The Writer's Gundam.

But he also,

Throws fits when things don't go his way. Not a "I'm a bad bitch" destroying everything-type fit, but tossing a trash can, breaking a screen-type fit.

Cries. A lot.

Pleads. He begs.

Doesn't answer the call to action.

Shows weakness. Being a coward and being fearful are two things he defines himself with.

Doesn't end up with the girl. In fact, that girl isn't even interested and he isn't, either.

Cherishes friendship over a romantic plot or something stereotypically brave like, "I'm going to save Rocky so I can save his world." No, he wants to save his friend, first and foremost.

Squeaks. He squeals. He screams, loudly and very high pitched. He whines. He complains. He physically struggles to open a jar. He's clumsy as hell. He makes some of the least graceful noises one can make.

Is not afraid to be the primitive species lowkey.

One second, he pins them as prime suspects on sight; the next, he's working alongside them to solve the case. The man (who faked being an undercover Interpol agent, by the way) says the guy whose estate is being solved was actually murdered? Well, in that case, it's got to be murder!

Quickly, you concluded that the butler did it; all is well and good. You recovered the mystery stolen painting (with the help of a couple you're growing surer by the second are some flavour of criminals, but Sterling seems to be chill with that fact, so it's probably fine). Now all that's left to do is to tag it as evidence and wrap this whole thing up - oh, what did you say? Your boss's rival(?)-turned-suspect-turned-partner-turned-general-pain-in-the-ass vaguely implied that something about their procedure might be a little bit iffy? Apparently, that alone is enough to send Sterling into an absolute frenzy, demanding that everything be double-checked twice over.

No, wait, 5 minutes later, the couple is back, confessing to stealing not one but two paintings, but only for like, a little bit, so they could do some backyard vodka-paint test. And they're claiming all of the paintings in the collection are fake. That's got to be the breaking point, right? We're arresting them! Never mind, we're back on their side, working with them to figure out what the hell is going on.

After a too-long day, you figure it all out (well, not you, the criminal duo does, but you're just so fed up with the case, you don't even particularly care). The curator did it and then accidentally died in pursuit, but at least you got an answer. You need a drink. You need to return to England, away from this circus, so your boss can start acting semi-normally again.

Leading up to the ceremony ‣ knowing they would not be thrilled, the couple is not informed of the arrangement until it is set in stone and only few weeks away ‣ A had to be locked up and guarded in the days leading up to the wedding to make sure they don‘t run away ‣ B had to physically be dragged to A‘s kingdom

Right before the ceremony ‣ A threatens to stab their promised spouse upon meeting them at the altar ‣ B is threatened by their parents about making a scene during the wedding ‣ both expect the other to be much older than themself, arrogant, or otherwise undesireable ‣ “Is that a knife in your sleeve? Give me that, you are not killing your spouse before the vows are even read!”

During the ceremony ‣ the promised couple meets at the altar… and both wonder why their parents failed to mention that their promised spouse is H O T ‣ both relaxing as they make little comments during the ceremony, matching each other's freaks ‣ both only having prepared passive aggressively insulting vows and either reading them with matching smirks or improvising new ones

At the start of my employment, my boss showed me videos of people stealing, and we both had a chuckle about it. How silly they were! There was a camera overhead, and it’s not to watch the shoppers. See, we can’t actually stop shoplifters. They get away with it maybe nine out of ten times. But we, who are watched and tallied and witnessed? We are always caught.

At first it was hard to hold one hundred dollars bills. An amount I had never seen before. An amount that didn’t exist in my household. It’s normal now. Here is something that is not for me.

“What the hell, I’ll take another,” says the man, pondering our 200 dollar watches. What the hell. Total comes to 580 and not even a flinch in his face. I have been working for 11 hours today and made only 110 dollars. It will go to my rent. Today I work for free, it feels. When I get my check, I will have 35 dollars left for food and saving.

The six hundreds he hands me go into the cash register. For a moment, I imagine having money. Then I put it away, counting out his change.

I know for a fact we sell our products for double what they are worth. That I could be making commission. That they could hand me those 580 dollars and change my life and not even mark the difference in their checkbooks. He’s not the only sale they make today, but I am the reason they made it. He’s not the only one spending 600 dollars, but if I hadn’t spent two hours with him telling me about his life, he wouldn’t have spent any. I go home. I don’t own a watch.

I have watched and rewatched a video on how to make salmon four ways. My shopping list is always the same. Pasta. Rice. Tuna. If I can afford butter it was a good week. I dream of the world I will never walk in, where I can throw the best fish fillet in the cart with a shrug. I hold hundreds in my hand and look up at the camera. I put them under the cash drawer.

I go to work. I scrap together my savings. I eat my bowl of rice slowly. My manager takes a paid week off from work just for his birthday. He owns a yacht. 

i was part of their college program. i moved to the state for it. they legally owned the building i was living in and still charged me rent. i ostensibly was being charged to work for them. it was a 2 bedroom apartment and they placed 6 adult women in it in forced triples.

as many as one in ten disney employees have experienced homelessness while working for the company. despite huge efforts to unionize, strike, or otherwise demand fair treatment; disney has refused to increase employee quality of life.

disney admits publicly that a good portion of their success is because the employees (“cast members”) are dedicated, passionate, and selfless. this is never reflected in pay. even “face” characters (ie those that are princesses etc) make barely above a minimum wage.

at the time that i worked there, i made $8.50 an hour. at one point i was asked to create a human shield around a bag because a bomb dog had alerted to it. for eight fucking dollars an hour.

i now work a very cushy office job. i have bought the salmon and cooked it all four ways.

i go to the store. i am nice to the person behind the counter. she looks up at the camera while she counts out my change. there is nothing fundamentally different about her and i.

This beautiful painting by John William Godward (London, 1861 - 1922) is filled with quiet sensuality and languid beauty. Draped in soft rose colored fabric, the young woman reclines across marble and fur beneath the warm Mediterranean light, her gaze distant and dreamy.

the chain reaction a single yawn can cause

the sense to recognize something that looks human but is not quite human (uncanny valley)

getting songs stuck in their heads

the urge to sneeze but being unable to do so

not being able to breathe from laughter sometimes

the reactions caused by tickles

acting fairly casual about pain in their most vital body parts (head)