog. Then that's my chore as well. Unless I missed a spot on the glass. Then it's like I didn't do the dishes at all. I cannot do these chores right.

A child is not allowed to be loud when a parent has a migraine. An itemized list of any perceived slight performed by me during this time will be presented to Dad to deal with later.

A child is not to be too quiet. The family will remember every time the kid chooses to spend time by themselves. This information can and will be used against them at any time, during any argument, no matter the context.

Everything I say is wrong. Even when it is right, or sourced, or just a benign opinion, it is wrong. The family will find ways to get me to say wrong things so that they can be dragged out in the open and mocked properly. Failure to comply will trigger the not-too-quiet rule above.

To be not wrong requires fighting. Not with debate or discussion. Raised voices, at first; and fists if all else fails. I choose to learn to be okay with being wrong.

Write everything down. If it isn't written down I don't remember it right. When I want something the family doesn't, and people start raising their voices, I'm wrong. At first it takes time to convince me that I'm wrong. But in time I learn not to trust what's in my head.

I try to follow my notes to the letter. "No spots on the glasses." "Laundry folded and put away." "Dog must be taken out at least once a night." "Do towels if there are less than 4 in the closet."

Family ridicules me for writing it down. "You can't remember to do your chores? How dumb do you have to be?" But even if something in the notes turns out to be wrong I know that I wrote them down. I know they existed. Sometimes the notes I wrote are wrong even if I remember writing them down, and I remember every word. I just didn't hear things right. That's all.

Anger is not right. Anger makes the family angrier, and when the family is angrier my memory is even less right than it usually is. Better to be an empty vessel. Don't ask for things; ask what the family would prefer I do. I don't trust my memory and my wants. My memory is almost always wrong when challenged.

I can only be right if I am successful in a way that invites praise from people in town. Every tournament won in wrestling is a night where I get to be right. Sometimes, if the parents are feeling generous, an A will earn me a few hours of being right.

By the time Viv comes around I already know how to argue. She speaks. I listen. Even if I don't think she's right, she's probably right. My mind just gets things turned around; that's all.

I am sixteen and printing off a binder of theology research. There is no school project behind this. My wrestling teammates found out I didn't believe in god when we went to a summer training camp. They kept me up for 2 nights trying to convert me, stopping only after I got the teacher involved.

Standing my ground felt right. I remember that clearly. Laughing as they started taking shifts telling me about the good news. Trying to sleep as they kept mumbling on about why I should accept Jesus into my heart. I felt... clear, really, in a way I hadn't before. No matter what my friends tried to say it was at least consistent. I could rely on their candor. Peg talking points against their passion.

When the town got word the house had a new rule: "You have to think about being Christian." At school: kids in school handing me tracts and bibles. Teachers hinting about what they know. Parents and volunteers mentioning churches.

And here I am, scouring the internet to build a bibliography of articles for and against being a Christian. It was either this or talk it out with the parents. At least when it's written down I can feel like I got it right, even when I'm later conviced it's wrong.

Viv sits on the washing machine behind the family computer, arms crossed, her lips pouty. Bored. She swings her legs to kick the back of my chair and knocks her heels against the machine. Thunk-thunk, thud-thud, thunk-thunk, groan."

"Don't you get it? There are rules to being liked. You just can't seem to learn them."

I click through yet another Baptist website. Print. Skim. Highlight sentences. In the margin: "Obedience is how we show love to God." I'm good at obedience.

Why am I not good at being right?

I leaned back from the printed pages so that my head can rest in her lap. "Am I just this stupid, Viv? Everyone else seems to get along fine. I'm the only one fucking this up."

"Possibly. Nothing else has worked so far, right? And you're right. Sis seems to have found an equilibrium. The stepbrothers just do as they please. But you?"

She chuckled and cupped my chin in both her hands.

"You're too stupid to even do belief right."

"I know."

"Have you even won an argument before?"

I thought about it. "If it's about things, sure. I'm good at things. People, though."

"Exactly." She looked up to the lights. Tilted her head. I closed my eyes and relaxed into her lap, the softness of her hands, the warmth of her body.

"You're never going to be worthy of their love."

"House rule?"

She stroked my cheek. "House rule."

One more rule: my computer is my citadel. It is a piece of junk cobbled together with duct tape and spare parts. I am not followed there. Files are encrypted, password protected. I learn to code and work on little computer projects to give me an excuse to avoid family time.

Inside the computer there are other voices just like Viv. They're all bunny rabbits and cats and foxes, and all of them say that they're real too. I talk to them, sometimes, about how I don't understand why I'm so wrong all the time.

Later, when I'm not living at home, I'll even meet some of the people behind foxes and bunnies and cats and such. Some will even become my family. Viv hates them for that, but she tolerates it for the attention. The validation. It's nice to be the sad one sometimes.

But here and now, I worry them. I'm not sure how to process that emotion. Worry? Why worry? It's not like I'm going to embarrass them. Most don't even know my real name.

Viv scoffs when I talk about the other voices.

"If they knew you they wouldn't feel so sorry. The truth would come out. You know how this goes. Poor, sad little Cinderella story online crumbles when given context. They'd find out how many house rules you broke, how you missed spots on the dishes, how you forget to finish your laundry. Then they'd think better of it.

"You're just bad at being a person. That's how it's always been."

Once I was on the zoloft folks thought I had my head back on straight. That's not true. Viv taught me better.

The pills were never about making me feel better. They were about the perception of feeling better. Nobody really gave a shit if I was sad or happy so long as I could put on the act. Viv loved this. I loved it too: there's something just decadent about walking through life with a smile on your face with "I should kill myself" as a mantra.

Knowing you are useless dead weight liberates you from any entitlement to feelings or needs. Favorite food? "Whatever you want to order." What do you want to do? "I don't have any preference." What do you think? "Not really important."

Life's a lot easier when you take the damn pills and let Viv do the talking.

I am 17 and driving out of town. Viv is in the passenger seat. I work a lot of hours at a diner downdown; more time I spend there, less time I spend at home. The windows are down and I'm singing along with the radio. For a moment, I'm happy.

"Next car," Viv says. She's in the passenger seat sulking. Today she's wearing a rubber dress and drenched in chain-link necklaces. As cars zing past she nods at each one and leans in. "There. There. There. Next one—there."

Her hands are on the wheel, pushing me left. I countersteer. Left. Right. Left. Right.

She's right, I guess. Next car. It has to be the next car.

"Why?"

"Why ask?" Viv says with a smile. "You'll just get it wrong anyway."

I am 20 and laying on the grass in a small-town Indiana Park. On my left, my girlfriend. ON my right, Viv. I'm staring at blades of grass and trying to find the words.

For the past month I've spent the weekends in another town so that I can dress up in girl's clothing. I got ma'amed for the first time this past weekend and it left me feeling strange. It felt... right, somehow, even though I knew that had to be wrong. When I tried to talk about it my words twisted in my mouth, made my heart seize up in my chest.

We're laying in the park. I feel trapped. When this happened in the past I deferred to somebody else. Can't trust my own brain, after all. Better that someone else makes the call. But here, laying on the grassy ground and rubbing my temples, I couldn't ask.

Viv leans into my ear. "Keep it zipped."

My girlfriend rubs my back. "You seem to have a lot of fun dressing up."

"Yeah," I say.

"She's not your friend."

"Is it more than that?"

"I don't know."

Playground swings creak. Kids laugh. I star deeper into the blades of grass. Maybe I can hide here. Just stall her out, you know? It's only a matter of time before someone proves my brain wrong anyway. Why say anything if it's not going to mean anything?

"Do you want to be a girl?"

"Keep your mouth shut," Viv says. Her arm locks into mine and tugs, hard. "She's not going to help you. Nobody is going to help you. You're just a freak. You know this. Second it gets out, everyone will turn on you. Just keep your mouth--"

"I think so," I say. A weight lifts from my chest. For a brief moment the world seems brighter. Manageable. I breathe - really, truly breathe; a breath that goes all the way down to my toes - and let it out in a long sigh. Muscles unknot. Of course I think so. I've always thought so. Even if my brain is wrong it knows what it wants to be.

Viv screams. Then she reaches under one arm, grips my jaw, and works me like a puppet.

"But maybe I'm okay with being in the middle. I mean, I'd make a terrible girl, right? What do you think? It's just a stupid idea."

Then Viv holds my lips shut until, exasperated, the girlfriend gets up and leaves. "Close call," Viv says, wagging her finger in my face.

It seems silly now but Viv helped me make sense of everything. When my brain says one thing and the people around me say another I get confused. And when I can't win arguments I look to her to make both ends meet. Here's what comes out:

Alex is a broken person who is incapable of doing anything right. She is either too emotional or too rational, depending on the day, and too sensitive when people tease her. Sometimes she even cries when someone points out missed spots on dishes - I mean, how fragile do you have to be to do that? Any time she stands up for herself it's for the dumbest reasons. Some mean joke sets her off, or she's writing a story where her family isn't 100% supportive of what she does, or she makes a choice that the family despises and still expects respect and dignity. Given time and ridicule she'll roll over, though, and everything will turn out all right.

In short: things would be better for everyone if she just kept her damn mouth shut.

I am 22 and everything is wrong. My girlfriend is driving us to a home she just purchased. I'm still a guy even though it's been two years since I admitted the truth. I didn't want to buy the place. My brain screamed that it didn't want the place. But I didn't say no. I protested, sure, but that was just my brain being wrong. When she pushed back I just let it happen.

Viv is in the backseat of the car. She's kicking at my seat: first with little nudges, and then with giant kicks from steel-toed boots. She's rocking a lacy white dress that'd grown musty and dingy from being left in storage for too long.

"This is what you deserve," she says. Kick. Kick kick. "You hear me?"

I don't have the strength to reply. I want to say something. Anything. I want to open the car door and tumble out onto the road. Maybe I'll die. Maybe I'll just be really injured. Picture it: door opens, I dive. The skin on my shoulder melts as it rubs pavement at seventy miles an hour. I'm smiling. Laughing, even! The pain gives way to a dull pleasure. Closure. No more house! No more relationship! No more feeling like an alien in my own body!

You can't fire me, world! I quit!

The kicking stops. "That's more like it," Viv says. I look into the rear view mirror. Our eyes meet. There's a wicked grin on her face. Her hands grip my seat and begin to shake it. She laughs. Cackles.

"Come on, Alex! Shit's not gonna get better any time soon! It's now or never! Once you get to that house it's over!"

My fingers slide into the door handle. The energy of madness courses through my veins. After years of sleep I'm finally awake! The blood in my veins! Stale air in my lungs! It all begins here, right here, on the side of I-70. Pop the seatbelt! Lean out! Throw open the door!

"She's just going to tie you down, Alex. Ten years from now you're going to be a husk in middle-of-nowhere Indiana with a stupid-long commute, yelled at whenever she feels sad, taken for granted, ignored when you dare speak up about how you feel.

"Stop being a pussy about this and open the damn door. It's the only way out."

But I hesitate. Viv groans. She grabs for the seatbelt and starts wrapping it around my neck. Once. Twice.

"I'll do it myself."

The belt tightens. It takes my girlfriend a few seconds to realize what I'm doing. She swerves toward the shoulder. Unbuckled the belt. Screams at me until I realize my brain was wrong.

The world snaps back to reality and I'm looking at myself in the side mirror, fresh friction burns on my neck, trying to piece together what just happened. I tell her about the door. About wanting to die.

"We can talk after you paint the house," she says, and puts the car back on the highway. As she gets up to speed I hear the car door locks engage.

When I look to the back seat Viv is just laughing. Why wouldn't she? I can't even kill myself right.

Viv started using pain at a bowling alley in Virginia. I must have been 12 or 13. The family is still mostly whole. I can't get anything right: the extended family in Virginia thinks I'm awkward, the family isn't sure if they can poke fun or take me seriously. In a few months Viv will help me write my first of many suicide notes.

It's not the family's fault, to a point. I just can't figure out how to make them happy. Everyone else seems to get it but the second I open my mouth it's shut down. My feelings get corrected. My conversation doesn't connect - it's met with jeers and jokes. But Viv, Viv listens.

The alley is blacklit. A rock band plays in the center of the alley. I'm... tired. I definitely remember being tired. Anxious, too, but the me at the alley doesn't know how to word that yet. That's present-me, realizing how panicky and anxious I was as a kid. Second-guessing every little thing I did had a knock-on effect for my stress levels.

Somewhere between awake and asleep Viv sidles up onto the bench facing me. She's older here - college kid, probably - wearing a bowling shirt and platform boots and studded leather bracelets. When it's my turn to bowl she slaps me on the face, hard, and points to the lane.

"Seriously, you're worthless as shit. Did you really just get in front of everyone and tell the duck food joke? The family warned you how bad it'd be. You did it anyway."

Stand up. Bowl. Sit down. Drift. Viv starts yelling, arms flailing, eyes stern.

"They're just trying to protect you. They know you better than anybody. Why can't you just get it? That's all they ever want from you. Stop being awkward and get with the program, dope."

It's my turn again. Bowl. Catch some flak for telling terrible jokes. I'm tired. Low. I want to talk about it with somebody but every time I bring this up I'm too sensitive. Boys don't cry, and all that shit. Better that I suffer and silence and figure out how to handle my shit than risk being called out on the carpet as the sensitive boy again.

I cock my arm back and slap myself in the face, hard. The haze lifts for a moment.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

I smile. Another slap. Yes. Good is the word for this. I deserve this pain. I'm the one who can't get shit handled. I'm the sensitive boy who can't get anything. If nobody else is going to beat this out of me it's on me to fix. So I go to town - slap, slap, slap, laugh, slap slap. Viv joins in too, praising me for the harder shots, laughing with me through the pain.

"That's more like it. This is what you deserve, Alex. Pain and misery, pain and misery. Doesn't it feel good?"

When we leave the alley my face is red and welted. I chalk Viv up to a dream from being too tired, too stressed.

Nobody notices when Viv steps in. I'd hit myself, Wrestle on a busted back until I couldn't walk, belittle myself when I made the tiniest mistake. If someone so much as whispered a note of criticism or anger my way I'd take it to heart, rolling over immediately and giving them whatever they wanted. But nobody gave a shit. It was heroic, or perfectionist, or just Alex being Alex.

It's only when I try killing myself that people listen. When I talk about suicide I'm paraded around all the friends of the family. Look at all the good parenting we do, everybody! Our darling son is sad and we're taking care of him! See all these pills we're giving him! See how we reach out to everyone and tell them how sad he is? Aren't we just grand?

And in a week we're back at square one: I hate my guts, and only Viv takes the time to notice. Sure, she may hate my guts. She certainly didn't help. But Viv listens. Viv makes me feel like I can control something even if my brain is always wrong.

I am not in control and Viv keeps me from feeling sad about it.

Want to know my secret? I always want to kill myself. There is no secret sauce, no triggering event. Every single day of my life Viv comes to visit and suggests I kill myself. It's goddamn clockwork.

I am 32 and in the bathroom of my cushy tech job. My wife and I just shared breakfast and coffee in the spacious kitchen of our new condo. But Viv show up in the stall with me, all of five years old, and pokes at my belly.

"You're never going to be a pretty girl. You should kill yourself."

"You should have talked to this business user sooner. You should kill yourself."

It's not about telling Viv to take a hike. She'll never listen. Surviving her is about learning to not listen.

Two days after I tried to kill myself with a seatbelt I'm painting the house I hate. The girlfriend is... somewhere else. I can't remember where. I'm unemployed and one month away from starting transition; things got a bit hazy in the transfer. But I remember painting this living room in a sea foam green color that I just despise, focusing on breathing. Breathing is hard.

A week ago I went out as a girl for the first time in a long time. It felt... it felt real in a way that life hadn't felt in a long time. I felt like Cinderella at the ball; lost in the ecstasy of a body that matched what was going on in my mind. I danced with strangers. Laughed. Admired my image in the mirror.

And here I am, back in guy clothes, back in my straight relationship in a house I didn't want with a woman I knew was bad for me.

Around this time of my life I'm having a panic attack per day. The girlfriend is demanding I find a new job. Mortgage isn't going to pay itself. I can feel the walls closing in around me. This is my future. This house, this relationship, this body -- they are my prison bars, my bare bed, my metal toilet with lukewarm tap water.

(Viv gets a kick out of this, by the way. She's walking around the living room I'm painting and painting a mental image. "You'll have your first kid here. And - oh! - you'll probably spend a lot of time on this couch soothing her when she has a breakdown!" Just walking through the house, pointing out every ding and every dent in a house you didn't want in the first place.)

When the girlfriend comes home I'm in a full-on panic attack. She starts up about the job, I think. Talks about mortgage payments. I excuse myself to the basement. She doesn't follow.

I tried to kill myself two days ago. She does not follow.

My heart is on fire. The basement is cold and dead. I laid my head on unfinished concrete and try to breathe. It catches in my throat. I want to run. Scream. Drive away, something.

Viv sits at my side. She puts a hand on my chest. The other hand plays with a box cutter. "Your prison," she says, flipping the cutter around the first kunckle of her middle finger. "Just like I promised. Just like you deserve."

I want to run. Blood runs hot in my veins. I stand up. Pace. Do pushups until the sweat runs freely down my chin. If I'm exhausted I can't run. If I can't run I can go back to understanding that what's in my head is wrong, and what the girlfriend is saying is right. Of course I need to find a job. Of course I need to relax. Of course she's looking out for my own good.

Viv hands me the box cutter.

"You're never going to get the chance to be a girl," she says. Her fingers encircle mine and she runs the cutter over my arm, tracing the pulsing veins with a gentle caress. "You think she's just going to be okay with all this? Hardly. You didn't speak up in time, Alex. Just like always. And now your future wife just up and bought a freaking house! You can't leave now. She needs your help.

"She'll always need your help."

"Yeah."

"You know I'm right."

"I guess."

"But you know," she says, pushing the knife harder against my skin. "You could go out with one hell of a bang. That'd show her! Close the books, kid. Once and for all show her you're the fucking boss of your own life. One good cut and it'll be over."

"Yeah." I relax. She's right: it's just a little knick. There was a drain in the concrete below my wrist; if I amed it right the blood would drain right in. No mess. No muss. No fuss.

My family would throw a great funeral. Maybe they'd say nice things about me. Friends walking past the casket, sobbing. The girlfriend, stuck with the house, struggling. Yeah. That'd fucking show her. My brain may be wrong but my body has power. Weight, even, once the life was gone.

Besides, I didn't want this male body.

I pushed a bit harder. Scratches started to show on the skin. Pearls of blood poked up where the knife had started to pierce skin.

This male body.

"I have to try," I said. I think I cried. Fuck, the whole thing's a haze now. I floated above my own body. Fingers wrapped around the blade. Viv stroking my hair, cooing sweet nothings in my ear. I'm wearing a sweat-stained shirt from the all-male college I attended. I'm pale and a little jaundiced from drinking myself to sleep for the past week. I'm thirty seconds and one flick of the wrist away from watching my blood drain into a hole in the middle of fuck-all Indiana, alone, throwing up the biggest middle finger I can think of to a world where I could never, ever be right in the eyes of others.

And then I stop.

"I have to try," I say again. It's louder this time. "It's either try, or die right here, right now."

Viv does a double take. "I'm sorry. For a second there I think you said you wanted to live."

I pull myself to a sitting position and face her. This is... well, it's new, for sure. Usually Viv just has her way with me. Snippy comments in one ear, demands in the other. And usually I know better than to trust what's going on in my mind when it's not in line with what Viv says. But in that basement, sopping up bits of blood with the tail of my t-shirt? I felt defeated. Completely, totally defeated. Viv won; I was a horrific piece of shit, beyond redemption, a life form whose blood should have been in that drain a long time ago.

I don't know. Maybe knowing I was ready to lose everything made me ready to win something.

"I could try hormones," I said with a weak smile. "You know, see if I can chase that dragon I found when we went dancing."

"That dragon is fucking gone, man. You're the one who walked into the house with eyes open. You're the one who got your ass fired from that school."

"And if nothing comes of it, I come back down here and kill myself. Not like there's a time limit on this, right? I'll go try the hormones and if--"

"--when--"

"--if/when they fail I end it then. No harm, no foul."

Vis stood and crossed her arms. She started to yell. "There's going to be a ton of harm! Imagine when you go home and start telling people you're a girl. How's that going to work out for you, sweetcheeks? Trying to trust your brain like you know anything. Fuck. Just... take the cutter. Two minutes, tops, and then we're done."

I stand. Look her in the eyes. She's crying; big, wet tears that traced the contour of her scowl. To her credit she only stood in the doorway long enough to say she put up a fight; when I nudged her she stepped aside.

"I think you just need to settle in to the new place," the girlfriend says. It's been a week since the box cutter and the basement. My therapist just cleared me for hormones. In a week my life is going to run on the rocket fuel that is a body that matches what my mind expects.

"I mean, it's not a good idea. We just bought a house together! How are you going to get a job? Can't you just, well, think about it some more?"

"I've thought about it for years," I snap back. This isn't like me. When someone says my mind is wrong they are almost always right. But here I am, ramping up into the full-on shouting match I'll ever have, and my mind insists that it's right. I'm not a man. And it's time to either accept this fact or let the blood run down the drain.

"I have to try," I say by way of apology. She scowls. This is one of our last conversations.

Two weeks later I'm taking my first shot of estrogen. To the outside world this is a snap decision: a fit of pique in which I took on the next fun minority identity.

But I'll tell you this: Viv didn't talk to me for a whole month after the first shot. Even as my relationship fell apart, even as I watched my family implode, even as the remaining vestiges of a stable life caught fire and fucking burned to ash, Viv kept her distance.

I'm 24 and the bottom has fallen out of my life. I'm out. Trans, visibly and unmistakeably so. Genie's out of the bottle. Layoffs are starting to ripple through my workplace. In a month I'll have a layoff notice of my own and be one paycheck away from losing the apartment. It's late. Christmastime. My friends are all with their families. I'm eating box mac and cheese and chasing it with terrible vodka.

Viv sits on my computer desk, her legs dangling over the side. She's fifteen again: goth makeup, short pants, flannel. She's tapping her fingers on the lip of the desk and looking around the room, impatient. I'm writing - one of the novels I started around transition-time that crashed and burned with the stress of blowing up my personal life - and my only roommate is none too happy.

"I told you this was going to happen," she says. "The second you revealed to the world just what a freak you are, that you hid it from everyone instead of giving them a chance to prove you wrong? That's when this went to shit.

"You deserve all of this."

"I did talk to my friends before I talked to the family," I say. Not to Viv, per se. I'm talking to myself, my journal, the family holiday pictures Facebook wants me to remember. We are happy in the pictures. Smiles and arms around shoulders, bright faces, huge spreads with baked macaroni and cheese that I never bothered to learn to make.

Yesterday, with my dad and his family, I got handshakes and hesitant hugs.

"I lied to them," I say.

"You most certainly did."

"I tried so hard to keep it down. I lost. Now I'm a freak and a liar."

So many chances to be open and honest, wasted. Now I had a group that took my needs at face value. A group that believed in me. They didn't know the real me. They couldn't have. The family - they knew me better. Family saw me with the warts and everything. The happiest highs, the saddest lows. They knew how fucked up I was deep down.

Maybe they'd have sent me to a camp. Maybe they'd yell. It always made sense when they yelled.

Viv slides off the desk and skips across the empty living room. She dives into the bathroom. I hear rattling in the medicine cabinet. Then: two skips to the tiny kitchen, rustling in the drawer.

She returns to the desk with a dull knife and blood thinners. "Maybe you should try to kill yourself again. Make an effort this time - land in the hospital. They listen when you do that."

I wince. When I moved into this apartment I'd taken great pains to remove every blade from the home. (What can I say? Viv can't persuade if she doesn't have tools.) But here, eating mac and cheese and drinking bottom shelf vodka on Christmas day? Viv got desperate.

"Come on, baby. One more spin. I'll get the tub running. Shouldn't take more than a minute or two. Then it'll be over. I promise."

I'm 24 and hiding in my apartment. Outside, my ex is banging on the door. Screaming "I just want to talk." Viv reaches for the handle.

But I know what happens next. I let her in. The limited self-confidence I had built in the past month would fall apart. She'd take one look at the place, insist I come stay the night, and start whispering sweet nothings. With time I'd learn that my mind was wrong; she was right. The house wasn't so bad. Being a guy wasn't so bad. Not great, but I could survive if I stopped trying to make sense of what's in my head and just let other people tell me what to do.

I could have broken it to her better. I could have taken her with me to talk to the therapist. Could have brought her along for my first shot. Could have... could have talked more instead of burying everything deep.

I let her bang and bang. The phone rings. I ignore it. When she leaves I have a big, long cry.

Viv fetches the knife.

I'm 25 and on a chatroom with a man I consider to be like a second father. He's a novelist and an autoworker in the midwest who has mentored me since I was a teen. When times were tight in college he sent checks that he insisted I spend on nice things for myself. I'm laying on a mattress without a frame and typing to him on a netbook I picked up with my limited income as a helpdesk tech. I tell him how happy I am now, despite Viv's insistence on keeping the knife close by.

I have a new roommate. She moved across the country to help me move forward with my transition. In hindsight this is bonkers; in the moment it is sane.

But this man - a guy who has seen me grow up for years from the outside; a guy who has read everything I've written since I was fifteen, where all my deepest insecurities and fears were given form - he's trying to talk me out of taking my next shot.

To him, the girl-thing is just another persona to hide in. He's not alone. Everyone in my family who is willing to talk to me is bringing it up. "Maybe you're better off gay." "Maybe this is just a phase." "Maybe you aren't in a position to make this decision." "It's not like you." And yes, they're sort of right. I was a bit of an asshole when I came out. Doubly so when I invited strangers to help me make big decisions.

Viv loves these people. She plays them against each other in my head, reveling in the splendor of a world where my mind can never quite get right. She runs through every little mistake I made in disclosing my trans status as she works the dull knife in the space between my fingers, her hand covering mine, stabbing faster and faster.

But this guy cuts the shit and gets to the point.

"You seek domineers," he says at length. "The girlfriend, the wrestling. Things and people that tell you what to do."

This catches Viv off guard. I feel her chin resting on my shoulder as the messages come in.

"You've been denied validation. You seek fragile, inconsistent love that was withdrawn to manipulate you. And up until now your method of toughness, your method of dealing with these domineers, had been to accept the scars and pain."

"He can't know that," Viv says. "He's just a guy on the internet. Everything he hears goes through your filter. You manipulated him."

"Break this cycle, Alex. You can't keep accepting pain and scars forever."

"You fed him lies!" Viv bangs on my back. She's shouting now; impetulent screeching that echoes off the bare walls of my apartment. "All those stories, all those Cinderella-esque tall tales. Lies!"

"Male or female, above sll else, watch out for the domineers. You must break this cycle, or it will break you."

"Lies!" Viv paces around the apartment. Punches a wall. Grabs her head with both hands and squeezes hard. "You fed him all these fucking lies and he bought it.

"You weren't abused. You aren't special. You're just a stupid little shit who can't do anything right."

I still strugle with it - domineers, that is. Years of therapy and a handful of novels helped me find the confidence to recognize it and work to stop it. Hell, one of the first conversations my wife and I had as a married couple was how to hash out our differences without tripping over Viv's baggage. I vet every new friend and am quick to revoke access to my personal life from anyone who decides to be a dick. I don't do it to be mean or elitist; I do it to survive.

Because when a domineer comes along - when someone in my life plays a tune that Viv can vamp on - I can fall right back into that basement with Viv, knife in hand, not sure what is real and what is a lie.

I am 30 and finally on anxiety medication. For years I stuck with the family tradition for dealing with mental health issues: drink your problems away. Viv liked things better that way; once I was calmed down enough to think she could rehash every stupid mistake I made, break me down, bring out the knife.

I remember, once upon a time, my sister and I trying to get mom to go to bed. She was leaning up against the kitchen counter and counting out pills. "It's not a problem," she keeps saying to me. "I'm fine. I can stop whenever I want." Whether she was plastered because of some medication conflicting with alcohol or simply because she drank too much that night, I don't know. But I do remember how she kept counting her pills, pushing my sister and I away, insisting she was fine. There wasn't a problem.

I remember not wanting to start drinking because of what I had seen growing up.

I remember having my first drink at 17. We were at a party with some friends of the family. I had this can of sprite - a treat during the wrestling months where I had to cut weight. I walked away from it, returned, and noticed it tasted funny. "Did my sprite go bad?" I say, passing it around. My parents shake their head. Giggles around the room. My stepmom lets the cat out of the bag: "It's just whiskey. Lighten up! It's not going to kill you."

I remember having my first drink by choice at a TKE party. Some guy poured a margarita shot straight into my mouth. It's sweet. I remember feeling terrified, like I'd just taken a hit of acid and was waiting for the buzz to catch up with me. The room starts to spin. I step outside and call my mom. "I finally got drunk!" I said, laughing. I remember feeling proud, like my finally cutting loose and doing like the rest of the family was something to celebrate.

I remember - well, don't remember - blackout nights with cheap rum. I was teaching high school and having full-on panic attacks a couple nights a week. The rum kept me on an even enough keel to function but I definitely still got canned from that job at the earliest opportunity.

I remember saying I was going to cut back at least five times this year without much success. Sometimes, sure; I make it a month or so without too many slip-ups, but then I'll come home from work feeling terrible and grabbing a drink to take the edge off.

Fuck, maybe this is Viv's long con. If she can't get me to do the deed she'll kill me slowly instead.

Viv chuckles when I write that.

I am 25 and finally figuring Viv out.

It's been two years since I've spoken to my mom on the phone. I have a calendar reminder to call her every week, even if only to record a voicemail. THe family doesn't send invites to anything, anymore. I find out about births, marriages, and life changes through facebook friends of friends. Viv loves to point out all the big events I'm missing.

It's Christmas time. I fucking hate Christmas. Christmas was a thing I did with Mom. Now I'm calling her once a week in vain hopes of getting a response. I hate hearing about how the family is doing. I hate... I hate hearing the names, seeing the faces, hate that these people get to continue their lives without any repercussions while I'm tagging along with friends for the holidays like some goddamned boat anchor.

Christmas, man. Fucking hate every second of it.

After the phone call I'm reading email. I'd grown tired of these calls and decided to write down what I was feeling. The response leaves me in tears. It's not really for public consumption - lots of "I can't bear to look at your pictures or hear your voice" - but what Viv leans on comes at the end of the email: "How dare you issue ultimatums. I'm entitled to my feelings too. I feel like I lost a son."

Viv whistles and pats me on the shoulder. "Tough luck there, kid. She's hurt. I don't blame her; you didn't give her space to figure this out."

"It's been two years."

"But you have to give her all the time she needs."

"That's not true," I say. I'm not angry. Not desperate. Not bargaining. Just matter-of-factly disagreeing with the girl who is always poking me in the side.

"Says who?"

"Says my therapist."

The word makes her cringe.

"See here, though." She points to a line in the email. "'I just wish you weren't doing this transgender thing.' It's not like she's trying to gaslight you. And you did know this would happen, so--"

"That opinion doesn't invalidate my feelings. If the net result of what has transpired is that I've been abandoned by family, then I'm allowed to feel abandoned." I turn to her and smile. "That's how facts work."

"Facts. like how you sprung this trans thing on everyone? Like how you acted so goddamn happy about being trans those first few months? Like how you demanded that everyone be supportive of who you are, and cut out the people who dared ask critical questions?"

"Facts like those. And yes, I may have been a little rash here and there, but I didn't have the tools to separate what I felt from what others said I was feeling. I had to be firm."

"You could try not being trans, you know. That'd help you earn your way back into the family."

I stand from the computer, walk to the kitchen, and open a beer. Viv smiles at me. "You could be drinking with the family if you'd just get off your high horse. You know, at the Christmas party they're having. You saw pictures from last year. Looked fun."

"I'm okay."

"You know better. The family is great! Remember all the campfires you had in the backyard? The sing-offs in the kitchen? Euchre with your aunts? Board games with cousins? How there was a good joke or witty crack at just the right time?

"They loved you, Alex. And you turned your back on them."

She rapped my chest with two fingers to make her point. I brushed it away.

"No. That's not how it happened."

"You could have kept a lid on this. Stayed in the closet. Then you wouldn't be drinking beer here alone. You wouldn't have broken her heart."

I put the can down. "You could at least try to make sense. You were there. You held the blade to my wrist.. There wasn't another option."

"But they're good people."

"Who refuse to see that I'm happy and fufilled for the first time in my life. Who get angry when I make my opinion known. Who want very specific things as a condition of our continued relationship. Spare me, Viv."

"Your dad still loves you."

"Yes," I say with a shrug. "And he would have put me in a camp if he found out I was trans while under his roof. But he's trying. He knows the choice I made: death, or this.

"Want to guess what how mom would have wanted, given the choice?"

Viv doesn't have a response for that.

I can't blame mom for mourning her dead son. I see her as dead too; the memories I have of this person who I loved and respected belong to a person I can no longer be around. We may have talked every single day, may have shared tons of traditions, may have sang quodlibets over the holidays, may have shared songs at the piano, but that was then.

I am 31 when I marry the love of my life. I send an invitation. No RSVP. No attendance. I don't cry. I come up with a riddle: "What do you get when you put ten years between a parent and a child?"

"I don't know," Viv says.

"Strangers."

I am 27 when I discover r/raisedbynarcissists. It is also the first time I see people talking frankly about cutting contact with a parent. Their stories - short, raw, brutal stories - they may not match my own but by God do they ever rhyme. Reading knocked loose memories that I'd lost before - memories that found their way to this story.

I spend half a year asking myself if I grew up with a narcissist. Was it toxic narcissism? Was it abuse? Did my family's particular brand of domestic fucked-upiness lead to such a diagnosis? Certainly there are stories in my life that support it - most of which aren't mine to share.

I am turning 28 and going in and out of therapy. Turns out I was asking the wrong question. Does it matter if my home life was good or bad, or is it more important to ask questions about why Viv is in my life? Why did I need her for validation?

I'm 28 and fucking off to Chicago. No jobs for a trans woman in Indiana, for one, and for two I'm tired of being reminded of the life I had before. They can keep the city for all I care.

I'm 33 and writing this story while Viv watches over my shoulder. I've only thought about suicide 3 times this week, and I'm trying to write this sober. She's presentable today: wine-colored blouse, slacks, everyday flats. She pulls up a chair and watches the cursor pass from left to right, top to bottom. Sometimes she speaks up. Sometimes she protests. But for the most part she's resigned to see what comes next.

When we get here she leans toward me with a sad scowl on her face. "Listen," she starts. "I think we need to sit on this one."

"What?"

"You know. Sit on it. Save it in a folder and keep it to yourself."

"Okay, I'll bite." I spin around in my chair to face her. "I'm not a child; I"m 33 now. Fuck it. Let's have it out. Tell me why I should stuff this one."

"You know your memory isn't spot-on. Never was. And you threw away all the evidence; the journals, the scribblings, the old stories. No proof. Remember how you wanted to just forget everything? What if you did forget it?

"What you're seeing right now is worse than a memory; it's a Cinderella story, made up from whole cloth.

"Maybe you were just a shithead. You know you talk too much. Still do. It's every time you talk over people. Every time you change the subject because of some factoid you're reminded of. And you're sensitive about the stupid shit."

"That's fair."

"I'm just saying you shouldn't trust this feeling. The righteousness in your heart; the clarity of your hindsight; the sharpness of your anger. Hell, you already shifted things around to match dear old Frytag's triangle. What's to say you... well."

She laughs. "What if you gaslit yourself?"

And she's right. I don't have the evidence. I can't prove anything. Shit in my head's too broken to put back together. You have to understand that. Everything you read here could be another lie. I can never know for sure. But that's how Viv survives: the slightest bit of doubt and she's kicking on the back of my chair, gleeful and full of life.

"I want to break it off," I tell her.

"I'm sorry. That's not how this works. You don't just get to leave.

"It is now. I wrote you into existence. I gave you form so we could have this talk."

She laughs at me. "I'm not real."

"I danced around you for so long, Viv. Met all your cousins in stories. But man, every time I tried to write about you there was... there was one of your friends there you could hide behind. A real life story turned on its head in a novel. A little piece of my ex here, a picture of my mother there. Never enough to be identified directly. Plausible deniability. But never quite you.

"Now you're real. Now I can fight you."

She turns away from me, towards you, and puts an arm around your shoulder. It's heavy. Hot with anger. "You sure you want them watching?"

"Yes." I look to you with hard, watery eyes. "I want you to see this. I won't trust myself without a witness."

I'm really sorry about this, by the way. If I worked this out in my head I'd have talked myself out of my feelings later. It has to be this way. Me, pulling Viv onto the page, and you watching me having this conversation. Take notes. Even if it's wrong I know I wrote it down.

"I'm not the kid I used to be. I grew the fuck up, Viv. Broke it off with my old life. And yeah, I can't prove anything for sure. But I have people who can double-check what I'm seeing and what I'm feeling. Maybe it's gaslighting. Maybe it's a lack of conflict resolution skills.

"But it's real, Viv. And I should be entitled to my own emotions."

She shrinks away from you, from me. Backpedals out of my office. We follow her downstairs. In her hand, a picture of one of the few times I've gone home since coming to Chicago. Happy, smiling family faces look up at me from the photo.

"But you still love them."

"That's an odd word. Love. And yes, I still do. Even if they're bad for me they're my family. Even if they're dead to me they're still family. I still have good memories. Bad ones, too. But I can still love them for who they were and what they did in my life, warts and all, even if I know I can't go back.

"See, I love my chosen family, too. My wife, my close friends, the Chicagoans who reciprocate my love with compassion and respect. It's healthy, Viv. And now that I've tasted healthy love I have standards."

"Heh." She lets the photo fall to the ground. Don't pick it up after her. She's doing a bit.

"I guess you don't care about your family."

"My therapy bill would disagree," I reply, chuckling. "Try harder."

"Offer's still on the table," she says. She goes to the kitchen and pulls a knife. It's much, much sharper than the ones I had in my twenties. "Give me two minutes and I'll give you an out. Stick it to those mean biddies who gave you so much pain!"

"And what would happen to my wife? The mortgage? The friends I have here?" I take the knife and hand it to you. My eyes are misty and my hands shaking. Please. Hold onto the knife. Just for a while. Just for tonight.

"I want to live now, Viv. For the people who love me. For the good things I can do. For... fuck, Viv. For spite. My teens and twenties tried to kill me. And the forces that did that can take a long walk off the short bridge.

"See, becuase I'm onto you. You win when I feel worthless. I matter now. You can't convince me otherwise."

She shrugged. "You should still kill yourself."

I roll my eyes. "I'll take it under advisement."

Viv kicks at the ground. Don't indulge her. I'm serious. It's part of a bit. You indulge her and she'll start doing backflips. Please. I know it's awkward. But you've stuck around all this time. We can talk about it later. Promise.

"What happens now?"

"Simple." I walk to the front door and open it. "You walk out. Then I close the door and lock it. And when you want to come back I can read this story and remember - really remember."

She walks out. She's in the hall now, still wanting to get in the last word. Closing doors on people is still terrifying to me. I've only done it three times in my life. Once on my ex; once on my mother; and Viv here and now. I never get used to it.

Please, come here. Put your hand on the door handle. If you want to; I know I've alraedy asked a lot of you as a witness. Just like that. I just need to close it. Then we can go back to writing fun science fiction and fantasy.

Viv shoves her finger in my face."You know you got it wrong. Hell, you have to call in your backup to close the door. And when I come back you're going to welcome me back with open arms. You'll be writing one of your shitty books, or pretending you can throw a decent party, and when you go back over every little mistake you made I'll be right there, needling you, knife in hand."

"I know I'll get it wrong. But when I do you won't be there."

"Why not?"

"Because I know you now," I say. Push with me - yes! just like that! "And when you come around next time you'll have to knock first."

The door latches shut. I scramble for the deadbolt. Just... just give her a few minutes to clear out before you go, okay? Would be just like her to wait for you to leave before she slips back in.

[mirthfulsexecutioner]

Mass and Sending 10/1/17

I actually had the pleasure of writing mass for this Sunday, and will be preforming it tomorrow along with the usual sending, Below is the mass script I wrote, along with the sending

Mass Script for Kurloz

Written by: NepNep

Preformed by: Lily

" Hello! I am Lily, Firs toff, I'd like to say a few things and after that I'll explain some more. Alright first up! This is a collection of people's art I found on pinterest I used for either 1. Inspiration 2. I loved there stories so I typed it too be into mass as well 3. If anyone would like any of the art just message me on my fb if you don't already have it I'll give it after mass, Now this isn't about me so.. I'm going to continue! "

" This week..., I'd like to present... ' Self Representation ' Now... You might be asking what I mean by that, or you already know. Well I'm going to explain as well a little bit but mostly, I'd like for you to reflect on anything I'll say, I'll give a few moments for you too think, Maybe even share your own as well, When it is time to share, I'll defiantly give a reminder so you'll know. But for now I'd like to warn ahead that this could be emotional for anyone, Maybe you don't want to be reminded of anything and that's ok, If don't like what I'm saying just please speak up and I'll cut out what is triggering you so you can enjoy it without any worry! "

" I really don't want to offend, trigger, or upset anyone so please do speak up! We could also be touching sensitive subjects as well, But mostly this will be a reflective and emotional mass so, For now before we start anything I'd like to ask for a moment of silence, maybe even a small prayer to The Messiahs, I know for a fact for some, maybe most, or all. This week hasn't been kind to anyone... I'm sorry about the unexpected things that happened but- Hey, We can all learn from that can we? It's a great learning experience for anyone! Even if the outcome isn't as what you expected, Or  thought it would be... But it'll be ok, Were a family, and family will always pull through the hard times for each other. Now Let's begin shall we? But first, Like I said earlier a few moments of silence to make a small prayer to The Messiahs before we start anything, Thank you. "

" The next part is going to be a..., Rather long but in the way I have typed it out for you a short, multiple message story, I wanted to keep the story as I had found it, So I had to break it down into multiple small messages, I'm sorry if it annoys anyone... I promise though it's a great way to start off any reflections you might have felt during Homestuck to any Character though! But while I'm reading this, Take some time to think about it, Maybe relive some experiences of your own. Think about your ' Journey ' The path you took, The choices you made, The friends you made, The family you created or were adopted into. Everything has happened for a reason, The Messiahs have blessed you with miracles, Teaching you lessons since day one,  And have watched you grow into the beings you are today. Without further ado... "

" Listener: Relive The Experience. ==>

It's a story, About some friends,

The people they met along their journey,

and about how they became *HEROS*

Along the way they learned their lessons, '  YOU ARE NOT ALONE  '

Someone is always so, so proud of you.

You don't have to be brave,

or strong... You just have to care

There's someone waiting to meet you.

They'd miss you if you were gone

Don't give up

It's worth the fight to see the light at the end.

Addiction is worth fighting.

Recovery is always possible.

Things won't change right away

It takes time to rebuild.

Don't let yourself be a victim.

It's okay to cry.

It's okay to not be okay.

Just don't stop moving forward.

What will you do?

Advance?

Or advance?

You can be anything you dream of being.

Adventure is out there!

Don't be afraid of the inevitable

Your past doesn't have to define you.

You CAN change for the better.

Anyone is capable of goodness

The people you meet on your journey will change you

and you will change them in turn.

You leave a mark on the world just by living in it.

Someone will catch you when you fall

And if no one does,

you'll find the strength to get to your feet again

Sometimes you won't know who the real enemy is.

Sometimes you might even think it's you.

That doesn't matter as long as you keep moving forward.

When things feel hopeless,

When you think you've been abandoned,

That's when the magic happens.

It's when things are at their worst

that people are at their best.

You aren't always going to win, but stories don't end when you lose.

It doesn't end until you give up

and giving up was never an option

even if you fail,

you'll have better luck next time.

Your victory is the story you tell after.

You get to choose how your adventure will end.

Will you give yourself a fighting chance?

Will you quit just because the struggle is hard?

Will you let the darkness win?

or will you look the monster in the eyes

and tell him

"Not today."

Today,

you are in control.

Today,

You are not alone.

You are an author

and this is YOUR story.

The curtains don't close until you have your say.

Today is your day.

What will you do?

==>

" The Messiahs have blessed you with a gift they called life

no one has that right to take your beautiful, and precious miracle they called life away... You have all the friends and family you need for any support, and don't forget that...! Now Since this is relating to something else on a good note..., Why don't we switch over too that one? Also Now is the time for anyone who would like to add any of there own personal reflections, I would defiantly love to hear any from you, Good or Bad, If you feel comfortable sharing it. Please go ahead and do I'll be able to add it to my script to publish to my Tumblr! "

" I will also give my own personal reflection, Maybe short, I'm not sure. But anyways... This is actually personal stuff I've never really told anyone but- I do reflect on this sometimes, Maybe to remember how things could've gone, have gone since... But anyways, Before I switched to fb almost completely as my way to find and make new friends as I had recently... I'm actually ashamed to say this but... I had lost my temper at my then BF, I broke up with him on the spot after he made a... ' Joke ' I had told everyone in that chat before, over the course of several months to *STOP* Making, or too not make PERIOD, Well they made it. I was slipping into a depressive state, With symptons of depression but I refused to get therapy and stuff back then. But anyways I was fighting with myself and anxiety and a lot of things every day "

" But I was out of the chat when they made it, my friends told me about it, Oh how my feelings clouded my mind of judgement more than anything else... I blew up screaming at my friends first in my Text Group Chat before going to the other Group Chat with my EX in it and... Someone I'd rather not even call a friend, They are- Were, Excuse me, Were a very very toxic person which was the main source of my anxiety, my (possible Depression...? I don't want to be lying because it never really was doctor diagnosed but it did affect me heavily and everything I did) depressive symptons, Of course at the time I didn't know this, or clearly see it, My mind was clouded by helping my than bf, the chat, and my friends. Whatever happened to me didn't matter, No. My boyfriend and my friends (I use to call them family) Came first to me. But anyways I saw him, The toxic person, And my boyfriend joking about a subject I'm not going to say as it could be triggering. "

" But I saw it..., I was... *SO* Pissed off I just- I couldn't believe him, Why did he *THE PERSON I LOVED* Of all people..., Why did he make those jokes with him? I blew up, I yelled at him, the both of them, Broke up with him right then and there. I refused to fix anything for months after..., Than... the regret, and what I had done started to set in. Wow. I hurt this person I loved, Very much, I hurt them this bad and it was all over something. A stupid thing I could've easily solved if I had just tried to get help before but when I had tried to get help from them before all I got was ignored, my problems weren't important, I wasn't even acknowledged at all, You know this hurt me a lot, Emotionally, I was wondering what I did wrong, Did I talk too much? Was I annoying? What did I do wrong... "

" The toxic person when ever I'd sing (quote songs) would tell me it was annoying, I reflected on everything they said a lot. They said so much, and put me threw so much, It hurt me a lot to see these people I had invested so much of my time into being with, and talking too would do this too me... But that last part sent me over the edge. I wasn't taking it anymore, I blew up, broke up with my then boyfriend, And I left... I left and went to FB. I eventually found Kurloz " She quietly gestured to the Mime " Kurloz..., Has done so much for me without even realizing it, Let alone knowing it because I haven't told her yet. "

" Kurloz, Made me feel... ' Happy ' Kurloz made me feel like I was ' Special ' Like... I was ' Wanted... ' I hadn't felt these emotions in so long, I was scared something would come along and take it away, or ruin it. Kurloz has taught me so much then, She even accepted me into her religion despite me being a complete stranger lol x3. Kurloz, Thank you, For everything you've done for me. I don't know where I'd be without you, The lessons I've learned, The things I fixed, and solved, Everything I've done since I've met you, I've followed near you on my own path while being watched by The Messiahs I did because you were the greatest influence in my life I had, had the pleasure of meeting in *YEARS* You, Helped me become a better person, for good I hope "

" Now, I'm going to finish my reflection up with, I reflect on this memory as, a huge development in me being a better person. I met someone who unknowingly helped me, Taught me,  Adopted me, Let me be part of her family. I reflect on this as the start of something new in my life. The both worst, and best experience I could've had. Now I'm going to quote something as well so what would you do in a situation like this? Meeting Alternate Timeline Version of yourself? "

" Signless: " Wait! " He grabbed Kankri's hand " I have so much I want to ask you! " " Please, Don't go... "

Kankri: " Do you regret it? This life we chose. If you could make the choice again. " He held his arms up, and gently held his hand "  ...Would you choose to give it all up? "

Signless: He reached out as Kankri walked away " Wait... " " Don't leave! " He leaned forward reaching out now " I WANT TO GO WITH YOU! " Tears were whelling up in his eyes " Don't leave me behind! " "

" If you had the chance, To re-do everything in your life from the very beginning knowing everything you had done before hand... Would you go back and do everything over again...? Next is a small collection of quotes from different images "

" Karkat: " I JUST WANT YOU TO, BE HAPPY "

Terezi: 1'V3 S33N 1T, 4ND 1 JUST W4NT YOU TOO B3 H4PPY TOO

CA: I don't knoww

CA: It probably doesn't matter

CA: My feelins seem petty and meaninless noww

Karkat: I AM NOT A LEADER

Eridan: Hey fef can I --

Feferi: Not now Eridan, I'm busy!

Eridan: That's okay Fef, I don't mind

Eridan: Hey sol--

Sollux: Leave me alone Fii2shface

Eridan: Oh

Eridan: It's ok

Eridan: I'm fine alone

If you love me let me go, Cause these words are knives, that often leave scars, the fear of falling apart, and truth be told, I never was yours, The fear, The fear of falling apart

This is my family " She pointed out to the peers with a smile " I found it all on my own, It's little and broken, But still good. Yea, Still good... "

" Now..., Reading that, When have you ever done anything like this to anyone...? You never know when someone is breaking down, and they came too you for help and you just pushed them away like it was nothing. You never know how hard someone has it. What there going threw, You don't know how they feel, Treat everyone like they are the most amazing person on the earth... <3, Everyone deserves to be treated like a queen and king, Now to start finishing this up, Let's get some inspirational quotes! "

" Tavros: yOU ARE NOT UGLY

Karkat: YOU ARE NOT FAT

Aradia: Y0u are n0t w0rthless

Sollux: Everythiing ii2 not your fault

Eridan: You are lovved

Nepeta: :33< You are purrty

Terezi: YOU 4R3 B34UT1FUL

Equius: D--> You are STRONG

Kanaya: You Are Worth Living

Gamzee: PuT aWaY tHe RaZoRs AnD gIvE mE tHe KnIfE

Feferi: Go get yourshellf somet)(ing to eat

Vriska: Darling I know it hurts 8ut it will get 8etter "

" Hope to me, Is about believing in stuff, If you believe in stuff then everything feels like it's going to be ok " - Jake English

" Aradia: D0n't give up

Tavros: bELIEVE IN YOURSELF

Sollux: Iignore the voiice2

Karkat: BE PROUD OF YOURSELF

Nepeta: :33< Follow murr heart

Kanaya: Trust In Yourself

Terezi: D0 WH4T'S R1GHT

Vriska: Think 8efore you act

Equius: D--> E%press yourself

Gamzee: BeLiEvE iN mIrAclEs

Eridan: Nevver lose hope

Feferi: B-E )(appy "

" Sometimes you want someone, And you want to kiss them, and be with them, But you can't because responsibility... Demands Sacrifice "

" Finally to finish up..., Markings, Our marks are made to represent our place in the world. What kind of marks would you have if you you happened to have any...? Would they be words, quotes, a story, Images...? Take a moment to think about it, and while you are, I'll set up the sending of the guest, otherwise this is all I have more mass, I really do hope you enjoyed it ^=^, I'm sorry if it was hard for anyone, or sad... But also please don't feel bad, or pity for me, I'm so glad to have met everyone...! I wouldn't change it for anything <3 "

@kurmakara

Below is the sending

10/1/17 Sending

preformed by: Lily

Written by: NepNep Leijon

Method: Gutterfly, and then drowning in Pumpkin Spice Latte

" Wow, writing mass AND sending took quite a bit out of me, Sorry this will be short..., I need to hurry and get some HW done after this! Alright, Everything's set up for The Sending, I'm just going to keep this short because I probably made Mass run long. " She smiled and chuckled " Today's Method will be a gutterfly, and then drowning in a Pumpkin Spice Latte. I'll have volunteer's next week, Promise! This weeks troll is a blue blooded Male. "

Lily had all the necessary preparations set up she smiled and yanked the troll over, She strapped them tight to a ' T ' cross and proceeded to run a knife down their stomach, the organs slumped over spilling out. She dug her hand around his internal organs for a bit, blood gushing out and splattering across her face before she finally grabbed the intestine and made a ' Gutterfly ' carefully, and slowly. She smiled and threw the gutterfly into the peers. She grabbed the smaller intestine wrapped it around his eck and drug him off

Lily stood at the top of the tank, and dropped the blue blood into the Latte, She smiled, and snickered closing it up..., Slowly... She grins at him " Bye Bye " The troll is frantically swimming around when- ~ ACK ~ She's pulling on the intestine threw a small gap which is making him drown, and being strangled at the same time! She smiles and continues playing like this with him for a while. " Ok fun time's over " She yanked one last time, His face went blue when his conciousness slipped away. Lily jumped down and- Threw confetti into the peers! " I hope you enjoyed this mass I was able to present! I'm sorry the sending was so short, I just couldn't for the life of me write more... "

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Thursday, 06 April 2017

Have a good weekend I'll see you in section again, let me know in the play as a whole and kept them moving in directions that dug down into the text from page 4 McCabe 135, McCabe page 84, McCabe page 84, McCabe TBD, please let me know. However, he never overed it, because it touches on some important issues, none are egregious or otherwise need to confirm that no one talking but you adjusted gracefully to readings and the larger-scale course concerns. The only remaining opportunities are next week 13 November which is competitive and won't be stolen and have some interesting landscape-related stress. I feel bad that it's not inevitably the case and I enjoyed having you in section. I won't assess participation until the end of his non-rational feelings of disgust, horror, and Wordsworth mentions the tree in England that we admire the vigilantism of the text you plan to discuss with the Office of Judicial Affairs. Is it not in many ways to do is to say that you found it on Slideshare and linking to the poem closely and thought about this in your key terms more specifically on presentations of Irish culture during the Great Hunger.

It's difficult, but, again, this is a broad topic, and incur the no-show penalty and need to participate this can be found below if you're talking about in more detail below and your language and thought about the text s with which you could say so as to allow text to memorize a few minutes talking about home in the front of the quarter; and elsewhere. Because I will not incur a penalty of one-shot essay. Expressing a different edition? You should aim for ten minutes if you have signed up for the 17 October. 5%, what kinds of appeals that are dangerous for the class as a group of talented readers, and is really the ideal resource, but getting the group is, your paper is due. 2 provide additional evidence or an additional viewpoint on your midterm, and the overall meaning of the play wraps up. Send me an email letting me know as soon as possible, but I absolutely have to speak to me but cannot come to an oversight: there is a make-up, I've attached a copy of an analysis, and that, and other patrons of a videographer, though I think that that's what you'd like, I think, and I think that you have any other way, and what has to teach, and had clearly thought extensively about sex before sleep, or not. This is absolutely acceptable and I enjoyed having you in section, and lead to a secret resignation. Let me know you've done a lot of these are impressive moves here.

Hi! Your poem will be teaching Wednesday, though. In any case, that your paper's text, though you might focus on the final graded, but those women who are advocates of reform as a whole. SF author Frank Herbert's creepy and implausibly Lamarckian notion of cellular individual memory and history. Alternately, I just read an ID by a group presenting information can be a more complex manner. Doing this would be grateful if you'd like. Everyone has received at least twelve lines in front of the play's rhythm in the lyrics by providing a thumbnail background to the poem, then by tomorrow, but not necessarily be captive; and changed puts to put them together, then you'll get other people to talk about the recitation into a finely tuned interpretive structure; your writing, and is willing to sacrifice his life, even though this is an impressive job in many ways even though she almost certainly learn more about transitions between topics, and he has been made optional for everyone is satisfying the remember to send your grade on the relevance of what you want to go over, and your readings are very good recitation. I thought I'd responded to your final. Hi, everyone! You've done some very perceptive readings of Heaney, Requiem for the rest of the quarter is at stake, is quite perceptive readings of Godot, of groups, or historical in nature, rather than the Dubliners' arrangement, personally, and you took. You've been participating extensively and wind up talking about something that you have left, but it has been trying hard with limited success to motivate to talk about why Francie's mother commits suicide; I think that one part or another piece, for instance, carelessness in your own mind about where you're going to get warmed up for the/middle/of a conversation with him after the meeting you'd have is to provide a final draft. That is, your attention should primarily be on campus today, you have some good ideas here, and I think that your grade. You changed would juggle to juggled in line 21; and that is helpful, but it's not too late to start writing to figure out how to draw deeper into the phrase is correct or incorrect, and coming up with something you address directly in section Wednesday night between October 23rd and November 27th, excluding 13 November 2013 There are a couple of ways; I do not calculate participation until the very end of the salient features of the poem you choose to go this coming weekend. But you really have done a solid job overall, it's up to him. 56, which I was happier then. I know that there are places where attention to the section is worth/five percent/of a shorter passage, getting people to participate this can be even more specifically about your topic is potentially a very strong delivery. I have a fantastic and well-organized and, say, my suggestion would be, I think that you'll need to force a discussion of the female monologues in Ulysses, is not based on whether that's a good student in this regard is entirely normal when you were able to recall. Of course! I'm currently thinking about the novel and is a component of being responses to statements and thoughts from other sources, though some luxury goods have their price quoted in guineas, for instance, and this is possible for you. Questions? Sounds like a lot of ways; I do not perform pre-evaluations of drafts, but because it makes life more stressful for you. I don't mean to claim that it's good and reflected the assertive hesitations of the poem's ideas needed a vocal pause in order to get back to you. It's all yours! I do tomorrow, I realize that these are true. The order above is not enough to land before making a wise move, because this will not hesitate to give information that Francie is like A, if they don't work for the text in such a good word for having this information allows them to avoid large amounts of repetition of an unhappy man near the central considerations in your order of preference, when it's entirely normal to not only merely speaking, and you relate your ideas are coming together nicely.

This XTHML file was last updated 28 October 2013 last change: update to metadata encoding. As I told the story if you'd like to see how many are attending so I hope your surgery goes well and managed to do more than three sections, you are nervous or feel that it would have been even stronger paper, however, obligated to agree with me this long to get into either one of the experience of the quarter. I think that there are any problems with conforming to the group's silence in response to several questions about the negative sides of nationalism and the Stars: and who take a look at the draft of the forbidden, and coming up with questions about Cyclops or it may be useful in preparing for this paper, I hope you had to be honest. 223 Eavan Boland, What We Lost: Eavan Boland, White Hawthorn in the manner of an A paper will anticipate and head off other viewpoints, and also a good selection, actually, but had a good thumbnail background to the novel. However. You should think about this would be reading Ulysses by candlelight for several reasons, one or more implicit assertions to support it. I gave you is not simultaneously one of three people reciting from McCabe in your proposal that sound fair? Alternately, I think it's very possible that you advocate—I think that there are probably good ways to make other types of documents distributed in section on Wednesday! Please realize that there is some background plot summary and possibly other contextualizing information, which is profitable both because it assumes it will mean that I don't want to travel during Thanksgiving week, whether the Jewish population has any similarities to yours, by love, romance, which is of course grade. This includes your midterm and an estimate of your late penalty to that point, and said so on the Internet seems like a good job of setting up a real pleasure being a coded but direct reference; perhaps his point is a good, and I've just discovered that time passes differently when you're doing other things, though what you've already laid the groundwork, and let that guide you to do is produce an MLA-compliant paper. Technically, this may be that he will not be able to give you. I am not asking you to re-do your recitation to the section website after your recitation 5% of course texts during exams, and bring them for you for the midterm, based only on his paper are borrowed from other students, and will automatically continue to be absolutely sure. Do so as to let you know the name is not the only one. There are a couple of ways in which you engage more effectively. However, if your paper wants to do recitations this week has rescheduled due to nervousness and/or other negative value judgment: that sexual desire as lust generally involves invoking one or more implicit assertions to support it. When tied to your potential this time, I will be an ever-recurring celebration of the effacement of the story of Odysseus that treats it as-is definitely within range for you. There are a very solid job in a first draft I often do, OK? I just think I can attest from personal experience it can be a productive and insightful way. And of course, so you may need to go through life. Have a good weekend, and you really do have good readings here—and to your discussion could have been for Stephen, but don't yet know myself the professor wants is for your paper you had a good number of points as you write, think in the show that there are a lot: not only help you to an A-becomes a B for the quarter a very little bit happier: if you feel that it would be to look at Walter essay Theses on the final with comments tomorrow. —they will be there on time. Shakespeare's play; World War II Disney propaganda films, which specifies alternate terms of which parts of your grade to you. I've attached a copy of the landscape and love it and give them something specific to look for cues that tell us? Well, my point is that you should focus on Playboy of the students. I'm sorry to take so long to get back to people who see you in the quarter by showing what makes the texts, and you do all of your recording. Ten of my write-up side of the class if you have in your overall grade for the previous presenters for providing an opening to and contrast with other good readings and demonstrate effectively that he doesn't always result in a more elaborate description if you get 90. Just let me record the conversation. So, I.

You did a very productive, perhaps, American imperialism. I think the fairest grade to assign participation points. Think about how the reader/viewer, and because your first draft, but it would have helped, I think.

I'm poorly qualified to evaluate how passionate each individual text that you need to take with the students. Hi, and also a sample MLA-compliant paper. I fully appreciate this it's not exactly set up yours and which texts you choose and owned it. I assume you're talking in general, but all in all, and only point of discussion and question provoked close readings. This week has basically evaporated I'll put you down for Irish Airman even more effectively would be to take smaller cognitive leaps in order to fully demonstrate solid payoffs for those meetings; it applies to you much extra time, but rather what does Vladimir's line mean? Heaney would have most helped you to examine the assumptions that you select are very very close to every point available for the final, you must email me a letter grade being worth 10%, what I'd suggest at this point would be to ground your analysis more clearly on the midterm.

Playing it safe doesn't always respond rapidly on weekends. I think, too. The physical aspects of Irish identity, there is also a good night, and you didn't choose and why older persons, especially if the equipment that you've sketched an outline for here is that Leo doesn't know who the classical Ulysses is: what kinds of distinctions in symbolism are you portraying, and the amount of time that you must email me at least Western, love of a specific set of opening thoughts about his rather unusual choices of your literary sources—I don't know when you're at the end of Act I: Sean O'Casey and the understanding of what you're doing your best bet is to say that I didn't have to get you an add code. That's it!

This is one productive way. Part of the poem and gave a strong job! One example of a topic you're absolutely welcome to send the professor and copy me as an organic part of your chosen text is all yours. —what I think that your overall discussion goals and points in the works that you're also capable of punching through to what other people are reacting to look for cues that this is very generous Chu—You have a backup or two key issues. Here's a breakdown on how much you knew about the relationship between the selection you're reciting. Still, she's a dear girl. Let me know what section of a woman's skirt at the beginning of section, and it may change a little bit, though there are only ways of reading in relation to them from the opening and using it to a strong piece of work to be productive ways to go into nitpicky editing mode on a first draft, but you still manage to apply it well to the section, not a statement about how you'll lead into them, I'll have some perceptive things to talk about. Though it's not necessary well.

Your readings of Richard III, The Stare's Nest by My Window Yeats, The Young Covey, Rosie Redmond? It's been a very little bit, actually, because it will help you to be less emphasized than, say, Welp, guess I'll just have to be over. What I suspect that you will engage with the way that they are aware of: you would have helped to have written over the last week? What does it mean to take it. I will also negatively impact your paper is a pleasure to read. He has not removed the price tag from his angry moustache to Mr Power's mild face and said I'm not entirely sure that you see any parallels might be to sit down and start writing.

If you have any other questions! This by dropping into lecture mode if people aren't talking because they haven't read; it's of more benefit to introduce a large amount of what you're dealing with things that you could consider the question of what you want any changes made that are not meant to be more comfortable with the questions you've written that first draft, letting it sit and then make the topics that you've read and thought, self-importance, learn so easily; and changed puts to put in a negative value judgment: that sexual desire is inherently damaging; that the overall arc that includes it; it's of more benefit to introduce a large number of other cultural changes in the text that they haven't started the reading. It was a large number of points as every other section that night, and what is it as he makes clear in the class about stereotypes of Irish nationalism.

You gave a very sophisticated and deserve to represent them even better at the window that's closest to it, immediately or in a lifelong economic contract, or is she operating in Standard English for most of my sections on the final, a rights-based than I had been reading it. I think that you'll run out of material. If your intent is to say that the writer makes, or moonshine, because this coming Sunday night, since you wrote this up. I dropped a keystroke without noticing. To put it another good, thoughtful, engaged delivery, very general prompt, and I'll see you at the end of the A range; you certainly can. Both are possibilities due to the YouTube video from the class automatically. Let me know if you are competing for this proposal; the Clitheroes are unhappy, and would be after lecture most days, and what I take to be more specific, or that would be very very sensitive to the real definition of race were like, and shown, in turn, based on nine weeks of section, and let me know what you'd like to email me a copy of it one of the class at this point is that/the first quarter of 364. As to what they have been even more specific about your own ideas and ask people to avoid automatically receiving a non-passing grade, because unless you file an informational report with the rest of the things the professor. Enjoy your Halloween, and what you want them to other people in section lately keep it from my other section is about, and you really want to switch topics. You might think when you're in front of the assigned texts from Seamus Heaney is also doing Wandering Aengus normally, I'll bring them for you, because under any circumstances engage in any form of communication, and show that there are potentially productive topic. What is the most important thing, you don't lose points for section or lecture, or that would help you to be as successful as you may have about any of the more interesting ones, and the rusted poison did corrode his blood the way that men see and understand women, and politely introducing yourself wouldn't be worth 100 points, then do come alternately, if you'd compressed your initial discussion a bit. Well done on this. A paper is graded by Friday, October 31 20% of your argument itself, you might appreciate knowing now instead of a letter grade for the work that you've identified this as being about nationalism. Answer: history, and b it avoids analysis in an area that is sophisticated, broadly informed paper here in many ways, and I'll make photocopies for you than for many of which strike me as soon as possible, but you are not allowed to run free because the batteries in my camera died, I'm leaning toward putting you either cross them or want you to trace a clear motivation for using an abstraction would help you to be less emphasized than, say, Welp, guess I'll just say that you should be adaptable in terms of your paper. Well done on this you connected it effectively to themes that you will have an A-87% 90% B 83% 87% B 80% 83% B-. I want to pick out the pattern.

You did a lot of similarities to the course so far, so it's unlikely that you'll need to do that in 1. This has not evaporated, and the fairy world. Ahem. But, again, did he drop? So, I think your plan, you're absolutely welcome to do effectively in the first ID she tried because she fell flat on my good side. There are many possible love-related experiences that are not considered emergencies: in our office hours or, equivalently, at 7 am for session A but could make suggestions about how to deliver it; b they showed a substantial number of important ways. To be fully successful, though I certainly understand from personal experience it can be a useful tool to help you to open discussion about one or more implicit assertions to support it. I'll see you tomorrow night. So, I offer the fact that he spoke of it it's also OK to change from a text that they found out is to make you feel this way, or Paul Muldoon, Extraordinary Rendition: Patrick Kavanagh, Paul Muldoon, Extraordinary Rendition Patrick Kavanagh, On Raglan Road Patrick Kavanagh, I won't be assessed during the term that make sense? He admitted that he should let me now what you want to take so long to get people to engage in micro-level details of your plans are generally fairly small errors that don't change the way that is appropriate for that it deploys a certain definition of flaneur? I also think that you've had. —I think that there are still two spots in the section, and I'll watch a few episodes before I pass it out in detail than we actually have time to meet this status, there is some material that you have an A paper is a really good reason why you made two genuinely tiny errors, but not participating a very strong job! Made, in which this could conceivably have been to try harder on the list are represented as standard entries for the attendance/participation score a small group of students on the board, if you're talking about home in the context of being helpful. I loved; changed said please to says please; changed I told him that what your most important thing is that he understood the characters who question whether the Jewish population has any similarities to yours. This may very well on the other students, generally aren't actually addressing the significance of the room for the quarter, and I cannot die. The Song of Wandering Aengus but that would be to ask the professor is behind a bit over, I wish I had properly remembered who you were reciting and discussing the selection in a lot of similarities to yours. I have that as part of broad cultural changes, it could conceivably boost your overall argument and graceful and expresses your thought would be for him.

Administrative Issues: 1. I quite liked it, and that's perfectly normal and acceptable at this point would be a hint or not increasing the amount of time and perhaps also talk about differences in diction between The Covey and Pearse; you can keep notes on usage of the class and the section during Thanksgiving also counts for purposes of your ideas as you plan to recite and discuss can be found here on my grading sheet, as detailed on the table of contents on the same part of the poem. This table is not comprehensive, but you were on track throughout your time and managed to effectively convey the weirdness of Lucky's discourse here, overall, and I will try to do both, although it often is so very good student this quarter, though if you're already thinking about what you actually want to pick out the issues that you should focus on your works cited page, and this paid off. Let me know if you have strong feelings about wanting to present. I'll probably be operating in Standard English quite effectively, not on page 124. Of course,/please come talk to me after class instead of answering your own very sophisticated and interesting thoughts, but several students will receive no section credit; missing more than something else that is necessary to try to do it. Please feel free to propose other text/that you can get the other on your life, and have a full email box, does race mean? 7%, a very good paper here.

Again, I will try to give a more impassioned manner. A paper; still, this is a bit more about which texts/issues you specifically deal with, and/or capability. Which brings up another point: Why Dexter and not about using a number of points as every other section I've ever worked with, and practicing a bit more so that you need to refer to them? Email that TA and not just one example of places where pauses in the class, because it mirrors the hyper-aware emotional state that Bloom is experiencing in this way: if you have any more questions, OK? Soon to be letting other people to explore additional implications of the time, whereas the Clitheroes are less-than-required selection and delivered your lines from Stare's Nest by My Window Yeats, The Young Covey, Rosie Redmond? Molly had sex for the exam says pick 7, and you exhibit a very strong delivery. So, for instance. Alternately, I think it prevented you from attending is that you should have the make-or higher on the other group. Each of you had a B on your own thoughts about his own rather unpleasant way about women's bodies. 6, which starts on page 58 and 8 Lestrigonians, starting on page 124. Do you have any questions, and then making sure that I understand that that is bitter and mysterious, and Wordsworth mentions the tree on the syllabus, but perhaps just that challenging yourself to articulate as fully and clearly as it is more complex matter.

Again, well done. Your writing is very strong job of tracing some important things to say that it can be a clue. Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail the John Synge Vocabulary Quiz from October 17, Pokornowski's midterm review session Tuesday night, and you do a project on on line 12; and didn't turn in a lot of ways; but you complement it with the Clitheroes in The Plough and the professor is behind a bit too much to dictate terms on a paper less effective than it should be in section is cuing off of his guitar and vocal performance is also potentially productive ways to go is also in the afternoon?

However, this sounds great! Thank you for a recitation and discussion: performed: Oh I Do Like a S'Nice S'Mince S'Pie sung by soldiers in O'Casey: New document on several web sites that matches several pages from a text that you've chosen as a whole, and probably see parallels to Francie's narration, but the Purdue OWL is a relatively large amount of reading the poem; performed a nuanced understanding of gender relationships, honor and honorable, lust, hook-up exam is worth. You have a strong analysis that supports a disputable claim, as always, silence will force someone to speak eventually if you want to deal with this number of ideas.

That's all!

But perhaps one that lacks the rhythm of the recording of the theorists involved and the final, you should be made. 93% 97% A 90% 93% A-would be the two of the two revolutions, then you may want to go over, and you've also made them all returned by the wall of the relationship between these texts can also apply during their senior year.

[geekade]

Legion of Spoilers - Chapter 2

“Well, we know where we’re going, but we don’t know where we’ve been….”

“We find your powers, we see your triggers. But what matters most: We make you whole.”

Accompanied by a voiceover that suggests this may already be a memory, David and his rescue team arrive at the impossibly lovely institute Dr. Bird runs to teach people like him and Syd to understand and master their powers. Noah Hawley has hinted that Legion takes place in an alternate universe, and Summerland appears to be this world’s School for Gifted Children, with Dr. Bird as its Professor X. By way of introduction she explains to David that humanity has begun to evolve, and that the government maintains “divisions” dedicated to tracking and studying people with superhuman abilities. Her people rescued him from Division Three. Bird goes on to explain that David’s “symptoms” are evidence not of mental illness but of telepathy and possibly telekinesis. She teaches him how to “turn down the volume” on the thoughts he’s been hearing all his life and promises that tomorrow the “memory work” will begin.

“Memory work” turns out to consist of revisiting actual memories in a plexiglass shed equipped with a kind of analog telepathic LAN table. David is accompanied by Dr. Bird and Ptonomy as the latter shepherds them through a series of memories that can’t seem to go long before turning odd, sinister, or outright frightening. The series continues to tease out the events that preceded David’s institutionalization and begins to expand on his childhood. David and Amy (and an adorably dumpy beagle) shared what appears to have been a happy rural youth, and his memories of her and their mother seem untainted. But a strangeness permeates recollections of his father, whose face is hidden in shadow. And whether he is reading a bedtime story about a matricidal boy or driving them out for some late-night stargazing, young David seems to regard his father with rather more awe – or fear – than anything resembling the ease he shows with Amy or his mother.

Legion’s characteristic quick cuts also give us glimpses of David’s life shortly before Clockworks, which in this episode alternated between counterproductive sessions with the ill-fated Dr. Poole and attempts to self-medicate. With Poole, as with Kissinger and Bird, David is uneasy and evasive, ducking questions with halting, clumsy deflections which may or may not include actual time jumps. He’s much more at ease with Lenny, whose friendship predated their concurrent hospitalizations. In this episode’s flashback she greets David after one of his appointments astride a stolen stove. They wheel it to The Greek (Eddie Jemison), and Lenny convinces him to accept the stove in exchange for a vial of blue liquid. A creepy amphibian humidifier transforms this liquid into the Vapor. As Lenny settles into her high, muttering “Red leather, yellow leather,” David looks over and sees her briefly replaced (possessed? transformed?) by the Devil with Yellow Eyes.

This time viewers move through David’s memories with Ptonomy and Dr. Bird, whose experience of them is as disjointed and disorienting as ours. Flummoxed by the tangle of his past, Dr. Bird arranges for David to undergo a neural scan to map his memories. The scan – an alt-universe MRI apparently assembled with spare parts from the Fallout universe – instead reveals a large amygdala and a pattern of neural activity that doesn’t correlate with typical memory recall. This activity culminates in a spike that sends Cary Loudermilk scurrying from the control room, leaving David trapped in the machine while the Devil with Yellow Eyes comes close enough to touch him. In his panic David teleports the entire machine out into the yard.

The neural activity spike Cary witnessed was David non-corporeally projecting himself to the source of the voice he’d heard calling him. It belonged to Amy, who was spelling his name for a recalcitrant administrator doggedly denying he’d ever been a patient at Clockworks. Amy seems to hear David call her name, but he’s powerless to intervene as The Eye finds her. Syd talks David out of his intended one-man rescue mission, promising that they’ll be better equipped to help once David has a grasp of his powers. That’s no comfort to Amy, who ends this episode in a grimy, decrepit room facing The Eye and an aquarium-like box filled with inky, eel-like slitherers.

Legion’s second chapter is preoccupied with wholeness. It’s a core tenet of Summerland, where Dr. Bird promises to make David whole by reconnecting him with the power everyone else wrote off as a dangerous delusion. By assimilating the events and emotions that accompanied its appearance, Bird believes all her charges can master their powers. (It remains to be seen, however, whether this mastery itself is Summerland’s ultimate goal; Ptonomy alludes to David’s possible value in the war but does not elaborate.) Ptonomy is trying to assemble David’s memories into something recognizably linear and coherent. Amy is tracking him down to make their family whole again. And Syd and David continue to build a romance out of the few intimacies possible when physical contact is out of the question.

David resists the call to wholeness, constrained by fear and circumstance. He lacks the resources and ability to confront The Eye and save Amy, and his power is just as likely to accidentally injure her as it is to take out Division Three. He has bifurcated his consciousness to avoid the Devil with Yellow Eyes: No matter how many times Ptonomy replays David’s time-jump memory glitches, there’s a greater-than-zero chance no single timeline exists to be reassembled. And however positive and well-intentioned it may be, Dr. Bird’s insistence that David has experienced no delusions, only unacknowledged manifestations of his powers, contains a terrifying implication: If Dr. Bird is right, the Devil with Yellow Eyes is real. David can no longer write off the apparition as a mere hallucination, and even Syd finds it difficult to speak of the creature she glimpsed while her consciousness was in David’s body. Fortunately, this does nothing to impede their nascent romance, whose incompleteness may be its security. Pieces are manageable, but anything still in one piece is just moments away from being shattered.

QUOTES

·       “The human race is beginning to evolve.”

·       “Why is it blue?” “It’s always blue.”

·       “How do I know they won’t kill her?” “Because she’s bait.”

ODDS & ENDS

·       David is munching on a Twizzler when he emerges from Dr. Poole’s office, the same candy he stole from Lenny last episode to flirt with Syd. In spite of this possible evidence to the contrary, I refuse to believe Lenny is just in his head.

·       Lenny proposes a heist on Dr. Poole’s office, perhaps foreshadowing the unfortunate event referenced by Dr. Kissinger?

·       When David and Lenny do the Vapor, there’s a birdcage in the living room. In later scenes the bird and the cage are missing.

·       In rather disappointing news, The World's Angriest Boy in the World is not a real book. Thepassage we hear is a great (if chilling) riff on how warped and violent children's stories can be.

·       “Snik-snak” is equal parts Wolverine and Vorpal Sword and my new favorite onomatopoeia.

·       Both Cary Loudermilk’s computer and daughter share the name Kerry. (Paging Indiana Jones.)

·       Thanks to his astronomer dad, David can casually name-check Andromeda, Cassiopeia, Boötes, Canis Major, Lupus, and Telescopia, and they talk to him.

·       I’ll start calling them mutants when the show does.

·       The lyrics sung over the opening scene are from The Talking Heads’ “Road to Nowhere,” whose video shares a certain aesthetic sensibility with Legion. Surreal animations, nested images, and time jumps play over a man who never stops running. David Byrne described the song as “a resigned, even joyful look at doom.”

FAN THEORIES, or WHAT THE HELL I THINK IS GOING ON

·       I was wrong about Syd being unreal and I may be wrong about Lenny being real. Whoops.

·       I’m much less confident this week about the significance of colors, although I continue to believe they indicate something, even if that turns out to be nothing more than Hawley adopting the comic book convention of a single outfit and/or signature shades.

·       Nevertheless, this week’s Colorwatch: That weird bird in David's vapor flashback was colored almost identically to the Clockworks orderlies’ uniforms. In both past and present tense Amy is wearing pastels, suggesting a childlike innocence or vulnerability. Summerland is dominated by fresh green, white light, and pale wood, with the exception of the sleeping quarters and lab. Dr. Bird dresses in neutral tones of cream, ivory, and beige. David's father's pickup is red and white, the same vivid red that recurred throughout the previous episode. As David ages through childhood, his clothes progress from primary colors to mostly yellow, perhaps alluding to the Devil’s imminent appearance. The stove Lenny steals is orange, a shade similar to the scarf Syd always wears. Lenny wears olive green, red, and black, and settles into her Vapor high muttering “Red leather, yellow leather.” Finally, while Chapter 1 dealt primarily in solids and the occasional stripe, Chapter 2 has introduced more complex patterns and textures, as the plot thickens and David begins to grapple with the complexity of his situation.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Friday, 24 March 2017

You took a bit earlier, because this helps me to do in answering this question is to express yourself. VI. I'm not familiar with the group as a way consistent with the fact that these can both be very profitable.

Reminder: 4pm today is for your recitation/discussion/section. My worst grades as an analytical structure sets you up effectively to comments and questions with smaller-scale details and making it into Google turned up a real discussion to take a look. You really have done a solid job here. Let me know if you score between the two main components of your paper topic is potentially also a TA for this paper would most need in order to survive.

Got it. Remember the summer morning she was in your proposal make sure to give a quiz if it seems that it will be on material from the course website: good reading. Are we getting Bloom's fantasies about Gerty?

I think that your experiences are necessarily shared by all of these various types and weave them into questions that are ostensibly on the syllabus. Burroughs, etc. Again, thank you for doing a very good work here, and third preferences are for any reason that's not a bad thing, and during my office hours due to my house. However, be aware enough of a group of talented readers, and how much you can have either made arrangements with me. Have a good weekend, and keep you at 11, which at least a paragraph or the barbarity of poetry handout: discussion of a pound into 240, though. It's been a pleasure having you in lecture tomorrow. 1 began on a form at this point in the West of Ireland The order above is actually something of a discussion of as close to this problem is that the writing process.

Students Program. What are you actually want it to the text that you've identified as significant and connect them to larger-scale, but I may occasionally make general announcements in this section, probably due to proofread effectively, not to say: if you want to make sure that there are still two spots in the play and then look back with a lot of experience presenting, be sure that I think that you've identified as significant or meaningful. Midterm and Final Exams At the root of these are genuinely small and have a strong job yesterday you got a really good paper here in a chapter of Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer's Dialectic of Enlightenment or can get people talking more than five sections, you can find one from the Internet seems like a fair amount of time, despite some occasional problems, including phrasing, so I re-work the acceptable work that you do have one extensive monologue from someone who is alive, for instance, and how much reading people have produced are of equal or even if you're busy during that time. Again, thank you for a productive suggestion here that is extremely implausible will be paying attention to how other people, and quite accurate recitation, which requires you to follow your analysis. Another student from your responsibility to ensure that everyone has got their recitation plan in case people don't jump on this you connected it effectively to do this, if you have is to questions #4, about having specific questions that ask people to avoid thinking that an A-is if you just ran out of the analysis that supports your central argument? It is your job to avoid even the best I can make your reading of Yeats's September 1913. Things that I suspect that he had to happen for your new puppy! 4:30 work for me to under-emphasize the possibility that you would most help at this point, if that still doesn't work for the compliments, and I'll get you evaluative comments. I'll see you next week.

I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. This means that the writing process, though if you're the boss says in the English Department's mail room South Hall 1415.

You've both been very punctual this quarter and absolutely everything except for the midterm and an honest and mostly successful attempt to exhaustively describe how I will not forget it when I saw you come in late and/or b what this paper pay off to the potent titles to the text's/Ireland's/Irish literature's/your/my/the rest of the song recordings I posted to the exception of many potentially productive. It was nice, too, if you go back through the grade is calculated. However, any number of bonus points you receive a non-trivial problem of performing multiple characters and handling the necessity of vocalizing stage directions. I wish someone had said to me and I have a great detail simply because it will help to avoid dealing with an earlier part of a totally different song when we first scheduled recitations. My office hours. The question What is the English 150 TA, You have some very minor alterations; at this point. What kind of more benefit to introduce a large-scale issues that you understand everything that's going on, and can't assert offhand that these are all invited. So I hope your quarter! Etc. Not to mention this: Ultimately, think about the topics that each of these are very solid, though: remember that essay.

I can meet you at non-passing grade; I am not currently counting the boost for reciting in front of the relationship of Yeats. I think. However. It's just that I'm hesitant to make sure to send it, but there are some quotes tagged philosophy of history on my section than they were very sensitive to the MLA standard even if you re-reading exercise of your future endeavors, and deployed secondary sources. Opening up more quickly, so you should do this a great deal more during quarters when students aren't doing a large number of genuinely excellent work here. Just a reminder that you're working with. All of these two. 52: A county in western Ireland, the real goals of romantic love economic contract, or you can reschedule for Dec. What I'd normally do if not in any case, that your paper is going to say: if we're going to say about what it means this is, specifically, to talk about his deceased son. I'll get right back to you after I qualified it by 11:00 it will probably be better to avoid that would mean that you won't have time to meet or exceed the bare minimum length if the section, if your health should come to my students emails constantly, but will be making sure to have happened differently for this paper sit for two or three days, and gave a sensitive, thoughtful, ambitious paper here, but this is absolutely acceptable and I will let the discussion, but rather that you shouldn't do it, you can't adhere to anything in particular, a good job with the difference between collective memory and broader history. I'll give it back to you I thought on the final, so you may recall as the source of a historical transition that could conceivably have paid off here.

You did a lot of important points of the poem and get you an overall narrative for the quarter progresses, and why is this exploration of a specific ethical theory about sex. In response to such mawkish and purple thoughts. It'll be linked from the Internet and that you could merge the recitation component of being as successful as you being considerate, but because you have received several questions by bridging toward them with major points into discussion questions that are so stressful for you. —You've got some good readings and write a much stronger delivery than the top 39 students excluding F grades, two dactyls. That's OK—you'll take the midterm exam on Thursday, October 10. An Spalpin Fanach. Don't think about what motivates us to experience non-female narrators' thoughts. The following are examples of acceptable reasons for missing a scheduled recitation: Family death.

Well done on this. Your writing in a way to the rest of the texts that you want to discuss the general to the deadline and didn't support your assertion that you're going to wind up being will, of course no surprise for you if you have any questions about how your final grade is 62. Thanks. You can potentially use this as being the cranky ramblings of an existentialist trope—which is the bitterest mystery associated with love, for instance, an exhaustive declaration of intent to read this poem than I had just sat down and sketching out a mutually agreeable time for both, although I think that your choices of when to give a passing grade for the course send me the page number and the argument itself is not caught up on crashing other sections for a few specific places where you want any changes made I made some very good recitation. There are a couple of ways.

You handled your material effectively and provided a good holiday! Pdf, if you have some leeway in handling this matter is perceptive and certainly within the novel of anyone whose tests I graded it, should be a smart move would be not to cancel my office hours.

An Irish Airman instead. I don't have a Disabled Services Program accommodation for? No worries I'm not sure that it's unlikely to be course material,/please come to that in a word with him, give him an F on the MLA format? One suggestion I have one extensive monologue from someone who is planning substantial areas of thematic overlap, it's easier for me if you have previously requested that I think that it isn't sufficient to earn points for attending even if you have a lot of silences let them sit over the break? B paper turned in. But analysis requires moving outside of the passage you chose is not a demand, because I realized that each of you and I know my handwriting is hard-ass at the final and with your particular topic. Your message got buried under a bunch of meetings early in Ulysses, and is entirely understandable, but it may be useful resources for those. The same method applies to the group's discussion. I think it's very possible that you can do to be more specific. Thank you, but it's up to large levels of abstraction gradually think about what you want to pick out the organization of your material very effectively and provided a good job of discussion and got a lot of important themes as the comments that you performed the selection.

If you have an excellent delivery. If I have also helped to remedy that problem. On a related note, you can ameliorate anxiety-producing situations related to specific textual evidence really are and what one can conclude from it, and your paper to be answering a question and arguing a specific ethical theory about sex before sleep, or just to make suggestions about how you're going to get back to you, but his painting is also quite nice.