i have a fascination with backs

anonymous asked:

hufflepuffs are some of the best ppl (from a slytherin)

And vice versa, Slytherins are some of the most fascinating people I’ve come across. And they make the best friends (right behind Hufflepuffs of course). I know if I need something, my Slytherin friends will be there to back me up and go above and beyond.

citizenpaulina  asked:

I thought you should know that you got me into space stuff. I'm actually taking an Astronomy and Cosmologies class this quarter. Gotta start somewhere right?

Gahhhhhhhhhh that’s so cool :D I’m glad you’re finding interest in it all!!! You’ll definitely have to let me know how that goes. Those classes can be so much fun. There’s just all this stuff out there and it’s so fascinating to see how the universe operates :D

ALSO TOMORROW IS THE FIRST TIME IN HISTORY THAT A ROCKET THAT FLEW TO SPACE AND LANDED BACK ON EARTH WILL BE RELAUNCHED YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY WATCH THAT

Originally posted by heavydynamics

Originally posted by ufo-the-truth-is-out-there

@citizenpaulina

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I’m fascinated by weird religious panics about kids’ pop culture from the last few decades, from D&D being accused of teaching kids witchcraft to He-Man being picked apart for occult symbolism. So I’m honestly surprised there hasn’t been some loud, widely-publicized moral panic about Steven Universe from the religious fundamentalist crowd yet. I mean, think about it, we have a popular cartoon show aimed at children that features:

  • At least one canonical same-sex couple, as well as at least a couple major examples of same-sex attraction
  • A main character who is stated to have been born out of wedlock and raised by a non-traditional family unit
  • At least a few instances of “suggestive” dance moves
  • Magic and violence being shown as a good and positive thing
  • A major symbol for the good guys being a five-pointed star
  • Use of mystical/magical crystals (fundies are still suspicious about that aspect of new age culture, right?)
  • Seeing the future via a “third eye” (this is one thing I recall that fundies complaining about occult elements in cartoons back in the 80s LOVED to rail about)
  • A character who uses shapeshifting to turn into animal forms (another aspect of “occult” religions and beliefs that 80s-era fundies got their undies in a bunch over) or even to transform from a female form to a male one
  • A character who defies the gender binary and is attractive to both men AND women

I mean, I certainly wouldn’t agree with such a moral panic, but in a world where The Loud House can get yelled at by One Million Moms for featuring a pair of gay parents in one episode, I’m honestly baffled that this entire show managed to slip by the religious types’ radar.

Man, fundies really lost their touch since the Satanic Panic ended, huh?

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fu#k, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.
—  John Green

(See full image here! :D)

In retrospect Ford should have probably guessed that whatever Rick Sanchez had planned as a birthday adventure for Stanley and him would result in some sort of bizarre phenomenon that would inevitably result in trouble. Yet somehow, here he was, plummeting through the atmosphere of an alien planet, watching in pure scientific fascination while his entire body rapidly shrunk as he regressed in age.

“Yeeehhaaaaaa! I haven’t felt this spry in decades!” Fiddleford exclaimed as his beard vanished into the youthful face of a child.

“Pretty sweet, huh?” Rick called up from where he casually lay back free falling like he had no care in the world. He looked smugly like it was perfectly normal that he’d be a near seventy year old man in the body of a pale blue haired child skydiving towards an unknown alien landscape. “The atmosphere on this planet does some w-wild shit to mammalian genetics! Rrr-urp-re-reacts like a fountain of youth so to sp-speak. It’ll wear off when we leave but for the day, say ff-fuck you to ar-arthritis and enjoy being ten again boys!”

“Woah-oh cool!” Stanley yelled with the enthusiastic high pitch his voice hadn’t had since puberty. He flapped around laughing in his now vastly oversized suit for a moment, but Ford could have counted down on six fingers how long it took for the amusement to wear off and Stan to notice they were still falling rather fast towards the ground. “Uh hey, Rick? You got a plan for landing, right?”

“Huh? N-No shit, I just had us all drop outta the sky so we could rapidly de-age in a dramatic way only to die moment’s later when w-we hit the ground like pancakes.” Rick scoffed as his small arm fished in his oversized labcoat for something. “Wh-what kind'f-of mad genius do you take me for, Lee?”

With a flourish of his hand Rick produced a small capsule that he casually tossed beneath them. It quickly inflated mid air into a bouncy castle spire that caught their fall and delivered them safely to the planet’s ground through a large inflatable slide. Ford was not certain what calculations had gone into the elaborately childish safety device but there was definitely some sort of false gravity adjustment inside the oversized balloon castle that resulted in the desired safe landing instead of being flung back into the stratosphere upon impact. In short, Rick was clearly showing off.

(Awesome snippet by @stanchez-sloppy-seconds !!!! :DDDD)

Two Months

Pairing: Derek x Reader

Summary: Ever since Derek entered the lives of Stiles, Scott and (Y/N), (Y/N) always had a fascination with him. Tall, dark and handsome; what more could she ask for? She could ask for there to be two-way feelings; Derek is older than (Y/N) by nearly eight years, and that thought keeps playing on the back of his mind. Can (Y/N) change his mind?

Word Count: 1,084

Prompt: -

A/N: I just wanted to have a little fun with this imagine; I write so much fluffy imagines that I wanted to dabble in something else. There is SMUT **That is your warning**

Originally posted by monstrousmess

“(Y/N), you take Derek to the loft; I’ll go to the Sheriff’s station!” Stiles exclaimed, shoving a weak and exhausted looking Derek to you. You barely managed to stabilize yourself and Derek’s heavy figure. You nodded, and walked him to your truck, opening the passenger’s door and allowing him to heave himself into the vehicle. “Don’t get any ideas,” He moaned, holding his hand over a bloody wound.

With a smirk on your face, you walked over to your side and started the truck, driving in the direction of Derek’s home. “I don’t understand why you won’t just give into me.” You teased, when you heard him moan; even though it wasn’t a moan of pleasure, it still created a wave of heat between your legs. “You’re seventeen years old.” He snarled, smelling the arousal that he created.

“Eighteen in two months.” You corrected, a confident smile on your face. You pulled up to his loft, “Why isn’t it healing?”

“It is, it’s just taking its own sweet time.” He snarled, carrying himself up the stairs and into the loft where he crashed onto the couch. “You might be more comfortable with your shirt off.” You mentioned, secretly hoping that he’d tear it off him; but your dream was crushed when he sent you a glare that could kill. You raised your hands in defense and took a seat on the chair next to the sofa. “You can go now.” He hissed in pain.

You shook your head, “Stiles told me to wait until it healed.” You took out your phone and started playing a random game until the light from outside started to dim. Sneaking a glance at Derek, you noticed that his eyes were shut and light snores could be heard up close. You smiled at his peaceful figure; realising you liked him a lot better when he was asleep – he was quiet and this way you could appreciate his beauty.

“(Y/N),” You felt a nudge on your shoulder, jumping from the soothing snooze that you were having. “It’s healed, let yourself out.” You stretched and watched Derek walk into his bedroom. You groaned, standing up and started to gather your possessions in your arm until your eyes caught sight of a handsome figure.

It was Derek, you could see his reflection from the mirror. He tore his bloody shirt off, revealing a toned, tanned body. You leaned up against the sofa, imaging how his arms would feel wrapping themselves around you; his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer and his lips trailing their way down your neck until they reach your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipple.

You couldn’t take it anymore, you stormed into his room; Derek jumping from the sound of the door hitting the wall. “(Y/N), what…” He was taken back when you jumped into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and his around your arse so you didn’t fall. You crashed your lips to his, your hands combing through his shaggy hair. You felt his beard brush against your chin when he kissed you back; the kiss was desperate, both of you were hungry for more. One more afraid to admit it.

Derek dropped you on his bed, but didn’t follow. You leaned back on your palms looking up at him, he avoided your eyes. “Derek, I don’t care that you’re older.” He walked away and you stopped up, “Stop,” He looked back at you, nervously you reached for the bottom of your shirt; pulling it over your head. His eyes went from your lips to your breasts, he licked his lips hungrily but didn’t make any move. You started to unbutton your shorts, pushing them down and kicking them away with your foot; leaving you in your white lingerie. Take god they’re matching today.

Derek looked you up and down – once, twice, and again before he slammed the bedroom door shut. “Fuck it,” He muttered under his breath before rushing to you, the palms of his hands grabbing your face to kiss your lips. He wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you to his naked chest. He pushed his tongue through your lips and deepened the kiss. You let out a moan whilst his tongue explored your mouth. “Fuck, Derek.” He lowered you down onto his bed, supporting his weight with his elbow.

He kissed down your neck; it was everything you imagined, the sensation staying there even when he moved down passed your belly button. You jumped slightly when you felt his hands slip past your panties and rub you slightly. “Fuck (Y/N), you’re so wet.” He mumbled, licking down your body again. He looked up at you through his thick eyelashes; his eyes darkened with lust. You arched your body slightly so it was easier for him to remove the panties… with his teeth. Oh lord.

You relaxed back down, and grasped the blanket with your fist as you felt his tongue rub up and down your core. A whimper left your mouth when he started moving the tip of his tongue faster, “Fuck me,” You begged, feeling the sweat and arousal soak off you. “Please,” You begged, which he proved to love.

Derek quickly shed off his jeans, covering himself but he lined himself to your wet area. He leaned down and kissed your lips, “Are you sure?” He whispered, but you didn’t have a chance to answer when he shoved himself into you. “Oh, (Y/N), you’re so tight.” He moaned into your ear, pushing himself in more. The pain was something you never experienced before, he started to get faster, his hands grabbing your waist as he got deeper and deeper.

Your body began to shake when you felt him hit the spot, “Derek!” You screamed out in pleasure, his eyes glazed over now as he kept pounding into that one spot. His thumb went to your clit, rubbing it gently at first; just feeling a slight sensation on it but he got harder the more you moaned and whimpered. “Derek, I’m going to…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, you let out a scream as you felt your whole body give into him in that moment.

His body went limp against yours as he pounded once, twice before he let out a moan and relieved himself. He kissed your neck once more before pulling out and discarding of the evidence. He collapsed next to you, his arm draping around your naked body.

“Let’s do that again sometime.”

“In two months.”

Writing Prompts

• This was his first miracle.
• We’ve been defeated.
• We need to make friends there.
• Let’s not get fired.
• We are cousins.
• Can they understand?
• Are you blowing things up?
• He opened his first business.
• I’ve never seen such beauty.
• So let’s talk about the disaster.
• You should be on the run.
• This is really important to me.
• We don’t have the time for more.
• Who ate them?
• Never turn your back on me.
• They were all very hungry.
• Something happened between those years.
• Logically, I agree with you.
• You should rescue him first.
• What is he famous for?
• They went along with it.
• Maybe you could tickle them.
• This needs to work out.
• How fascinating is this?
• We should have had a plan.
• We need to give them hope.
• He is a successful spy.
• I’d love to collect those.
• I want them back.
• Is this official?
• I don’t want to argue.
• We didn’t like the play.
• Have you called?
• Is that a banana?
• What’s that noice?
• It was an exhausting task.
• That’s what we’re paid to do.
• Your resume is impressive.
• You are not being objective.
• Can we actually cast them?
• It’s not something I can talk about.
• At least they tried.
• This idea is too complex.
• Who makes the decisions?
• They do have a knife.
• Let’s meet weekly.
• You decide what you believe.
• Keep it by the computer.
• I had alibi.
• Who even talks to you?
• All according to the plan.
• Pick up the blade.
• Who buys this nonsense?
• Can we do it quietly?
• Who is your contact?
• They are too real.
• Who’s responsible for this?
• They went a little overboard.
• You have all the answers.
• Who carries the weapon?
• I have no pior knowledge.
• You aren’t so chill anymore.
• They don’t want this conversation.
• It’s all about resistence.
• Throw him under a bus.
• You should have listed it.
• This is always going to be needed.
• They are a little obscure.
• I’m telling you everything.
• Is that your password?

Chrysalism

/noun/ the peace of being indoors during a thunderstorm

Summary: Bookstores have always lured you in with the promise of the quiet, the serene, and, most recently, him.
Pairing: Jimin | Reader
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 2,644
Author’s Note: This story was on one of my old Tumblr writing accounts that I just deleted, but it was one of my favorite stories and didn’t want it to collect dust in my drive.

.

You’ve always had an endless fascination with books and novels of various different shapes, sizes, and lengths. The way someone could paint an entirely different world with the mixture of just 26 letters, whisk the mind away from reality, stir emotions inside someone—emotions of laughter or sadness or one of complete contentment. The influence a simple novel could have on a person’s viewpoint has always fascinated you.

During your younger years, you would find yourself trekking to the nearest bookstore, if only to simply run your fingers along the spines of all the latest releases. You would open a random novel, just to skim the first sentence, allowing the words of a complete stranger to fill you with familiarity.

Not much has changed in the years following your childhood. Something about corner bookstores have always lured you with the promise of peace and quiet, an escape from the harsh reality you occupied yourself with. You constantly looked forward to the days you could run away and hide within the shelves of the shop, no matter rain or shine, sleet or snow, 30 pages of homework to get done during the night, you always made an effort to visit at least once or twice a week as soon as you entered college.

Today is no exception to the rule. With midterms rapidly approaching, you’re already drowning in papers, projects, and upcoming tests, the stress practically eating you alive. But still, instead of returning to your apartment, you find yourself turning down the familiar sidewalk in the opposite direction. The rain overhead is steadily pouring down today, serving as little warning bells that perhaps making the trip to the bookstore might not be the best option.

Judging from the gray clouds, it’s clear that the weather has other plans for the remainder of the day—the lightning that suddenly shoots across the sky is a clear indication of that—but you find yourself not minding much. The heels of your boots clash gently against the sidewalk, your hair curling slightly as the water comes in contact with it, but all those worries and annoyances dissipate off your skin like steam as the familiar shop comes into view. With the lights on inside, the place looks like a beacon of hope, allowing the smile to spread itself across your face as you quicken your pace to shoulder open the door.

The bell rings overhead as you gently shut the door close, running your hand through your hair quickly to rid some of the water trapped in your locks. After exchanging a smile with the familiar cashier at the counter, you make your way deeper in the store. Like usual, there isn’t anything in particular you’re seeking, but just being surrounded by text, aisles and aisles of hardcovers and paperbacks fills you with comfort.

You’re just starting the turn into contemporary novels, when one particular black, hardcover spine catches your attention, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, eyes widening with recognition as you distinctly remember this particular novel being one of the very few you’ve wanted in your own personal collection of books: John Green’s Looking For Alaska.

Your lips curl up into a smile, momentarily unfazed by the fact that the book had been placed on the highest shelf, towering a few inches above you, even as you stand on your tippy toes, even as your fingers barely manage to graze the book you want. It takes five times before you plant both feet firmly back on the ground with a gentle huff, considering the next movement to grab the book.

You’re just about to consider getting a running start between the two shelves, before a slightly amused voice cuts in through your concentration: “Need some help?”

Keep reading

“I’ll tell you what I miss most, being away from home, I really miss my turtles. I bet they’re all dead. I have great big, huge sea-green turtles in my bath-tub at home. I mate them… well, no, they’re not huge actually, but I do have small turtles as pets, they fascinate me. They have no personality at all and I like that in a pet, I have one that’s this big [about ten inches] and I let him out all the time. He’ll lay on my chest and close his eyes. They’re more affectionate than you might imagine. I used to keep them outside in a kid’s swimming pool, but they all escaped. Then I had a dream one night that they came back… and two days later they did. Spooky. Some people keep cats and fish and birds, I like turtles, I dunno, I just like them because they haven’t evolved since the days of the dinosaurs. They haven’t changed at all.” - Kurt Cobain.

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.
—  John Green

anonymous asked:

What do you think of the Bloody Cough of Death trope or just the "coughing is a sign of dying" trope in general? It tends to mean the character in question has a terminal illness (instead of the more common, treatable pneumonia and such) from what I've seen which also makes me wonder what incurable illnesses have coughing (bloody or not) as a main symptom.

Content Warning: Blood, barf, poops.

 I think this is a really fascinating part of our history that held through into the modern era.

I think this trope really comes back to tuberculosis, which is absolutely famous for its bloody cough. Once upon a time it killed a lot of people, and because that bloody cough is how it spreads, it was something to fear for literally generations. (It still exists today; I treated a patient with it yesterday actually and it’s rampant in prisons, but it’s a disease we’ve learned to treat.) But TB is almost certainly where this trope comes from.

We’ve talked about hemoptysis – a bloody cough – before. There are oh so many causes, such as TB, arteriovenous malformations (AVMs) in the pulmonary blood vessels, acute pulmonary edema / congestive heart failure, and more. It can come from physical damage to the trachea or bronchi, from cancer, prom peneumonia, from House’s favorite (sarcoidosis).

Medically speaking, I’ll be honest: a bloody cough is in no way shape or form a Good Thing™. It’s certainly not always fatal, but it’s a sign of badness in the airway.

As a trope or convention or cliche (your pick) of TV shows, I think it’s used as a marker of illness/injury severity. If you’ve been shot in the chest and you’re coughing up blood, that is a Bad News Bear. Though it’s hardly used realistically – the most common cause I see is less “I cough and there’s blood” and more “I coughed and there’s this gob of ick and OH MY GOD LIKE 0.0004mL OF BLOOD I’M GOING TO DIE BECAUSE TV TOLD ME SO” because they’ve irritated the airway from coughing, or less “blood” and more “pink, frothy spittle” that’s associated with severe pulmonary edema (fluid in the lungs), which typically comes from heart failure.

This is also closely related to vomiting up blood. Most “bloody vomit” is just small streaks of blood in vomit (or people barfing up tomato sauce and/or wine), but large amounts of blood in the puke is a severe medical emergency because it’s a bleed we can’t see and have a very hard time controlling. People have bled to death in their GI tract – ungood.

But yeah, how come Hollywood never shows us their characters are dying by having them poop blood, anyway? (That’s actually usually from hemorrhoids, but it can be from a severe GI bleed, colitis, etc.) 

Mostly, I think most writers as a visually-disturbing-but-not-actually-gross way of pointing out that “hey, this guy’s really sick”, even if what they’ve given their character has nothing to do with their lungs or a cough. I’d like to see it change, or at least come from something  that could actually produce it.

I hope this rambly answer gave you what you needed to keep writing great stories!!

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

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Fascination
Fascination Master list [1/?]

“You usually don’t have guests when I come for a visit,” Lucifer speaks casually, eyeing you between the two men who are nothing but an amusing thorn in his side. They both instinctively take a step forward and closer to each other, blocking you partially from view.

He rolls his eyes, and with a flick of his wrist both boys are flung to opposite sides of the room, held against the wall. 

“Shit-”

“Lucifer I swear to Go-”

“Relax,” He takes a step forward and you instinctively take one back. And though your heart is beginning to pound in your chest because your body knows it is in danger, but you can’t bring yourself to care - the apathetic expression on your face doesn’t change. “I just want a closer look, she’s different from you boys.”

“Different how?” Dean grunts out, attempting to pry himself off the wall but knowing it’s useless. 

“She’s like you Sammy,” Lucifer tosses out the nickname to his vessel, giving him a glance as he stops in front of you, one hand reaching out to tilt your head up. You swallow apprehensively, the adrenaline is rushing through your system and you know it’s a fight or flight response, but you don’t care. “Except where all your anger comes from is different. You want to save people, save your family, save the world. That frustration that you can’t, that it doesn’t end and that you can’t live a normal happy life.” He looks at Sam as he says this then tilts his head down to look at you, tugging at your bottom lip.

“But her? Wherever did you find her?” He presses his fingers against the edges of your lips, forcing a smile to reflect his. “You still loved your family, Sam. Still loved your dad despite the arguments and being unable to see eye to eye. You’d take a bullet for him.”

He doesn’t look away from your eyes, and something prevents you from looking away from his. 

“[Name]-” Dean warns but he’s pressed harder against the wall and his warning ends in a grunt.

“But her? She’ll gladly be on the other end, pulling that trigger to end their lives.”

Your lips twitch from his fingers, pulling down into a frown as you furrow your eyebrows. The edging guilt and anxiety coming forth but the little voice in the back of your head, angry and viscous drowns it out. 

“Thou shall honor thy mother and father.” He says and there’s a twitch of a snarl on your lips that absolutely delights him. 

“But you’d rather kill them, wouldn’t you? You’ve got such a darkness festering inside of you it’s making me a bit giddy. I didn’t think you creatures were capable of it.. I mean some of you slaughter and kill.. but you, you my dear, are so very peculiar.” 

“Why?”

You finally ask, your voice is quiet and he tilts his head as he studies you.

“That little voice in the back of your head, all that built up anger at the world, at the people around you and your family. If you had the power you’d take them all into your hands and crush them.” He’s smiling, “I like that about you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” 

“Leave [Name] alone.” Sam warns, glaring at Lucifer who looks over at him only for a moment before focusing his attention back onto you.

“But she’s so fascinating and you haven’t told me where you found her..”

“In the city of fuck you and the corner of none of your business.” Dean bites out angrily, and with a flick of Lucifer’s wrist Dean’s lips snapped shut, unable to open them.

“That’s not nice, Dean.” He throws an bemused glance toward the elder Winchester and suddenly there’s pain spreading throughout your chest. A gasp escaping your lips but the hand pressing into your chest and grasping your soul keeps you from stumbling backward or falling over.

“[Name]!” Sam shouts, horrified as he stares at Lucifer’s hand encasing your chest, the glow of your soul spilling from the hole he’s made.

It’s agonizing and even when he removes his hand from your chest, the hole no longer apparent and your soul still intact, every nerve feels on fire. 

“You trust the Winchesters about as far as you can throw them. Do you trust anyone? In fact.. I wonder why your soul is so different from others?” He leans in to your hunched form that’s clutching at the ache in your chest.

“Different?”

“Lacking.”

You tilt your head up at him, not understanding.

“You’re missing a piece dear, the puzzle was never fully put together before it was put inside you. Ever wonder why it’s so difficult to care for things? Your body runs on the basic human instinct, but you, you don’t feel it, do you?” You bite down on the inside of your cheek, glaring up at him as the angry voice in the back of your head screams. 

He tilts his head and smiles, “Well, that’s something. You feel, but so very little. The biggest emotions you can bring yourself is that little angry voice constantly screaming in your head. What is it like? To lack the capacity that your peers have? To be unable to understand the lengths that these two go for each other? Could you do the same?”

You wanted to say yes, but the only reason was a sense of obligation, you owed them. They had saved you from your personal hell as a demon play toy, and took you under their wings, protected you. But could you say you cared for them, like family? Loved them?

What did that even feel like?

He waves his hand in a lazy manner and both the Winchester collapse onto the floor in an exhausted heap. 

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” His finger flicks the tip of your nose and in an instant he’s gone. Leaving two confused boys, with so many questions that you didn’t have answers to.

“I’m missing a piece?” Your hands clutch your chest. 


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azriel’s shadows

“It was almost enough to distract me from noticing Azriel as those shadows lightened, and his gaze slid over Mor’s body: a red, flowing gown of chiffon accented with gold cuffs, and combs fashioned like gilded leaves swept back the waves of her unbound hair.
A wisp of shadow curled around Azriel’s ear, and his eyes snapped to mine. I schooled my face into bland innocence.”

Thinking about Az because of having Thoughts with @squaddreamcourt and found this… I love Azriel’s shadows. I’m so fascinated by them. And I love moriel. And Mor. And I want to know better how they work. The shadows, that is. I know there have been some posts on this, but I’m just… going off on my own thing here. Because I searched my book for “shadows” after I decided to talk about this quote, and they are everywhere.

It was Rhys who suggested that the shadows came to Az when he was locked away:

“There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw. In the centuries I’d known him, he’d said little about his life, those years in his father’s keep, locked in darkness. Perhaps the shadowsinger gift had come to him then, perhaps he’d taught himself the language of shadow and wind and stone.”

It is interesting to me that Rhys wouldn’t understand where they came from (at least with 100% certainty). Is this a thing that just… happens to people? When they go through trauma? 

And also this:

“Yes—Azriel, who kept a step away, whose shadows trailed him and seemed to fade in her presence.

If his shadows came to him when he was in such a dark place… and they fade away around Mor… tbh I’m dead? Like maybe they will… disappear when he is finally FREAKING HAPPY WITH HER? Or… maybe it has something to do with her power?

(And them disappearing is not necessarily a bad thing - I also have a lot of Problems with the work he does for Rhys - honestly he’s the last person who should be torturing people, and I really think that Rhys is taking advantage of him in the sense that Az would never tell him he is uncomfortable or doesn’t want to do that work. Clearly, he throws himself into it. But he shouldn’t? And who is going to stop him? Mor tries, we’ve seen, to at least get him to take a break.)

Anyway, I’m just having some Half-Developed Thoughts while I grade, so… do with all of that what you will. Don’t take them too seriously.

The Human Brain by Susan Greenfield • Having read and been fascinated by Greenfield’s book ‘mind change’ I wanted to go back and read one of her earlier books. This is exactly what is says in the cover, a guided talk of the brain: in gross structure and looking on a smaller molecular level. I found the section on consciousness and forming memories especially interesting - I’d recommend this to anyone interested in biology 🌿

ARRIVAL   ★★★★✩

One of the best films of 2016! I don’t know where to start, there’s so much to say about Arrival! Lets start simply: we loved it. We loved it because it’s one of these movies that leaves you with lots of questions bouncing in your head and there’s hardly something we love more than questions.

At first, it may seem one of these old, boring, alien-invasion-scifi movies with huge floating UFOs and all, but it’s much deeper than that (reminded us of Interstellar, a bit).

Arrival is about communication. About language and its close bound with the way you think. Do they have names? If they don’t, do they understand what personal identity is? Do they know what a question is? What an intention is? How do they think? This linguistic approach is fascinating, and it really strikes a chord with us because back in college, we got a linguistic class where we studied the Sapir-Whorf theory (❤). For me I recall that lesson where we learned about how Germans form their words and how it influences the way they think. It completely changed the way I look at foreign people.

But Villeneuve here (Ted Chiang, actually, since Arrival is taken from his novel), is taking the whole Sapir-Whorf theory to a higher level, asking if a non-linear language could affect our understanding of time. What is time? Is it a universal force? Are we really forced to follow its invisible arrow or does it all happen in our brains? And if so, can we find a way to transcend its rules and move back and forth? Does “back and forth” mean anything without time? Going further: does this would prove the existence of Fate or God?

Our languages develop in time. You put words one after another, letters or sounds one after another. If time isn’t linear anymore, how does language work? Would speaking this - for us unconceivable - language completely change our understanding of the universe? Can a language really rewire our brain?

See? Questions! Questions everywhere! But beyond all these lovely question marks, Arrival is a perfect piece of art. Direction, editing, photography, soundtrack, the whole package is amazing. Amy Adams’s acting is terrific! How it is even possible she didn’t get her Oscar nomination?!

Well, Arrival completely blown our minds! If you haven’t seen it yet stop everything you’re doing and go watch it now. If you’ve seen it tell us what you think!

L.

It’s interesting that, in traditional astrology, the 4th House represented the father and the 10th House represented the mother but now it seems to be the other way around for modern interpretations. The 4th House represented the father due to like ancestry and being linked to genealogy, which is often traced back to the father I suppose.

Do you guys have any thoughts about this?

Rosa Mundis

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

And Eurus smiles down at Rosie Watson, stroking her hair off her face. Bouncing her lightly in her arms, cooing at how lovely she is.

The baby giggles sweetly, clearly delighted with her new friend.

Around the two the remains of Moran’s foot-soldiers lie, contorted and lifeless. Covered in blood-spatter and bruising, their plot of kidnapping brought to an abrupt halt. As Sherlock steps into the nursery his boot comes down on something wet and hard, which he belatedly realises is a-

Oh my, he thinks. I wonder how on earth Eurus managed to sever and detach that poor bugger’s spinal column from his torso..?

He hears Rosie give another gentle giggle, still amused by his sister’s attentions, and decides that now is not the time to engage in scientific endeavour, however fascinating. Rosie is his main interest, after all- And John is probably chomping at the bit to have his daughter back.

Speaking of…

Watson thunders into the bedroom, going straight for Rosie; For a moment Eurus freezes, body tensing for battle, but then-

Abruptly she steps away. Pulls the child closer. “I had made myself clear,” she coos to the baby, though the words are obviously meant for John and Sherlock. “I told everyone that my family was off limits, and that includes this little scrap here, and her Daddy, doesn’t it, Rosie?” The baby giggles for her and she laughs. “Yes, darling! Yes it does!”

By this time John’s practically vibrating with worry, those infamous protective instincts of his having clearly rushed to the fore. To avoid any further… unpleasantness, Sherlock steps in and, smiling reassuringly at his sister, takes Rosie from her. The child cries out in protest, only to quiet when she’s handed to her father.

Eurus lets her go with a fond smile and turns back to Sherlock.

“Mycroft sent a helicopter.”

It’s not a question but he answers it anyway.

“Yes- It’s waiting outside, if you’re ready to go?”

Eurus smiles brightly at him. Kisses his cheek with sudden and giddy feeling. “Bye bye, Rosie-Scrap!” she calls. “Don’t worry now, you’ll be safe. You and your little friend!”

Sherlock and John blink at her- “That’s me, is it?” Watson barks- and once again Eurus laughs.

“Don’t be silly,” she says. “I meant Sherlock and the Coffin Mouse’s offspring!”

And with that she saunters out, straight into Anthea’s waiting (and well-armed) custody.

*********

Two days later, when Molly informs Sherlock she’s pregnant, she can’t help but be pleased by her boyfriend’s lack of surprise-

And new set of security measures.

alright. after receiving over 6 messages and going back and forth between “should i go into a deep luna character analysis or just talk about a favorite moment” i decided to go with the latter since 1. i want to see 4x08 before i write a lengthy meta on her as i believe something grand will happen in regards to her character, and 2. i have always wanted to talk about a specific moment that takes place in 3x14 which gets overshadowed by other scenes and themes.

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Many of the uglinesses cultivated in our world today refer back to the two experiences that I have singled out. The body in the throes of death; the body in the throes of sex—these things easily fascinate us. They fascinate us by desecrating the human form, by showing the human body as a mere object among objects, the human spirit as eclipsed and ineffectual, and the human being as overcome by external forces, rather than as a free subject bound by the moral law. And it is on these things that the art of our time seems to concentrate, offering us not only sexual pornography but a pornography of violence that reduces the human being to a lump of suffering flesh made pitiful, helpless, and disgusting.
—  Roger Scruton, Beauty and Desecration