one of those political things

This is one of those things that I cannot find a political reason to explain. POTUS withdrawing from the Accord makes no sense if you ask the electorate, no sense if you ask Energy Sector leaders, no sense if you ask the military, no sense if you ask economic experts, and certainly no sense if you ask scientists. 

With nothing else left to explain it, I return to the same question, I’ve been asking for months, 

Is this malicious, or just stupidity?

(Sierra Club)

anonymous asked:

i know you're super busy all the time but just in case - any tips for law firm networking events? or, alternatively, as i have both this week, on how to sell yourself at an interview? you seem to be a person who knows how to play the game. anyway! loads of luck with all your things!

Networking events are a) the worst, b) incredibly valuable in expanding your circle of personal and professional contacts. Most of my tips are spawned from me viciously hating them, and simultaneously knowing they are Important For Career Development.

  • First of all, if you’re waiting for the magic rom-com moment when you totally connect with someone and they hire you on the spot—it’s not going to happen. (I definitely had to kill that fantasy, several times.)
    • Instead, it’s best to think of networking as a meet cute—the goal is to make an impression, and for that person to know who you are when you follow up with them afterwards.
    • ….and you are going to follow up afterwards.
  • Start with people you know. There are a lot of networking events I’ve attended where there are classmates/professors in attendance. It is perfectly good manners to approach someone you know, greet them, and then introduce yourself to whoever they’re talking to.
    • I mean, obviously you can’t be an asshole about it, you don’t want to interrupt them, but I’ve definitely pulled this move with great success. 
    • “Hey, [FRIEND] I saw you and I just had to say hello. Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I’m [NAME], I’m in [FRIEND]’s Corporate Law class.”
    • It also works really nicely if you can slip a compliment in for friend, both because it’s classy and they feel obligated to reciprocate.
  • Go in with 2-3 general questions that require more than a brief answer. Some of my favorites are “What’s the most interesting or challenging project/issue you’ve worked on in the last 6 months?” “What brought you to [area of specialization]?”
    • These are good because they don’t require you knowing anything about the person, but can get them to open up about their work. I haven’t met a lawyer who doesn’t enjoy sharing their war stories.
  • Work the room. If you’re talking to a single person for more than 15 minutes, you’re probably spending too much time with them.
  • It is totally appropriate to ask for a business card! Ask for a business card! This helps for the next step which is…
  • Follow up within the next business week. As I said before, networking events are meet cutes. If you really want to develop this individual as a contact, you’re going to have to keep reaching out to them.
    • I’ve had the most success in finding and friending them on LinkedIn directly afterwards. (Literally, I go home and spend an hour finding everyone I talked to.) In my connection request, I thank them for the conversation and mention one specific thing they talked about.
    • Then, about a week later, I email them directly and ask to grab coffee/have an informational interview.
      • Attach your resume to the request, and send them a reminder email 24 hours before with your resume attached.
  • Keep up contact. These types of relationships aren’t a one-shot deal, you need to stay at the forefront of the minds. Like the articles they post on LinkedIn. Reach out and congratulate them on new jobs/awards.
    • Almost all attorneys publish pretty frequently through their firm website/blog. If they post something related to your interests, I suggest reaching out and saying so—a couple sentences wishing them well ought to do the trick.

If you’re reading through this and it sounds incredibly daunting, it is. But it is also one of those things that gets easier with practice. Be polite, relaxed, and professional, and chances are you’re already leagues ahead in the game.

While the angels, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm/That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”  and its hero the Conqueror Worm.

THE FINAL BOSS: A SPURNED WOULD-BE LOVER

I have decided to make this “final boss” series a thing, because I sincerely love all the varied, weird and beautiful antagonists I’ve created over the years! This is K, who is the mysterious head of a great and powerful corporation who hires a thief to steal the secrets of his competitors. Over time, he eventually finds he has feelings for the thief, but unfortunately, the other rebukes him. So what is a man who has received everything in the world to do when he can’t get the one thing he truly desires?

Why, do everything in his power to ruin the life of the thief, kill his loved ones, break him down, and either witness his destruction or make him understand that he really should accept all the love that K has to give.

But if that wasn’t bad enough, K is not a simple ordinary man. He constantly carries an umbrella over him and avoids sunlight, and while some may joke he is a vampire, the truth is far more horrifying. Many years ago, he happened upon a terrible creature, and forced the creature to fuse with him, becoming something far more powerful than even he imagined. The umbrella is not for him. It’s for everyone else. For, as soon as he steps into the sunlight, he violently transforms into a giant, voracious worm-like creature that will rampage until nothing around him is left alive.

A man with an umbrella who holds so much fury in him that it squirms like a worm within his rotting excuse for a heart. What a guy!

.

Greetings, wonderful followers!

We want to quickly address the issue of politics as it applies to this confessions blog. We’ve had a few people submit confessions related to the current US political atmosphere which drove the Admins to some serious discussion.

Politics are a hot mess right now giving people all sorts of strong feelings. The thing is, politics is one of those things that can quickly spin out of control when discussing it on the internet, when you’re not accountable for your words face-to-face, so we’d rather avoid introducing political content into this blog. We’d like to preserve our blog as a fandom safe space.

The ability of celebrities to persuade people one way or the other on political candidates is a never-ending discussion with fair points on both sides. We understand how this weight might come into play given how beloved the SPN cast is with its fanbase, but the cast members are also free to speak as they wish on issues that matter to them. Rather than push ourselves as a blog in the potential direction of having people comment on the casts’ political choices, we think the right answer is just to avoid the subject on this blog entirely and instead remind everyone of the importance of doing your own research.

We’ll add it to our guidelines for future reference, but at this time the Admins have agreed that avoiding politics and preserving our blog as a fandom safe space is the right direction for us going forward.

“I said only that words were my forte, sweet lady. I never said I couldn’t fight. Though I would never claim to be any sort of true warrior. Not after failing to protect the ones I cared for.”

{ favorite unpopular characters meme - a character you love who is often villainized for their relationships }

spoopyhologramdeer  asked:

Hey, I was just wondering if there would be any particular reason a zoo which has otherwise been quick to respond wouldn't respond to let you know the approximate area of an animal's exhibit? This happened a long time ago, mind, I was doing a presentation for a class on captive enrichment and wanted to include a comparison of the specific animal's wild space vs captive space, and then use examples of how they "make up" for the lack of space using enrichment.

Probably because PR nixed that specific question.

 It’s one of those political things that comes down to it being fine to talk about space use and enrichment, but they don’t like the framing of not having enough space and having to “make up” for it. Even when it’s true, they’d rather frame enrichment as something extra and important. If an exhibit is in accordance with official space guidelines, they’ll never say it isn’t big enough (even if the keepers want their animals to have more space) because that casts doubt on the standards they’re held to. If it is too small (which can happen for a variety of reasons, including housing a different species than the animals it was built for, or having a set of animals who can’t share space and require rotational management) then they’re generally aware and not proud of it and don’t want to talk about it. 

This doesn’t mean they’ll lie to you if you ask if the staff would want the animals to have more space or if they’d benefit from it, but you’d have to ask the correct questions to get the answer you wanted. Even so, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard PR allow information actual square-footage to be talked about unless it’s in announcing a new big exhibit that they’re super proud of. 

anonymous asked:

saying queer is like radical and revolutionary in a way other ids aren't is still kind of guilt tripping though. lots of people in Queer Nation called themselves other things as personal identifiers and they were radical. Queer isn't more radical than just "lesbian" or just "trans", those also have histories of really amazing activism.

First: It is guilt tripping if actively engaging with radical politics is a moral obligation. I reject that premise - marginalized people are not required to be political merely to exist.

Second: It’s not that there’s something inherently more radical to “queer.” It’s that, for a number of reasons, “queer” is most commonly used by people on the margins of our community. M-spec people. A-spec people. Trans people. People of colour. Disabled people. Mentally ill people. Poly people. Kinky people. These groups frequently find that mainstream LGBT+ politics have little to nothing to offer us - we are frequently incapable of living up to the whole “we’re Just Like You except this one thing!” image that those politics require. So yeah, we tend to be a bit more radical.

anonymous asked:

“You pulled me into an argument of waffles vs pancakes and even though I don’t know anyone I’m yelling at we’ve been arguing for at least 30 minutes now” With Junkrat please? This is just really funny too me. Have a lovely day!

Ahhh this can be really silly!


There were few things you were willing to argue on in this world. One of those things was politics, because boy was that loaded and man could it get the blood pumping. Another thing was omnic rights. You could argue with anyone for days on the subject, almost literally. You hated when people claimed omnics didn’t deserve the same rights as human beings.

The other topic you could argue on was breakfast foods.

“Waffles hold the perfect amount of syrup in the wells! You can’t tell me that doesn’t make them better than pancakes!” you were shouting, in the middle of the street, where anyone could hear you.

“You’re out of your mind!” the guy you were yelling at responded. “Too much syrup is a bad thing, pancakes absorb the right amount!”

You were beginning to think the guy was completely out of his mind. How could anyone not think waffles were better than pancakes? You happened to glance the time on your phone, and realized, very suddenly, that you had been arguing with a stranger for thirty minutes.

“I need to leave. I don’t have time for this… this… blasphemy!” you threw your hands up to prove your point. The guy paused and seemed to realize the time as well.

“You’re lucky I need to be somewhere,” he let out a chuckle, the sound lighter than you would’ve thought him capable. It was kind of cute.

“Here, call me when you’ve realized how much better pancakes are,” he quickly jotted down a phone number and pressed it into your hand, before disappearing into the crowd. You looked at it and then huffed, stuffing the little slip off paper into your pocket.

The nerve of that guy. You were going to call him later and give him a piece of your mind.

Last night one of those political talkshows aired and the topic, of course, was the G20 thing, or rather the things that happened in Hamburg during the conference because talking about what the conference actually achieved or rather didn’t is too boring amirite - and one of the most conservative members of the CDU (who incidentally is finally leaving politics this autumn, yay) left mid-taping because he clashed with another guest, a leftist politician, whom he accused of disrespecting the police before storming off. 

So here for it.

(w)reckless

pairing: theodore nott x lavender brown

setting: post-war, canon-divergent au

word count: 1,219

written for: @paansyparkinson (i hope your exam went well, bb)


Azkaban is more than a prison.

Theo listens—watches, withers, waits—as the hastily reformed Wizenmagot sentences him to twenty-three months of incarceration with no opportunity for parole; and all he can suddenly think about is how the Malfoys are under house arrest, strolling through pleasantly fragrant rose gardens and drinking hundred year-old bottles of claret in their elegantly appointed drawing rooms and just—just biding their time, counting their gold and feigning their remorse and clawing their way back from the dead like the royal fucking parasites they’ve always been.

Theo, though—Theo is in chains.

He doesn’t speak as he’s led out of the courtroom. There’s nothing to say, not really. His parents are dead. Zabini had fucked off to France with his slinking, deadly snake of a mother. Theo had never had a lot of friends—had never particularly seen the point of making any—but there is, he imagines now, something uniquely terrible about being completely alone for this, the war-drum solemn moment his life is inextricably altered.

Ruined.

The tattoo they ink onto the inside of his left wrist—prisoner number 700, exactly—hurts less than he expects it to. He can almost feel the power of the runes seeping into skin, mucking about with the chemistry of his blood and his magic and his sense of self. Who he’s been, who he is, who he will be. It’s cruel, he decides. A punishment fit for a crime he’s still not entirely sure he’d even properly committed.

Keep reading

On non-binaries in SU

I’ve seen some comments on my and other’s posts on Steven Universe. They are along the vein of SU as a show where it’s the traditional gender roles flipped backwards (females are stereotypically stronger, while males are stereotypically weaker) or that we need to see male villains or male gems come out.

These are just my thoughts on the matter, as someone who feels like they never fit in with all the neat categories we have in society. I don’t think they can fully represent what the movements have been talking about, but I do think representation is important so I would at least want to have this said, and I want people to know that when I write posts and analyses and theories, these are the values that underlie my thought processes.

The first thing I want to point out, is that by wanting to have diametrically opposed categories for gender, we’re still falling into the trap of viewing the world in binaries. I mentioned in this post that for the longest time, people have been taught to understand the world in terms of these opposites. Binaries refer to splitting everything we understand neatly into two. Male and Female. Right and Wrong. Light and Dark. Day and Night.

What I mean by understand is that we tend to explain one of those things in terms of the other. For instance, what is doing the wrong thing? It is not doing the right thing. What is day? It is the time when the sun is up. What is night? IT is the time when the sun is down. Binaries cause us not to notice that we can actually have grey areas, that not everything can fit so neatly into two categories and by extension, not everything just fits neatly into categories themselves.

In fact, the fact that the world non-binary as in “not binary” has to be used so that people can get their message across that there’s more than just two sides to the story, shows how entrenched this thinking is. But the good news is, we’re starting to move away from a world that relies on this kind of thinking. We’re starting to understand that there are more than two genders, and more importantly, we’re realising that there’s more to people than just their gender,  race, religion, socioeconomic standing, or political views. 

Morality

Keep reading

andrewjacksonscenichikes  asked:

Would you mind explaining what you mean about refusing to call the UMP Les Républicains?

The word “républicain” and “république” has strong connotations in France. For instance, our president does not say “god bless France” the way the US president often says “God bless America” after a speech. Instead he will say “Vive la république et vive la France” which means “long live the republic and long live France” as you probably gathered. 

I feel a lot of discomfort with a French political party claiming a term such as being a “républicain” for themselves. You do not have to believe in the ideas of Sarkozy, Fillon or Juppé in order to believe in the république and thus see yourself and label yourself a républicain. I strongly dislike the way this word will, from now on, be associated with this right wing party and with the way a lot of youth will now probably reject the notion of being a “républicain” and believing in the “république” all together. 

Believing in the république, believing in the ideas of liberty, equality, brotherhood and secularism that she carries, claiming and learning about this long history of struggling as a people for her to exist… well… all of those things do not belong to one single political party, and I refuse to let them claim that history, to let them claim that identity, let them claim that symbol. It belongs to us all, not only to them.

This is why I refuse to call the UMP by their new name “Les Républicains”, because this label is not solely theirs to claim and they are no one to auto-proclaim themselves as representative of what it means to be a “républicain” in France. 

anonymous asked:

How did Duane and Leysa meet, or was their marriage an arranged one? Is that even a thing within the soud caste?

Seldom in his twenty-two years had Duane Adelier thought about the prospect of marriage. It had always been a distant inevitability in the back of his mind, of course - something he would one day have to steel himself and endure, like his first crow’s foot or his father’s passing - but it would be an event he had little say in.

As a printer’s son in a respectable family, a time would arrive when one of the other families in their working class Soud ghers would approach Duane’s father with an eligible girl, a dowry, and a marriage contract. If Duane’s father found the girl suitable, she and his son would be married in the Soud chapel of the Temple of Song, have their marriage brands inked that evening, and spend their first awkward night together in whatever new flat the ghers assigned them. Not a terrible event, perhaps. Perhaps! Growing up, there had been a handful of young ladies whose ankles Duane was always certain to surreptitiously admire at service, and a handful more with their flashing emerald eyes and flaxen curls who always were quick to seek him out at quarter’s end socials to talk about the Shadwe’s latest sermon or the newest Crescian aggression or… well, perhaps he had usually been the one to wish to discuss those things but the girls were always very polite and let him finish at least three sentences before asking where Lemuel was.

But that had been before, in another life. That had been when his days were simple, conclusions foregone, the world ordered, and his future written! That was all done now.

Now he was Rector Duane Adelier, formerly of the Order of Khinoll, now the newly appointed pymary instructor for the Temple of Song’s Lions. At the tail-end of the Foi-Hellick Affair he’d saved a handful of terribly important people and won the respect of a terribly important man. Now his future was as bright and blinding as a look into the khert. He’d been not more than a week back in Durlyne, barely settled into his old room above father’s shop, when a bespectacled old Soud from ghers 34 rapped at the door and asked for a word. Duane and his father had exchanged suspicious glances before letting him in. Ghers 34 was the ghers above theirs in the Durlynian pecking order, a community of financiers, politicians, clerics, and wrights who turned up their noses at the Adeliers’ ghers of merchants, craftsmen, bakers, and artists. What business did he have here?

The old man had wasted no time. Duane Adelier, he had said, had outgrown his station. There was no better a place for him than ghers 34, the loftiest ghers a Soud could inhabit in Durlyne outside of owning his own manor on White Slope. Duane’s mouth had opened to shoo the old man away but father had cuffed him in the back of the head and, with his characteristic brusqueness, said his son would make the necessary arrangements immediately.

Those necessary arrangements, Duane learned too soon, included choosing a wife from ghers 34.

He’d railed to his father that night, addled with nerves and uncertainty. It was dreadful enough how the Temple administration was treating the sudden Soud in their lofty ranks - must he lose the comfort of his ghers and family too? He knew no one in ghers 34! They would scoff behind his back of printer’s ink beneath his fingernails the way the Motadwe of the Temple laughed behind his back about piss in his hair. And how could he choose a poor girl from that ghers to be saddled with him? Who there would want to marry down? To be a sacrifice burnt for the sake of a ghers acquisition? No woman would want him, and there was no woman he wanted there either!

Oh, he should never have ventured outside the print shop. Never have attended seminary! Never have gone to the Academy! Never should have joined the army! Never should have been born! Ssael, why? Why?!

His father had listened to the rant without interrupting, as he normally did. He had no words of comfort nor reassurance, for such things were not his way. Instead he had made them each a peppery stew of beef and potatoes, and told Duane that this draughty old flat was no fit place for an up-and-coming wright who’d need space to build his library and do his research. Ssael had called him to serve, and Duane must not shy from any changes that would allow him to do so better.

Of course there had been no arguing that.

The next day Duane took the long houndcart ride across the city to ghers 34. A dozen young women were waiting for him with their fathers, and Duane felt himself back in the army staring down a new arrival of terrified young Plat recruits.

Some of the girls were quite pretty. One was in fact a calibre of breath-catching beauty that made Duane’s heart flutter. Some of the others were quite plain. One had the most lovely, chirrupy voice, and whispered heatedly to her father about having no time for this foolishness, but when she peeked at the newcomer from behind her curtain of blonde she revealed a cleft palate and a lazy eye. Duane frowned. She’d wind up married down to a man from his own ghers one day, or sent away to White Slope to serve as a nanny or housekeeper.

Speaking with their fathers afterwards was nerve-wracking. Considering each dowry offer was a terror of indecision. And all the while the old man from the day before was watching him, his scrutiny harsher than any Duane cast upon the girls. The Temple’s new Rector wondered if the man would change his mind now that he saw what a stuttering shell of a fool Duane Adelier truly was. Put him on a sandy plain and have him take down a Crescian Rockwalk with only his staff and his wits, aye, but ask no more, please.

In the end, no decision was made. Duane promised to ruminate on the matter that night. He boarded the houndcart with a heavy heart but with his eyes on the horizon, seeking out the Temple and Ssael’s outstretched hand. Instead of returning home he remained on the cart until its final stop, then stepped out onto the moon-white courtyard before the towering Temple of Song.

He’d loved the temple ever since he was a small boy. Then, it was the most marvellous thing he’d ever seen, and even now, as a worldly wright and celebrated warrior, he could think of no finer sight than the marble-white tusk of Ssael’s own spire piercing the black profundity of the star-mad nightsky. If he thought too hard about his new placement within its ranks he could grow a little dizzy with a strange mix of disbelief and delight. But indeed this was his home now. Lowly Duane Adelier was a man of the Temple.

For hours he conferred with Ssael in the Soud chapel, hoping for a shred of guidance. Little came. He took to counting the leaves of each rose bush around the alter, then exponentiating the numbers, dividing the results, dancing a meditative dance behind his eyes with integers and vectoring khert lines while his gloved fingers tapped stacatto nonsense against his thigh. Eventually his own stomach pulled him to his feet. If nothing else, a few buttered sausages and a mug of beer might at least keep him from jumping off Blue Boys Bridge ere the sun rose.

A trio of golden-haired young women all but bowled him over as he framed himself at the top of the stairwell. It was far too late for them to be away from home, unescorted, even in a safe place like the Temple, and Duane turned on them with a rebuke.

“What’s this now? Ssael will yet be waiting with open ears come the sun. You had best find your way home for now, ladies.”

The girls were no more than sixteen or seventeen. The tallest hid a giggle behind her hand and reached for one of the others, who reached for the third and shoved her forward. Duane’s hands shot up to catch her and he made a face to recognise the disfigured girl from earlier. Pity flared, then he found himself strangely angry.

“Rector, sir, we were looking for you!” the first girl laughed, “Leysa wanted to talk to you. She’s afraid you won’t choose her!”

Duane could feel his ears heat up and his neck glow. The girl with the cleft palate suffered a similar reddening which made Duane feel miserable and low. “Here now,” he managed, “Whom I choose or do not choose is of no concern to you. You are from ghers 34?”

“Yes, Rector!”

He held the disfigured girl - Leysa, he supposed - lightly by the upper arm and directed her towards the stairs, indicating her friends follow. “I would see the three of you on the cart this instant. Do your families know you are out?”

“Oh, no! Please don’t tell mama!”

“Little chicks, you had best be on that cart then!”

“Go ahead!” Leysa blurted to her friends, digging her heels suddenly into the floor. Duane all but tripped as she stopped them short. The other two girls exploded past, disappearing down the stairwell in a flurry of woollen skirts and silky gold hair. Duane blustered around another rebuke, but Leysa pulled away from him suddenly and demanded: “Is it true that you killed a boy?”

The Rector wobbled, taking a step backwards. The chapel lobby was empty around them, and his boots sounded very loud against the tiled floor. “This is improper,” he said, “If you wish to meet with me you may do so come the morrow, properly chaperoned-“

“Did you kill a boy?” she pressed, shaking her head, “I do not wish a murderer for a husband.”

“I do not believe that will be a problem, miss!” He looked away. Her assymetric gaze made him uncomfortable. Could her family not afford to glamour her appearance? “I killed many people.”

“No, no, no! "She scrunched her forehead in vexation. "Not in the army, Mr. Adelier! I refer to your time in school. I read in the paper four years ago that a Platinum boy was killed in a duel at the Academy by a Third Option Silver. Imagine! You were at the Academy at the same time and you are a tacit caster. You could kill a Plat.” Duane’s eyes widened as the cheeky and ugly little girl proceeded to rattle off the entirety of his Academy shaming as if she had been a witness. Adelier never would have been blamed for the Plat’s murder, she said, for it would have shamed his patron and fanned the flame of bigotry against the Soud, but he had truly done it, hadn’t he? And the Silver had been allowed to take the fall?

“You must tell me,” Leysa finished, “For I do not wish a murderer for a husband.”

“You shan’t have one!” said Duane, “For I have no intention of marrying you!”

“But my dowry is the largest,” said Leysa testily, “My father is very set on you. He says I should marry someone who can fight because we are likely going to come to blows with the Gefendur one day and you killed scads of men in the army. But if you killed a poor Plat boy I will not have you. I do not care what father says.”

Duane thought the girl was surely mad. This settled it! He would stay the hells out of ghers 34 and move into the Lions barracks, if father wished to give his bedroom away. Thank you for this revelation, Ssael!

“I did not murder that boy,” he relented, trying to keep his voice low, “He attacked me in the night and I had to defend myself. He struck me about the head and I lost my senses. In my haze I cast a terrible spell that I never would in my right mind-”

“A core leech,” said Leysa matter-of-fact, “They are illegal. Why did he attack you? Were you a prat to him?”

“I- what?”

Leysa lowered her voice as well, suddenly terribly serious. Duane saw something fleetingly beautiful in her eyes, more beautiful than all the other jewels of ghers 34. He saw a fierce and uncompromising kindness. “Some people are very cruel to Plats,” the girl whispered, “They say terrible things about them and act like they do not have any value at all. I think it is dreadful. If you feel that way too I shall not have you. If you killed a Plat because you didn’t think his life had any meaning I will hate you forever.”

With that, Duane felt a judgement much keener than any he had cast on her sisters that day, or even the scrutiny the ghers 34 elder had fixed upon him earlier. Looking through it, he remembered his little soldiers again behind his eyes; his little snowy-topped warriors crowded around him, staring bravely at a charging line of snarling hounds and spear-wielding riders. “Every Aldishman is beloved to me,” was all he managed. Leysa nodded, relieved.

“My father is a good man but I don’t like how he looks down on the Plats and even the Bronze.”

“They look down on us as well,” Duane reminded.

“No excuse! We have to be the better people, Mr. Adelier, and set the proper example. We’ll raise our children to always treat people with respect no matter what caste they come from or how much money they have.”

“Your father is the financier on Hanovier Way, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” sighed Leysa, “But he just lost the Senesy account and he’s been dreadfully cross. You should bring him a bottle of Sevencrow Port tomorrow when you call. It’s his favourite.”

Leysa took a few steps past, towards the stairwell. Duane ran a hand through his hair, studying the view. “I will,” he said, at length. She turned, her disfigured lips curled in a victorious rictus.

“You will marry me then,” she stated. It was not a question. Duane shrugged helplessly.

“Why do you wish to have your hooks in me, of all men? I will never have very much money. I am a tedious bore and when you meet my brother you will realise you chose the wrong Adelier.”

At the stairwell threshhold, the girl paused, considering. Duane thought she at least cut a nice figure from the back with her sloping shoulders, long neck, and a charming little rear she knowingly swayed beneath her skirts.

“You looked sad when you saw me,” Leysa answered at last, thoughtful. Then she brightened. “You’re interesting. And I enjoy the shape of your head. When we fix your hair you’ll almost be handsome.”

Duane’s mouth screwed into a grimace almost as ugly as hers and he all but roared: “When I glamour your face you’ll almost be beautiful-!”

“Oh, you needn’t!” assured Leysa, unaffected by his spleen, “I wanted to be certain you are not shallow. I would not have you if you are shallow.” She removed a small pymaric pinned to her collar. Suddenly the cleft in her lip was gone. Her lazy eye realigned itself. Her green gaze snapped at him, perfect and bright in a pretty face.

Anteit Vaosa, she was too beautiful for him. Too, too beautiful! Still, somehow, for some reason only Ssael could explain, she called: “You WILL marry me, aye?”

Duane’s knees weakened. He grasped the wall to keep from tumbling.

“Aye?” Leysa pressed, impatient.

Duane nodded. Satisfied, the girl turned in triumph to tumble down the stairs with a valedictory fluttering of fingers. “Sevencrow Port, Mr. Adelier, don’t forget!”

anonymous asked:

What are your feelings towards South Park? I saw you mention it earlier

I was eleven when it first came out and I grew up with it as the “taboo” cartoon every parent was afraid of letting their kids watch. For a while I snuck around to watch it behind my mother’s back, then watched it openly after she gave up trying to stop me. It was my favorite show for a while. 

To a kid at the time, it was mind-blowing. It was weird, rude, and vulgar. The early days in particular threw in a lot of stuff that was clearly the creators testing out how far they could go and how many boundaries of taste they could push up against.

I totally understand anyone who says they won’t watch South Park, either because they can’t stand the sort of humor in it, or because their poor handling of a lot of subject matter has permanently left a bad taste in their mouth over it. I get it. I respect that entirely. 

There’s a lot of episodes and storylines that make me want to rub the bridge of my nose, sigh, shake my head, down a shot, then smack Matt and Trey on the nose with a newspaper while muttering “no. No. Bad writers. That’s not funny, it’s just racist. It’s just transphobic. Sit down while I explain to you why you’re wrong for an hour and a half.” The odds of my wanting to say this triple if they’re addressing a social or political issue.

Honestly, this is one of the most concise but cutting criticisms I’ve seen of the conservative, pseudo-libertarian politics in South Park.  “The biggest crime to Matt and Trey is Giving A Shit.” Very well put.

The running gag of “I learned something today” started out as a way to make fun of TV shows with morals, and turned into a way to use their characters as a mouthpiece for their opinion on whatever the most talked-about issue of the day was. Aside from the fact that I strongly object to a lot of Matt and Trey’s views, it’s lazy and unfunny.

But some of the humor was (and still is) very sharp and inventive. A lot of episodes don’t really hold up when you take the nostalgia goggles off and examine them but some really do. Woodland Critter Christmas is hands-down the best Christmas parody I’ve ever seen. Classics like Casa Bonita and Imaginationland still make me laugh. Hell on Earth 2006 deserves a special mention for the brilliant dark humor in the serial killer 3 Stooges parody. 

And I think those episodes all have one thing in common: no politics. No smug, mawkish morals, no attempt to make a point or comment on the issue of the hour. Just the surreal world of a few kids who, for all the weird, weird things they’ve been through, still think and act like kids with kid logic and kid-like desires.

Whether I like it or not, I’ve come to love the characters over time. Butters especially is a wonderful, innocent contrast to the jaded environment he lives in. Cartman is an irredeemable monster who never fails to be entertaining. And episodes like Awesom-O and Ginger Kids where he gets hoisted by his own petard are always golden.

My favorite episode is actually one I don’t often see on “best episode” lists. It’s Britney’s New Look. It aired at the height of the media’s obsession with Britney Spears. It was the first time I’d seen anything on television, anywhere, actually step back and look at how cruel and monstrous the media’s harassment of her was. 

Oh sure, I’d seen plenty of people saying to “get a life,” and “stop caring about some pop star,” but it was always from the perspective of “this isn’t newsworthy, it’s not worth your time,” never “this is a human being who never has a moment’s peace because of you.” 

And damn, did this episode ever get it right. It got it perfect. It showed how grotesque the people hounding her were, both the press and the viewers at home encouraging it. It showed how painful and exhausting the toll that takes on a human being is. And it even touched on the dark and strangely ritualistic nature of building up and then tearing down young, female pop stars–and how it’s a cycle that would keep (and has kept) going even after Britney fades into obscurity.

Britney herself has no real voice in the episode, but I think that was actually a smart move–the episode didn’t pretend to speak from her perspective, which Matt and Trey can’t know. Instead it’s blatantly from the kids’ perspective: that of an outsider suddenly realizing how much of a toll this kind of 24/7 monitoring and harassment must take on any human. It’ll always have a special place in my heart.

youtube

HOW INFORMAL SPEECH WORKS IN KOREAN

반말 (ban-mal) - casual or informal language

존댓말 (jon-dae-mal) - polite or formal language

This is one of those things that I will always be learning and messing up on. In general I would say that unless you’re speaking to children or dogs, it’s best to use polite language. I would also say that as a foreigner, Korean people are very understanding and forgiving if you use the incorrect language. 

Still, as an English speaker and language nerd, it’s interesting to learn about the extent of different formalities that don’t exist in your own language. Press play above and let the confusion begin. ^^

persimelinoe  asked:

Hey, I'm going to be out next Saturday, so I can't send an ask then! So how about a character study on Neptune and his fear of water? Thank you~

Sure thing! I kind of get away from the original prompt, but I hope you like it anyway! During the time I was watching RWBY, I was taking a religious studies class and learning about Shiva, and thought about that applying to Neptune.

Hope you liked it!


“It is kind of weird,” Sun remarks, hands tucked comfortably behind his head. “I mean, your name’s Neptune, you fight with a trident, you’re from Mistral—”

           “I have no control over my name, the trident is one of three forms my weapon takes, and I don’t know why you’re bringing up Mistral, because that is the name of a strong, northwesterly wind.” The boy ticks off his responses methodically, counting them off on gloved fingers.

           The redheaded girl beside them laughs quietly, lifting up a hand to try and stifle the noise as both boys glance at her. “You seem to have this well-rehearsed,” she teases lightly.

           Neptune blows out a frustrated breath while sun snickers. “Why does anyone care if I like water or not?” he demands, as the trio make their way around Sanctum’s campus. “Is that relevant? To anything?”

           Sun shrugs. “It’ll probably come up when we cover water-based Grimm,” he offers. “And, you know, any time you look outside, since Mistral is a costal country.” He gestures lazily to their right, at the ocean that glitters just within sight.

           Neptune scowls while Pyrrha giggles to herself again. “It has no effect on my ability to preform as a Hunter, thank you very much,” he snaps.

           The Faunus arches a disbelieving brow as they round a corner. “Really? Your first mission is the middle of the ocean. How do you plan on handling that?”

           “Ignore him,” Pyrrha insists, linking arms with Neptune as the dark-skinned boy makes a move towards his blond partner, who dances out of reach with a self-satisfied smirk. “You will do wonderfully as a Hunter. We all will, or we wouldn’t be here.”

           “But really,” Sun ambles back, bumping shoulders with the other boy. “Why a trident?”

           Neptune sighs, and Pyrrha releases his arm as he pulls his weapon off his back. At his touch, the compact form expands to a guandao. With a deft flick of his wrist, the tip unfolds into a three-pronged trident. It pulsates softly, giving off a watery blue light.

           “The trident has a lot of meanings,” he begins, studying the weapon in his hands. “Neptune is the god of the sea, and he did use a trident, but so did Shiva.”

           Sun pulls a face. “Who?”

           Neptune cracks a smile at his confusion. “Another old god,” he explains, letting the weapon fall slack at his side. “Translated, his name means the auspicious.”

           Pyrrha’s eyes spark with interest, but Sun rolls his.

           “Why do you have to know everything about everything?” he complains.

           “Because I read,” Neptune retorts. “And auspicious means like, favorable. Promising.” His fingers flex where he holds his weapon. “Prosperous.”

           “None of those mean afraid of water,” Sun quips, and Pyrrha deftly elbows him in the ribs.

           “I know what it’s like to have an ill-suited name,” she speaks up, earning the attention of both boys.

           Sun frowns at this too. “What’s wrong with Pyrrha?” he asks.

           She shrugs. “It’s hard not to think of the phrase pyrrhic victory,” she explains, spreading her pale hands. “A win so costly it can almost be considered a loss.”

           Neptune’s eyebrows pull together in concern, but Sun just huffs in annoyance, stepping in between the two and slinging his arms across their shoulders, pulling them both tight against his sides.

           “See, this is your problem,” he declares, rather loudly as they step into Sanctum’s main hall. “You guys read into stuff way too much.”

           “I thought fortune-telling originated in Vacuo,” Neptune deadpans, frowning as he has to stoop to match Sun’s height as they make their way through the hall.

           “Yeah, well, a lot of stupid stuff originated from Vacuo,” Sun replies flippantly.

           “Are you one of those things?” Pyrrha asks politely, grinning at the look of shocked amusement that crosses the Faunus’ face.

           “The point,” he declares, pulling his friends further along—Pyrrha still smiling, Neptune looking distinctly annoyed—“is you guys just gotta let stuff go. Leave it to fate or whatever, you know?”

           Pyrrha and Neptune glance at each other.

           “Fate or whatever,” Neptune repeats dubiously.

           Pyrrha smiles. “I believe in fate,” she agrees brightly.

           “Good.” Sun drops his arms. “So let’s all forget about what our names mean, or what our weapons mean, or anything like that.”

           Upon seeing Sage across the hallway, he drops his hands, bounding off to greet him, and Neptune and Pyrrha step together.

           “What do you suppose?” she asks, lifting a questioning brow.

           Neptune rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “I think he’s just a little sad because he’s the only one without a fun meaning behind his name,” he mutters.

           Across the room, Sun looks up from his conversation with Sage, annoyed.

           “At least I’m not afraid of water!” he shouts, scowling, and Pyrrha giggles while Neptune’s ears turn red.

           “Faunus hearing,” he complains in a grumble, trying to ignore the glances he gets from various students.