#Its over. Go home. Go. Also Pancakes. that's very important to the quote too
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The catalyst(s)
#double life smp#double life spoilers#jimmy solidarity#tangotek#Its over. Go home. Go. Also Pancakes. that's very important to the quote too#I headcannon they just stuck random rocks into the ground as Jimmy and Tango's headstones because its a death game they don't have time#Jimmy gets the smaller one and Tango's has a bit of coal in it. I based their outfits off Hadestown cause#Hey little songbird and When the chips are down are very Jimmy and Tango songs to me. Also very fitting with the whole death stuff#my art
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Rick Sanchez Showing Signs of ASD for 30 Images
(Re-posting this from a previous reblog I posted in. For organisational purposes.)
(Using some notes from CDC.gov and NHS.uk)
“People with [autism spectrum disorder (ASD)] often have problems with social communication and interaction, and restricted or repetitive behaviors or interests. People with ASD may also have different ways of learning, moving, or paying attention. It is important to note that some people without ASD might also have some of these symptoms.” - Signs and Symptoms of Autism Spectrum Disorder, CDC.gov
Similar to the above quote, some of the below examples can be explained through Doylist (meta) explanations (for example, Rick usually wears the same clothes because that's a common trope in animation, due to asset limitations and marketing/merchandise reasons).
With that in mind:
Bad sensory, overstimulation: Rick preferring to eat just noodles (possibly due to texture/taste aversion), instead of having what everyone else in the family is having.
Getting very upset if someone touches or gets too close: Rick pushing Morty away when Morty runs up to hug him.
Stimming (repetitive performance of certain physical movements or vocalisations) by moving his fists in a celebratory shaking motion in multiple episodes.
Gets upset by minor changes. Rick getting mad at Morty for changing the position of his car seat, refusing to leave a dangerous situation until it's re-adjusted.
Rick: "Wait, did you f**k with my seat settings?!"
Having the same routine every day and getting very anxious if it changes: Rick being upset that Morty is busy and can't go on an adventure with him (like in a typical episode).
Gastrointestinal issues (for example, constipation). An episode focuses on Rick needing to go to a custom planet (that felt safe and secluded) to use the toilet and feeling great distress upon learning that someone else found the planet.
Has a safe food that is seeked out for comfort. Rick likes wafers. He's seen getting them from the kitchen in multiple episodes, Beth makes sure the house is stocked with them, and the Citadel of Ricks even has its own factory to produce them.
Referencing good sensory: Rick talking in detail about pancakes covered in syrup, not wanting the pancakes to go bad.
Rick: "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got pancakes back home with syrup on top of them. They're about to hit that critical point of syrup absorption that turns the cakes into a gross paste. And I hate to get all Andy Rooney about it, but I think we all like fluffy discs of cake with syrup on top!"
And Rick enjoying pancakes in S1E10 and S4E2:
Has obsessive interests. Rick becoming hyper-focused on giant mecha collecting and Morty reminding him to not go overboard on his new hyperfixation.
Morty: "Sometimes, enough is... ?"
Rick: (Sadly) "Sometimes enough is enough."
Liking to plan things carefully before doing them: Rick keeping various helpful inventions in his lab coat just in case he needs them later (Vindicators episode).
Infodumping (to excitedly share a large amount of information about a highly-focused subject or passion at one time, usually in great detail and length).
Finding it hard to talk about feelings: Rick having hesitation in apologising and explaining his thoughts and feelings to Jerry.
Rick: "If I'm genuinely cool, I should be able to love you. Which I... therefore do."
Avoids or does not keep eye contact: Rick looking away or breaking eye contact with Morty. Image set of Morty calling him out:
Rick breaking eye contact while lying to Morty:
Having a preferred outfit to wear each day (can be cause of sensory issues). Rick wearing the same blue shirt for over 40 years (we see in flashbacks that it was brighter and has faded with time).
Unusual speech patterns, such as stuttering. Rick's stuttering decreases as seasons progress.
Vocal stimming (when someone repeats a specific sound or phrase to produce sensory stimulation). Some autistic children find it easier to make up their own words. Rick repeatedly saying, "wubba lubba dub dub." He will also repeat his own words (echolalia) immediately afterwards.
Delay edecholalia, scripting (when someone "saves" exact phrases and uses them later to make social situations easier). Rick (in The Ricks Must Be Crazy) remembers Morty's comment, "that just sounds like slavery with extra steps" and uses it later to try and win an argument with another scientist.
Not picking up social cues, finding it hard to understand what others are thinking or feeling. Rick making a joke and then realising the other person is in too much distress to laugh with him (has done this with both Morty and Jerry).
Rick: "You're not laughing?" (Expression changes upon realising) "Oh, right. You're dying."
Unconventional grief response, "inappropriate" facial expressions, lack of fear: Rick reacting to burying himself in a less uneasy way than Morty.
"To the point" style of social interaction. Rick often speaks bluntly and is seen as rude by other characters in response.
Rick: "Everyone, f**k off. Morty, I need your help."
Has a terrible memory but can remember ridiculously difficult information if it interests him. Rick forgets his portal gun and leaves it behind, but can remember the formula for various chemical reactions without using a reference (ending of M.Night Shaym-Aliens!).
And finally...
President Curtis referencing Rick's neurodivergency:
Rick's comment:
Rick: "I'm not touching that thing,"
Rick finding a roundabout way to let Morty know that he (Rick) also has ASD:
Rick: "Is this game popular with autistic people?"
Morty: "Why would you say something like that?"
Rick: "Because I'm starting to love it."
Wish I could have added more examples, but 30 images is Tumblr's current post limit.
(I understand that the potential meme joke by OP is that the "NOT YOU" image is of Rick from season 1, versus his markedly changed characterisation in season 5-onwards, that focused more on coding Rick as neurodivergent.)
I hope this has been in some part educational for a few readers. Happy Autism Acceptance Month.
But now for the disclaimer bit: Don't take it from me, learn more about ASD.
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Chapter 12: The Petals on Her Brow
“No.”
“But—”
“No. Close your eyes.”
“This is boring! Do I really have to—”
“Yes.”
“But—"
“Yes. You do. I will not tell you twice.”
— — —
Back in the cabin, Team Regular People had set up camp in the living room.
Only about an hour had passed since breakfast, but in that time, they’d already managed to turn the couches into literary chaos. On the coffee table, stacks of atlases and maps had been supplemented—then supplanted—by the hundreds of pages of chemistry notes that Nott was supposed to be preparing for the summer semester. Jester similarly had strewn all her summer homework onto the carpet. Fjord was half-slouched in an armchair buried nose-deep in a tome titled The United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, looking for all the world like would rather throw himself into the ocean than keep reading.
And as those three languished in the rigors of academia, Caleb, Beau, and Caduceus were sitting at the kitchen table, hunting for Yasha’s mystery flower. So far, they had already eliminated almost everything growing in Eastern Europe, though Caleb had been convinced for a while that the flower was liverwort.
“Its name is ‘Leberblümchen’ in German,” he said. “We used to see it in our garden.”
Beau stared critically at the page, then turned to examine Yasha’s drawing. “Your thing isn’t pointy enough,” she said. “And it doesn’t have enough of those…stringy things in the middle.”
“Liverwort is usually blue, too,” Caduceus said. “Sorry, Mister Caleb.”
He sighed. “It is fine, perhaps we should move farther south.”
Beau pulled over another book and started flipping through the pages. “Do you miss being home?” she asked idly. “I know you haven’t been back there in a while.”
She mentally kicked herself when she noticed Caleb’s smile turn melancholy.
“Oh, fuck, I didn’t mean to remind you—”
He shook his head. “No, no, it is alright, Beauregard. I do miss it, of course. In many parts. Your beer in America is piss poor, for example.”
She immediately rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you say that all the time.”
“It’s a sticking point. Oh, and your trains are very bad—”
“Ugh, I know—”
“—and none of your restaurants know what eggs and soldiers is.”
“No one knows what the hell that is.”
“I don’t,” Caduceus piped up. “What is that?”
“It is a soft egg eaten with little strips of toast. It is the only way to eat toast,” Caleb said wistfully.
“It sounds like you haven’t been back in a while.” Caduceus dipped his head. “It must be difficult, being so far from your family like that.”
“Ah.” Caleb’s expression changed. It was subtle, but the softness in his eyes went still. “That is…I do not have family there, anymore.”
“Oh, I—Caleb, I’m sorry—”
He raised his hand. “It is alright, Caduceus. You did not know. It is not, ah….”
“He doesn’t go around advertising it,” Beau said.
“Well,” Caleb huffed, though not at all angrily, “that is certainly one way to put it. And…yes, to elaborate a little more, since the rest of these people already know, I…some time ago, something happened back home and I decided to leave. It…was not an easy choice, but inevitable, I think, in some ways. And while I do miss Germany, as I said, being here, with my friends, has helped me quite a lot. I am…I find that when I say ‘I’m okay,’ lately, I mean that more and more.”
“You should’ve seen him before,” Beau grinned. “He had such a stick shoved up his ass he could barely smile—though, uh, I guess that’s not surprising since—”
She shut her mouth. She opened it.
“I’m going to go back to staring at flowers now.”
Caleb snorted. He slid another book across the table. “Here, try this one,” he said. “Plants of Italy. If it is not in here, we switch to the Americas.”
She took it. “Thanks. Here’s hoping.”
“Let’s go for another thirty minutes,” Caduceus said. “Don’t forget, it’s important to stretch and take breaks.”
— — —
“Seriously, if you don’t let me, I’ll die.”
“You will not.”
“I will. I swear, I will. I have to take a break. Ten minutes. Five minutes! Sixty seconds, at least, or I drop dead.”
From her perch on the large grey boulder that lay at the edge of the woods behind the cabin, Yasha opened one eye and saw that Mollymauk was already lying down.
He’d rolled off his log and was even in the grass. She frowned. “You are not even trying.”
“I tried, but none of this makes any sense! Sit still and try to ‘feel myself’?” He made air quotes. “Yasha, dear, if that’s what you really wanted, I definitely would not be sitting still.”
He waggled his eyebrows. She ignored him.
“Controlling your energy instinctive,” she said instead. “It is tied to our ability to see and read auras. But because you do not know how to do either, I am doing my best to explain it to you. This is the only way I know how. You are really not taking this seriously.”
“You think I’m not taking this seriously?” He scoffed. “Do you really think I would put myself through any of this if I didn’t think I had to? Need I remind you that my family was attacked by those crazy bikers as well?”
“What? They are not your family,” she blinked. “We were your family. But you left us when you fell.”
He made a show of dramatic incredulity. “Then I also need to remind you, dear, that I haven’t the faintest idea what that means. I’ve got amnesia, remember? Accidental hellfire and devilish charms aside, I really am not a demon. Not culturally.”
She frowned. “Culturally?”
“And I’d really prefer not to dwell on it,” he continued. “As far as I’m concerned, as soon as I get this ‘aura’ nonsense under control, I’m going to go home and get back to living an extraordinary, charmed, non-demonic life.”
Her frown took on a confused note. “But…you are a demon. That is that.”
“No, no, you’re not getting it, Yasha.” He rolled over and looked her in the eye. “Listen to me. Whoever had this body before, maybe, maybe that person could’ve been a demon. But whoever that was, they weren’t me. They were just some stupid asshole who got buried in the earth for, for—I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t even care. Because it’s no concern of mine.”
“Er…buried?”
“Long story,” he shrugged. “Not important. What is important is that the person you see now, that person is me—Mollymauk Tealeaf. Fortune-teller, sword-spinner, lover of…well, lover. You aren’t going to get anywhere until you at least understand that. Alright?”
He rolled back over, crossed his arms on his chest.
“Besides, it seems as if—at least, from the context clues that I’ve pulled together myself—you’re missing a few memories too, aren’t you, Angel? Maybe you should try reinvention.”
Yasha was silent a moment. Eventually, “But I still know who I am. I did not lose that.”
“A pity.”
“It is…no, it is not a pity. It means I still have a purpose. And a past.”
Molly scoffed. “A past isn’t worth bragging about. The present, though, now the present is something.”
She titled her head. “Er…meaning?”
He waved a hand. “Well—well, okay, for example, can you honestly tell me that you aren’t enjoying what you have right now? In this cute little cabin? I still happen to be offended that you don’t think the carnival is my family, but you seem to have found one of your own, too. These people, here, and their delicious pancakes.”
“W—yes, the pancakes are good, but—"
“And those tiny little blueberries, delicious!” he sighed. “I haven’t had berries that sweet since…who knows?”
“You…like sweet things?” Yasha blinked. “Wait, go back, what was it that you said about family?”
“Oh, so you do care that you upset me?”
“I did?”
“Of course you did! My god, The Fletching and Moondrop might not’ve been the most functional of units, it might not’ve been the most traditional, but I certainly cared about them a lot. They found me when I had nothing, was no one. They gave me a home. They took care of me. They were my whole world, and trying to deny me that is basically like—it’s spitting in my face!”
Her gaze drifted downward. “I did not know. I am sorry.”
“Oh, cheer up, cheer up!” He scrambled upright. “You didn’t know, it’s alright, Yasha. God, have I just made an angel feel guilty? Isn’t it supposed to be your job to do that?”
Her brow furrowed. “I have been trying to do my job for two hours. I am supposed to teach you. You do not listen.”
“Because that’s boring. Sitting still is no fun.”
“I explained it already, Mollymauk. You are not just sitting still, you are centering yourself to connect with the world’s energy, then turning it inward—”
“Oh, I know! Why don’t I teach you, instead?”
She stopped. Her brow furrowed. “You…what?”
“Let me teach you something!” He clapped his hands together, eyes shining with glee. “Come on, come on, what do you say? It can be anything you like! Tarot reading!”
“No, what—”
“Alright, alright, it’s not for everyone, okay…how about sword spinning?”
She frowned. “Why would you do that?”
He rolled his eyes. “Why not? It’s flashy, exciting, and you can show off your skills! What, think won’t don’t have the dexterity for it?”
Something in Yasha bristled. “I am good with swords.”
“Then prove it! I’ll go back into the house right now and fetch the glass ones, then—"
The fog cleared; she caught on. “Wait, wait. If you go in, I am sure that you will not come back out.”
He laughed, completely unashamed. “Fine, fine, how about…oh! Why don’t I teach you to make flower crowns?”
She immediately opened her mouth in protest, but for some reason, somewhere along the line, the response that came out was a semi-choked, “Huh?”
“Flower crowns!” He grinned again, sensing weakness. “Come on, it’s great if you like flowers. Don’t tell me you don’t have those in Heaven.”
“I…it is called Elys—of course we have flowers.”
“Perfect! Do you have a favorite kind?” He leaned forward. “C’mon, I promise it’ll be quick, and then I’ll absolutely pay attention to the energy stuff. Just ten minutes! Only ten.”
She wanted to argue again. She knew she had to, it was her duty, her responsibility to tell him no way, to pick him up and throw him over her shoulder and sit him up straight and threaten him until he listened…
But what she said was:
“…fine. Ten minutes, and then we start again.”
“Yes!”
— — —
“Do you think he’d look good with pink instead?” Jester let a strand of Caleb’s hair fall from her hand and back onto his shoulders. “Caduceus could probably help, too. Couldn’t you, Caddy?”
“Sure I could.”
“I don’t know,” Nott rubbed her chin. “I mean, pink, don’t get me wrong, it’s a great color—”
“Thank you.”
“—but close to the original. If we’re going to do a dye job, it should be wild.”
Caleb counted to ten. “The ‘if’ in your statement should sound more hypothetical,” he said.
“Well, it’s only if you want it, Caleb. But you know, you’d look really cool with dyed hair!” Jester gushed. “How about a streak? Like Fjord? To be stylish?”
“I’m glad you think I’m stylish,” Fjord called from his armchair, Conventions now draped across his face. “But you know I didn’t do this on purpose.”
“Right, right—”
“What, really?” Nott glanced at him. “What happened? Don’t tell me it was a prank someone pulled.”
“Why?” he grunted. “Upset you didn’t do it first?”
“Yes! Of course I am!”
He sighed, and tugged the book off his face. He ran a hand through his short black hair and found the shock of white streaking through it.
“I got it in the accident. With the shipping company, remember? That whole thing with the engine malfunction. Big storm, boat went down, but, uh, I got rescued.”
“Yeah,” said Nott, immediately relenting. “I…remember. You nearly drowned.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “I noticed this grey streak after leaving the hospital. So…either a nurse used some real strong hair dye, or…I dunno, maybe it was from the stress?”
Jester very quickly reached over and squeezed his hand.
He gave a tiny smile. “It’s alright, it’s been a while since it happened. And you know, thanks to all the bad press they got after, they had to do something for me. So…it balanced out.”
“They sent you to college,” said Caduceus, remembering. “The scholarship?”
“Yeah. And an offer to work for them again after I graduate.”
“Hell no!” screeched Nott. “Are you kidding me? After everything that happened, do they really expect you to work for them again? Or even to go out on the water?”
“I dunno,” he shrugged, “I really liked sailing, I…I miss it sometimes, actually. But I probably shouldn’t go back to them, that’s true.”
“What was the name of the company?” she demanded. “I’m going to leave them terrible reviews.”
“I don’t think you can do that for corporations.”
“Just give me a name, Fjord, it’ll make me feel better, if not you.”
He sighed and put his book back on his head. “U.K. Toa Shipping Industries. Have fun.”
“U.K.?” Caleb gently tugged himself free. “It is British?”
Fjord was quiet for a moment. “Huh,” he said. “You know, I don’t actually know. I always assumed so, but I guess I never asked.”
“That’s it,” Caduceus suddenly said.
They all turned.
“That’s what, Caddy?” Jester said.
“Fjord’s accent,” he grinned. He sounded incredibly satisfied. “You’re British now, aren’t you? I knew there was something different.”
A pause. Then:
“Oh my god, I completely forgot—”
“Nott—”
“That’s right! You did do that, Fjord—”
“Jester, I’m begging—”
“You told me you were Texan,” Caduceus nodded. “You talked all…twangy, before. In freshman year.”
“He did, didn’t he?” Nott all but beamed.
“I want to die,” Fjord moaned. “I want to die, it was—it wasn’t a phase, but…oh god…” He sunk down even lower in his chair.
“It’s a sweet reason,” Jester said supportively. “Real sweet.”
“Really?”
“Yeah! Fjord, can I tell him?” she asked.
He vaguely waved his hand and Jester removed his book to tap him on the nose.
“Well, you see, Fjord did it partially ‘cause he was going to America and he didn’t want to stick out as the British kid. But he also did it because he wanted to remember his old captain. Vandren.”
“He was Texan,” Fjord mumbled. “And it wasn’t just, you know, remembering by itself, it was also…I dunno, I wanted to emulate him. He was…he had this way of commanding a room that just…you know.” He shifted awkwardly. “I…I wasn’t the…most confident person, before. When I was younger, especially. But putting on a mask, pretending to be Vandren, it…helped. Especially since nobody knew me here.”
Caduceus hummed his understanding, and nodded.
“What changed?”
Fjord’s cheeks colored. “Well…you know. After a while, I realized it was…pretending to be Vandren was preventing anyone from knowing me. The mask was comfortable, but it wasn’t…true.”
Caduceus smiled. “Jester was right. That is very sweet. I’m happy for you. And this accent isn’t bad.”
Fjord chuckled. “Thank you,” he tipped his book like a hat. “That is—thank you kindly, partner.”
“It’s tragic that you decided to be genuine,” Nott sighed, leaning back into a cushion. “Your southern accent was way hotter—”
“I got it!”
This outburst came from Beau, who had ended her break early to resume the search. Fjord all but threw himself out of the living room in pursuit of this new distraction.
“What?” he asked, sliding into the kitchen. “Is it a match?”
“Fuck yeah it is, look! Everyone, look!”
The rest trailed in behind him and gathered around Beau, who was practically vibrating.
“Trientalis borealis! The starflower!” she yelled. “Here it is—” she slapped Yasha’s drawing onto a page displaying a faded photo. “It’s a perfect match, seven pointed petals, a lot of yellow stringy stuff in the middle. And it’s tiny. Half an inch wide.”
“The starflower is one of the more common spring wildflowers native to eastern North America,” Caleb read, sitting down in the chair next to her. “The species name borealis refers to being from the north, although this plant is also distributed in the Midwest and the higher elevations of the southern Appalachian Mountains. Depending on latitude and altitude, starflowers generally bloom from mid to late spring into early summer.”
He leaned back, and gave Beau an amazed look. “You are right, this photo is exactly the same. You…you did it, Beauregard, that is…incredible.”
She punched the air. “Now who’s the king of nerds?! Wait, gross…”
— — —
“—little longer, you just need a second color. Something, hm…maybe blue. Or yellow. Preference?”
“P—what? Oh, uh…either is fine.”
Yasha and Molly had drifted away from their makeshift stools and into the forest, coming through the grass for summer blooms. Molly was flitting from flowerbed to flowerbed, plucking up stems and laughing when bumblebees had to spiral out of his way. Yasha had taken to sitting below a tree trunk, moving as little as angelically possible, so as to not disturb her crown.
Molly had placed it atop her head, and she could feel the petals on her brow. They were purple wildflowers. They were soft.
Yasha was always surprised by just how soft flowers could get—after all, they had to live outside all the time and there was so much danger, so much weather, it was a miracle they could grow at all. Still, it made her nervous to touch flowers; she was worried that her big, calloused hands would break them, maybe damage or ruin them somehow—
“Don’t be silly, love. You could never do such a thing.”
Yasha flinched, startled. “What?”
“Er…I just asked if you liked these,” Molly frowned. He’d flopped back down beside her and was showing off a hand of pudgy yellow blossoms. “Are you alright, dear?���
“Oh, er…yes. I am fine.” She blinked, and that whispered voice was gone. A second later, she wasn’t sure if it’d been there at all.
“In that case, look, look, what do you think?” He held the flowers up to the sun. “Nice, right?”
Yasha felt her face soften. A tiny smile crept into the corners of her mou—
“Hey, where’d they go? Yasha? Mollymauk? Where are you guys?!”
“I think I see them, through there—"
“Uh-oh.” Molly turned to Yasha and grinned. “I think we’ve been made.”
She groaned, and shut her eyes.
— — —
“—you understand how important this is?! We told you what the stakes were, I can’t believe you were picking flowers!”
“Hey! Why does everyone think I don’t understand anything? And anyway, Yasha was with me the whole time—”
“Oh, right, pin it on her, you asshole—”
“Fuck you, I’m not pinning anything on anyone—”
“Hey, hey, okay, calm down,” Fjord stepped between them and raised his hands. “Whoa, déjà-vu. Anyway, let’s just relax. Please?”
“She’s accusing me for no reason,” Molly said, hackles lowered but still with a bite.
“And he’s slacking off,” Beau glared.
“Yasha did say they agreed to take the break together,” Fjord reminded her. “And it’s the first day. It’ll take time to perfect the, uh, formula, right, Yasha?”
The three of them turned to look at Yasha, who was standing back with the rest of their friends, wearing an expression of absolute discomfort.
“Er…er…yes, right,” she said clumsily. “We just got…carried away.” She gave Beau a nervous nod. “Sorry.”
This was enough to soothe Beau’s foul mood. She sighed. “I don’t blame you, Yasha, I blame that one.” She jabbed a halfhearted thumb at Molly.
“Hey!”
“Just let her have this,” Fjord said.
“It’s not your fault,” Beau continued, ignoring them. “And—ugh, I hate being the bigger person—I get it. It’ll take time. You need breaks. I’m…sorry I freaked out.”
“Thank—” Molly began.
“Not you.”
“Well, It was worth a try.”
Yasha seemed more than relieved by Beau’s words. “You do not need to be sorry either, but thank you. And I will be more, ah, better next time.”
“Next time,” Molly grumbled. “Well, as long as she isn’t there, next time.”
“That is right,” Yasha tilted her head. “Beauregard, why did you come outside?”
From the back, Jester grinned. “Oh, Yasha, it’s so exciting!”
“That’s right!” Beau’s face lit up immediately, her annoyance at Molly all but melting away. “Guess what?”
“Er…what?”
She whipped out a book, small and bound with a soft green cover.
“I found it. Your flower.”
Yasha’s eyes widened. “You—what? You did? Where is it? What is it called?”
Her grin widened as she turned the pages. “It’s the Trientalis borealis, let me show you the picture—"
“Tren…” Yasha frowned in concentration. “The…three-foot…no, one-third—”
Beau actually laughed, then flipped the book around, pointing to a small picture beneath text. “Its common name’s ‘starflower.’ Sound familiar?”
“Star…flower.” Yasha hesitated. “That sounds…I’m not sure…”
“It would be ‘ʢƾʯɬƺƛᵿɿʑʖɕʚɬ,’ I think—” Caduceus said.
“Yeah?” Beau asked hopefully.
Yasha nodded. Her frown had vanished, and now she was staring at the book, nearly frozen, glued to the image of a little white flower. “…starflower,” she murmured. “ʢƾʯɬƺƛᵿɿʑʖɕʚɬ. You found it.”
“Hell, yes!” cheered Nott from between the others.
Yasha managed to tear her gaze away and this time, it fell on Beauregard.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “You…found it. Thank you.”
Beau’s cheeks flushed. She forced herself to stay still. “Oh, well, you know, it was…it…nothing.”
She did not resist as Yasha took the book, moving it closer to get a better look. “No, it is everything,” she said. “You did it.”
“Well—fuck, I mean, you know,” she scratched her neck and looked down, “I told you I would.”
“And you did. Thank you.”
“Now that she has found the flower,” Caleb cut in, both to Beau’s relief and disappointment, “we can start narrowing down a region. In fact, we already know from this book that the starflower is endemic to the United States.”
Yasha patiently waited for him to elaborate.
“That is, it grows near us. It is common on the east and west coasts, and is usually found in the early summer.”
He stepped forward, and with Yasha’s permission, flipped the page and showed her a map. Much of the US and Canada were blue.
She traced this with a finger. “Wait, then…does that mean I might have been in Iothia this whole time? Or right next to it?”
“That remains to be seen. It depends on how big Iothia is,” Caleb said. “And of course, again, exactly where it is. But we can use this map, and the geographical features we know, to compile a list of locations that would give you the most likely areas of Iothia.”
He gave Yasha a satisfied nod. “You are well on your way to going home, Engel.”
Her gaze fell back to the book. She turned the page to look at the flower.
Its name is ‘starflower.’ Isn’t that funny?
“Wha—why is that funny?” she said out loud.
“Hm?” Caleb cocked his head. “Why is what funny?”
She frowned. “The…name of the flower, I think. Or the…stars?”
“Actually, I was thinking that too,” Nott said. “Since, you know, you fell from the sky, right? And I guess these little flowers did too!”
Beau groaned. “So, this whole time, we were looking for a pun?”
“I think that’s irony, actually—” Fjord began.
Yasha blinked.
—and that whispered voice was gone…
When she looked up again, everyone was staring at her.
“Are you okay?” Jester asked. “You…is everything alright?”
—a second later, she wasn’t sure if it’d been there at all—
She shook her head, then realized that looked like a negative and managed to produce a weird, swooping nod.
“I am very happy,” she said quickly. “I am just…it is just a lot to take in. The flower. This…memory, it was…something important.”
Caduceus smiled. “Then it gets to be important again. This time, it’ll help you find your way home.”
Seven little petals. Bright like a star. Tiny enough to fit in someone’s hand.
She passed the open book back to Beau. She noticed Beau’s hand brush the flower.
“I…you are right,” she said, half to herself. “I think it will.”
“We all will,” Beau grinned.
—
✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN!
#critical role#critrole#cr2#critfic#fic#fanfiction#fanfic#woof this is a MEATY chapter#i hope you guys enjoy!!#jay writes#beauyasha#a storm is blowing in from paradise#<3333333333#text#long post
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Ch. 2
Characters: Elaine, Arthur x Theo, Vincent
Pairing: Elaine x Isaac (eventually)
Tagging: @plumpblueberry @lady-moonbroch
A/N: This chapter turned out nothing like the first draft XD Enjoy some Elaine spending time with her Uncle and she meets a boy!
Four days into her new job as Theo’s assistant, the mood in their home had drastically lifted. Elaine never complained and paid close attention to every task given to her, exceeding all expectations. She quoted things he’d said to her years ago and questioned smartly, craving the knowledge he had. Having her along had proved quite useful with prickly clients, smoothing over situations with a charming smile and sweet words, likely emulating Arthur.
Theo enjoyed having time with her. In recent years, they’d grown strained. The teenager wanted more freedom and broke rules in place to protect her because she believed them unnecessary. Now, at nearly eighteen in only two days, she’d fought harder. Being able to keep an eye on her put the art dealer at little more at ease.
His daughter sat across from him, glancing at him out of the corner of her vision. Elaine hadn’t taken the news that she couldn’t accompany him today well. Instead of anger, she’d pouted silently all morning.
“I take it that you aren’t happy with today’s agenda,” Arthur piped up with an amused grin not quite hidden by his cup of steaming coffee. The previous night Theo had informed him of the impending unhappy teenager.
Elaine stuffed the fork full of pancakes into her mouth, enough to make her cheeks puff out to match her frown. She’d gotten up extra early and made pancakes and extra sweet coffee, but the answer remained unchanged. Now, she wanted to drown her sorrows in syrup and butter until she got sick.
“Vincent has asked for you to help him today while I’m gone.” Theo could easily see the motive behind his brother’s sudden request. He’d promised to make her do some work instead of spoiling her the entire day.
The teenager flinched at those words. She couldn’t very well turn down her uncle, as she adored him so much. Help isn’t the word she’d choose to describe what the day would entail. He’d likely ask her to do a small task or two, nothing that required much effort. “Fine. I guess I can do that.”
Working didn’t bother her. She assisted around the house with the chores without complaint. If Comte asked, she would readily agree. It irritated her that this client wouldn’t allow her entrance to his home, prompting this sour mood. No promises of being quiet or staying outside had swayed Theo. He couldn’t risk spooking the man.
“If you find yourself in need of something to do, I can have you proofread for me.” Her grimace only made the mystery writer chuckle again. Her disdain for that job well-known. Though she enjoyed his stories, playing editor didn’t appeal to her. A tedious thing.
Theo cracked a grin, rising from the table. “You better thank Vincent for saving you from that.” One check of his watch ended the conversation. He bid his family farewell before heading into town alone.
“Are you sure you don’t want to help your Papa with his work?” Arthur teased further. He had been a tad jealous that she eagerly wanted to assist Theo over the course of the week. Ah, but he was also grateful that the two were more understanding of each other.
Elaine stacked all the empty plates to carry them to the kitchen. “I love you but no.” Her curt reply still amusing. Setting the dishes in the sink, she licked the sticky syrup off her fingers.
“Off you go then. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
The young vampire didn’t need to be told twice. Housework didn’t appeal to her either. She did her part, pitching in when needed, but if told she didn’t have to do it... the teenager bailed as quickly as she could.
Inside the mansion, the hallways were quiet and empty. At this hour, everyone should be awake, except for Leonardo perhaps. Rapping her fist against Vincent’s door, she cast confused glances down the hallway.
“Goede morgen, Elaine,” Vincent greeted with a bright smile. He laughed softly at her confusion. Since Arthur and Theo had moved out of the mansion with her when she was only 4 years old, daily happenings didn’t reach their house as quickly as it spread through the mansion. “We’re the only ones here today.”
“I’m okay with that.” She flashed a disheartened smile, unable to shake the dark cloud hanging over her. Her normally mischievous and lively attitude disappeared. The others might have tried to make her understand. She understood perfectly fine.
That didn’t make it less saddening.
“Come here.” He’d barely open his arms and invited his niece to find comfort with him when the teenager stepped forward and accepted the warm hug. Vincent stroked his fingers through her copper hair. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but she reminded him so much of Theo when he was a child. “You know, he couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful you were on the job.”
“Really?”
It wasn’t that he hadn’t said so to her. Theo would give praise often, especially when she came up with new ideas. Telling the others about it, that was rarer.
Vincent hummed in response, a gentle smile on his lips as she peeked up at him. “I’d say he was outright bragging. I’m not surprised. You’re his daughter after all.” Placing a kiss on the top of her head, he laughed softly at her uplifted mood.
Elaine lingered a little longer before releasing him, soaking up his sunshine-like warmth. “I guess I could stop pouting about it.” Relenting her sad feelings, she sighed softly before questioning. “So, what was it you wanted my help with?”
“I finished the final painting and I thought I’d ask for your expert advice on where to put it in the gallery space. That is, if you want to.” His request was well-received with a glowing smile from his niece. Theo had mentioned that he’d given her the sole responsibility of choosing how to use the space to best showcase the art. The uncle looked forward to seeing what she’d done.
***********
The paintings on the wall were shrouded in black cloth, to hide the precious items from view until the day of the showing. Only a select few knew what was beneath, ones trusted by Theo to make this a success. Elaine had been gifted one of the only keys to venue, a testament to her importance.
“I believe I’m looking forward to this event more than any other,” Vincent commented, allowing the staff to hang the framed piece in its designated spot.
The heat in her cheeks caused the teenager to turn her gaze anywhere else. “It’s not much different from how Vader does it. I’ve been to more of these than any other event in the city.” The location changed but ever since she learned to walk, she’d been toddling around, observing, and learning how it works. Before she’d even realized, she’d begun understanding color theory and composition.
“It wasn’t too long ago that you were only a few years old and correcting patrons on the medium or style of the art. You always had this incredibly serious expression, much like Theo.”
“That was so long ago! I’m almost eighteen!”
Vincent chuckled with a loving smile. “Yes, I guess that’s right.”
The chime of the door timed perfectly with one of the staff calling to speak with Vincent. Elaine stepped away to investigate the newcomer. Violet eyes narrowed at the sight of a boy, likely no older than herself, attempting to take a peek at the portrait veiled by the black cloth. “Excuse me, but you can’t be in here.” Her tone less than polite, Elaine thrust her palms against his chest to push him away from the art piece.
“Oh, my apologies. I’ve been most curious about why there are staff entering but it’s never been open for business.” His emerald eyes filled with hidden intent that didn’t quite match the half smirk on his lips. The boy never resisted her pushing him back to the door and onto the street. “A secretive operation, I presume, miss?”
“Elaine and we don’t open for another two days.”
Her biggest fear was that he was a spy for le academia and all of her father’s hard work would go to waste if they were discovered. He didn’t fit the typical appearance of a high bred family, usually scrawny and uptight, and he wasn’t either of those things.
“I’ll have to pop in when you are open. My name is Leon Autry.” He flashed another brilliantly smug smile and winked. “Might I inquire your surname, should I have any future questions?” The reason lost on the recipient. He’d yet to ask anything relevant to the gallery.
Elaine turned on her heel to return inside. “It’s Doyle.” Even though she didn’t quite like the boy, she couldn’t risk turning away a potential buyer. Her cheeks were warm, and it wasn’t clear if it was from embarrassment or anger. The young pureblood didn’t have many friends her age, and that led to a bit of awkwardness when around humans her age.
“Ah, like the writer.”
The girl stilled, hand hovering above the door handle. Perhaps she’d heard him incorrectly.
“You might not know of him. He’s a British writer, mystery, I think.”
Or perhaps not.
“I believe it’s Arthur Conan Doyle. Any relation?” Leon asked as if he already knew the answer, like playing a game of truth or dare in order reveal a secret for confirmation.
Elaine relaxed her shoulders. Although she could hardly admit that she was indeed was the daughter of that very Arthur, albeit the vampire one, she wouldn’t allow him to glean that precious information from her. “No, but you aren’t the first to ask. But wouldn’t that be grand? Imagine being related to someone as talented as that.” Her dreamy smile fowled his for a moment.
“Imagine.” The façade of his grin had ghosted away for a split second, but it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Elaine, are you ready to head back?” A third party interrupted, much welcomed by the girl. Vincent approached the two, protectively a half step in front of his niece. The tension between the two children enough to worry him.
Her head bobbed once in response. “Yes, let’s go home.” The way Leon’s eyes followed her unsettled the girl. Elaine settled back on the seat in the carriage, mulling over the strange interaction. Was it so unusual for someone to draw a connection between her name and the human Arthur from this era?
Whatever the case, she now had a proper mystery on her hands.
#ikemen vampire#ikevamp#ikevamp arthur#ikevamp theo#ikevamp vincent#ikemen vampire fanfiction#arthur and theo have a child#elaine odette doyle#truth in simplicity#isaac is coming soon i promise
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This basically turned into me going through all your fics (again) to find some of my faves oops. I would love an inside scoop on I'd Love to Change the World but I Don't Know What to Do, Livewire, or Feel It in the Space Between!
Ahh, that’s lovely to hear! Thank you! <3
Director’s Commentary: I’d Love to Change the World but I Don’t Know What to Do (Bellarke modern royals/arranged marriage AU)
First things first, Nat @alltheworldsinmyhead suggested this idea to me and I’ve loved her ever since.
Clarke doesn’t know a lot about the revolution in the streets of The Kingdom of Ark. The only thing she remembers is Wells making her get up in the middle of the night, eyes like a forest animal caught in wildfire, saying, “We’ve got to go.”
I really wanted this beginning to be impactful. I had the whole scene in my head - royalty looking back over her shoulder, only to find her home burning.
One thing is true about the revolution and it is that it devours its own children.
This is something that my dad once quoted to me: “Revolution devours its own children.” It became the leitmotif for the entire story because in the second part - I Just Want to Turn the Lights on in These Volatile Times - Bellamy was betrayed so yes, revolution had indeed planned to devour that particular child.
After the wedding, Clarke pretty much tells him the same thing:
“Let me tell you how this is going to go, Blake.” She draws closer to him, careful to stand her ground and to stop her voice from shaking because she is seething with rage – this boy wants nothing but power and he thinks it’s going to go so well now that he’s got it. “The king is dead, long live the king. Is the phrase familiar to you? Because no king is loved, every king is just tolerated. That’s how it goes. They’ll string you up the same they want to string my mother up.”
I really wanted to show the clash of their personalities through this fic, how they’re approaching the same goal with wildly different methods. I also wanted to emphasize the importance of being as careful as Clarke when changing the world.
Also, I wrote the sex scene to the tune of Jetta’s Start a Riot. (:
I was also going to write a Lincoln + Octavia one shot inspired by Joseph Brodsky’s poem, Belfast Tune.
***
Director’s Commentary: Livewire (Bellarke soulmate AU)
This was written during my “Oh my God, he’s Atlas, how d e e p” phase. In general, I don’t really understand why people like Livewire so much, but I do have a sweet spot for it. (:
Another thing is that I wrote so much soulmate AUs is because I love writing magical realism. The other part of the appeal was the fact that at the end of the day, there was still a choice. Soulmate or not, you get to choose whether that’s the person you want to be with, stars be damned.
"Maybe I am ridiculous for not caring, but." But it feels like it's not real, like the soulmate is just a dream, a haze bound to dissipate any moment now. "I have time."
You know that feeling when you’re with someone and you know that a first kiss between you two is somewhere down the line? You can feel that it’s bound to happen.
And because it’s a given, you make that sweet moment of electric anticipation last as long as possible, just savor it all.
This is partly the idea behind Clarke’s reluctance to meet her soulmate. She’s got time. He’s there already. What’s the rush? Make the delightful suspense last.
(I mean, she’s obviously angstier than me, too.)
A new drawing appears on Bellamy’s wrist when he starts working in the diner. It’s old, exposed brick and chipped away paint, linoleum floors that transport him to a different age and a creaky coffeemaker.
I really, really fucking love diners. I don’t know what does it for me, but like - checkered linoleum floors? Leather booths? Comforting hot coffee? Sign me the fuck up!!!
Idk if this is something people notice, but I have A LOT of diners in my fics.
The artist sits in the last booth every morning, takes her coffee with two sugars and frowns after the first taste. She never pours maple syrup on her pancakes, but she wants cream and gets it on her nose more often than she would like. Her fingers pull at her sleeves, tug them over her knuckles, and she looks like she’s cold even when it’s more than warm in the diner.
Love is attention, y’all!
Also, pay attention to how their relationship develops from there without them knowing they were soulmates. I think that’s really important, I try to incorporate that in my soulmate fics to reinforce the point of them liking each other as people, and making that the reason they’re going to be together - not stars or soulmarks or whatever.
They sit on the warm asphalt in front of a kebab kiosk, shoulder to shoulder, and Clarke is the one who reaches for him first, tentative.
I saw a picture of a girl wearing a gown and a leather jacket and just sitting on the pavement, and I loved it. Also, I love kebabs.
Personally, what I dislike the most about Livewire is that I didn’t go into detail on some aspects of Clarke and Bellamy as people. But I think it turned out okay anyway.
Also, the fic was titled after Oh Wonder’s Livewire. It’s a gorgeous song. :)))
***
Director’s Commentary: Feel It in the Space Between (Bellarke dancers AU)
Ahh look okay, listen, I’m a good dancer. A really good dancer. (In terms of club dancing, that is.) But the one thing I cannot do is relax my fucking shoulders. I deeply admire people who can, especially those who can wave their arms up in the air and everything.
This fic was born out of that particular frustration.
I also watched a lot of contemporary dancing videos on YouTube and they were just so, so stunning.
Dancing comes easy to some people, as easy as drinking water. They move and you can feel the unity with the universe in their bones. They move and it feels right.
To Clarke, dancing is blood and viscera, muscles spasming after a long practice, beads of sweat pooling in her collarbone. To her, it’s a battle, it’s a fight, it’s more bloody knuckles than soft swaying.
Dancing was also a good channel through which I could express Clarke’s fear of losing control and giving in.
I also really loved all the soft, golden glow-y scenes in the studio. They felt really tender to me and I enjoyed writing them. :)))
Clarke can’t cook for shit but he can. He putters around her kitchen with practiced ease as she sits on the kitchen island and pours them wine.
(...)
He flicks his water-soaked fingers at her and Clarke squeals, readying the tomato sauce-stained rag.
........ and then there was domestic intimacy.
My fics also contain a lot of scenes where Bellamy is cooking and Clarke’s just chilling on the counter, shooting shit.
(Probably because I, too, cannot cook, and I appreciate being fed well.)
Finally, the one thing I’d change would be that miscommunication - she thought he was rejecting her, and he was just surprised she kissed him. I don’t like using miscommunication as part of the plot because it always feels very lazy to me.
But it was something new to write, and I’m glad you liked it! :D
Do you want director’s commentary on a fic, section, or line?
#THANK YOU SO MUCH! <3 i hope you enjoyed the answers!#asks#spell-of-the-rain#bellarke ff#lana talks fic#i'd love to change the world#feel it in the space between#livewire
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hey hello im writing a piece for laptop ensemble that involves sampling and i need the most repressed/tender/yearning quotes you got. just as gay and heart wrenching as you can. but also no pressure I know youre a stranger on the web I just feel like you post that kind of stuff a lot thank you bye
hope this isnt like too late school keeps me busy :( (also can you put a read more on asks? guess i’ll find out). i ended up choosing many quotes from the same texts cause im indecisive as shit but i’ll bold my favorites from those in case that makes it easier for you!
anyways first of all you can never go wrong w richard siken as obvious as that is. these are both from you are jeff
You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.
Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay, it’s a love story
this one’s from planet of love (the format got fucked bc tumblr is not actually a finctional website but :/ )
I have a megaphone and you play along, because you want to die for love, you always have. Imagine this:You’re pulling the car over. Somebody’s waiting. You’re going to die in your best friend’s arms. And you play along because it’s funny, because it’s written down,you’ve memorized it,
from litany in which certain things are crossed out
I make you pancakes, I take you hunting, I talk to you as if you’re really there.Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live? Let me do it right for once,
sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud. Especially that, but I should have known.You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I sayor love me back.
We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too, smiling and crying in a way that made meeven more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud.Actually, you said Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you.
from snow and dirty rain
I had a dream about you. We were in the gold roomwhere everyone finally gets what they want.
that scene from when harry met sally where sally says:
One day I was taking Alice’s little girl fro the afternoon. I’d promised to take her to the circus, and we were in a cab playing “I spy” - you know, “I spy a lamppost”, “I spy a mailbox” - and she looked out the window and there was this man and this woman with two little kids, and the man had one of the kids on his shoulders, and Alice’s little girl said “I spy a family”, and I satrted crying, you know? I just started crying, and I went home
(like anyone else sometimes cries when u see a family doing something nice? is it because i want to participate in a sense of family of my own but have been excluded as a gay person from it’s portrayals and it makes me go :^( cause i dont feel there’s room for me there but i want there to be and i just have to long for this nuclear family heteronormative way of life that i’ve been made to believe is idylic? is it because my parents got divorced and my dad’s an ass and my mom is just a very angry lady and i want to re-do my own childhood? who knows. should we ban movies? yes we should!)
from maurice (ultimate source of tender)
“There was something better in life than this rubbish, if only he could get to it, love, nobility, big spaces where passion clasped peace, spaces no science could reach, but they existed for ever, full of woods some of them, and arched with majestic sky and a friend”
‘Did you ever dream you had a friend, Alec? Nothing else but just “my friend”, he trying to help you and you him. A friend’ he repeated, sentimental suddenly. ‘Someone to last your whole life and you his. I suppose such a thing can’t really happen outside sleep’
we are all so lucky i don’t actually own maurice in english this would just turn into me quoting the whole book
ee cummings voices to voices, lip to lip
the thing perhaps isto eat flowers and not to be afraid.
from virgina woolf’s letters to vita
7 september 1925
january 21 1926 vita writes
I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this—But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it …
and on january 26 virginia writes back
Your letter from Trieste came this morning—But why do you think I don’t feel, or that I make phrases? ‘Lovely phrases’ you say which rob things of reality. Just the opposite. Always, always, always I try to say what I feel. Will you then believe that after you went last Tuesday—exactly a week ago—out I went into the slums of Bloomsbury, to find a barrel organ. But it did not make me cheerful … And ever since, nothing important has happened—Somehow its dull and damp. I have been dull; I have missed you. I do miss you. I shall miss you. And if you don’t believe it, you’re a longeared owl and ass. Lovely phrases? …
from virginia’s diary, about vita on december 21 1925
I like her and being with her and the splendour–she shines in the grocer’s shop in Sevenoaks with a candle lit radiance, stalking on legs like beech trees, pink glowing, grape clustered, pearl hung.
from virginia woolf’s to the light house
What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored? Could the body achieve, or the mind, subtly mingling in the intricate passages of the brain? or the heart? Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs Ramsay one? for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought, leaning her head on Mrs Ramsay’s knee. Nothing happened. Nothing! Nothing! as she leant her head against Mrs Ramsay’s knee. And yet, she knew knowledge and wisdom were stored up in Mrs Ramsay’s heart.
Love had a thousand shapes. There might be lovers whose gift it was to choose out the elements of things and place them together and so, giving them a wholeness not theirs in life, make of some scene, or meeting of people (all now gone and separate), one of those globed compacted things over which thought lingers, and love plays.
there forced themselves upon her other things, her own inadequacy, her insignificance, keeping house for her father off the Brompton Road, and had much ado to control her impulse to fling herself (thank Heaven she had always resisted so far) at Mrs Ramsay’s knee and say to her—but what could one say to her? “I’m in love with you?” No, that was not true. “I’m in love with this all,” waving her hand at the hedge, at the house, at the children. It was absurd, it was impossible
(fun fact: the spanish translation adds something that i’d translate as “one could not say what one meant / what one wanted to say”, which i really like and i was disapointed to find out isnt on the english edition)
It was love, she thought, pretending to move her canvas, distilled and filtered; love that never attempted to clutch its object; but, like the love which mathematicians bear their symbols, or poets their phrases, was meant to be spread over the world and become part of the human gain. So it was indeed. The world by all means should have shared it
from the great gatsby
I didn’t want to go to the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke of work but it was more than that—I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away (…) Just before I reached the hedge I remembered something and turned around. ‘They’re a rotten crowd,’ I shouted across the lawn. ‘You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.’ I’ve always been glad I said that. It was the only compliment I ever gave him
from kafka’s diaries
may 27 1911: Today is your birthday, but I am not even sending you the usual book, for it would be only pretence; at bottom I am after all not in position to give you a book. I am writing only because it is so necessary for me today to be near you for a moment
parts from a from a letter he wrote to oskar pollak on february 4 1902
When we talk together the words are hard; we tread over them as if they were rough pavement. The most delicate things acquire awkward feet and we can’t help it. We’re almost in each other’s way; I bump into you and you - I don’t dare and you. When we come to things that are not exactly cobblestones or the Kunstwart, we suddenly see that we are in masquerade, acting with angular faces (especially me, I admit), and then we become sad and bored. Does anyone make you as bored as I do?
then I fall silent and you fall silent and you become bored, and I become bored and it’s all like a stupid hangover and there’s no use lifting a hand. But neither wants to say this to the other, out of shame or fear or - You see, we are afraid of each other, or I am.
Of course I understand it. It’s boring to stand for years in front of an ugly wall and it just won’t crumble away. Of course, but the wall is afraid for itself, fro the garden (if there is one), and you get out of sorts, yawn, have headaches, don’t know where to turn
You often talk with her, not only for the sake of talking. You walk around with her somewhere here or there, or in Roztok, and i sit at my desk at home. You talk with her, and in the middle of a sentence somebody jumps up and makes a bow. That is me with my untrimmed words and angular faces. That lasts only a moment, and then you go on talking. I sit at my desk at home and yawn. I’ve been trhough it already. Wouldn’t that separate us? Is that so strange? Are we enemies? I am very fond of you
from his leters to milena
Last night I dreamed about you. What happened in detail I can hardly remember, all I know is that we kept merging into one another. I was you, you were me. Finally you somehow caught fire.
jane wong. from clearing
We want to believe everything has meaning.Plums blossom over a power grid
and I am in love again. The shame of it.
from leslie harrison’s [sirens]
I’m not Penelope married to faith married to waitingbound in fine soft strands of silk dyed and stretchedin my world longing has teeth and fins has a tastefor blood longing is a room built entirely of knives
Lorde’s melodrama tour interlude
Don’t you wish you could go inside a heart, see the strings and atrium’s, everything beating and bleeding. It’s kind of funny, I spend almost every minute thinking about love. Being guided, and divided by love. But I’ve never seen it. It’s just a rumour, a comedown, an afterglow. I wanna see it, in colour. In the summer, I can almost picture it
from Andrea Long Chu’s on liking women
One day, you tell yourself, it will give you what you want. Then, one day, it doesn’t. Now it dawns on you that your object will probably never give you what you want. But this is not what’s disappointing, not really. What’s disappointing is what happens next: nothing. You keep your object. You continue to follow it around, stash it in a drawer, water it, tweet at it. It still doesn’t give you what you want—but you knew that. You have had another realization: not getting what you want has very little to do with wanting it. Knowing better usually doesn’t make it better. You don’t want something because wanting it will lead to getting it. You want it because you want it
ada limón, In a Mexican Restaurant I Recall How Much You Upset Me
But love is impossible and it goes ondespite the impossible. You’re the muscleI cut from the bone and still the boneremembers, still it wants (so much, it wants)the flesh back, the real thing,if only to rail against it, if onlyto argue and fight, if only to missa solve-able absence.
i dont think i need to get into mitski songs because you probably already know but basically pink in the night/come into the water/once more to see you/in happy when she says if you’re going take the train so i can hear it rumble one last rumble/in i want you from the first verse to the first time she goes “i just need a quiet place where i can scream how i love you” (YES the card thing is very important)/the first verse of i will (w emphasis on everything you feel is good i f you wold only let you)/abbey/strawberry blond
sufjan steven’s futile devices obviously predatory wasp of the palisades you know the drill
was going to find some twin fantasy lyrics but i started thinking about famous prophets (minds) and like. emotionally left my body so. i wont be thinking about it or any other songs anymore it makes me too crazy
from frances ha
It’s that thing when you’re with someone and you love them and they know it and they love you and you know it but it’s a party and you’re both talking to other people and you’re laughing and shining and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes. But not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual, but because that is your person in this life and it’s funny and sad but only because this life will end and it’s this secret world that exists right there. In public. Unnoticed. That no one else knows about. It’s sort of like how they say that other dimensions exist all around us but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess.
from ellen lee’s notes on twin fantasy that i revisit constantly
there’s no going back to deliver these words to the ones they were really meant for. That’s how heartbreak feels, I guess. It feels like your heart in between the teeth of someone who’s looking away. When you’ve lost your loved object, what happens to all the things you have to say to them? When they’re turned away, what happens to all the things that you couldn’t, but desperately need(ed) to, say to their face? He dissociates himself from his own romance until it becomes a fantasy. You have your bleeding heart, you have a finite set of memories — when nothing new enters and you’re unwilling to let go, then you have a fantasy. The loved object enters into you and transforms.
the journey home by dermot bolger(havent read this at all dont really plan to/dont know a thing about it either i just came across this shit like 2 years ago and i still think about it)
I wanted to hurt him; I wanted just to touch him. What I wanted I’m not really sure. If he had stopped and opened his arms I would have walked towards him; I would have sat on the kerb all night with him
adam b, sweet i have a (really gay) heart
i feel like my body is the extension of a lake. i feel really badabout not telling you the truth, sometimes. i feelreally small next to you. tall boys remind me of bean stalks.i wish i had your legs. i wish i could know your handsbefore i even touch them
aaaand i think that’s all i could think of and track down, hope this is actually helpful and not too long (i am indecisive no kidding). also ksjdfg it’s nice that you thought to ask me this and i did have fun going over all these quotes so thank you 💖💖💖
#answered#i hope this fits what you were looking for!!#and i hope read mores are working on mobile djfgk#c#thing#Anonymous
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Culture and Translation - S01 E04
Slowly getting through these, although they’re out of order. I’ll post an index when I’m done with season 1. 🤦♂️
CLIP 1: A wild mom appears
22:30 is a perfectly cromulent time to have dinner in Spain, but ngl, I’d have it a bit earlier on a school night. Eva’s supposed to be at school at 8:30.
Eva is eating the Hacendado store-brand “natillas de vainilla” from Mercadona (vanilla custard). Lol can you imagine that Skam España gets enormous, and people from abroad make trips to Mercadona because of Skam España?
Pesada (“annoying”): Okay, I love “pesada” because it literally translates as “heavy,” but it actually means that someone is being annoying/nagging to the point where it feels tiring to put up with them. There’s an idiom in Spanish: “eres más pesado que una vaca en brazos” (you’re heavier than carrying a cow bridal-style) and I find the visual hilarious.
CLIP 2: Carrying their bags for some reason
This clip dropped at 11:39, but the characters are all carrying their bags and backpacks. You don’t take your backpack out for recess. You leave it in the classroom and take the valuable stuff with you. We don’t have lockers.
Ni de reojo (“Not even a glance”): Looking at someone “de reojo” is looking at them from the corner of your eyes, but that’d have been too long.
Bien, normal (“Good, fine”): In Spain we often use “normal” to respond to small talk (how are you doing, what’s the weather like, how was dinner with your family, stuff like that). I went with fine, as I haven’t really heard “normal” being used that way in English.
CLIP 3: Are these our biology buddies?
I do like the juxtaposition of Eva telling Nora everything is fine, only for Eva to UNLOAD on Lucas the very next clip.
I can’t watch this clip without remembering that I did the Social Sciences track of Baccalaureate, and yet, I had to translate a fucking optical microscope exercise for Skam. This fucking show.
Es que es muy heavy, Eva (“You crossed a line, Eva”): I also really like the Spanish slang “heavy.” It comes from heavy metal, and it’s meant to bring to mind the intensity of the harder heavy metal bands. And hey! It shows up on Urban Dictionary with the same meaning: Serious and intense, but also too much. I think this might be outdated slang in the US?
Y yo estaba rayada (“And I was going crazy”): I’m pretty sure that to be “rayado” comes from “discos rayados,” i.e. skipping records. When you’re “rayado,” you are stuck on a specific thought or emotion to the point of obsession or being unable to move past it. It’s NOT “sounding like a broken record,” as in English, because being “rayado” is internal. You’re stuck on a continuous loop within your own mind. It comes up several times throughout the show, and I’m pretty sure I used a different expression each time because nothing felt quite right.
Tú qué vas a decir (“Like you’d say anything different”): The literal translation would be, “what are you going to say.” However, that sounded like it could be a question, even a rhetorical one, when Eva is throwing Lucas’ words back in his face.
CLIP 4: Carrot cake
Carrot cake is a relatively new import in Spain. I think it’s trendy for coffee shops to have it on their menus now. Since it’s so recent, it was adopted with its English name, rather than the Spanish translation. This also applies to brownies, pancakes (which were actually called “tortitas” for a while, but now it’s become trendier to call them pancakes), muffins and cupcakes.
Aquí os quedáis (“I’m out”): Lucas actually says, “you stay here,” but the connotation is that Lucas is leaving because he’s Done with Eva and Jorge. Eva and Jorge can choose to stay or leave or do whatever, but Lucas is leaving and not taking Eva and/or Jorge with him.
Que aproveche, chicos (“Enjoy, you two”): Enjoy, as in enjoy your meal, of course! “Chicos” could be translated as “kids,” and when the teachers use it, I do translate it as kids. But the waitress is calling Eva and Jorge “chicos” just because they’re younger than her, not because she’s calling them children. You are either young enough to be “chicos” or old enough to be “señores.”
I mean, if Lucas is going to parent trap them, he could’ve at least paid for the cake. This entrapment with an unpaid bill is kinda rude!
CLIP 5: Nailing Viri
Eva has a palmera in her hand! See Wikipedia for info on this supposedly palm leaf-shaped pastry. The picture captioned “Pig’s ears” is closer to the one Eva has in this clip,
Un clavo saca otro clavo (“there are other fish in the sea”): The literal translation is, “a nail takes out other nail,” as in, the construction kind of nail. The connotations of both sayings are a little different. “There are other fish in the sea” has the connotation that you’ve been dumped, but there are plenty of people in the world for you to explore. “A nail takes out another nail” can mean you’ve been dumped or that your love is unrequited, and that the only way to get over it is to find someone new asap. I also found a debate in a translation forum over whether the nail in the idiom means a dick, as in, only by hopping on another dick you can get over the previous dick, and I can honestly say I have no idea if the idiom is about dicks or not.
Viri con la mierda (“Viri with the junk”): Viri actually says “Viri with the shit.” Haha. This girl squad is so gentle and well-spoken.
Quick note on grades: Grades can be 0 to 10, where 10 is the highest grade. You pass with a 5. Anything under 5 is a “failing” grade. 5 through 5.99 is a “passing” grade. 6 through 6.99 is a “good” grade. 7 through 8.99 is a “notable” grade. 9 through 10 is an “excellent” grade. Once you’re in university, you can also get an “honor roll” grade. Only one or two students can get that grade on a specific course. As far as I know, “honor roll” does not exist as a grade in Spanish primary schools, middle schools or high schools.
Encima se pica (“She goes and gets ticked off”): “Picar” literally translates to “to itch” or “to sting” (such as a bee or a wasp sting). If something “te pica” in the slang sense, it means something has offended you, and the speaker thinks it shouldn’t have. There’s a saying, “si te pica, te rascas,” which translates to, “if it itches, then scratch yourself.” It means that if the tea has been too hot, you don’t get to lash out, you need to deal with it. Cris is indignant that she’s trying to help Viri out by telling her the truth straight up, and Viri is offended, instead of grateful.
Una chica de cuarto (“A fourth grader”): Fourth grader as in being in her fourth year of Mandatory Secondary Education! A grade below the girl squad.
CLIP 6: Underage drinking
I don’t know where that tunnel is, and I desperately want to know. On that note, I was so fucking chuffed when the clip came out. I really didn’t think they’d even attempt a street drinking scene. They obviously had to have it a secluded place in order to keep the shooting a secret, but it works.
Okay, so my personal take on the call to prayer scene is this. The clip dropped at 20:07 on the 6th of October, and Isha (the fifth prayer) happened at 19:08 at the very latest. (There are several methods of calculation.) So Amira probably did pray before meeting up with the girls. However, once she took in their initial reactions, Amira might’ve wanted to see exactly how badly the girls would take it, so she pushed a bit harder. Committing to praying five times a day might also be new for Amira, and so she might’ve wanted to test those waters. Ngl, asking her to do it somewhere where nobody sees Amira is with them is pretty fucking bad.
A buenos días (“Good morning”): Jorge is doing one of his voices here. I guess he sounds a little like a rural old man. And yes, he says “good morning” even though it’s visibly dark outside the tunnel, lol.
There’s a conversation happening below the camera line and a bit aways from the mics. It’s hard to catch all of it, But Lucas drops the bag with the ice cubes and tells people to help themselves. Dilan grabs ice cubes with his bare hands, and Hugo calls him out for being gross. Dilan asks Hugo why he minds. Tbf to Dilan, a botellón is usually a gross affair with drinks being spilled, vomit, and sometimes piss, so touching the ice with your hands is small potatoes in comparison, lol.
Verdad o atrevimiento (“Truth or Dare”): For the record, the version I played was called Beso, Verdad o Atrevimiento (Kiss, Truth or Dare). I guess there’s a larger English language influence that’s made it more authentic to drop the Kiss option from the name, if not from the dares themselves.
Va lanzada (“going for it”): Lucas says Cris is “lanzada,” which literally translates to being launched, or going as fast as something being launched. Such as a rocket, for instance.
Pa mala yo (“I’m the badass”): Cris is quoting the Aitana and Ana Guerra song Lo Malo, which comes up again later in the season. The gist of the quote is that Cris has no need for bad boys, when she can be a bad girl herself.
Le dio un amarillo (“she had a whitey”): In case you’ve never heard of “a whitey” before, you can find a detailed explanation on Urban Dictionary, which corresponds 1:1 with the Spanish expression. I had to do a lot of research to find the best translation, so pls appreciate!
Fue muy borde contigo (“He was an ass to you”): “Borde” is yet another classic Spanish slang words. To be “borde” is to be rude for no reason. While it’s slang. It’s not a swear word, and it’s not rude to use. I went with “ass” as I figured it comes across as softer than “asshole.”
CLIP 7: Safety considerations are ignored
Both this clip and the clip before (which dropped at 20:07) generated a discussion in Spanish fandom spaces, specifically about when Spanish teens go out and what their curfews are. Lots of people felt Eva and her friends are going out too early and going back home early, as well. Part of the discussion has to do with something the remakes have shied away from: dropping clips at ungodly hours. As some might remember, during Isak’s season, clips would drop at 3 am because Isak was insomniac. So far, the remakes have held back on dropping clips during hours the target audience may not be awake to react to them, generate discussion on social media, etc.
Spanish people have a (not unearned) reputation of starting the party after dinner time (so 22:00-23:00) until dawn. That said, every teen has their own set of parents with their own set of rules. Personally, I didn’t have a curfew, but we were generally partied out by 4 am.
That said, if I’d been as wasted as Eva is in this clip, I’d have headed home at midnight, sure. Mostly ‘cause I’d have wanted to nap it out.
It makes me smile that Eva and Jorge are jay-walking. There’s no penalty for doing so in Spain, by the way. And especially in small towns or villages, where traffic is light and sidewalks not wide enough for more than one person, it is far more common for people to walk down the middle of the road, rather than using the sidewalks.
I don’t understand how Eva’s house works, by the way. That door makes it look like Eva lives in a detached house with a front yard, a fence and a gate. But we know from other clips that you can show up at Eva’s front door without needing to be let in through a gate. Also, there’s no window by the gate. You can definitely see a window by the door in the final clip.
My friends were shocked and appalled that Jorge would leave without ensuring Eva got inside her house safely, since she was so drunk and it’s past midnight. Grudges have been held.
The gagging noises at the 18:54 mark are poetic cinema.
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Hollywood Propaganda by Mark Dice
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hollywood-propaganda-mark-dice/1137833508
Christianity Under Attack
In order to destroy America, the conspirators are determined to eradicate faith in God and dismantle organized Christianity. Attacking Jesus and Christianity is a sacrament in Hollywood because the far-Left hates Jesus and everything He stands for. It’s not an overstatement to say that many in key positions of power in the entertainment industry (and politics) are Satanists who will someday openly embrace Lucifer as the rebel angel kicked out of Heaven for defying God.
“I’m glad the Jews killed Christ,” ranted comedian Sarah Silverman in one of her comedy specials. “Good. I’d fucking do it again!” she declares, as her audience agrees in laughter.158 While accepting an Emmy Award one year Kathy Griffin said, “A lot of people come up here and they thank Jesus for this award. I want you to know that no one had less to do with this award than Jesus. He didn’t help me a bit…so all I can say is suck it Jesus! This award is my god now!”159
I’m not saying people shouldn’t be able to make fun of Christians, but no mainstream celebrity would dare make such insults or jokes about Muhammad because Muslims (and Jews) are vigorously protected against any criticism or mockery and only wonderful things can be said about them. Even a slightly edgy joke ignites a barrage of attacks with cries of “Islamophobia” or “anti-Semitism” and gears start moving in the well-funded and massive smear machines like the ADL and the SPLC which quickly move to destroy the person’s career before they can utter another word.
Hating Christians is almost as necessary as believing in climate change if you’re going to be a mainstream Hollywood celebrity. There are very few open Christians in Hollywood, most of them are has-beens like Kevin Sorbo and Kirk Cameron who have been basically blacklisted since being open about their faith.
Kevin Sorbo was banned from Comicon because he’s a conservative and “pals with Sean Hannity.”160 He and other Christian actors are stuck doing low budget films that get little attention. They’re allowed to exist (for now) as long as they never point out the Bible’s teachings on homosexuality. Only watered down and generic Christian messages are allowed to be said.
After Guardians of the Galaxy star Chris Pratt appeared on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert and happened to discuss his “spirituality,” many online began attacking him for being a Christian and attending a church. Actress Ellen Page (a lesbian) from the X-Men and Inception tweeted, “If you are a famous actor and you belong to an organization that hates a certain group of people, don’t be surprised if someone simply wonders why it’s not addressed. Being anti LGBTQ is wrong, there aren’t two sides. The damage it causes is severe. Full stop.”161
Singer Ellie Goulding threatened to back out of her scheduled performance at the 2019 Thanksgiving NFL halftime show if the Salvation Army didn’t pledge to donate money to LGBT causes. She got the idea after her Instagram comments were flooded with complaints from her fans because the Salvation Army was sponsoring the game to announce their annual Red Kettle Campaign (bell ringers) fundraiser for the homeless.162 Since the Salvation Army is a Christian charity, Goulding’s fans freaked out, accusing them of being “homophobic” and “transphobic.”
They quickly bowed to the pressure and “disavowed” any anti-LGBT beliefs, which basically means they’re disavowing the Bible because even the New Testament denounces homosexuality in Romans 1:26-27 and 1st Corinthians 6:9-10. Many critics claim that only the Old Testament does, but the Book of Romans makes it clear that just because Jesus came to offer salvation doesn’t mean God’s law regarding homosexuality changed.
The Salvation Army also removed a “position statement” from their website that had made it clear “Scripture forbids sexual intimacy between members of the same sex,” and replaced it with one saying “We embrace people regardless of race, gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or gender identity.”163 One of the world’s largest Christian charities whose very name “The Salvation Army” refers to the salvation of Christ, cowardly bowed down to the Leftist activists out of fear they would be branded “homophobic.”
Christians are easy targets since they’re much more passive than Jews and Muslims when attacked, and Hollywood loves to stereotype them as a bunch of superstitious bigots who don’t know how to have fun. In the rare case that there is a movie favorable to Christianity that gets widespread distribution, that too is attacked.
Passion of the Christ was deemed “anti-Semitic” because it depicts the story of Jesus’ arrest, sham trial, and crucifixion.164 It was the most popular film about the events to be made and wasn’t a straight to DVD release like most others. With Mel Gibson behind it, the film became a huge success, which caused a tremendous backlash.
The ADL [Anti-Defamation League] denounced the film, saying it “continues its unambiguous portrayal of Jews as being responsible for the death of Jesus. There is no question in this film about who is responsible. At every single opportunity, Mr. Gibson’s film reinforces the notion that the Jewish authorities and the Jewish mob are the ones ultimately responsible for the Crucifixion.”165 That’s because that’s what happened!
Technically, the Romans did it, but at the behest of the Jewish leadership in Jerusalem at the time. The Bible makes it very clear what led to Jesus being crucified. Pontius Pilate is quoted in Matthew 27:24 saying, “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” and “It is your responsibility!” meaning the Jewish Pharisees. They were the ones who conspired to have Jesus arrested and killed for “blasphemy” and being a “false” messiah. Pontius Pilate even offered to release Jesus, but the crowd demanded he release Barabbas instead, another man who was being detained for insurrection against Rome, and for murder.166
A critic for the New York Daily News called The Passion of the Christ, “the most virulently anti-Semitic movie made since the German propaganda films of the Second World War.”167 Many others angrily denounced the film when it came out in 2004. Some in the media even blamed it for a supposed “upsurge” in anti-Semitic hate crimes.168
When the History Channel miniseries The Bible was released in 2013, the same cries of “anti-Semitism” rang out.169 The New York Times opinion editor Bari Weiss went so far as to say that it’s a “conspiracy theory” that Jews killed Jesus.170
Even though most Christmas movies aren’t overtly Christian and instead focus of the importance of families reuniting and spending time together, that doesn’t mean they’re not going to come under attack. As the war on western culture continues, the Marxists have set their sights on Christmas too.
Online liberal cesspool Salon.com ran a headline reading “Hallmark movies are fascist propaganda,” and complained they promote “heteronormative whiteness” because there aren’t enough LGBT characters or people of color in them.171
“Hallmark movies, with their emphasis on returning home and the pleasures of the small, domestic life, also send a not-at-all subtle signal of disdain for cosmopolitanism and curiosity about the larger world,” Salon said, “which is exactly the sort of attitude that helps breed the kind of defensive White nationalism that we see growing in strength in the Donald Trump era.”172
The article went on to say that because the Hallmark Channel airs so many Christmas movies, it is promoting, “a set of patriarchal and authoritarian values that are more about White evangelicals defining themselves as an ethnic group, and not about a genuine feeling of spirituality…The very fact that they’re presented as harmless fluff makes it all the more insidious, the way they work to enforce very narrow, White, heteronormative, sexist, provincial ideas of what constitutes ‘normal.’”173
The article wasn’t satire. Salon.com has a deep-seated hatred of Christianity, conservatives and families, and is another cog in the Cultural Marxist machine working to destroy the United States.
Comedian Whitney Cummings was reported to the Human Resources department of a major Hollywood studio after she wished the crew of a TV show she was working on “Merry Christmas” when they wrapped up for the year. She made the revelation while speaking with Conan O’Brian the following December. “Last year, I was working on a TV show, [and] got in trouble with Human Resources for saying ‘Merry Christmas’ to an intern,” she began.174
Conan asked her if she was being serious and she said it was a true story, elaborating, “I was leaving, like on the 18th or whatever…and I was like, ‘Bye guys, Merry Christmas.’” When she returned from vacation after New Year’s she was called to HR and scolded. She joked, “I don’t even care how your Christmas was. It was just a formality. It’s what you say when you leave.”175
Conan O’Brien then replied, “In these times we’re in, that could trigger someone or offend them if it’s not their holiday.”176 She didn’t say which network it was, but she’s been involved with some major shows like NBC’s Whitney (where she played the main character), as well as the CBS sitcom 2 Broke Girls, which she created and was a writer for.
While today it may seem impossible that Christmas movies may become a thing of the past, nobody could have ever guessed that reruns of the classic Dukes of Hazzard would get banned after the Confederate flag was deemed a “hate symbol” in 2015, or that Aunt Jemima pancake syrup, Eskimo Pie ice cream bars, and Uncle Ben’s Rice would be deemed “racially insensitive” and pulled from production a few years later.177
Once someone reminds liberals that the word Christmas is derived from Christ’s Mass and that it is actually a commemoration of the birth of Jesus, they may finally go over the edge and deem Christmas just as offensive as Columbus Day or the Fourth of July. And with the Muslim and Sikh populations increasing in the United States, the American standard of Christmas music playing in shopping malls and retail stores all month long every December may one day come to an end because it’s not “inclusive” and leaves non-Christians feeling “ostracized.”
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#cluecrewquestionnaire
No one tagged me but I want to do it sooooo
rules: copy and paste, answer the questions, tag 10 people to do the same!
1. What is your favorite Nancy Drew game and why?
ASH 5ever, for reasons I’ve already subjected you to endless gushing about over the years. SHA, because I’m from/in soulmates with the Southwest (the same part of Arizona, actually) and the game captures it perfectly, and is perfect in every other way. MHM, because you can’t beat a quintessential haunted Victorian, and for nostalgia reasons mentioned below.
2. Have you played all 32 games in the series? If not, which ones haven’t you played? If yes, which one did you play first?
All except the original Secrets Can Kill. My first was MHM in 2001. I’d read some of the books, and I’ve always been intensely obsessed with ghosts and mysteries in general, so the title and cover caught my eye at the store. The screenshots in the fold-out cover with their eerie captions captured my imagination. After that it was all I could think about. I talked about it every day for weeks, until eventually I came home from playing and found it sitting on my bed. We couldn’t afford it and I didn’t really expect to get it, so I was beyond excited. Playing in the dark that night was magical. Now I hunt ghosts in Gettysburg with access to an endless supply of haunted houses, but the Golden Gardenia is my favorite.
3. What is your favorite quote from any character in the series?
“It’ll be brief, painful, and full of garbage, but that’s life, isn’t it?”
“It’s good to know you’re keeping the mean streets of Pancake City free from crime!”
Everything Alexei says.
4. If you could change the ending to any game, which one would it be (no spoilers, though)?
The Silent Spy would have a satisfying ending that did justice to the deep and complex story it had up until then, instead of the rushed, haphazard nonsense we got.
5. Which game is your least favorite, and why?
MED is possibly the absolute worst, for too many reasons to unpack in a paragraph.
6. Which character is your favorite? Why?
do I even need to say it
7. Which character is your least favorite? Why?
Rick Arlen and Tino Balducci. I’ve had to deal with so many of that brand of sleazebag in real life, they make my blood boil. Not in a good way, like how Toni Scallari and Brenda Carlton are entertaining to interact with while being horribly repugnant.
8. How do you feel about the whole Nancy/Ned vs. Nancy/Frank situation? Do you ship her with someone else? Who, and why?
I don’t think Nancy is particularly interested in either of them, or in settling down at all. To be honest, I like the idea of Nancy casually hooking up with hot people she meets on cases, then dashing. I’m especially fond of the idea of her and Zoe having an ongoing rivals-with-benefits thing.
9. Do you have any fun headcanons about any of the games or characters?
Until we met him in person, I used to headcanon that the reason we could never quite catch up with Sonny Joon was because he was on the space station. Jamila blogs about classic sci-fi. My crack headcanon about Alexei being a serial killer is a running joke among my entire household. And in my mind, practically every character is queer.
10. If you could visit any of the game locations, which ones and why?
Japan is my #1 travel goal, so the Ryokan Hiei would be first. I would love to be in Nancy’s shoes when there are no other guests left and she has the whole place to herself. Iceland is my #2 travel goal. I’d own the Golden Gardenia, because it ticks every box on my ultimate fantasy home checklist. I'd spend a couple days at Thornton Hall with my ghost hunting squad. I’d deliberately book a room at Wickford Castle when there was a snowstorm forecast, and do exactly what you do in the game. Shadow Ranch, because out in the middle of the Southwest desert is my place. Alexei’s shop, where we would complain for hours while I bought everything in sight.
11. Did you read any of the original Nancy Drew books? If yes, do you like them? If no, would you consider reading one?
Yeah, I started reading them shortly before I discovered the games. They have that old-fashioned charm, and I enjoy the detailed descriptions of Nancy’s outfits and Hannah’s meals. But they’re also super formulaic and frequently racist. Most of my favorite books are more recent. I particularly love Lights, Camera... and the sequel Action! They’re begging to be adapted for a game.
12. What is one thing any good detective can’t live without?
I’m gonna copy and paste what @nancydrewcomplex said, because it’s on point... “A smartphone for taking notes, allowing friends to find your location when you are inevitably kidnapped or entombed, social media stalking your suspects, some quick research, and most importantly the camera for swiftly taking pictures of evidence and journal pages and things you otherwise can’t risk taking the time to read at that very moment.”
13. Which game had the best soundtrack?
CLK’s use of the 1930s sound is 👌👌👌 FIN's music couldn’t be more perfect for a darkened historic theater. It’s mysterious, magical and haunting, like remnants of the music that played in the theater during its 1910s heyday. I love how CAR has carousel music not just on the ride itself, but worked into the many of the songs. Sometimes it’s creepy, sometimes dreamy, like the ballroom theme, which evokes ghostly ladies and gentlemen waltzing around the haunted house that was once the Galaxy Ballroom. And of course, MHM’s soundtrack is a classic. It captures the feeling that the mansion is an isolated bubble of its own history and secrets, unconcerned with the world passing by outside. I love that each room has its own theme, like characters, from the eerily faded saloon music in the basement to the Chinese room to the dark, forgotten sound of the attic.
14. What is one thing you wish HER would’ve included in any of the games (a conversation, interaction, location, feature, etc)?
More recurring characters. So many of them are way too great to only use once. Also more background on everyone. A big part of the reason I love Alexei so much is that he’s one of the few characters we get extensive background details on.
15. Do you have any ideas for a future game? What is it?
Tons! I’ve posted a couple, with plans for many more.
16. How long does it take you to finish a game from start to finish?
Depending on how many times I’ve played it, anywhere from two to eight hours. Hard to fathom now that my first playthrough of MHM took months. I didn’t yet have the internet to find a walkthrough and would put it aside for awhile when I got really stuck.
17. Did any of the games scare you? If yes, which ones? If no, why?
My first time playing MHM, the “I see you” on the stairs scared me so bad that I never used those stairs again, I took the creaky ones every time. The dog attack in Ghost Dogs scared me to death as a kid. Being outside when the howling started and Red saying “get back in the house” was super effective. It’s hard to scare me anymore, yet I dread going near the burned out ruins in GTH. The bad vibes are so oppressive it’s like static electricity.
18. Why did you join the Nancy Drew fandom here on tumblr?
I didn’t know there was one when I started this blog. I’d seen other “_______ things” blogs and kept thinking of Nancy Drew things. I doubted there were any other serious fans, let alone adults, but figured I’d make the blog anyway if only for my own enjoyment. I was thrilled to hit 20 followers. I was totally blindsided by how fast it took off. I’m continuously grateful and amazed by how good my experience of this fandom has been.
19. What is your favorite Nancy Drew joke (from in-game or even floating around the internet)?
I get a kick out of how SPY is the Ascended Meme game. I did not expect how feelsy they managed to make the horse shirt.
20. Who is someone in the clue crew you’ve always wanted to get to know?
Everyone I used to follow has left :’(
21. What are three unpopular opinions you hold about the games?
Ned is annoying and bland af. I don’t mind Fox and Geese. I’m okay with Nancy getting a new voice actress (not that we’ll ever hear her).
22. Do you have any fun theories about any of the games?
I know the dates don’t line up, but I love the theory about Lizzie Applegate and Diego Valdez being Frances and Dirk under new identities. The prop lady is Nancy as an old lady, which is why the prop room is full of souvenirs from her cases. Aunt Eloise writes about Nancy’s adventures under the pen name Carolyn Keene, hence the box of yellow-spined books in her house.
23. Who was your favorite animal character featured in the games?
Iggy with his tiny outfits >w<
24. Do other people in your life know about your love for Nancy Drew?
To know me is to know about it. It’s too important to keep on the DL. And I’ve gotten all my siblings and even an in-law into it, so no one’s judging.
25. How long have you been playing these games?
Since 2001, when I was nine.
Anyone who wants to do this, consider yourself tagged!
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Can I get the boys with their s/o on St Patricks day??
I don’t know too much about the event itself but I certainly hope I met your standards, anon! Also, it was really fun to write!
Korekiyo Shinguuji
This man is so hyped for St Patrick’s day
You can’t tell he’s excited by normally speaking to him before the actual day, and you actually don’t find out how happy he is until the morning of March 17th
Because st patrick's day is all about irish folklore!! Why the hell would he not go full out on St patrick’s day???
Tbh he probably wears green so much in remembrance of the leprechauns
When you wake up all you see is green confetti everywhere
Your clothes for the day are all green (the shirt says kiss me i'm irish)
The breakfast waiting for you downstairs is green (the shape of the pancake is probably supposed to be a clover)
KOREKIYO IS PAINTED IN GREEN AND HE IS WEARING ONE OF THOSE SMALL GREEN MAN HATS
And somehow he has green flowers downstairs for you?? Apparently they are Hydrangeas and they represent wellness and youth and harmony
When you two leave the house to go on a very special St patrick’s day stroll, he refuses to wash any of the paint off his face. He also refuses to not pinch anything that is not wearing green
He also makes sure anything he eats that day is green and that when, at night, he will prepare a cold/warm bath for you and him
And its green
Obviously
The entire day, unlike your boyfriend, you are spending the day laughing at his adorable plans
Because when do you get to see a normally composed man get so excited about little green men??
Rantarou Amami Avocado Son
Okay so if you insist on wearing green, then he has to too.
But he doesn’t want to! It doesn’t really fit his pair of jeans for that day. But he has green hair, so you can stop trying to pinch him now!
Honestly, he doesn’t celebrate it much, but he finds your excitement of the silly basics really cute
He even buys you a tacky shirt that says “Kiss me, I’m Irish”
It’s mostly just an excuse to kiss you more
Ouma Kokichi
Normally, when you see members of ouma’s secret society, they wear dark purple.
But today, they are all wearing the brightest neon green that there is in the universe.
And they are running around, pinching random strangers who are not wearing green
You often wear green on St patrick’s day, but you are over shadowed by Ouma’s Pepe mask and DAT BOI costume
He’s also wearing one of those kiss me im irish shirts and is dangling four leaf clover necklaces over your neck
And because at midnight, when it was March 17th, you were wearing gray pajamas and not green, Ouma pinched you until you would at least put on green socks
So you are laughing at his pranks because they are so funny, while strangers are yelling at him and his comrades for disturbing the peace.
And if leprechauns are supposed to represent pranks, then you have one small ouma-chaun for this St patrick's day!!
Shuuchi Saihara
He doesn’t really celebrate St Patrick’s day...
But nevertheless, he will wear green, although it clashes with his normally black outfit
So can you please stop pinching him?
He also buys you a bag of chocolate coins because after being surrounding by merchandise all day he starts to get into the mood
He thinks it’s adorable how excited you are over this holiday so he buys you little four leaf clover stickers and lets you stick some on his face
But you think it's cute when you see how red his face becomes when you put stickers on him
Kaito Momota
You two get into the ultimate pinching war the moment you wake up
Because no one has green pajamas and no one was wearing green when St Patrick’s day started!!
So one hand is trying to get through the sleeve of your sweater and the other one is trying to defend yourself from Kaito’s pinches
After you are both change, Kaito brings out some green paint and he asks you to paint his face with those “cool stripes that make me look tough”
He says he’s going to war
But with who?
He’s going after Ouma this St. Patrick’s day??
And he’s going to try and pinch him as much as possible??
And he wants your help to ambush Ouma??
You’re not sure how well it's going to turn out. But Kaito is so excited and he looks like a pleading puppy so you can’t help but offer your assistance
The moment you reach Ouma’s base, it’s oddly quiet. His house isn’t decorated at all and there are no society members outside
Kaito thinks this is the perfect opportunity
But the moment he takes another step you two are ambushed and SABOTAGED!!
Ouma has set up his members with cannons that shoot out green paint! And they are spraying you two with a whole lot of it!
Kaito’s first instinct is to push you down and shield your body from ouma’s attacks. By the time the members leave, you and Kaito are plastered in green paint.
Kaito is completely green and it’s hilarious
He’s a bit disappointed that he didn’t get to attack Ouma but you’re laughing and smiling and that’s all that matters to him.
So when you go back home to clean yourselves off, you’re laughing all the way
It has definitely been the most eventful St. Patrick’s day you had!
Kiibo
What? He’s supposed to wear green otherwise he gets pinched??
Kiibo is very confused
And you are also very confused because you have no idea how to pinch a robot.
But Kiibo doesn’t have any clothes. And all of the clothes that are green from your closet don’t fit him!
Fine! We will just go see Iruma!
Iruma also pinches him the moment that you see her, and it’s a bit difficult to explain your dilemma
So she tinkers with some things in the corner and somehow she concocts a green paint for metal that will wash off when wiped off with a moist towel
Kiibo’s a little iffy about the moist towelette, but when you remind him that Iruma water-proofed him a while back, he becomes more reassured.
So now you spend the day with a happy green robot
“This is what humans do, right?”
When you go home and clean him off, he thanks you with multiple kisses!
So happy ending!
Unfortunately his face was still green when he kissed you and some of the paint got onto your face
Happy ending?
Gonta Gokuhara
You brought one of those “Kiss me, I’m Irish” hats from the nearby store
So when you got home that night, Gonta just looked at you questioningly.
Why does he have to kiss you because you’re Irish?
You say it's just a quote for St. Patrick’s day
St patrick’s day? Did Gonta forget to celebrate an important event with his s/o? Gonta starts apologising immediately because not celebrating an important event with his loved one is not gentlemanly at all!
Gonta’s so busy worrying about it but Gonta still asks you what people do on that day
Oh, they pinch people who aren’t wearing green, do silly pranks, and basically celebrate irish folklore
Gonta had a look of terror when Gonta realises that MOST OF HIS BUGS ARE NOT GREEN
You try to calm Gonta down when Gonta immediately gets up to go craft some “bug clothes”. Don’t worry! People won’t pinch Gonta’s bugs!
But if Gonta is going to celebrate St Patrick’s Day right, then Gonta must pinch anyone who is not wearing green.
Including his bugs (Because they deserve to be treated like people)
You end up watching Gonta for a straight four hours making “Bug clothes” out of scrap material and dressing each individual bug
It is the sweetest thing and you absolutely love this gentle giant.
Ryoma Hoshi
He refuses to wear the outfit you picked for him today.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to disappoint you or insult your fashion sense...
But out of all things, why did you buy him a leprechaun costume?
After lots of nagging, you finally convince him to put it on.
He still refuses to put on the beard and will still keep his adorable beanie. But whatever! At least you two will match now!
Other than that your day is pretty normal. The only difference is that you cannot stop laughing because Ryoma looks absolutely ADORABLE
It’s definitely not the last time you will ask him to wear such ridiculous costumes!
You also make sure to reward him with lots of small kisses and stuff like that
#ryoma hoshi#Danganronpa v3#danganronpa#ndrv3#ndrv3 boys#ndrv3 imagines#korekiyo shinguuji#amami rantarou#ouma kokichi#shuichi saihara#kaito momota#kiibo#gonta gokuhara#Mod Kirumi#st patricks day#fluff
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Every Saturday morning, Zair and I leave Sami to have a snooze and we go to see our friends at the Metro Diner on 100th and Broadway. Diners are an institution in New York in the same way that pubs are in London; like extensions of your home, they accommodate overspill of domestic life. The importance of these places in New York specifically cannot be overstated. This is a city in which homes are notoriously small and where the people who live in them don’t really cook for themselves.
I was going to try to articulate this second home-ness more eloquently, but when I Googled our diner I found that (as usual) the New York Times had already done so, about our very diner no less, and who am I to try to out-eloquent the Times?
In their words:
“To say that the Metro has become my second home would be too vague and sentimental. Better to use the sociological term “the third place” (home and work being the first two), or to quote Robert Frost, the place “where, when you have to go there/ They have to take you in.
American coffee shops, like English pubs, Viennese coffee houses and Greek kaffenions, tend to engender klatches, informal clubs. At the old Key West Diner on 94th Street and Broadway, now known as the Manhattan Diner, the laughter of the comedian Anne Meara and her friends used to fill the room. And where would the sitcom classic “Seinfeld,” the idea of which was conceived in a coffee shop, have been without the regular scenes at Monk’s Café?
… “The coffee shop orients us here, in this city and not another,” Jeremiah Moss, of the blog Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York, said. “If we are regulars, we become known, connected, to a network of people who remain over the span of years, even decades. In the anonymous city, these ties can be lifesavers, especially for the elderly, the poor, the marginal, but also for all of us.”
Aesthetically, it’s exactly what you’d expect: its signs are neon and garish, its floors checked tile, and the seating is a mixture of glass-partitioned, pleather-seated booths and formica-topped tables. The atmosphere buzzes with chat and orders shouted to the kitchen. One of my favourite things is the intercom system they have allowing a faraway waiter to patch through an order, which comes out sounding like a little public service announcement for the chef. Just like Cockney Rhyming Slang, diner ordering is an esoteric language, completely baffling to the uninitiated. As one example, I often hear orders for sandwiches going through as “high and dry”, meaning without condiments. More here.
Each time we go are received like family, and perhaps - given we have a long breakfast and chat to everyone there every week - we almost are. We are greeted by the impossibly glamorous hostess who sits up front looking as though she’s waiting her turn in a beauty pageant rather than seating her customers. Among others, we see Rosa, who updates us on the progress of her seventeen year-old son who’s saving up for a car, and plays hide-and-seek with Zair around the counters, reciting a Spanish nursery rhyme about a little spider. Also, Yanni, who offers to make Zair silver dollar pancakes that he can pick up himself, instead of the adult-sized ones which are almost as big as the plates on which they’re served. It was he who topped up my coffee and gave my shoulder a squeeze a few weeks ago when the mountain of parenting felt a little too intimidating to climb and instead saw me having a little cry into my omelette.
With this place around the corner, it’s easy to understand why people refer to New York as a village, just as it is difficult to agree when conversely, you hear the complain about how cold and unforgiving it can be.
[Photo from here.]
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