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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Evan’s 6✩ Inspiration: Umbrae Secrets [繁荫秘语] Date Translation (END 2 + 3 + 4: Call Out)

“This is such a remote area. Were I to do anything, it would be nothing more than a piece of cake.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Evan’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *This 6✩ Inspiration has 8 Endings!! *Reblogs and likes appreciated! *Evan’s tag will be #For Night, For Revolution *T/N: This card takes me out so quick I needed time to recover. Hunter and prey... MC triggered the Hunter...

After pondering for a while, I finally decided to…

✥ Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

⊹ Ask Evan for his opinion ⊹

MC: Any bright ideas, Evan?

Evan: I'm thinking that maybe we can find a place to set up camp early…

Evan: Because you seem very eager to camp out.

MC: You got me. Let's go with that then!

❖☆———————————★❖

Evan was very experienced when it came to selecting a suitable campsite.

Eventually, we managed to find a fitting flat and cosy patch of grass that was both leeward and shaded, with a source of water nearby.

By the time we finished setting up the tent, the sky had already gradually darkened. The temperature of the forest quietly dropped as the occluding darkness surrounded us. But I had Evan with me, so there was no need to fear.

We lit the camp stove and roasted some food. The flickering firelight became the most dazzling thing in the forest, casting dancing shadows and lights all around. There was a certain romance to it.

For a moment, all I could hear was the crackling of fire and the soft chips and buzz of the insects nearby. It felt as if even time had come to a standstill.

❖☆———————————★❖

I inadvertently raised my head. The night sky above was adorned with stars, like fine scattered gemstones sewn onto an expanse of black velvet. Each and every one of them was equally lustrous, converging into a glimmering band of light and extending into the distance.

I watched the sky in a trance while lying on the grass. Evan sat quietly beside me

After a while, I tugged on his sleeve.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Look, the light of the stars only becomes much more apparent once all the lights have been extinguished.

MC: The grass smells good too, so why don’t you try lying down too?

He looked down at me with a smile and contemplated the idea. He finally agreed after a moment of hesitation.

Evan: Alright.

❖☆———————————★❖

He moved closer and laid down beside me. Now, another rhythm sounded in my ears: his gentle and steady breathing.

Evan: It is very beautiful.

MC: I feel like it's been a long time since I last saw a starry sky like this.

MC: No wonder those philosophers always liked looking up at the stars when they think. Now I understand why they would.

MC: The sight of an area this vast can make people forget all trivialities and let their thoughts wander further to the past and even the future.

Evan: So where has your mind flown off to now?

MC: Me? I’m thinking that since the forest is so beautiful, maybe I’ll go live in the forest next time, aha.

Then, a curious thought popped into my head.

MC: Right, Evan. Have you ever thought about where you’d like to live after having fulfilled all your goals?

❖☆———————————★❖

I waited for a long time, but Evan never replied.

Did he fall asleep?

I decided to gently call out to him…

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E2: If you fail to call him ⊹

I’d called out to him multiple times in a row before he finally turned his head, looking slightly out of it.

Evan: Are you calling me? Sorry, I spaced out.

MC: Oh, no worries.

Evan smiled at me but didn’t say anything more.

Some people are made of mysteries. Perhaps this was simply a question he didn’t wish to answer now.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E3: If you call him EVAN (陆沉) ⊹

Evan instantly snapped back to attention upon hearing me call out to him. He smiled apologetically.

Evan: Sorry. Your question's a little hard to answer. I lost track of myself thinking it through.

MC: Huh? Have you never imagined such things?

Evan: Hmm. That might be because the matters I always have on hand are more important, so I tend to focus all my attention on them.

MC: Right… I've been there and done that too.

MC: Back when I was schooling, I often found studying to be very dry and stressful.

MC: But, whenever I found myself unable to bear it anymore, I would fantasize about Summer Vacation and draw new motivation from it.

MC: Whenever I felt down or life got hard, I’d always dream about how much better life would be after I achieved my goals.

MC: Maybe you could think about it this way too?

Evan: After fulfilling my goal?

Evan: After that… I think nothing matters after that anymore.

His last sentence was so soft that it sounded as if he was mumbling to himself, and I wasn’t too sure if I’d actually heard him.

I turned to him in question, but he never answered, keeping so silent that it was almost as if he was one with the very ground.

I was starting to feel a little inexplicably worried when he then opened his mouth, as if the prior silence had never existed.

Evan: How about you tell me about it first? What’s your ideal life like? Maybe it’ll nudge me in the right direction.

MC: Hmm… Sometimes, I like lively Cities.

MC: But other times, I like someplace quiet; somewhere with mountains and water… I think that’s a pretty good place to live too...

MC: But there's no wifi there and I can’t eat my favourite ice cream… It’s a real pickle.

Evan: Perhaps what you like is change itself.

MC: Yeah… But some things will never change!

MC: Like, how I don't want to be too far from everyone.

MC: Without the people to share interesting things and breathtaking sceneries with, it'll certainly take the fun out of things.

His low chuckle sounded near my ear, close at hand.

Evan: I now know where I'd like to live next time.

MC: Where?

Evan: Somewhere not too far away from you. Would you welcome that?

MC: Of course I do. But, aren't you already here by me?

He turned his head over, watching me with a serious look as the light flickered at the bottom of his eyes.

My arm moved, inadvertently brushing against his cool skin, but also not shying away from it. He flipped his palm and encased my fingers within them.

Evan: You are correct.

Evan: To me, right now, life is perfectly fine as it is.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

⊹ E4: If you call him HUBBY (老公) ⊹

Evan shot me a slightly surprised look. Suddenly, the realization of what I'd just done washed over me.

Then, he shifted closer to me; so close that I didn't even dare turn my head.

Evan: Are you trying to hint at something by suddenly addressing me in this manner?

Evan: This is such a remote area. Were I to do anything, it would be nothing more than a piece of cake.

I inwardly froze. Evan was different from usual today… His warm breath brushed past my ear, inciting a continuous yet faint ticklish sensation.

MC: Hahaha… You wouldn't...

Evan: And why are you so sure that I wouldn't?

MC: You're always mindful and courteous. You aren't… that sort of person.

Evan: "That sort of person"? What sort of person?

He lifted his head in interest, looking down at me in a condescending manner. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't even get a sentence out right as the temperature of my cheeks rapidly shot up.

MC: That… That sort… Evan, stop making fun of me like that…

He narrowed his eyes into a smile, suddenly flipping himself over and balancing himself above me!

Rationally speaking, I knew deep down just what sort of person he was, but my body still ran on instinct: It sensed danger.

His broad form, usually reassuring, looked immeasurably intimidating from this angle. I couldn't help but bite my lip as my heart sped off the charts.

MC: Evan, what are you… doing…?

Evan: I'm thinking about your question.

Evan: You asked me what sort of place I'd like to live at, correct?

MC: Then… what does this have anything to do with that?

Evan: I feel like your eyes might hold the answer I seek.

MC: That's a lie and you know it…

My voice grew softer and softer because Evan was slowly lowering himself down.

Watching those dark red eyes of his that hid a glimpse of a smirk in its depths gradually draw closer, I panicked, stiffening up as my mind went completely blank...

I frantically swiped his glasses from the bridge of his nose, turning over to keep them away from him.

MC: Any more, and no glasses for you!

Evan paused, a little stunned at the sudden loss of his glasses. He then moved away with a smile, lying back down on the grass.

Evan: Did I scare you? I apologize. I just wanted to poke fun at you.

Evan: Sometimes you’ll bite off more than you can handle when you think someone too simple.

I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief before angrily puffing out my cheek.

MC: Okay, okay, you’re not simple! Even more so to keep your glasses away from you!

Evan: Then I’d better stick close to you and let you lead me around. Will that be alright?

Evan: Hm? (Y/n).

I turned my back on him and felt him gently place a hand on my shoulder. The heat swiftly passed through the thin fabric of my clothes, making me unwittingly shudder at the warmth.

I could even feel his eyes digging into me. The area where he burned holes into me with his eyes was hot, the grass underneath me was no different, and neither were the glasses I held in my hands.

I couldn’t form the words to answer him; all I could do was to hope that he couldn’t hear how fast my heart was racing.

❖☆———————————★❖

The next day, early morning. I woke up to the melodious singing of birds.

Evan was already awake, neatly dressed and sitting on the folded chair at the entrance, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Evan: Good morning. Sleep well last night?

MC: Brilliantly! I was so tired from walking so long yesterday that I fell asleep the moment my head met the pillow.

MC: Oh, right. It’ll take quite a long time to go back where we came, so let’s eat something, pack up, and leave as soon as possible!

Evan set his cup of coffee down,

Evan: Aren’t you forgetting something?

MC: Huh?

Evan: I recall you wanting to see bamboo piths, but we have yet to see any.

I froze, awkwardly laughing it off

That had originally been an excuse to get him outside and I’d totally forgotten about it.

MC: Hehe. I’m not that adamant about seeing bamboo piths.

MC: I only said that back then as an excuse to get you out so that you can relax.

MC: I heard that you had things rather rough before that so I was a little worried about you.

He looked slightly surprised. Then, he lowered his eyes, a warm smile catching onto the sides of his mouth.

Evan: So it was because of me.

Evan: Thank you for accompanying me here. I’m certainly much more relaxed now.

MC: But considering how you were previously… Are you really okay?

Evan: Yes. It’s probably not as bad as you’re thinking. I was just thinking about some old people and old things and felt a little glum about it.

Evan: I never thought that I’d end up alarming others.

MC: Why am I “others” now?

MC: Don’t bottle your troubles up to solve them yourself. You need to remember to share them with people close to you as well!

Evan: Okay. I will keep that in mind.

I still didn’t know what he was troubled by, but I suppose this was still within my expectations.

From my impression of him, he has always been strong. It was almost as if he was shouldering a mission that no one knew about, walking down a similarly obscured path.

After finishing breakfast, we packed and prepared to leave the forest.

We idly chatted with each other along the way until suddenly, Evan stopped short while we were passing through an area.

Following his gaze, I saw a unique-looking umbrella-shaped thing growing within the shrubbery’s shade.

Evan: See? We still managed to chance upon it.

MC: Wow, are all of these bamboo piths?

We walked over together, squatting beside the small white fungi.

It had a small black cap and had grown out a long white mesh skirt.

This was the first time I ever saw a bamboo pith growing in the soil. I widened my eyes in surprise, unwilling to blink as I drank in the sight. After observing it for a while, I finally raised a finger, reaching out to touch its “skirt”.

MC: It’s so wet and soft-looking! It’s adorable! Have you seen it before, Evan?

MC: I can’t believe you managed to recognize it at a glance!

Evan: Yes. It was back during the first time I’d been driven into the forest as a child.

Evan: I witnessed the law of the jungle and escaped from the jaws of death of a snake. I felt like the forest was a place filled with danger and wanted nothing but to leave the place the faster, the better.

Evan: Then, just as I was hungry and exhausted, I saw a bamboo pith.

Evan: At that time, I didn’t know what it was and if it was actually poisonous.

Evan: Deep in the throes of despair, I thought “why not just take it, eat it, and see what my fate turns out to be”?

MC: Evan…

Evan: But guess what I saw while I was hesitating?

Evan: I saw it growing its fungus skirt. All it took was a little effort on its part, and its little skirt grew longer and longer.

Evan: I stared at it blankly, in a daze. I didn’t even notice that my legs had gone numb from how long I’d stared at it.

He retracted himself from his memory palace, turning around to face me with a smile.

Evan: It was as simple as a little young lady, capable of encouraging me with its adorability and enchantments.

Evan: It made me understand that forest, in all its gloom and doom, still has its own little interesting spots.

Evan: And that one is only capable of seeing it by living on, don’t you think?

His expression was quiet, but within those calm eyes of his, I could see that little boy who’d struggled his hardest to remain strong. I felt my heart constrict slightly at that and moved to hold his hand tightly in my own.

MC: Evan, that’s all in the past. You’re no longer that helpless little boy.

Evan: No, I’m fine.

Evan: I might have forgotten even this if we hadn’t seen the bamboo piths today.

Evan: It feels a little unbelievable when I think back on it now. It was a memory plagued by darkness, yet it still held its own beautiful moments.

I felt a pang of sorrow creep into my heart. Words of comfort were right at the tip of my tongue, yet I felt like they’d be completely helpless.

This man before me, strong as a warrior; someone who’d been forced to face life-or-death decisions from a very young age… Maybe he wasn’t as complicated as I initially thought he was.

There are many reasons why one would choose death, but to choose life? The reason was simple; just a little spark was required, and Evan was no exception.

MC: I forgot who said it, but someone once said that the meaning of existence that people spend their entire lives seeking out is actually hidden in the simple things.

MC: Evan, won’t you say that you might end up thinking similarly as well one day?

MC: You might not be able to find it immediately, but that’s fine. I will accompany you in your search for it, no matter how long it takes.

Evan fixed me with a profound look before stretching out his hand and reverently crossing it over my own.

Evan: Alright. Together we shall be.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 +3 + 4 | Choice: Call Out [呼唤] ⊹Speak⊹

END 4 + 6 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 7 + 8 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ☆Light & Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Revolution⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Prologue)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #陆沉 #Evan #For Night For Revolution #繁荫秘语 #Umbrae Secrets

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booksandwords · 3 years

Text

Invision by Sherrilyn McQueen

Series: Chronicles of Nick, #7 Read time: 1 Day Rating: 5/5

The quote: “Well, aren’t you a cheeky one?” “So says my father. It’s ever a fault of mine that I don’t know my place. But who better to know my place than I, says I? And who so better to determine it? For I will not be hemmed in by anyone else’s expectations. This is my life, such as it is. And it will be lived under my rules so long as I have it.” — Caleb Malphas & Lilliana

I am not tagging this with a spoiler warning but read on at your own risk. Invision (and this review) contain spoilers for the wider Dark-Hunter verse.

Let's start with something important to those reading Chronicles of Nick and The Dark Hunter Universe. I'm not sure where Sherri is up to in her story of Jaden in the DH books (I'm picking and choosing my way through them), but I know Jaden is an upcoming book that should lay his story bare. Invision may contain massive spoilers for Jaden's book. That reason only Jared knows? Yeah, that is in here and that piece of lore is unlikely to change between the two. Most of the spoilers I tag in this review are relevant to not just Invision but Jaden. If you want to go into Jaden's story without prior knowledge do not read Invision. And I apologise in advance this review gets quite long.

This is another book with a whole lot of story to tell. And it leads well into Intensity, the last book of the series. Well may not be the right word it ends on a cliffhanger. There is a lot of lore added, we finally get an explanation of pith points in a way that makes sense. We meet some new characters and learn a lot pf backstory on some of the characters that we already knew. But there is a lot of time spent on family and found family as is normal. It turns out that even less of the characters than we thought are strictly human. I enjoyed this a lot it helps me understand a lot more and I live for Sherri's lore.

My queen is back. Hello, my beloved Lilliana. Never has a character so long dead had such a lasting and irrefutable impact on a series while barely appearing. Xevikan's Myone is also a powerful woman. We finally find out how Caleb met Lilliana met. Including the wonderful exchange "Are all demons as gigantic as you?" "Depends on the species." "Are all women as brave as you?" "Depends on the species." (Lilliana & Caleb Malphas, p62). She chose his name because of its meaning "the faithful, fearless warrior who defends what he believes with everything he has" (Lilliana, p66), which isn't far off the Hebrew meaning. Myone was Xev's anchor his reason for existence the reason he was willing to do so much. His story isn't this dissimilar to Braiths in a way. Blessedly the brothers are back on speaking terms.

Book random dump

Reading Cay openly admit brotherhood with Xev is something I needed to see and made me smile.

"I think I know now why the gods made the two of you so incredibly hot. You'd be insufferable otherwise" Kody (p.85) about Caleb and Nick. I mean I can totally see why people tell Kody to ask her other boyfriend. She stopped pretending a while back.

I like the choice to interchange Kody and Nyira now. But what is Nyira? It doesn't appear to be a name.

This is the first time I've seen any indication that Simi will get her own story. Kody knows who her husband will be. There were only three options in the room at that point. Jaden, Xev or Caleb. All will exist is the DH universe. Jaden needs good in his life. I'll take that and run.

Cadegan is more complicated than I thought. In his bio he calls Thorn his lost brother, Noir gives aways his parentage Thorn is his father. Well, Son of No One just got bumped up my tbr.

Is this the first time we've heard Caleb's full designation? Esme Daeve. Like Nick thrives on fights, rage.

Bout time we got a demon hunter. Didn't expect that character though.

“He was a chaos god, Nick. The god of blood disease, fire, plagues, famine, violent death, fear, and destruction.” (Caleb p.175) Good lord Xev. You really did get all the fun stuff, and he's the Malachai's blood slave.

As a side point, I'm adding a could of pieces of general tidbits because I keep forgetting them.

The six generals of the ušumgallu. Grim, Bane and Laguerre who live permanently earthside. The others who had to be called, Xevikan, Livia and Yrre.

Nick's six generals (chosen at the end of Instinct). "Nashira. Xev. Dagon. Aeron. Kody. Caleb." Narshira is the yōkai formerly trapped in Nick's Grimoire. Aeron the forgotten son of the Morrígan. Dagon, son of Noir and Hekate, aided Lycaon to create the Were-hunters.

The six primal gods. Those of the light; Razer, Cam and Verlyn (aka Jaden). Those of the dark; Noir, Azure and Braith. Braith is complicated, while she aligns to the dark she is more grey. Two of the primary gods are missing; Razer and Braith. Verlyn was captured. Making me wonder... is Razer in play already and just not revealing his identity. Cam is Menyara, Verlyn is Jaden both are known in DH but their identities aren't known.

So... Parentage. Who is related to who is a big deal in the CoN series. But relatives are power and mostly seem to be an indicator of where your allegiance should lie. There is a theme that appears of the abandoned half children acting out of spite for one parent at least until they find themselves. As Xev puts it “Born of both sides. Forever lured between them. Never trusted by either, and cursed by both.” (p.287). Nick's line is particularly important. Did anyone else not realise that Xev was Nick's Grandfather during that wonderful bomb drop during Chapter 8 of Instinct? I reread it knowing the truth and yeah the indication is there. Mostly in the way he looks at Cherise, maybe she favours Myone more than we know and in the way he speaks. But it isn't said. And I really think it needed to be. In light of this and other revelations halfway through Invision, I decided I needed to make a small family tree because good lord this should not be that complicated but it feels like it is. I think there are minor allusions to Nick's tree somehow being connected to Kody's (through the primordials) but I can't figure it out. I'm writing this after I binge-read Intensity which adds a whole lot more so I'm adding it to that review instead. Beware spoilers if you go there.

One last thing from Dream Warrior... “I’m helping to train the new Malachai and I just wanted to know something.” “That is?” “Does anyone else know you’re related to him?” (Jared and M'Adoc, p.314). By Dream Warrior Nick is in his mid-twenties and everyone knows he's the Malachai. My question which is not answered there. Does Jared know? He's powerful and Nick is his blood he should be able to pick it. I've always thought Dark Hunter was the Ambrose timeline but I don't think it is. Theoretically, M'Adoc doesn't exist in that timeline.

God this review is long. I knew that anyway. My Goodreads review does have the worst of the potential Dark-Hunter spoilers, they relate to Jaden.

#invision #sherrilyn mcqueen #book review #chronicles of nick #sherrilyn kenyon #omg lilliana my queen i love so much #spoilers on goodreads #ktreviews #read 2021 #younglings

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meditativeyoga · 4 years

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Zazen: The art of just sitting

We are of the viewpoint that equilibrium is needed so that our lifestyle doesn't lead us to exhaustion. We wish to discover the ways to change our way of being so that every aspect of our living interact. And we prefer every one of this to occur 'naturally'-- not with pressure of initiative, yet with emphasis and also tranquility. Being Zen people, we balance the fee of day-to-day living with moment-by-moment existence, and also the key to doing this is meditation.

Zazen is the Japanese name for seatsed reflection-- the term approximately implies, 'resting still, like a mountain.' It is the one typical practice that unifies essentially all Eastern philosophies.

In the West, meditation has been adjusted for Western sensibilities. Jon Kabat-Zinn, for example, has actually established Mindfulness Reflection for use in healthcare facilities. He's taken Zazen from Buddhism, [or the Buddhism out of Zazen!] and is getting excellent outcomes with individuals recovering from cardiovascular disease, surgeries, stress-related illnesses, et al.

This Western method has its focus on using reflection as a 'relaxation tool.' It is therefore an 'include on,' made use of to combat a disease [a dis-ease] Mindfulness Meditation is a little bit like a 'pill wherefore ails you,' as well as is doled out to assist hyper active individuals run also faster.

Our point of view is definitely extra 'typical.' We see the problem as 'imbalance'.

Our view is that 'fast repairs' do not address the deepness of the issue-our propensity to disregard ourselves, and also to bend ourselves right into knots-- in order to fit some pre-conceived idea of just how adults need to act. We get captured in a loophole of excess, and also after that seek ways to respond to the damage.

We think about Zazen to be the structure from which whole, existing, involved, as well as enthusiastic living springtimes. From this perspective, balance is vital, and also being centred takes priority over excess.

In order to understand equilibrium, let's talk Qi [energy]

Qi can be found in two flavours-- Yin and Yang. Right here are few qualities:

Yin is feminine, easy, dark as well as deep.

Yang is manly, energetic, light and shallow.

Qi is like a coin. It cannot aid yet have 2 sides. A coin is 'balanced.' Each side is precisely the same 'size' as its opposite, as well as each represents one 'dynamic' of the whole. It is impossible to assume of [or have!] an one-sided or unbalanced coin. Qi is constantly looking for balance.

The distinction between us and also a coin is that we have the option of exactly what we emphasise, and also since of this, are often un-balanced. In the 21st century, the standard is Yang-ness. The emphasis gets on reasoning, doing, power, aggressiveness. Yin-ness-- intuiting, showing, and depth is frequently viewed of as weakness.

Initial explorations of Qi originated from the Taoists

The name Qi was picked for the 'unnameable, unknowable pressure' that brings the World right into being. When Qi remains in balance, all is well. Understanding as well as focus is required so that equilibrium is maintained.

From this viewpoint, each particular 'flavour' of Qi discovers its balance in the various other, i.e. dark/light. As for energy itself, the activity of yang is always sustained by the deepness and also fluidness of yin. Yin, in the background, offers the framework for all activity, much as a whiteboard [yin] holds exactly what is created [yang] Not a really Western suggestion in any way. The passive 'whiteboard' is considereded as 'simply a device' for the essential stuff. Because of a determined lack of focus on depth and tranquility, individuals operating from this 'modern-day' understanding are often candidates for tension relevant illnesses.

The option is NOT to slap on the 'Band-Aid' of a little bit of meditation. Our company believe it's to re-balance our top priorities by connecting with the circulation of our power itself-- to intuit its nature as well as to alleviate it via any type of blockages. Zazen is a fine method to do this. We sit to establish an unified body/mind/spirit. Zazen is not goal drivened-- it's not actually a task per se-- it's a means of being.

Two misunderstandings concerning Zazen

Zazen is not concerning quiting thinking: That's impossible. Besides, our assumed procedures in and also of themselves do not get us right into trouble. Consider it by doing this. The activity of our mind is to produce ideas, simply like the task of our pancreatic is to create insulin. Assuming is an all-natural task. Difficulty comes when:

We perplex our thoughts with truth, and

When we cling to our thoughts.

Zazen, then, has to do with sitting with our thoughts, without either evaluating them, or clinging to them. Thoughts become like clouds drifting before a blue sky.

Zazen has no point: We do not rest to achieve something. There's an old Zen tale about the trainee who states, with satisfaction, "I have released thinking!" His master replies, "No let go of believing that you have released thinking!"

We sit in order to rest. We take a breath to breathe. As thoughts arise, we watch them float by. If we discover ourselves distracted, we go back to 'simply resting.'

There is no objective. It's not regarding discovering an 'answer,' and Zazen is not a competition. At any time we set up an objective, [the length of time we sit for, exactly how 'advanced' we are, exactly how 'deep' our thoughts are, etc.] our entire emphasis ends up being thinking of our 'score.' We get shed in the act of contrast, even if we are just contrasting ourselves to ourselves.

Here's how to do Zazen

Briefly, there are 4 methods to sit, plus remaining on a chair-- however, chair sitting, to my point of view, is just for the infirm.

The rest of us remain on pillows or benches. In a post of this length, I actually can't define the poses adequately, or reveal you exactly how to use cushions or a bench.

So below's a video explanation including me!

What I can tell you is what every one of the 'poses' have in common

Zazen is a technique, as well as to complete what it achieves, you do the following:

You sit upright. Not ramrod directly, however with a 'stacked back.' Your shoulders are over your hips, as well as you are not tipped back and forth or front to back. In the video, I show you a simple method to accomplish this.

Your head is a little down, eyes open, looking 4 feet in front of you.

Your right hand is hand up in your lap, your left hand is palm up in your right-hand man, as well as your thumbs are touching lightly.

You are breathing with your nose, quietly.

Your attention is 'simply there.' As you sit, you are aware of noises, temperature, physical feelings, etc. You understand as thoughts arise. The key: as you bring your focus on any type of one thing, simply have a breath, and allow go of thinking of it.

you fixate on something [you will!], bring your attention back to 'simply resting.'

If you desire, you could count breaths. Start counting each out and in breath. As you observe you are believing as opposed to counting, go back to counting, starting at "1." You could then start counting simply the out breaths.

Walking meditation

Simply walk slowly, in an upright stance, meticulously placing one foot, then shifting your weight, and also placing another. Hands are folded up across your heart. The concept is to transform your focus to each action, and return to this as your mind wanders.

Living meditation

Meditating on a mat is one point. Living your reflection is one more, and also taking your reflection right into the world is what Zazen is all about.

Once you have practised a little bit, you will observe that your body/mind/spirit reverberates with resting. This vibration could be strengthened by bringing presence right into day to day activities.

Cook: You might, for example, prepare a dish mindfully. When chopping veggies, cut veggies. As your mind wanders, bring it back to the action of 'knife with veggie.' Maintain your mind focussed just on the step of the process that you are doing.

Eat the exact same means. Change to eating a dish a day with chopsticks. Or, if you usually utilize chopsticks, change to one meal with knife as well as fork. Decrease. Eat. Taste.

Do your job in this manner. When doing just what you are doing, quit acting you could multi-task and do one thing. With complete interest, with calm breath.

Eat an orange

Select an orange. Set the orange down before you. Take a look at it. See how the light mirrors off of it. Consider the colour, appearance, and also all the little pores. Actually look.

Now, scuff your finger nail along the skin, and hear the noise. Pierce the skin, as well as start peeling, and direct your attention to the audio of peeling off, then to the sound of separating the segments.

Go back to looking-- seeing how the orange items look.

Bring the skin to your nose, and also scent it. Set it down. Bring a section to your nose, and also smell it. Give it a little press and smell again.

Squish among the sectors in your fingers, and also actually feel the pulp, juice, as well as any type of seeds or pith.

Pop a section into your mouth, and also eat it gradually. See if you could take 5 mins to consume one section. Actually preference it!

Take one more sector, and also rub it on your arm or leg, or simply get imaginative, as well as utilize your body to really feel the orange section.

Now, stop, and go either wash or tube off. [I'll wait till you come back ...]

Think about your experience

These basic games call us to presence-- they aid us to be in our bodies, engaging our power, and sensation intimately what it resembles to be alive.

From this location of visibility, living is not something we do, yet rather is that we are.

This integrity modifications everything.

#meditating #meditation #Mindfulness Meditation #walking meditation #Yoga

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brannonlasgalen · 5 years

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I don’t know if this fits your blog but I just wanted to share that I personally headcanon Thranduil as aroace. Maybe somewhere in the demi or grey region because he did seem to love his wife a lot, but I really like the idea of him as being aroace. He feels like he would fit it well. Also just to clarify no shade towards you or your story, it’s still absolutely fantastic, this is just my interpretation of him

Haha no worries at all, Nonnybean! 💚It’s fiction, we’re all allowed to feel and think whatever we want about these characters.

If aroace!Thranduil makes you happy, then aroace!Thranduil it is! Lemme think…hmm.🤔I could see the aromantic characterization maybe growing out of a soulmate connection? Like, Thranduil’s soulmate (the Elvenqueen) died, so he has no more interest in romance? Also, there’s some canonical evidence for demi-sexual elves in general, who are supposed to enjoy sex while they’re making their kids during their early marriage years and then kinda forget about it. Personally, that always seemed like Tolkien’s religious prejudices against sex as a “dirty” thing kinda seeping through; but if we strip that away, demi-sexuality is the best explanation. 😄

Personally, I can think of a few other LOTR characters that fit the aroace alignment a bit better than sexiest elf alive Thranduil (for me, at least lol) because he did marry and have a kid. Fortunately, Tolkien wrote so many great characters who had aroace characteristics and storylines!

Gandalf, Saruman, Radagast and the Blue Wizards - All the wizards spend their lives in Middle Earth, surrounded by beautiful, lovable Men, Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits, and they DEFINITELY love them– but not in a romantic or sexual way. They’re like, the definition of Agape (the highest and holiest form of love.) Neither do they romance each other; other than Melian, I can’t think of any of the Maiar who do marry. So maybe the Maiar are asexual creatures in general?

The Dwarves - Dwarves as a species could be considered demi-sexual. Canonically, they’re described as having slow population growth because the entire species more interested in mining and crafting than they are in romance. Specifically, there are few female dwarves. The ones there are will maybe fall in love once; and if that person isn’t available, will be perfectly happy never to get married. So independent, demi-sexual and demi-romantic dwarrows are totes canon! 🤗

Glorfindel - Canonically, elves have a fervent, Eru-given need to marry. They’re super romantical creatures, to the point that elves denied the chance to marry are supposed to go all weird. They also tend to find their person rather early; apparently most elves marry around 50, (which is the same as a human marrying at 18 right out of high school.) HOWEVER! There are some elves who not only don’t marry (or have a lowkey gay romance like Beleg did with Turin,) they never even seem vaguely interested in it even though they were TOTAL catches. Such a one is Glorfindel, literal Best Elf Ever™. Glorfindel was So Cool he was sent back by the Valar after death because they just couldn’t stand Middle Earth without him. He was gorgeous, and super popular, and traveled all over meeting various ladies and gentle-ellon, but was all about that knight-life. AND YET he never went weird, which makes sense if he’s aromantic and/or asexual.

Boromir son of Denethor - He’s described as being the kind of guy who never even looked at a woman, which could either be a subtextual gay thing or a subtextual asexual thing. He has a big heart, and loves and is loved by many people, but never has a romance OR “dearest companion” in Gondor (which would be gay coding.) PLUS, as the eldest son of the Steward it would be his duty to marry early and produce heirs, and yet he hasn’t. Even though a lot of people like to ship him with Aragorn, I’ve always thought of him more as aroace.

Frodo Baggins - Now, hear me out with this one. I know we all love the idea of him and Sam as a ship; but canonically, Sam falls in love with and marries Rosie Cotton, while his relationship with Frodo is that of master and devoted servant. If Frodo and Sam are soldiers in a foxhole, Rosie is Sam’s Girl Back Home, the one whose pinup picture he has taped to the inside of his pith helmet. Frodo, on the other hand, never seems for a moment to be interested in any female. Not a hobbit, not Arwen or Galadriel or Eowyn. He lives happily alone at Bag End for like, 30 years after Bilbo leaves; neither does he express any regret at the idea that if he dies in the quest of the Ring he won’t get the chance to marry or have kids or lead that life. He loves, and loves deeply, but it’s never a romantic kind of love. And again, that could be gay coding, but it could also be aroace coding. Frodo Baggins loves his friends and his family and The Shire, and that’s enough for him. 😊

There’s probably half a dozen more, but those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head. 💚

#asexual LOTR characters #aromantic LOTR characters #aroace coding in fiction #lasgalen writes #anon reply #Anonymous

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

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I don’t remember where I heard/saw this? But Geoff knowing how to sew/making his own clothes = Geoff the tailor AU. (With a side of Battle Buddies.)

Because reasons.

Also because reasons, Ramwood.

But like.

Ryan coming into Geoff’s shop for a fitting because his BFF Jeremy is getting married.

Jeremy’s deliriously, sickeningly happy with his husband to be. Ryan’s all jokingly grumpy mcgrump about it because could they please, please, please not talk about how ~perfect your man is and how his eyes are like jewels, or sparkling orbs or whatever nonsense you’re spewing today?

We’re meant to be killing a Very Bad Man, Jeremy. Please focus.

But really, he’s just as happy for Jeremy and has totally ~secretly vetted Jeremy’s husband to be even though they work with him and he’s got top security clearance and it’s really Ryan being an overprotective dork. (I don’t know who Jeremy’s husband to be is in this - Gavin? Michael? Some other lucky/unlucky bastard. Possibly both, who knows.)

Someone gives Jeremy the card to Geoff’s little shop, tells him he’ll get a great discount for Jeremy and his groomsmen if they say the card giver sent them.

Jeremy was originally mean to go along wit Ryan to his fitting, but there was a last minute schedule change.

Which, fine, okay.

Plans change.

Ryan can do this!

He’s a highly skilled special ops/sekrit agent man!

Being fitted for a tux has got to be way easier than sneaking into another country to quietly (well, the mission briefing said quietly, reality turned out to far different) assassinate a druglord-turned-dictator, right?

...Maybe.

But then, okay.

Then he goes in and the shop is nothing like he was expecting.

Something along the lines of what you’d see in movies and on television, right? All classy decor and fancy as hell. Understated everything and the kind of place rich people love to go because Classy. (Kind of place his parents dragged him to as a kid for all kind of things and he wanted Jeremy along for moral support because ugh, memories.)

This place?

Nice decor, sure.

It’s just.

It’s not stuffy. (Not stuffy or pretentious like the places his parents dragged him to as a kid and it’s just an overall pleasant surprise.)

There’s music playing quietly, some band he’s never head of which isn’t a surprise, really. But! He gets the feeling even Jeremy would be hard-pressed to name them.

Potted plants and the lighting is just right to set him at ease. Not glaringly bright like a box store or too dark like certain stores in the mall. Framed posters on the wall - they seem classy enough at first glance, right? Tasteful frames and lovely artwork and all that.

But as he hits the little silver bell on the counter to alert the shop owner he’s there, he gets curious. Takes a closer look and laughs in surprise because the one behind the counter is a goddamned movie poster.

One of those vintage style ones for some classic movie, and the others around the shop are for other movies and bands and the like.

Little splashes of color and personality are dotted around the shop too, have him wondering what the hell kind of place this is, and then the shop owner walks out of the back.

Kind of looks like a crazy you’d run into the street, except for the nice suit and shoes and so on. (Maybe the hair is just some fancy hairstyle Ryan’s not cool enough to get. That whole deliberately messy look some people go wild over.)

The guy looks mildly annoyed not to see someone - Ryan’s wandered away from the counter, half-hidden by display mannequins as he examines the framed art hanging up. (And it is art, no matter what people like his parents would have to say about the subject matter.)

“Uh, hi?” Ryan says, sheepish about getting distracted as he goes over to where the shop owner is standing. “I had an appointment for a fitting today at two?”

The guy cocks his head as he gives Ryan this slow once-over.

“Haywood?” he asks, deep in thought.

Ryan nods, they do the whole handshake bit.

“For the Dooley wedding, yes.” A pause, as Ryan gets his brain into proper working order because the shop owner has the most vivid blue eyes. “Jack recommended your shop?”

At the mention of Jack’s name the shop owner’s lips twitch into this smirk.

“HE did, did he?” he asks, and something about it comes off as ominous.

“...Yes?” Ryan answers, not really sure what he’s in for here, and also wishing Jeremy was there.

As backup.

Against a tailor.

There’s a long pause, the shop owner regarding Ryan like he’s sizing him up, and then he laughs. Goes from suspicious to friendly and welcoming in the blink of an eye, smile on his face that looks like it could spell trouble if Ryan’s not careful. (Jeremy’s always saying he isn’t, so…)

“Well, any friend of Jack’s is a friend of mine,” the shop owner says.

That’s...okay. Good to know???

The guy introduces himself as Geoff, and leads Ryan to the back to the fitting area and they go about things as you do in a tailor’s shop. (I don’t know what goes on in one personally, but I imagine dark magics must be involved somehow???)

Anyway.

There’s idle chitchat that relaxes Ryan, has him not so uptight at being at a tailor’s on his own.

But that’s kind of worse in a way, because he’s noticing how the wild jumble of Geoff’s hair works for him, not to mention the beard.

Also, okay.

The tattoos are interesting, and Ryan keeps finding his attention drawn to the ones on Geoff’s hands.

Just.

Literally cannot stop himself from looking, feels himself blushing when Geoff catches him at it. This wry twist to his lips as he spins some story about ~youthful indiscretions and rebellion and whatever else about how he got them.

This pause, tension to his shoulders, set of his jaw that wasn’t there before.

“What about you? Have any tattoos?”

Ryan blinks, not sure what’s caused the guarded tone in Geoff’s voice.

“Uh, one,” he admits, a bit sheepishly.

He’s never really been someone who wanted tattoos of his own, but then he got partnered with Jeremy, and Ryan’s kind of an idiot.

(The two of them celebrating the fact that they somehow (miraculously!!1!) survived a particularly dangerous mission and Jeremy more than a little drunk when he came up with the idea of matching tattoos.

Sketched out a design for the “Battle Buddies” on a bar napkin and shoved it at Ryan who was impressed in spite of himself. A little messy because Jeremy and drunk and bar napkin?

But the basic design was something he could maybe live with as a tattoo.

Told Jeremy to wait until he wasn’t halfway to blackout drunk to pith the idea again, and thought that would be the last of it, you know. Idea lost to murky fog of alcohol and whatnot, but then Jeremy comes to him a week later, presents one of his sketchbooks with a proper drawing this time. Clean lines and bold design and Jeremy wheedling, so you know.

Tattoo.)

Geoff looks surprised at that admission, so Ryan tells him the whole story and Geoff’s laughing by the end of it because actually getting the damn thing was An Ordeal.

“Hey, c’mon,” Ryan says, something light in his chest at Geoff’s laugh – goddamn sunshine - and oh, oh, he’s headed for trouble here. “It’s not that awful, okay.”

But it kind of is, because assholes looking for revenge on the Battle Buddies from a previous mission and a good portion of the city in chaos and having to find a new tattoo artist. (Jeremy’s favorite guy being apologetic about it, but seriously Jeremy. There’s only so many times his insurance will cover the cost for repairs when it suddenly explodes, think of his premiums.)

Geoff loses that tight, pinched look to his face and this time when he catches Ryan staring at his hands he just waggles his eyebrows and makes terrible joke and it’s okay.

(Geoff also totally laughs when he catches a glimpse of Ryan’s tattoo at some point, and Ryan is like “Hey, now,” with this dumb little smile.)

And like.

Of course Ryan has to go back a few more time for additional fittings and Geoff is always delighted to see him.

Worries a bit when Ryan comes in looking like shit after a mission – all bruised and battered, even if he’s cleaned up. (“You should have seen the other guy, Geoff.”)

(Jeremy finally freeing up time to offer to go along with Ryan for one of them and Ryan telling him it’s not necessary and Jeremy being confused until he spots the tell-tale signs of Ryan with a big ol’ crush,and then it’s gentle teasing because it’s freaking adorable is what it is.)

And then!

Some situation in which baddies track the Battle Buddies down to their personal lives and Ryan terrified for Geoff, right? (They’re not a Thing, but the baddies know he’s been going to Geoff’s shop a lot – look, fittings, okay. Rough business. Or something, Whatever.)

Rushes to get there after fighting off some baddies who got to him at his place, and find -

“Uh...”

Geoff, standing over a body with a gun and this hard-eyed look to him.

Not the sassy, snarky motherfucker Ryan’s totally head over heels for who makes dumb jokes and gives Ryan this look until he laughs at him. This guy who listens to punk rock music and mocks Ryan for being a complete dork. Someone with an amazing laugh and just makes Ryan indescribably happy being around.

“Hey, give me a hand, there’s another one in the back.”

Ryan just ??? as he follows Geoff – glances down to look at the very dead baddie and is even more ??? - because what is going on???

Finds Geoff trying to move another very dead baddie because apparently there’s a hidden trap door or whatever that leads down to what looks like a bunker of some sort? Weapons locker and body armor and what the fuck is going on???

Geoff catching the dumbfounded look on Ryan’s face and sighing.

“Didn’t Jack tell you? We used to work together.”

Jack, as in the guy who basically runs the agency he and Jeremy work for. Quiet and competent and all these rumors about his old partner before the guy retired. Some bullshit about getting into a fight with Burnie over something and quitting over it.

(Rumors say there was more to it, conspiracies and Jack’s old partner working behind the scenes with Burnie and his people to expose it and deciding he'd had enough of the life when it as all over and done with even though Burnie offered to reinstate him and so on.

Just...didn’t like the lies and shit that went with it, and started up some little business of his own somewhere.

Kept in contact with Jack and Burnie, sent them tacky postcards when he went on vacation or Christmas Ryan would see in their offices every so often. Had a barbecue every one in a while for the old guard, that kind of thing.)

Ryan staring at Geoff as he gears up, clearly knows what he’s about as he does. Quick and efficient and Ryan finds himself staring at the tattoos on Geoff’s hands again, right.

Only this time there are guns and ammunition and knives in them instead of the tape measure or pins or the battered little notebook and pen he likes to use to mark down measurements.

(Ryan is a little embarrassed at how hot he finds it all, okay.)

Geoff catches him looking – of course he does – and the smirk he gives Ryan is all sharp and knowing and oh, fucking hell, has Ryan really been that obvious?

“Hey, you want to, I don’t know. Grab a fucking coffee or something when this is over?” Geoff asks, this slight edge of nervousness to his words that jolts Ryan out of mindlessly staring at him.

“I...uh,” Ryan is totally not panicking, no. “Yeah, sure?”

Winces at the way Geoff’s smile fades because Ryan is a disaster, but then there’s a crashing noise upstairs and more baddies to deal with.

Geoff scowling and muttering about just getting the place remodeled as he storms up the ladder, Ryan hurrying after him and oh what the fuck has he gotten himself into now???

Shenanigans as they fight off the baddies and meet up with Jeremy to figure things out and awkward flirting.

And then!

When everything’s over and done with, and Ryan and Geoff are in medical waiting to have their flesh wounds and the like treated -

“I - “ Ryan clears his throat when Geoff look up at him, ache in his chest at the slump to Geoff’s shoulders.

Because awkward flirting, sure, but also Ryan processing Things.

“There’s this place downtown that has great coffee,” he offers, sure Geoff’s going to turn him down. “If you want to go there sometime. With me. On a date.”

(Just to be clear, you know. Ryan would absolutely die if there was a misunderstanding now.)

Geoff blinks at him, and it’s got this sad panda effect with the soot smudges on his face and bits of dried mud and blood.

“What?”

(Okay, yes, there were a few explosions here and there and they may have been a wee bit too close to them. Temporary deafness and the like.)

Ryan laughs and tries again. Rips off a bit of the paper on the examining table-thing and writes it down before balling it up and throwing it to Geoff. (His knee’s a little messed up, makes it hard to walk. Because reasons.)

Geoff sputter and shooting him a glare before he opens the crumples paper ball up and then he just...stares at it for a long, long moment.

Nothing giving away what he’s thinking and Ryan dying inside because his knee, okay. Makes it real fucking hard for him to run away to find a corner to die of embarrassment in if he got things wrong? (Really, unbelievably wrong?)

And then Geoff looks up, crooked little grin/smirk on his face.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he says, and then because he has to know Ryan has no idea what that even means in relation to anything. “Yes, you idiot. I’d love to get coffee. With you. As a date.”

Ryan blushing like a moron as Geoff laughs at him, and that’s about the time the doctor gets there and yells at Ryan for being an idiot and Geoff, Geoff, you should fucking know better you asshole.

Jack laughs at Ryan for forever about falling in love with Geoff, because oh, Ryan, you poor bastard. (But also Shovel Talks him, so there’s that.)

Jeremy laughs himself sick when he realizes why Ryan insisted he could handle his fitting appointments on his own, but thanks, buddy! (There are, of course, dirty jokes about it always.)

Geoff is just amazed at how dumb Ryan is, because oh my God, man. Seriously? (Look. Ryan’s smart, but also real dumb.)

Also, they do get that coffee and Geoff is Ryan’s date to Jeremy’s wedding.

...And then a few years down the road when Ryan and Geoff decide they might as well fuckin’ get married they go on a Quest to find a suitable tailor. (Geoff insists he shouldn’t have to do it because it’s his own fucking wedding, what the hell are you on about, Ryan?)

#ramwood #ragehappy #battle buddies #tailor au #idek #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#technically not a fic #vagrant fic

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brog8264-blog · 5 years

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Turbo Depths at SCG Richmond

This weekend I finished 3rd at SCG Richmond piloting Turbo Depths. Why was I playing legacy though, anyone who knows me knows that it is by far and away my least favorite format! To give some context, I locked in teaming with Charles Azuelos right after our top 8 finish at SCG Pittsburgh. I was super excited for this because Charles is a fantastic elves player but as you may know, modern horizons has a way of ruining decks and an audible was required. Charles wasn't really gravitating towards anything and after watching Abe Corrigan play lands at SCG Philly I thought going over wrenn and six with marit lage was a powerful strategy and started testing depths.

Testing: Leading up to Richmond, Hogaak Depths was by far the most popular flavor of depths. I have never played a match with it, but I imagine the plan is to smash fair decks with hogaak and lean on cabal therapy for combo matchups. I still am not sure where dark depths fits in but perhaps that just speaks to the power of Elvish Reclaimer. When I started looking at lists without hogaak, the lists trimming/cutting Dark Confidant in favor of Reclaimer that Bob Huang and Dave Long played to good finishes in Richmond hadn't really surfaced yet so I took it upon myself to build my initial lists. I started with Petal and Spirit Guide as my "fast mana" over diamond because I had assumed Dark Confidant was strictly unplayable into wrenn, and that going faster was probably better in pseudo-mirrors and against combo. (I was wrong about combo)

This was the final list that I played in Richmond, and i'd like to highlight a few of the conclusions I came to in testing

1. This deck is far more straight forward than slow depths due to playing 4 copies of Pithing Needle in the main deck. It feels like cheating in the delver matchups, if you land a needle naming wasteland and have a discard spell to clear force of will you will almost never lose. The downside to relying on needle is that we cannot play wasteland and only have access to a single ghost quarter, which gives us way less ability to maneuver against decks that play combinations of Wasteland, Karakas, Maze of Ith, and Ghost Quarter, or in situations where our opponents interact with Needle.

2. Into the North is an absolutely deplorable card. Horrible in Masteland matchups, low flexibility in matchups where our tech lands are good. I sided it out in at least 12 of my matches in Richmond because post board we are rarely afforded the ability to tap out to play a dark depths at sorcery speed when we have to worry about Wasteland>Surgical (a line that depths general has an easy time beating). The alternative effect is expedition map which greatly under performed in testing, 3 mana Sylvan Scrying is not where I want to be. I wish I had put time into testing another green source+Libarary or 2 copies of Birds of Paradise in that spot.

3. Dark Confidant is still extremely good. Though it is dicey into Wrenn, it is THE card against plow decks, and in mirrors. Most of the older turbo lists I saw didn't play Bob however, I believe he is well worth investing a petal in when he is good.

4. Turbo depths has a significantly worse side board than slow depths. Petal/Spirit guide over Mox Diamond don't really allow us to use Hymn to Tourach to help combo matchups, and when it came to 3 mana haymakers 1 copy of choke felt like I was pushing it, turbo certainly can't support juicy cards like Lilly, Last Hope, Plague Engineer, not to mention that I don't think Turbo can support Reclaimer in general.

Testing went quite well for the first two weeks, Delver decks felt woefully unprepared, the pseudo-mirror against Hogaak depths felt favorable, and I was smashing Blood Moon and UW decks with the sideboard I had constructed. The week prior to the event I started to lose way more. I started getting submerged more often, Show and Tell started popping up, and the slow depths decks akin to what Bob Huang won the classic with were clowning me. Not feeling comfortable audibling to Slow Depths, I added a Veil of Summer for the Delver matchups and locked in.

Tournament Report: I'm gonna start by admitting that my personal record at this event was 9-6, which does not reflect a very dominating performance. It was not, I lost a lot and was fortunate enough to mostly distribute my wins where they mattered. My tournament went like this:

Round 1 Miracles 2-1

Round 2 Show and Tell 2-1

Round 3 Eldrazi Stompy 0-2

Round 4 Miracles 2-0

Round 5 Nic Fit 2-0

Round 6 Bomberman 2-1

Round 7 Reanimator 1-2

Round 8 Lands 2-1

Round 9 4c midrange 2-1

Round 10 Ant 1-2

Round 11 Slow Depths 1-2

Round 12 Rug Delver 2-1

Round 13 Lands 0-2

Round 14 Rug Delver 0-2

Round 15 4c Delver 2-0

I felt in over my head multiple times in this tournament, in Round 8 I was insanely lucky to win my match against Casey Lancaster on lands after punting the second game by casting a Pithing Needle into a force of vigor that he had accidentally shown me. I felt insanely anxious playing this match, my team was crushing it but I was playing against someone who had a significantly better understanding of the matchup than me, and I started thinking about potentially letting them down, and did not feel confidant in my sideboard plan (side bob into wrenn). This also happened against in round 11 against Dave Long where I forgot to go to my second main phase against his floating mana before making my Lage, this resulted in him making a Lage off of my depths then finding Sejiri Steppe on his next turn.

Fortunately I was able to pull it together for most of the matches I needed to win, the ended up going 3-1 against delver on the weekend only losing to Noah Walker who showed me that Delver can feel like an even match when you know how to keep/mull and cantrip correctly. All of my Delver opponents came prepared by either being 4c with multiple edicts, or packing Submerge, the matchups still felt super favorable and I managed to steamroll my matches in round 15 and the quarter finals.

Though I think I missed my mark in deck building by not working on Reclaimer builds, the deck still mostly felt fantastic, and the explosiveness of my fast mana took people off guard multiple times. I don't want to make any statements about my read on the meta because it feels almost impossible to properly predict the day 1 meta, but I did not expect Lands and Ant in day 2, and assumed i'd see way more Blood Moon floating around. I plan to pivot into slow depths when I start testing for Syracuse because it does not play into the north, and has a much better sideboard, and would love to chat with anyone about depths, you can find me on twitter @brog8264 thanks!

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lostinfic · 6 years

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8 | Swimming

Mercier x Betty British Raj AU

Calcutta, 1902. The word ‘dance’ comes to mind, their own choreography of gazes exchanged across the room, brushes of hands and half-spoken confessions. They orbit around each other, destined never to collide it seems; Mercier is upper class, Betty is a governess. And he’s spying on the family whose children she swore to protect. But in this foreign land of spices and silk, of golden gods and lush forests, where cultural norms clash and wane, even destinies must yield to desire.

Rating: Mature Word count: 3.4k You don’t need to have seen either show.

A/N: the bridges mentioned in this chapter are actually in Cherrapunji, not close to Kolkata. Check them out here Tumblr | Ao3 | This chapter on Ao3

≔

Two days after her encounter with Jean-François at the theater, Betty received some surprising news.

“Gabrielle Mercier requires your help,” Lady Wigram announced, entering the governess’ classroom.

Betty looked up from the stitching she was preparing for today’s lesson.

“She sent her carriage. Hurry up, girl.”

As Betty walked past her, Lady Wigram grabbed her upper arm. “I have yet to receive an invitation to that wedding.”

“I will mention it.”

Betty was so surprised, she headed downstairs without taking any of her things.

Lord Wigram came down the stairs at the same moment.

"I have some business in town," he said vaguely. "Will you be back for supper?"

"I-- I don't know."

He looked suspicious. "Surely Miss Mercier won't keep you over for supper. The girls will need you tonight.”

"Yes, your lordship. I'll do my best to be back by then."

Outside the house, a driver held open the door of a closed carriage. Betty stepped in, wondering what Gabrielle could possibly need her help with.

“Good morning, Miss Salinger.”

“Jean-François! But-- what are you doing here?”

“Whisking you away.”

Betty squealed with joy and threw her arms around his neck to kiss him.

In a letter, she’d told him about lying to Lady Wigram about the earrings, saying she’d helped Gabrielle, and he’d found it was a perfect excuse to spend the spend the day with her.

“You crafty devil. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said.

“Can I get a clue?”

“You asked for companionship and adventure from me, and that is what you will have.”

The coach took them well outside the city limits. Betty stared through the window at these new landscapes unfolding before her eyes, feeling increasingly excited.

On a forest’s edge, they stopped in front of a small bungalow, the kind found all across the country, along the roads, for travelers to rest. This one was a bit more posh and cleaner. Jean-François explained it belonged to the French government, for those going into the jungle.

Above a stone fireplace, two rifles crossed under the stuffed head of a nilgai, a large specie of antelope. Betty turned her back to it.

“You will need to change clothes for our adventure today.” He handed her a canvas bag. “Gabrielle lends you these. You may choose whatever you like.”

Betty went into one of the bedrooms. Curious, she emptied the bag on the bare mattress. An assortment of skirts, shirts and hats tumbled down along with a pair of boots, all in various shades of white and brown. After some hesitation, she dared pick a toffee coloured skirt and a white button down, a bit too long so she tied it at the waist and rolled up the sleeves. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, with her pith helmet and flat shoes, she looked like an explorer.

Jean-François too smiled when he saw her.

“Is this alright?” she asked, second-guessing herself. “Seems a bit improper.”

“I doubt we will meet other people. The important thing is that you are comfortable to walk in the forest.”

“I am.”

“Splendid.”

Jean-François shouldered a khaki canvas bag and guided her down a narrow, beaten-earth path. The skirt swished around Betty’s calves, it was shorter than her usual skirts, made for walking in tall grass and mud, she enjoyed feeling the breeze up her legs.

Their footsteps stirred the scent of moist soil and grass. Enormous spiky aloe veras and generous glossy ferns flanked the trail. They housed all manners of colourful caterpillars and iridescent-shelled critters. It was still early in the day, and mist lingered in the palms, sunlight streamed through it in soft beams. On the branches of eucalyptus and tulip trees, birds chirped to their heart’s content.

Ripe mangoes hung in grapes from a tree. Jean-François picked two and showed her how to peel it with her teeth. Juice ran down their fingers and chins, the fruit flesh was warm, sun-gorged, and sweet. It was messy and wonderful.

“We are almost there,” Jean-François said after a while.

“Where?”

“Listen.”

They stopped walking and stood in silence. Soon, the rush and gurgles of water reached her ears.

“A river?”

He smiled and took her hand, the excitement made him look years younger. The path curved to the right, and Betty saw a bridge arching over a flowing river.

Betty gasped. “Is that the bridge you told me about in your letter?”

“I wrote to you about a bridge?”

“You were drunk.”

“Ah. That letter.”

Betty bumped him with her shoulder. “It was charming in a way.”

“I saw this bridge in passing quite a while ago. I have wanted to come back since then.”

“So, you’ve been here before?”

“As I said, in passing, we were on a mission. I know the area a little bit, but I wanted to discover it with you.”

As they approached the bridge, Betty realized it was unlike any other bridge she had seen before. “It’s made out of roots!”

“Yes, the Indian rubber tree—”

“The Ficus Elastica. I read about it in a botany encyclopedia. Oh, it’s extraordinary!“ She smiled wide, pressing her hands to her cheeks as one would when looking at a puppy.

The rubber trees produced a series of secondary roots that the War-Khasis and War-Jaintias tribes pulled, twisted and tied to stretch across the river. It took years to accomplish, but these bridges lasted centuries, growing stronger over time.

“Can we walk on it?” she asked.

“I should hope so.”

Flat stones lay across the surface to facilitate the walk, moss covered them. On each side, roots of all sizes weaved together like a net, as high as Betty’s chest. She walked carefully, one hand clutching the side for support and the other gripping the back of Jean-François’ shirt. Under them, the river rushed by in great frothy gurgles.

A pair of children climbed on at the other end and ran the length of the bridge, passing swiftly under Betty and Jean-François’ arms. Feeling safer, Betty walked faster, enjoying rather than worrying. Crossing this organic bridge, in the middle of a lush forest with a lovely man felt like something out of a fairy tale. Glee bubbled up in her throat from the sheer delight of being so free, and Jean-François laughed with her.

Too soon, they reached the end, and he helped her down. He lifted by the waist and twirled her and held her until she was steady on her feet. They kissed with laughter on their lips.

They walked a while longer, a trail parallel to the river, leading downstream. They crossed path with a few locals, Betty said hello to them, but most bowed their heads and stepped out of their way.

As the day progressed, nearing noon, the air grew hotter and the animals quieter. No breeze stirred the branches. Betty pulled on her collar, drops of sweat slid down her back. She wiped her forehead on her sleeve. Jean-François touched her temple where sweat soaked the fine hairs there. He offered her some water.

"Do you want to stop? You may not be used to this kind exertion."

She huffed. “Try running after three kids all day."

“Fair enough.”

To hell with etiquette, this hat was only making her hotter and palm leaves provided shade enough. She pulled on the ribbon under the chin and fanned herself with the hat. "I must look a right mess."

"It suits you," he said. “I’m hot too. Let us find a nice spot to rest.”

They ventured away from the trail, towards the sandy bank. A month earlier, the river would have been overflowing from the rains. Some distance ahead, a cluster of rocks and boulders slowed the flow and filtered the larger debris. The water sparkled and meandered under the blue, cloudless sky. A hint of freshness rose from it, and enticed Betty.

As Jean-François spread a canvas sheet on the ground, Betty quickly removed her shoes and stepped into the river. A sigh, almost a moan, escaped her lips at the relief of cool water on her swollen feet.

“Will I have to rescue you from the river again?” Jean-François said.

Betty flustered and hurried out of the water. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“No, no, Betty, I was joking. Here.” He took off his own shoes, rolled up his trousers and joined her.

She blinked in surprise; her whole livelihood hinged on being strait-laced every hour of every day, so she still wasn’t used to someone accepting her deviations from etiquette.

The water rippled around their ankles, then, as the ripples faded out, their reflection materialized on the shimmering surface. Both of them, together, shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling. The sight of it shaped their bond into something tangible. Real, but fragile.

“You were so brave that day when you jumped to save the boy,” he said.

“Careless, more like.”

“No,” he said. “You were brave. I remember you said you would have liked to stay in the water because it was refreshing and you laughed…”

The way he smiled at the memory, shyly, head bowed and lines fanning out at the corners of his eyes, made her heart soar.

“Thank you,” she said, “for saving me that day... and every day after that it seems.”

Jean-François fervently kissed the back of both her hands.

“Shall we go for a swim?” she asked.

“Yes we shall, Betty Salinger,” he said fondly.

Betty hid behind a tree. Her heart hammered in her chest as she unbuttoned her shirt and removed her skirt. She hung them carefully over a branch. After a moment of hesitation, off came the petticoat and corset cover. Her hands shook as she released her corset and unclipped her stockings. Only her drawers and chemise remained, simple white garments with a thin trim of pink lace. With her arms and legs bare, the heat she felt could not be blamed on her layers of clothing anymore.

Hesitantly, she stepped out of her makeshift dressing room, arms covering her chest. She had not let a man see her like this in five years. Jean-François had undressed down to his pants and undershirt. She could tell he was trying not to stare at her.

“Ready?” he asked.

She took his hand ,and they ran into the water, giggling, and dipped their whole bodies in one go. Jean-François emerged, shaking the water off his curls.

“The water is gorgeous,” Betty said.

She floated on her back among the water lilies and closed her eyes against the sun. Her body swayed to every ripple in the water.

Before long, she became aware of her breasts peeking above the water, the wet linen of her chemise clinging to her skin. She kept her eyes closed, pretended she wasn’t aware of it and hoped Jean-François noticed.

A branch fell into the river, and Jean-François stood up to remove it. The white cotton of his pants couldn’t hide the effect she had on him.

“So you really do like me,” she teased.

He studied her with a strange look in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Who are you, Betty?”

“Pardon?”

“When we first met, you were suspicious of my intentions and I presumed you had been deceived by a man before, but there is more to that story.” He swam closer to her. “And your letters, they show a certain inclination. You’re not… innocent.”

Despite the cool water, Betty’s cheeks flared up. She’d promised herself she would never tell the story, not even to her husband-- if she ever married, which was unlikely in her position.

Betty swam away, to a flat rock and hiked herself up on it. Under Jean-François’ expectant gaze, she fiddled nervously with the edge of her chemise.

“You can trust me,” he insisted.

A lump rose in her throat. She wanted to open up to him.

“The first family I worked for, the man was a doctor. There was a regiment in our town, and soldiers often came to the house for ailments. It’s how I met… him. An officer, from Poland. He said he loved me, promised we would run away together and marry. We were caught, I lost my position, and he left, heartbroken, without making good on any of his promises.”

“This is why you had to use Wigram’s obligation to you father?”

“I would never have found work again otherwise. If I were smart, I would not have come here with you.”

“You’re safe with me, Betty. I always keep my promises.”

“You’ve never promised me anything.”

“Because I don’t take it lightly. I can promise you I will not tell a soul about what happened with the Polish man.”

She held his gaze for signs of treachery-- he didn’t waver.

After a moment, he sat on another rock, facing her.

“What kind of man do you like?” he asked.

“Honest. And kind.”

“I really do like you, Betty.”

Without thinking, she glanced at his crotch, down to a more modest size.

“You said honest and kind, you didn’t say anything about size.”

She laughed.

“Was he a good lover?”

She blushed, not only because of the question, but because of the answer.

“Do you still want me?” she replied instead of answering. “Yes.”

“I ain’t a trollop.”

“I know. It’s not easy for you women.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to do it behind the theatre? Because you thought I was innocent.”

“I didn’t want to do it there because you deserve better.”

“Is a river any better?”

“You tell me.”

Betty considered their surroundings, all these different trees and flowers, insects and animals, wild yet living in harmony. Nature at its purest. And she thought, if humans were stripped from their petty civilities and prejudiced morality, maybe this attraction between her and Jean-François would also be nature at its purest.

“Would you kiss me again? Just a little,” she said.

Mercier slid off the rock, and crossed the river to her. Her breath hitched as he rose from the water. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on each side of her hips. Drops fell from his hair, down his nose, landing on his bottom lip. He slowly cocked his head to the side, her lips parted with an expectant sigh, and he pecked her Cupid’s bow.

“Not fair.”

“Payback’s fair.”

She pouted.

“You said ‘just a little’,” he pointed out.

“You know what I want.”

“You think me a mind-reader. I suspect you don’t even know yourself what you want.”

“I do… but I also know I shouldn’t want it.”

“Do you think what we’re doing is wrong?”

“Well, Lady Wigram—”

“No. What do you think?”

“I think I want more.”

She kissed that spot again, at the base his throat, licked the water up his neck and nipped his jaw. He whispered a French curse before capturing her mouth.

His nails scratched the rock and the tendons of his arms tightened as he restrained himself from touching her body. She had no such qualms and slipped her hands under his shirt, caressing up his waist, exploring his ribs.

Since meeting her, he had not been with another woman, and his flesh reacted wildly to her touch. Like striking a match, sparks of pleasure kindling the heat in his stomach. He had to stop before it consumed him. He leaned back to break the kiss, but she pushed forward, and gently caught his lower lip between her teeth. Something like a growl echoed in his chest, he slid a hand through her hair, and licked at the seam of her mouth and she let him in. They tasted each other’s moans. He bucked his hips into her knees, and she opened them to accommodate his body.

“Betty, I have to stop, before I can’t—” She interrupted his protest with an eager kiss, wrapping arms and legs around him.

She wiggled her hips.

He gave up on resisting her.

With both hands on her bum, he drew her to him. Through the fabric of her drawers, he felt the heat of her sex. He couldn’t resist pressing against her, seeking friction on his hard length. She held him tighter and moved her hips. Mercier hissed against her mouth. He devoured her neck with kisses, travelling lower, licking along her collarbone and over the swell of her breast. Spurred on by her moans, he sucked through her wet chemise until her nipple pebbled between his teeth.

Betty grounded desperately against him. Strangled noises, half moans, half sobs, escaped her throat as she clawed at his back. It wasn’t just water now soaking their underwear.

He wanted to tear their clothes away, but even for that he couldn’t stop. Her scent, her kisses, the way she whispered his name, it all intoxicated him. He’d imagined making love to her slowly, but here he was, sweat beading down his spine, as he rutted between her legs.

Betty bit his shoulder to muffle her cries. She was close. He cupped the nape of her neck to make her look at him. Her hair was wild, her pupils blown wide.

“Please.”

He pushed her legs farther apart, pressing more directly into her.

Between the folds of fabric, his thumb found her sensitive nub. He rubbed tight circles and admired the moment pleasure overwhelmed her. Her jaw dropped, her eyes fluttered shut, and he caught her last breath of release with a kiss.

“Beautiful.”

She covered her mouth with her fingertips, a passing mortification that morphed into giggles. He kissed her over her fingers, sucked lightly on the tips.

Mercier lowered himself in the water, he rested his head on her knee as he stroke himself. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he bit her inner thigh when he came.

“And I was just thinking we’re not so different from animals,” Betty said. The mirth in her voice told him she wasn’t upset by what they’d just done.

“Yes, animals.“ He nuzzled her neck, imitating a cat’s purr, and she scratched behind his ear.

They spent the next hour, lounging idly under the sun, her head on his chest, his arms around her, altering their position only to sip water or grab a snack. Now that she’d revealed the truth about her past, they spoke more freely. An intimacy of minds and bodies, sharing doubts and caresses, secrets and kisses. Every time Mercier learned something new about her, his affection grew tenfold, and with it a protective streak.

“Have you seen another Frenchman at your house? De Brem, he’s blond with a mustache?” he asked.

“I think so, a few times.”

“Has he talked to you?”

“No. Jean-François, what’s wrong?”

He told her how de Brem sent him to Dhaka under false pretenses to harass Gabrielle. “When he was at my house… he saw a letter from you to me.”

“He knows? Why didn’t you say so before?” She raised herself on one arm, alarmed.

“I’m not sure. It may be nothing, but steer clear of him.” And he added, to reassure her, “I’m taking care of it.”

He’d already sent a petition to his superiors and confronted de Brem himself about his behaviour. He couldn’t tell Betty de Brem was now in charge of the investigation on Wigram as Mercier had yet to reveal he’d been spying on her employer.

“It must make your work unpleasant,” she said.

“It already was.”

There was the boredom of this administrative tasks now that the thrill of being in a foreign country had passed, but every day he grew more uncomfortable with the European presence in India. In Dhaka, his mission had been to help a French plantation owner settle a dispute with the authorities to ensure the prosperity of his business. But his wealth came from abusing the local people; they toiled in the indigo fields, from dusk till dawn, under a relentless sun for a meager salary while he sipped brandy in his ornate living room.

“They would be better off without us,” he summed up. “You saw how they fear us and hate us. With good reasons.”

“But I thought we were doing a good thing. Helping them.”

“How?”

“Well, we-- we employ them.”

“As servants, slaves almost!”

Betty flinched at his outburst. “I didn’t think…”

Of course, she believed the propaganda the British empire fed to its citizens. Elaborate intellectual arguments to justify the exploitation: bringing them democracy and a modern lifestyle.

She hadn’t been in India long and always within the British district of Calcutta, surrounded by people who had made their fortune on the backs of Indians. She had not seen everything he had. He described the poverty and abuse he’d witnessed, but censored himself so as not to upset her too much.

Her forehead puckered and her lips set into a grim line. “That’s awful,” she said quietly.

He tugged her back to him, and gently stroke her back.

“Will you go back to France, then? If you don’t like it here,” she asked.

“Maybe. France or elsewhere. Somewhere new.”

“For adventures?”

“For adventure,” he agreed.

“Then you shall need companionship.”

“Indeed.”

They smiled at each other and kissed. There was a promise, on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t sure he could make it quite yet. Soon, he thought, holding Betty closer.

Chapter 9: Shivering

#Mercier x Betty #teninch fic #dwcastover #spies of warsaw #a passionate woman #only one or two chapters left #british raj au #lostinfic writes stuff

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prairiesongserial · 6 years

Text

epilogue 1

“Ethan.”

Marguerite lingered in the hallway, one hand resting on the frame of the door. Even in the dim light, Ethan could see the bandages covering the road rash on her arm, the scrape along her cheek.

“Yeah, Mar,” he said, but didn’t invite her in. He was lying on the old couch he’d taken for his bed, one leg crossed over the other, back propped against one of the arms. His jacket was still on - so was the greasepaint in a black stripe across his eyes. He’d have to wipe it away before he fell asleep, but he was far from tired, yet.

“Everyone wants to know what our next move is,” Marguerite said, staying in place in the doorway. “Are we giving up on Cody?”

“Giving up?” Ethan laughed. Not a hostile laugh - a friendly one, the same as he might laugh at any joke. The thought of giving up after they’d just managed to corner Cody was a joke, really. Why would they stop, when they were already so close?

“We’re not giving up,” he said, to make himself clear. He couldn’t read Marguerite’s face, just then, but chose to interpret her silence as inquisitive. “We know Cody and his friend lost us at the turnoff into Pith, so we’ll go down into Pith, and we’ll see what the people there know. I’ll take Jodie, K.B., Angie, and Boyd down there tomorrow afternoon, and you and the rest can come at sundown, or the next morning.”

“You think the bikes’ll be fixed by then?”

Marguerite sounded doubtful. They’d gotten almost as far as Levering before realizing they should have by all rights run into Cody by then - that he’d tricked them, somehow. So Ethan had given the order to head back south, to the convenience store where they’d found Cody and his friend, and pick up the Dead-Eyes who’d gotten hurt or otherwise taken out of commission in the firefight. From there, they’d all gone back to the safehouse in Nevada where Ethan had cut off Cody’s fingers. Back where he’d started. Some of the Dead-Eyes had needed their bikes towed, and some needed to see a doctor, but everyone had made it out alive. That was good. It still bordered on humiliating that a nearly catatonic Cody and some farmhand who barely knew how to drive a bike had gotten the better of him, Ethan thought, but it would have been even worse if anyone had actually died.

All the same, deaths or no, he was going to have to call Lady. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

“The bikes should be fine,” he told Marguerite. “Not much damage to any of ‘em. If anyone’s still needs work by tomorrow night, you can just keep a couple people here to stay with ‘em, and we’ll set up a rendezvous point between here and Pith. I’ve got a feeling Cody’s going to try and dip down here again, anyway. He knows Nevada better than he does Washington, or California. Probably knows doctors around here, too, and he’ll need one soon, for those fingers.”

“Alright,” Marguerite said. There was nothing in her voice or expression to indicate that she really understood, but Ethan decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was a stoic sort of person, and hard to read at the best of times. “I’ll tell your crew to be ready by mid-morning tomorrow, and the rest to be ready by afternoon. That all?”

“That’s all,” Ethan confirmed, with a smile. “You’re a peach, Marguerite. Get some rest, and tell everyone else to, too. Big day coming up tomorrow.”

Big day threatening the people of Pith. Maybe torturing some of them, maybe burning it all to the ground, if they didn’t find what they were looking for. Marguerite returned his smile, and turned to go, her boots making low, hollow sounds against the wooden floorboards as she left. Once the noises faded out of earshot, Ethan got up and crossed the room to shut the door.

There was a little end table within reaching distance of the couch, and on the end table sat a phone - beige, unremarkable, numbers faded with use. Not something every building had, but something enough of them did, provided the owners paid their dues to whoever owned the phone lines around their parts. Usually gangs.

Ethan had heard that a century ago there had been one government that controlled things like the phone and power lines. Everything centralized. The closest thing to that, now, was Hemisphere. The organization all the smaller gangs paid dues to, the leading force that united them and kept them working like well oiled machines. The Dead-Eyes could function well enough without Hemisphere, sure, but it was worth it to be a part of the group. It meant traveling freely through territory controlled by other Hemisphere gangs, more funds if they needed it, dipping into shared resources for protection and manpower. And they didn’t tend to micromanage, which Ethan liked, though he still had to deliver progress reports.

Ethan stared at the phone a moment longer, then picked it up and punched in a number he knew by heart. The faded buttons of the keypad didn’t matter - he barely had to look at them, anyway. The line rang once, twice, a third time, before the person on the other line picked up with a soft click.

“Hello?” Lady asked. She never felt the need to clarify who she was, over the phone. Ethan supposed it was because anyone who had her number already knew who she was. Her voice was warm, and patient, and a little husky, crackling with interference from the shoddy phone lines.

“It’s Ethan,” he said, as politely as he could manage. There was something about Lady that set his teeth on edge, though he’d never quite been able to place it. Maybe that she reminded him so much of a mother. Not his own mother, but someone’s. She was patient, sure, but she always seemed to have that undertone, like she knew better than he did. “From the Dead-Eyes. I’ve got an update on that bounty hunter I’m chasing, the one who owes us money.”

“Money you borrowed from Hemisphere, as I recall, Mr. Rouse,” Lady said, her tone lilting slightly into amused. Damn. Ethan hadn’t thought that she’d forgotten, but he’d been hoping she wouldn’t bring it up.

“Yeah,” he said, sullenly.

“Well, do continue.”

“We found him in Nevada, and knocked him around a little,” Ethan said, neglecting to mention that he’d cut off two of Cody’s fingers. Some of the gang members had been a little scandalized by it, but he stood by the decision. Even if Cody ran, like he had, he’d still have those missing fingers to remind him who he belonged to. “Told him he could work off some of his debt by being indentured to the gang, while we figured out how else he could repay us. But we turned our backs on him for a second, and -”

“You lost him?” Now Lady sounded less amused.

“He ran,” Ethan confirmed. “Got on his bike and made tracks. We caught up to him near the Oregon border, but he has a friend with him, now. Pretty good with a shotgun. Managed to damage some of our bikes and injure a few Dead-Eyes, before we could give them a proper chase.”

Lady was silent for a moment, as though absorbing the information, then spoke again. Her voice was still even - not mad, perhaps, but there were shades of disappointment in it. It made Ethan bristle as much as a real insult might have.

“Do you know where they are now?” she asked.

“We’ve got an idea,” Ethan replied. “We’re pretty sure they’re in Pith, or they were when we lost them, and that they’ll try and come down through Nevada again. We’ll start from there, and try to track them.”

“Good,” Lady said. “Just be smart about it, and do be quick. This has taken up much too much time already. I’m very close to calling the young man a loss, Ethan, and when that happens, you become the one responsible for his debt. It’s nothing personal, you understand, but a loan from Hemisphere isn’t free. Especially not such a large one.”

Ethan clenched his teeth. Paying for Cody’s mistake - that couldn’t be allowed to happen. He’d cleaned up enough of Cody’s messes.

“Okay,” he said, hoping the tension in his voice didn’t come through. “Understood.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Rouse.”

“Goodnight,” Ethan said, but the line had gone dead before he’d even drawn breath to speak.

1.5 || 2.1

#story

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sweetestlittledarling · 6 years

Text

A Night Changed Part 1

The power of ‘what if’ is very strong. Like what if three people missed a party where they were fated to die? What if a person who had spent his life denying his family’s gift decided to listen for once?

Read it on Ao3 Here

It was a relatively nice evening in the city. The sky is overcast, but it’s not too humid. You are dressed up for a party, although currently, you are not going to one. You were supposed to Mark’s estate but after that cryptic call from Damien, your dear friend, and the mayor, you find yourself instead in a cab heading towards Damien’s apartment. You feel worried as you remember the way Damien’s voice sounded on the phone. He sounded…off. In the time you’ve spent with him, you’ve learned to pick up on things, like when there is something going on underneath his words.

He said that he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be attending the party, the one he had seemed, up till tonight, happy to be attending. You still had no idea what had happened between the friends, but Damien had seemed hopeful that this would be a fresh start. Just a day ago you would have assumed that hell nor high water would have stopped him from going.

It’s not long before the car pulls up outside Damien’s building. You pay the cabbie before stepping out onto the sidewalk. You feel a bit overdressed, but in your worried state, you hadn’t thought about changing. The doorman greets you with a smile. He knows you quite well given how many times you have come to see Damien.

“Have you talked to the mayor today?”

“I did see him earlier,” he says, with a small nod.

“And, how was he?”

“Well, he seemed deep in thought. Nearly didn’t hear me when I told him that the dry cleaners had dropped off his best suit for the party tonight. He thanked me then hurried up to the penthouse. Haven’t seen nor heard from him since then.”

“I see,” you say, as he opens the door for you, “thank you.”

As you pass through the lobby you try to think of anything political that might have come up although you would think only a monster attacking the city would have stopped Damien from attending the party. There was some tabloid talk of the mayor being a demon, but that just makes you roll your eyes. Those sleazy reporters really were vultures, especially the ones that make up their stories. You hurry to the elevator.

“Mayor’s penthouse please,” you say to the man.

Just as the doors begin to close you hear a booming voice. “Wait! Hold that elevator!” The elevator operator stops the doors just in time for a very interesting fellow to slip in. He was dressed in what you could only describe as safari gear, complete with a pith helmet. He also has a very bristly mustache, which twitches as his nose wiggles a bit. You would have thought him a solider, not only from the stripes on his coat but the way he stands straight at attention beside you. “Penthouse please my good man,” he says.

Wait…He’s going to the penthouse? Is he going to see Damien as well? Suddenly it hits you.” A colonel…infantry division…” you say remembering what Damien had said.

“I beg your pardon?” the mustache man, turning to look at you through his spectacles.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, realizing that not only were you staring but speaking out loud. “I was just…your name wouldn’t happen to be Colonel William Pelt?”

“Why yes, it is,” he says tilting his head curiously, “but my friends call me the Colonel.” His nose twitches as does his mustache. “Now it would seem that you know quite a bit about me, but I don’t think I know anything about you.”

“Oh, again very sorry! I’m a friend of Damien’s- “

“Hmmm!” The Colonel’s suddenly loud humming and scratching of his chin make you pause. He is looking at you in a strange way which is making you feel somewhat uncomfortable. “Wait!” He says suddenly, smiling, “you’re the incredibly gorgeous district attorney that Damien is always raving about in his letters!”

You feel a sudden burst of heat hit your face. “Wait…what?” Before you have time to think over this the elevator dings and the door opens.

“Top floor,” the elevator operator announces.

“After you,” the Colonel says, bowing and sweeping his hand.

“Oh yes of course,” you say, trying to ignore the smirk on the elevator operator’s face. You’ve tried your best to ignore the building’s staff and their rumors about you’re spending so much time in the mayor’s apartment. The Colonel’s words, you are sure, will be the talk of the entire building. You feel a bit more heat rise to your cheeks, but you ignore it. It’s a short walk from the elevator to Damien’s door and the worry you had earlier comes back to you. “Colonel, did you get a call from Damien as well?”

“Yes, I did,” the Colonel says as you both come to a stop in front of Damien’s door. “He told me he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be making the party tonight. As an army man I couldn’t leave a man behind, so I figured I’d better stop by and check up on my old friend…why?”

“I was just curious if you thought he sounded upset when he called.”

“You picked up on that too, hmm?”

You are about to speak again when the door opens and there is Damien, perfect as always in what you recognize is his best suit. He doesn’t look very sick although you are pretty sure that Damien could look perfect even if he were dying. But there is something about the way he looks at you both, like he is relieved to see you. He instantly smiles, eyes brightening. “Dear friends- “He says, clearly meaning to say something else but is interrupted by the Colonel pulling him into a bear hug. You hear Damien let out an audible ‘omf’ as he hugged by the bear of a man.

“Damien! Man, it has been too long!” The Colonel says.

It is only a moment later that Damien gather’s his wits again and you see him hug the Colonel back. “Indeed Colonel,” he says, “far too long.” You give them their moment, glad to see two old friends together again. As they break apart, you catch Damien’s eye. “I am glad to see you as my friend. How is the move into the new office?”

“It’s going well,” you say. “But right now, I think we should be more concerned about you. How are you feeling?”

“I was having a bit of lightheadedness earlier,” Damien answers, “I think I might have come down a cold. I didn’t mean to worry.”

The Colonel places his big hand on Damien’s forehead. “Hmmm, no fever,” he says.

“I swear it’s just a cold, Colonel,” Damien says again, stepping away from the Colonel’s hand. “I will be fine with just some rest and maybe some tea.”

“And some of my grandmother Hilda’s chicken noodle soup!” the Colonel says as he boldly marches past Damien into the apartment. “Nothing better for the aches then the love of grandmother Hilda!”

“I don’t want you to have to be subject to my germs,” Damien stutters in his usual polite way.

“Oh, pish posh!” the Colonel says, with a wave of his hand as he makes his way into the living room beyond, “I have faced a hundred different terrors on the battlefield, a few germs are hardly that scary!”

Damien looks to you and you shrug. “You’ve taken care of me when I was ill,” you say, a small smile gracing your lips, “so I guess we can call this payback of sorts.” Again, you could swear you see a sort of relief cross Damien’s face, although he does his best to hide it. He steps aside allowing you to enter, closing the door behind both of you. The place has always screamed Damien, grand and well decorated. You’ve come to think of this place as a sort of second home in a way, especially after all the time that you’ve spent there.

As you all enter the living room the Colonel turns on his heel to face the both of you. “Now, if someone will direct me to the kitchen we can get started,” he says.

“It’s that way,” Damien says motioning to the door that leads to the kitchen, “but please Colonel, don’t go through any trouble for me.”

“It’s no trouble my dear man!” the Colonel says, a big smile crossing his face. “Besides your rest. You just sit down and relax. The district attorney and I will work together to make quick work of it!”

“Wait, what?” Did he just mention you in that sentence? “Oh no, Colonel, you don’t want my help!”

“Why not? Two hands would make the work much lighter!”

“Because I am a horrible cook! I never learned how to make anything!” And it’s not a lie, you are a terrible cook. You would burn water if that were possible. You spent many nights ordering food or eating out (or eating at Damien’s as he wasn’t much of a cook as well). There is a sudden gleam in the Colonel’s eye that makes you nervous. Without warning, the Colonel grabs you by the hand and drags you off towards the kitchen. “Woah! Hey, wait a minute!”

“Come on soldier! Time for someone to teach you some basic life skills!”

“Wait, I’m not a soldier!” You look pleadingly back at Damien, but he just returns your pleas with a look of apology, either not wanting to help or knowing that there was no way to help.

You are pulled into Damien’s kitchen which is pristine as the rest of his home. It also is well stocked with all sort of cooking things that you have never really seen before. For a man who isn’t much of a cook himself, Damien sure has plenty of things in his kitchen you realize. The Colonel marches to the fridge pulling out all manner of vegetables and tosses them onto the counter. “Okay, cadet, start cutting up those carrots,” he says looking to you.

“Colonel, I really got to tell you- “Your words die under the Colonel’s demanding eye. You suddenly feel like you’re in boot camp, and you feel like you are going to have to do pushups.

“Are you questioning me soldier?” he asks, and you feel a chill run down your back.

“No sir!” you say quickly jumping into action. You rush over to the counter and find yourself with carrots, a cutting board, and a big knife. You swallow as you lift the knife in your hand, wondering if you can manage to do this without losing too many fingers. The Colonel must have picked up on your fear as you hear him sigh.

“Okay, watch me,” he instructs taking the knife from you, “you take the carrot like this, cut off the top and then chop like this.” You watch carefully as he makes quick work of the orange veg. “Now you do the same.”

You nod, still a bit nervous as you take up the knife again. It’s a bit tricky at first but soon you are chopping with at least at the speed of a snail. You can’t help but glance over at the Colonel who is going at mock ten, chopping vegetables, filling a pot with water, and chopping chicken. While he is doing all these things, he has such a focus that you can only be in awe of his amazingness.

“Almost done with those carrots cadet?”

“Yes sir!” you say as you quickly get back to chopping. Surprisingly, you manage to chop all the carrots without losing any fingers. You count that as an achievement as the Colonel adds your carrots to the boiling pot. You have to say you feel rather good about the work you’ve done even if the Colonel did most of it. You watch as the Colonel sprinkles in some salt and pepper, stopping to take a little sip.

“Mmm, just like grandmother used to make,” he says approvingly. Suddenly there is a sound of a kettle going off and you realize that during the whole mess of cooking the Colonel managed to also heat some water for tea. He pours some into a mug and then places a tea bag inside. You can smell the gentle min and realize that it’s Damien’s favorite, peppermint. “Here,” the Colonel says handing the mug to you. “Take this to our friend in the other room…” He then leans in close to you and says softly: “…And maybe you can talk to him and see if you can’t get something out of him.”

You nod.

As you walk out of the kitchen you find Damien not sitting on the couch but instead sitting on the window ledge, looking out over the city. He at first doesn’t seem to realize that you are there, and you take a moment to just watch him. He seems to be deep in thought, his handsome brow knitted just a little with his mouth slightly downturned. If you didn’t know better, and you do, you’d say he looks worried.

“Some tea?” you finally say.

Damien looks up and smiles. “Thank you,” he says as he rises. “I hope the Colonel wasn’t too hard on you. He does have the habit of being a bit…eccentric.”

“He’s…a character,” you admit, as you hand him the mug. “but nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I’m glad. I had always hoped that you would get to meet him. I am sure the more you get to know each other the more you will like each other.” Damien brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip, humming happily. “Delicious.”

You can’t take it anymore. “Okay, enough,” you say, taking the mug from his hands and placing it on the nearby table. You know you should probably wait but… “You are going to talk to me, and tell me what is going on.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Damien, you are not sick. I know you, Damien. I’ve seen you sick and this is not it. So, what is going on?”

Damien’s smile disappears as you speak. You feel guilty for putting that worried look on his face but at the same time, it’s near killing you to think that there is something distressing him that you can’t help with. “Please, old friend, don’t- “

“Does it have something to do with the party? Mark? It’s the only thing I can think of that could possibly upset you like this. I thought you were feeling hopeful about tonight. Did something happen?” You keep trying to watch his face, trying to use your deduction skills to decipher answer. “Please talk to me, Damien! Whatever it is I just want to- “

“Stop!” The word is sharp. It makes you jump a little. You’ve never heard Damien use that tone, at least not with you. It sent a shot right through you and not in a good way. You stand there in shock unsure what to do for a moment. Suddenly he takes your hands in his, squeezing gently as he looks at you with sadness in his eyes. “Please forgive me,” he says, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I am very sorry old friend.”

Only once had you ever seen Damien truly angry. It had been a side you had never seen of the usually gentleman and it had been somewhat frightening. It was not a side Damien liked anyone to see and just like now, he had been extremely apologetic. You know it takes a lot for Damien to be pushed to that level and you now feel bad that you were the cause. You let out a breath and squeeze his hands back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed.”

A faint smile returns to Damien’s face. “I know it was because you were worried about me, and I greatly appreciate it.”

“But at some point,” you say, being very serious again, “we are going to talk about whatever it is going on right?”

You can see the conflict in his eyes but thankfully he nods. “Yes, but not now. Later, I promise.”

“Ahem!”

You both jump as you turn your heads and find the Colonel standing in the doorway, carrying a tray with three bowls of soup. He is looking at the both of you with a very sly look on his face.

It is at that point that you realize that you are still holding Damien’s hands and you feel your face burn as you let go quickly. Damien must have realized the same thing as he too has gone from pale to very red. “Ah Colonel, when did you get here?” Damien asks, stumbling a little with the words.

“Oh, not long,” the Colonel says stepping into the room and closer to Damien. He gives his friend a small jab in the ribs with his elbow. “Seems you weren’t wrong, old chap, your dear district attorney is a looker.”

Damien, as his face grows ever redder. “Colonel…please!” he says, voice verging on begging.

You feel your own face burning as your head is spinning with the idea that Damien, a man you might have a small crush on, might have said those words about you of all people. You are pretty sure if you aren’t careful your heart might just beat out of your own chest.

The Colonel laughs, clearly enjoying the near heart attack he’s caused both of you. “Come on, the both of you, sit down and eat.”

So, you all settle down on the couch, the Colonel sitting suspiciously between the two of you, and start to eat. You put the first spoonful of soup into your mouth and your eyes grow wide. “Wow, this is really good,” you say, unable to believe that you kind of helped make something that tastes this good.

“You have outdone yourself once again Colonel,” Damien says in agreement.

“Yes, once again I am proven to be a brilliant star among men,” the Colonel says with a dramatic flourish. Then with a sly smile, he reaches into his coat. “And our meal will be made even better with this!” He pulls out what appears to be some of Damien’s most expensive alcohol.

“Ooo, I want some!” you say, almost drooling at the sight of the good stuff. You were almost thinking that you weren’t going to get to drink tonight, which was rather sad as you got dressed up and everything.

“I had nearly forgotten I had that,” Damien said, reaching out for the bottle, “here let me- “

“Oh, but you’re sick, Damien,” the Colonel says, pulling the bottle away. “Sick men shouldn’t abide alcohol, it’s not good for them.”

“Yeah, more for us,” you cheer with a little laugh.

“Indeed, my dear!” the Colonel agrees as you grin and share a triumphant high five.

“But- “Damien begins his face looking rather pitiful.

And the Colonel laughs as he wraps an arm around Damien’s shoulders pulling him in close. “Aww, poor man, can’t tell when your old friend is joking with you?”

Damien opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, and then lets out a little breath. “I have missed your humor Colonel,” he says with a small smile.

…

Drinks are poured and soon the night dissolves into eating, drinking, and telling stories. You and Damien share the story of college, while Damien and the Colonel share stories of childhood and the military. Some of it was embarrassing, even for you, and there is quite a lot of laughing at the past. You find yourself learning more about Damien, and in that the Colonel, then you ever thought you would. At some point, the cards come out, and suddenly you are forced to defend your title as the ruler of poker land. Sitting on the floor, you smile as you once again lay out your amazing hand, and collect your chips.

The Colonel, sitting next to you, gapes. “How?”

“You see but you do not observe,” you say, still smiling as you stack your chips into nice little piles.

“I told you, Colonel,” Damien chuckles, “our dear district attorney is a master at poker. We should probably be glad we aren’t playing for money or we both would be very poor.”

The Colonel humps as takes a sip of his drink before leveling you with a seething look. “Well, I demand one more game! I will beat you yet!”

“Oh, you aren’t ready to give up yet colonel?” you ask, your smile becoming only slightly evil.

“As a military man, I don’t know the meaning of giving up!”

“Well then, I will be back to once again to crush you,” you chuckle, as you get to your feet, taking a moment to stretch, “right after I use the restroom. If you gentlemen will excuse me for a moment.”

You have to say for a night that didn’t go the way you had expected, you certainly are enjoying yourself. Damien and the Colonel are truly great people to spend an evening in with. You do feel a little bit guilty not going to Mark’s party, but if you are honest with yourself, the only reason you were going to said party was to be with Damien.

You finish in the bathroom quickly and walk back towards the living room. As you approach you hear Damien and the Colonel talking. The topic of the conversation makes you stop just before the door, listening curiously.

“I think that you are right about that district attorney of yours,” the Colonel says, his voice booming, “they certainly are something else.”

“I’m am glad that you think so,” Damien says. “I knew the both of you would be good friends if you just were to meet.”

“And if I didn’t know better, old man, I would say that maybe you had a bit of a crush on your dear college pal!”

You feel your cheeks burn as you hear Damien sputter. “Colonel, please, stop!”

“What? With how you rave about them in your letters I would have assumed that you were dating them already! I mean what is stopping you? Take it from me, Damien, you have to jump on these things now or face the possibility of losing them forever…”

There is a moment of heavy silence. You can feel it even from your position by the door. You feel awful for listening in but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to just walk in. You carefully lean your head around the corner and see the Colonel and Damien sitting side by side on the couch, both looking solemn. “Have you heard from Celine?” Damien asks, breaking the silence but not the heaviness of the air.

The Colonel says nothing, just shakes his head.

Damien sighs, laying a hand on the Colonel’s shoulder. “I know my sister, and she will be found when she wants to be found. But she cares for you Colonel, she will come back when she is ready.”

The Colonel sighs deeply hands balled on his lap. “I wish I could believe you, Damien, truly I do. But after what happened I fear my dear cardinal has decided to disappear forever.”

Celine? Wait are they talking about Damien’s sister? You know very little about Celine, having only heard about her a hand full of times from Damien. You had noticed that it was hard for Damien to talk about his family, so you had left it alone, but it had always made you curious. What had happened to all of them. You knew at one point they had all been friends, but then something…

“I’m sorry, William,” Damien says, his tone regretful. “I had hoped when Mark had purposed that we all get together again that maybe…maybe we would finally be able to put all this behind us. That maybe we could find some forgiveness and try to become somewhat like we were.”

“I don’t think that is possible,” the Colonel says, suddenly.

“Colonel- “

“Damien, the words that were said that night…some of them can’t be taken back. The anger and the rage, it’s not easily forgotten. Which is why I was surprised when I got the invitation. Truly I thought that Mark would have been much happier if he had never seen my face again.” The Colonel looks down at his hands, still balled into fists on his lap. “I was afraid, truly afraid, to see him again. After what I’d down… after what WE had done, I didn’t think that I could look him in the eyes.” He barked out a bitter laugh as he continued. “I have faced many a foe on the battlefield but truly I have not faced a worse foe then this. When you called tonight and told me you weren’t going I realized that I couldn’t face him alone, not without you.” The Colonel raises his head to look at Damien, a small smile on his face. “I have missed you, Damien.”

Damien smiles gently as he wraps an arm around the Colonel’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “And I you William. It has been far too long.”

You feel a bit guilty now, listening in on this private conversation. You step around the doorway and into the room, making your presence known. “So, Colonel,” you say, acting like you hadn’t heard anything, “ready for me to beat you again?”

Damien chuckles as he stands. “While you two battle it out I am going to go grab us some more drink,” he says as he walks past you towards the kitchen. “I think I have some vintage wine given to me as a birthday. Seems like an appropriate time as any to dig it out.”

“Sounds good to me,” you say flashing him a smile before turning back to the Colonel. “As I said Colonel are you ready to lose to me again? We can even make this a little more interesting, since we are probably going to be staying here tonight how about the winner of the next game gets the couch for the night?”

There is a new gleam in the Colonel’s eye as he rises to meet your gaze. “You’re on.”

#who killed markiplier #wkm #mayor damien #the colonel #fanfiction #markiplier

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dustedmagazine · 6 years

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Listening Post: The Fall Singles Box Set

Over nearly four decades, 32 studio albums, around a dozen labels and a dizzying array of line-ups, the Fall has been a source of endless fascination, amusement, irritation, astonishment and enjoyment to a healthy minority of Dusted writers. Centered around the irascible,unpredictable, absolutely inimitable Mark E. Smith, the Fall has been churning out singles since most of us started buying them, and, unlike other youthful obsessions, continues to do so, right up to the current moment. So, when we heard that Cherry Red was putting out a massive seven-disc, 117-track singles collection, we were intrigued. We were also a little daunted. We decided to listen to it together, or at least at the same time, as much as we could, and talk about it in this listening post. As usual, some of us were long-time fans, others were new to the Fall and a couple were, shall we say, not convinced. Contributors included Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Justin Cober-Lake, Ben Donnelly, Ian Mathers, Mason Jones, Michael Rosenstein and Marc Medwin.

Jennifer Kelly: Hey, so I thought I'd kick this thing off book club style with some discussion questions -- though of course, as in any book club, you are free to ignore the questions and talk about other stuff as long as you don't get too loaded on white wine.

So how are we feeling about the size and scope of the box set? I think for the vast majority of people it will seem like a LOT of Fall, but a couple of die-hards in my circle are mad because things are missing. (One of them owns NINE separate versions of "Hit the North," just to give you an idea of the scope of the thing.)

The first two discs are, in my view, a pretty superb greatest hits collection (with some caveats because some of their great songs weren't A sides or even singles). I knew most of this stuff already, but had never heard the first two ("Bingo Master's Break Out" and "It's the New Thing") and a couple of the others. I guess I'd vote for "Cruisers Creek" as my favorite of the old favorites, how about you guys?

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I'm also struck by how great the Brix years were. How much impact do we think band members besides MES had on the music, and which were the most important?

Bill Meyer: These are excellent questions and I will get to some of them in the next couple days. “Bingo Masters Breakout” is a singalong song in my house, my wife has been fond of that one since we first heard it c. 1983.

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Crain Scanlon's rhythm guitar and Steve Hanley's bass kept the Fall honest through some pretty grim production decisions in the mid1990s. Hell, Scanlon's hacked up guitar — which was the most battered thing I've seen on stage except for Terrie Ex's guitar — was a totem of humility. It was a sad day when Scanlon figured out how to play anonymous, competent lead guitar.

Another notion to consider - Over the evolution of the Fall, there have been hard reactions AGAINST the influence of group members. I think that Brix was an antidote to the influence of Marc Riley. The late 1990s resurgence was a response to the departure of Scanlon and Hanley. And the relative anonymity of early 2000s bands was, I think, all about Smith not letting a band have too much ownership of the sound.

I realize I'm talking about the Fall, not the singles set, but I'll get to that soon

Justin Cober-Lake: Speaking as a casual fan with just a few scattered albums, the size and scope of this box are intimidating and a little perplexing. The Fall have always been prolific and, especially with the lineup changes, it's hard to keep up with them in any sort of knowledgeable way unless you're committed. Getting this many tracks at once is overwhelming. That said, why complain about too much music. This box isn't meant for me (I'd be well served by a two-disc set with a quality essay in the liner notes). But I imagine it's pretty great for the people it's for, unless they have most of this material already.

The ideal listener for this set would be someone who knew just enough about the Fall to decide they wanted to jump in all the way, but didn't want to pick up old albums willy-nilly. What you need is here, covering about 25 years of music. Getting through it all in a way that gets me a better understanding of the band has been a challenge; the ability to listen to lots of Fall without repeating stuff has been a treat. I haven't found my era, my lineup or my 45-minute mix, and I doubt that I will, but that says as much about me as it does about the set.

Bill Meyer: Yeah, this thing is immense. I've been on board the Fall wagon since 1981, and it's still kind of overwhelming, but that is because it is just so big. The Fall has used the single format intensively since about 1978, that's a whole lot of singles. And because they have been around so long, your mileage is likely to vary drastically according to the era.

Jennifer Kelly: And I've run into a couple of people who find this set entirely insufficient.

Hard core Fall people are a special breed.

Justin Cober-Lake: This is maybe starting to shift away from the music, but from a collecting/curating (and marketing) point of view, would this material have benefited from getting, say, three separate boxes, each larger than 1/3 of this one, to get in those various mixes? Would that benefit fans or the sets to be more complete and in chunks, or would that have just served a tiny handful of fans with no real audio benefit. As fun as demos and properly alternate versions are, I've realized I'm seldom interested in hearing the radio edit that's exactly the same but missing three seconds at the end, even for my favorite acts. If this is a set specifically targeting hardcore fans, maybe it's an error not to be truly complete, even if that would have many restructuring how the material was compiled.

Bill Meyer: We definitely want to balance the "why, I was listening to this when I still had my first set of adult teeth!" opinions with some fresh reactions.

Jennifer Kelly: How many sets of teeth have you gone through, Bill?

Ben Donnelly: Mark E Smith has gone through one, at least.

Bill Meyer: That's between me and my dentist. But I did have a conversation recently with a guitarist who has had records on Homestead, Thrill Jockey, and other labels who shared that they are on their second round of implants. And one thing I wrote about in an earlier Fall review - maybe the Peel Sessions box that I covered for Dusted? - is thinking that I heard Smith take advantage of the looseness of the fit of his plate to get a certain kind of slur.

He had enough left, at least until this past year, to hang his plate on. I gather that the health problems that led to the cancellation of American dates this summer and Euro/UK dates this fall started with a tooth removal that led straight into respiratory problems, which are still keeping him off the stage as of November 2017.

Jennifer Kelly: The last few records have definitely upped the spittle factor.

Bill Meyer: Very true.

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Justin Cober-Lake: Maybe as a way to invite new listeners in and to orient our readers, how would some of you more experienced Fall fans recommend approaching this breadth of music? A quick survey of a few tracks of each disc, trying to cover various eras? Put the whole thing on shuffle? Dedicate a few dozen hours to watching the group move through its decades?

Jennifer Kelly: The first two discs are all the A-sides, so that's a pretty good survey of the best and most listened-to material the band's done.

I would pick one or two that you like (or hate) and talk about why.

Bill Meyer: Disc three is A-sides too, beginning in about 1999. I've particularly appreciated it because I stopped getting Fall 7"s a little before the start of disc three, so there are songs or at least mixes that I've never heard. "Theme From Sparta F.C. #2" turns an already punchy song into a proud, rocking anthem. I might never feel that righteous about a football club, but when this song is on I want to.

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The clock restarts with disc four, tracing the history with b-sides. I haven't really digested the more recent stuff, but disc four has songs that stand among their very best. "I'm Into C.B." is masterpiece of building tension with a rumbling groove, shards of guitar, and untouchable lyric about the causes and consequences of mundane obsession. In more recent decades Smith's let himself get away with incomprehensible bluster, but back in the early 80s he was a potent and economical lyricist.

Per Justin's question, I think that there's no perfect way to collect this music, because the perfect form is the original single. So forget about perfection; the sequence of discs one-three makes unassailable sense and charts the band's progress over time quite handily. It's an incomplete story because some of the Fall's greatest songs are pretty long, and some of their albums benefit perversely from fucked-up antics that don't make it onto a-sides very often (although you'll definitely get the idea of what I'm talking about from "Distilled Mug Art (mix 15)."

Ben Donnelly: My hints for cracking The Fall, because they are a bowl of nuts with hard shells and lots of bitter pith that requires some work to crack and enjoy.

Dive in anywhere. The continuities to their sound — twangy garage riffs, glib synthesizer textures — make shuffling through their catalog less jarring than other bands that have passed through these decades. As Justin observes, the material can be scattered, intimidating and perplexing, so popping them out like bingo balls isn't going to violate the intent. One of the cliches about the band that holds up, stated by John Peel: "They are always different; they are always the same."

The lyrics may seem improvised and stream-of-consciousness, but Mark E Smith is adamant about the work he puts into them. The longer you inhabit his world of language, the more the language starts to click. Here's the lyrics for all the singles, as best as fans could transcribe them: http://thefall.org/discography/singles.html

Wire, the other long-running and perpetually creative art-punk band, deconstructs rock — creating mannerist investigations, commenting on commentary. There's a temptation to draw parallels. But The Fall is not a meta-rock band. They are not deconstructing rock, even if they frequently sound like they're coming apart at the seams. They're just a rock band, dedicated to singles alternating with albums, frequent cover versions of old pop, and the commitment to a line up of guitar, bass, drums and keys. Albums have hooky numbers, experimental digressions, and winding epics, like very mangled versions of Sgt. Pepper's, White Light/White Heat or Station to Station.

One of the other cliches about the band, stated by Mark E Smith, is "If it's me and yer granny on bongos, it's The Fall." Which implies it's all about MES, but collaboration is key to how he's kept the operation running. I don't think many of the dozens of Fall members would describe him as a generous collaborator exactly, but his method of creation depends on others. You never get unadulterated Mark E Smith. There's always admixture.

Eric McDowell: As an uninitiated Fall listener, it's pretty great to find myself privy to this discussion. I especially appreciate the permission to simply start listening without overthinking it, since my obsessive completism has definitely had me trapped between wanting to hear the whole Fall discography in order and feeling completely overwhelmed at the prospect of undertaking that project.

To be fair, caving to compulsion, I did start with disc one. So I can only speak to a small part of the collection so far. But what I had somehow underestimated was how damn fun this stuff would be to listen to. Maybe it has more to do with letting go of my usual habits — or the fact that this is a set of singles, without the regulated ups and downs of album arrangement — but to my ears, it's just good listening. Gonna try to keep the baggage at bay while I move on to disc two...

Bill Meyer: The Fall gained respect with good reason; they had great hooks, a bizarrely compelling singer, and a primitive groove that just would not quit from the get go. No need to lug baggage when you can just pick up on the songs.

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Mason Jones: I've never been a particularly big fan of the Fall despite appreciating the band's accomplishments. The approach has been remarkably consistent despite the changes, as others have mentioned, but somehow that hasn't resulted in the band sounding dated, which almost seems like an impossibility. Perhaps the primitivism that Bill mentions is partly responsible: when you start from a compellingly simple (yet so hard to get right) premise, layer on MES's uniqueness, and just run with it, there's no place to go except straight ahead. Yet a lot of bands have tried the idea of "don't mess with a good thing" and wound up left behind as times change. It doesn't feel like that's happened to the Fall, which is a bit mysterious. With all of these singles laid out now, perhaps their path will show itself, but I'm not so sure...

Justin Cober-Lake: Ben's points are very helpful here, and I think the Peel quote is spot-on. Fans and reviewers tend to talk in terms of the changes between albums or lineups, but it's that continuity of central focus that stands out. Listening to everything in order as presented by the box does start to highlight the overarching view. Going from one era of the Fall to another is far less jarring (or even noticeable) than going from, say, The Clash to Sandinista to Combat Rock. The MES Granny Bongos album isn't exactly Elvis Costello genre experimentation (and that's neither criticism nor praise).

May as another way to get into things (and if this is derailing or tangential, feel free to delete/ignore and move on), imagine someone came to you and said, "So, the Fall is your favorite band? What should I listen to to understand why?" Is something like, "the first disc of this set" a reasonable answer? Is this a band that fans fell for instantly or did it take a lengthy of singles and albums for something to cohere?

To be fair, anyone would answer similar questions with, "To get [my favorite band], you need to hear these songs, but don't forget how to this entire album fits in, and you only see what's really going on if you see the late stuff over here...." Some bands can be reasonably well captured by a single-disc "best of". Would that approach reveal the essentials of the Fall?

Jennifer Kelly: I think the first disc is a reasonable answer. However, as Bill mentioned, these are singles and as a result, at least for the Fall, relatively tight, cohesive statements. You don't get into the squirrelly bits as much (though they're there), and there are none of the long hallucinatory cuts that are also very representative of this band. (For an example of this, I'd start with "Hip Priest.")

The things I like about the Fall, more or less in order.

The tight, rhythmic underpinning. Whatever granny was playing on her bongos really moves, bass is almost always awesome, too.

The weird way of incorporating whatever's passing through musically -- punk, post-punk, pop, electro-clash, dance, rockabilly, literally anything, into an aesthetic that is completely recognizable as the Fall.

And in a similar sense, the lyrics, which weave so many cultural references in that listening to these discs is like an oral history, at least of the silly parts of the last 30 or 40 years.

M.E.S.'s spectacular disdain, his ornery-ness, his willingness to bite the hand that feeds him, see "500 Bottle of Wine"

I find myself laughing out loud about once every three tracks, because the Fall is just such a pisser, willing to say and play any god-damn thing, but completely what it is, regardless.

Justin Cober-Lake: Just after I read this note, I laughed at "Marquis Cha Cha," and then realized that's probably a great example of what I like in the Fall, or what I would like if dug deeper and was more familiar. The track has a surprising groove to it, just hinting at a relevant globalism. Smith has some wry lyrics, and at least one moment that's genuinely funny ("You educated kids know what you're on about / You've been oppressed for years"), all of which disguises the song's disturbing elements. It feels particularly Fall-y to me, or at least does the things the Fall does that Jenny describes as the four things she likes about them.

Ben Donnelly: I was going to suggest the one with "Hip Priest" as well, Hex Enduction Hour, in part because they way "Hip Priest" was worked into the end of Silence of the Lambs makes it slightly familiar to most people, making it an example of the oddest aspects of The Fall planted deep in popular culture. But there's a whole bunch of good answers here, and I was content for a long time with owning one album (Bend Sinister) and one singles compilation (458489 A Sides).

My favorite LPs would be Hex, This Nations Saving Grace, The Unutterable, The Real New Fall Album.

Ian Mathers: I haven't had time to get too much into this yet, but I do think the first 1 or 2 (or even 3, if you've got time and patience) discs make for a decent intro, although I might still direct budget conscious listeners to the two-disc 50,000 Fall Fans Can't Be Wrong: 39 Golden Greats compilation, which was the first time anything even approaching wide-ranging/definitive enough came out. But I honestly feel that, unlike most bands I like, nearly anything can be a good intro. To date myself a little, I read about the Fall long before I was able to find any of their work in stores (primitively enough, the only way I would have been able to hear them at the time). And even then, although I'd check every music store I went to for them, there wouldn't even be a title card for the Fall. Then one day one of those dodgy CD resellers that haunts university campuses showed up at my school with exactly one, battered, garish Fall CD in stock: 1992's Code: Selfish, represented here by the great political/dance-rock doggerel of "Free Range", track 13 of disc 2. It is not at all a terribly representative record for the band, but it's all I had to listen to and even though no other opening track of theirs sounds like a bunch of church bells tossed in a bin and chucked down the stairs (love you, "The Birmingham School of Business School") by the time music became more, err, accessible (and I moved to a place with better stores) I still felt prepared for the vast sprawl of their oeuvre. And now, in retrospect, I feel like I could have started from the grottiest, earliest singles here, or the bilious pomp of something like "Hip Priest", and been just as well prepared.

And by prepared I mean both that the Fall's work seems in some way to be holographic - any small chip off the ol' block somehow recapitulates the whole - and that I kind of knew I was going to love pretty much all of it. There are some dodgy/crappy Fall releases out there, but I'm still basically/theoretically on board, or at least would rather listen to that than many other outfits. This box represents a mammoth investment of time, but for me it pays you back immensely - not everyone needs (to take some semi-random examples) "I'm Into C.B.", "No Bulbs", "Blood Outta Stone", or "I Wake Up in the City" in their life but I feel richer for it.

To answer one of the questions Jenny asked earlier, probably my favourite of the old singles on those first discs is actually the first Fall song I ever heard and the only one I had the chance to hear before Code: Selfish, when I stumbled onto the video for "Hit the North" on TV.

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I just love that farty synth bass/horn sound, and all the screaming. Really! And this also ties into the question of collaboration, because as much as I've liked songs from across the length and breadth of their music plenty of the people in the "Hit the North" video (and a few others) make up the core of what I'm always going to (unfairly?) think of as the "real" or "true" Fall, not just MES (a singular figure, and more on that in a minute) but Brix, Steve Hanley, Craig Scanlon, and Paul Hanley. In some ways this idea is a mirage, in multiple senses; not only are there others who contributed to albums during this period (Marc Riley, Simons Rogers and Wolstencroft, Karl Burns, special shout out to Dave Bush, later of Elastica, for his work on my beloved Code: Selfish), and not only is is doubtful how long that group of people actually worked as a functional unit and not only is the current lineup (who all joined in 2006) the longest-serving stable incarnation, the fact still remains that in not just the music but the pictures and videos I was able to find as a younger person getting into the band they're who I think of as the Fall. The "granny on bongos" comment is absolutely true for better and worse, but one of Smith's undeniable talents is in putting together good bands (or else he's just obscenely lucky). Yes, with almost any other vocalist many of these songs would be worse off, and it's the alchemy between MES as a sui generis front man and the music that makes the Fall what they are, but often thinking about the band mostly begins and ends with the front.

With one already-oft-mentioned exception, I'm sure my favorite Fall LPs are pretty conventional within the world of Fall fans (no order):

Code: Selfish, Hex Enduction Hour (remove that pointless racial slur up top and this is basically perfect), The Wonderful and Frightening World Of... (the 16-track North American CD version with all the bonus tracks...), This Nation's Saving Grace ("Paint Work" might secretly be my favorite Fall song), and Bend Sinister.

As for MES: Here's someone who on the one hand is probably one of the best front man of his era/generation, often super compelling when singing. And on the other hand it's impossible not to notice that he seems deeply unpleasant, has been accused of and/or gotten in legal trouble for domestic abuse, bullying, racism, alcholism, assault, etc. and none of its really ever made very much headway (although with him ailing recently, if we are witnessing the end of the era I wonder what kind of dam is going to break in the wake of his passing, whenever that happens). I fell in love with the Fall, and heard album after album, long before I heard of anything worse from Smith than just eccentricities, and while I admit these things are a big part of why I don't think I'd buy a concert ticket or provide other direct financial support in the future, this is a case where I seem to be unwilling to ditch the work (as opposed to my inability to listen to Swans in recent years, my complete lack of interest in revisiting Louis CK's work, etc etc.). You can find recent interviews with, for example, Brix where she doesn't shy away from describing unacceptable, abusive behaviour by Smith to her and others, but she also seems to love the band and her work with the band and doesn't seem to want anyone to stop listening.

It's something I certainly wish wasn't true and something I won't defend, and it definitely has changed how and when I recommend the Fall to others, but ultimately aside from really blatant moments like wincing at "The Classical" it hasn't necessarily stopped me from listening myself.

Bill Meyer: Yeah, MES comes across as deeply unpleasant, and for that reason I have not so far read any of the Fall books. It's interesting to note that people he has mistreated come back and work with him again. Prime example - his ex-wife Brix re-joined the band in the mid-1990s. I saw them then and she wasn't just a hired hand, she brought more energy to the performance of what I consider some of their more problematic material than he did. Smith is like David Thomas, Lou Reed, Charles Mingus, and Miles Davis, to name a few other bandleaders who have treated their collaborators terribly only to have those people come back and play with them again, in this respect: they can know they are being treated badly, and feel very bad about it, but also know that they are part of something singular and great. They come back to be part of that thing, and they make it great by participating. When things fall out of sync (the first album after Marc Riley left, the last album with Brix before the divorce, the last records with Scanlon/Hanley, Reformation post-TLC) you get records that are weaker than the songs that make them up.

Michael Rosenstein: I am just slightly scratching the surface here and find it all disorienting in so many ways. It is just not the way I am used to listening to music and not the music I am used to listening to. Sure I've heard about the Fall, but never, as far as I can remember, consciously listened to anything of theirs. My thoughts are based on a super-cursory listen which is really about all this musters for me. That is absolutely all about me and my musical tastes and not at all about the music. The first disc seems to stick the most with me, but really only because it sounds like what I expected them to sound like. It sounds very much stuck in the late 70s early 80s post-punk music that I have a passing familiarity with (The Slits, Pop Group/Rip Rig and Panic, Gang of Four ("Peel Sessions" or "Entertainment",...) though certainly messier than Wire. It hits all the tropes I would expect and does so with a shambolic energy that is passingly engaging. But by the time they are hitting the late 80s, they've lost me altogether. (The old man in me is starting to think "this all kind of sounds the same") and spot checking the third disc is a bit of a slog.

It has made me think about how singles functioned in the late 1970s/1980s in particular, something that just wasn't on my radar because of what I was listening to at the time. I've been talking to friends who were grabbing these as they came out, searching out singles because that was the only way to get a glimpse of this kind of stuff in the US. That notion of the hard search for music being leaked out in small doses is SO different than how people listen now.

In the end, this is an intriguing listening exercise for me but nothing jumps out enough to entice me to really dig in more deeply. I am absolutely not the audience for this box, and really wouldn't even be the audience for a single-CD very, very, very best of comp. Now back to looking out my window watching the snow and digging very deeply in to John Cage's "Winter Music" which is totally my jam.

Jennifer Kelly: I think it's important that we are able to disagree civilly -- and I do disagree with almost everything in your post -- and I imagine we have some readers who do not like the Fall.

The main risk is that MES reads your post and incorporates it into some sort of a song later, a la "Portugal."

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Mason Jones: I agree, I think if we can dig into more detail, this could be a valuable and interesting inclusion. I think I agree with some of your thoughts, and not others, since I'm not a Fall fan but do enjoy parts of the catalog.

Bill Meyer: I certainly appreciate the inclusion of non-partisan and skeptical perspectives. The point about how people received music in the heyday of indie singles vs how they access music now - and also how the potential consumers of 7 CD archival boxes relate to other dominant modes of music consumption- that's best discussed when I am not typing with a thumb. Maybe later or maybe you can all take it past me.

Michael Rosenstein: I’d be curious to understand the parts you disagree with. My comments are so casually subjective based on a cursory listen to music totally outside my wheelhouse. My guess is that any “disagreement” would be rooted in the fact that I did some lazy listening (which I completely agree with.)

Jennifer Kelly: Well for instance, comparing the Fall to the Slits. The two bands sound completely different. There's a lot of reggae in the Slits, for instance, and next to none in the Fall.

Or the Pop Group, again, completely different thing, lots more chaotic and less rhythmic.

Gang of Four, okay, maybe at the most superficial level, though if you listen to this stuff seriously that would be like saying that blue is sort of like green. To me, they're both primary colors. (Ed note: Jennifer Kelly is apparently not aware that green is NOT a primary color.)

Also yes, the Fall did seem to get looser and more distended as the years went on, but I would never attach the word "shambolic" to something as boxed in and paranoiac and just mental as later fall. Shambolic, to me, means trippy and open-ended and accepting of whatever the path leads to, which is not a quality I would associate with the Fall at all.

Michael Rosenstein: Got it. Yeah. That was incredibly lazy on my part and has everything to do my admittedly limited listening in this area. It is exactly the same as someone with minimal exposure to free jazz piano playing saying that some pianist reminds them of Cecil Taylor and Sun Ra (who have almost nothing, stylistically to do with each other). When I say that this is what I was expecting to hear, I only meant that it fit in the tiny little box that I have for that kind of listening.

These are the concerns I have in having my comments included other than really saying that I took a listen, wasn't won over, and went back to my wheelhouse. Which really just proves my narrow listening habits more than anything else.

Bill Meyer: But the Fall did record in the same or similarly appointed studios, worked with similar gear. Part of the sound we associated with late 70s post-punk has to do with gear and studio technique (or lack there-of), and the early Fall stuff shares the same cheap amps, cheap guitars, and cardboard-y drum sounds as a lot of other inexpensively recorded post-punk. What do you think, Michael, are you hearing that sound rather than genre elements?

Michael Rosenstein: Thanks Bill - That gets to where I was going a lot more clearly. When I said:

The first disc seems to stick the most with me, but really only because it sounds like what I expected them to sound like. It sounds very much stuck in the late 1970s early 1980s post-punk music that I have a passing familiarity with

I was talking much less about stylistic synergies than about an overall sound. This for me is more about setting context than it is about any notion of "this sounds like that." There is a boomy quality and evenness of sonic field (with all of the instruments playing equally within the mix) that jumps out. While the way the groups operate are stylistically distinct, and the densities of sound are very different, listening to the way that the mix operates on something like Rip Rig and Panic's "Knee Deep In Shit" sets me up to hear "Roche Rumble."

I'll stick with this:

But by the time they are hitting the late 1980s, they've lost me altogether. (The old man in me is starting to think "this all kind of sounds the same") and spot checking the third disc is a bit of a slog.

Jenny, it is interesting to hear you talk about them getting "looser and more distended". In thinking it through, maybe a better response to the earlier stuff for me is that I hear a rawness in it that isn't quite there for me in the VERY limited spot checking of the later stuff.

Marc Medwin: OK, I was half thinking of not getting involved at all, OK, more than half, but a toe in the water:

I expected to hate this stuff. I'm only listening to disc 1 now. I'm smiling, grinning actually. For me, the band that comes to mind is the Adverts, maybe it's already been discussed and not really that close at all, I haven't read back through all of these posts yet. I find the keyboard hook on "It's the New Thing" absolutely irresistible!

Just a quick bit of context: So far, my favorite song by the Fall has been “Pat-Trip Dispenser,” which, once I get it in my head, I find myself singing all day long, growling it in the shower, I think the lyrics are pure earthy genius! From what I'm hearing now, I have a hell of a lot of catching up to do!!

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Jennifer Kelly: I've hit the last two discs this week, which admittedly, are not as fun as the first three, but I've been mesmerized by "Hittite Man," lately, and in looking up the lyrics, found this pretty amazing site called The Annotated Fall. http://annotatedfall.doomby.com/

#the fall #listeningpost #dusted magazine #post-punk #singles #mark e. smith #jennifer kelly #bill meyer #justin cober-lake #ben donnelly #ian mathers #mason jones #michael rosenstein #marc medwin #cherry red

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ocbungou · 6 years

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Thank you, Marsha, for submitting your application! Two mods have gone over it and accepted it for approval into the ring. Please have your blog ready by December 26th.

COUNTRY. Laos! (OC)

NAME. Vatsana Boumnevong / PREFERRED NAME. Vatsana or Sana

PRONOUNS. She/her

AGE. 21

ALIGNMENT. The Rats

APPEARANCE. There are visible faded gashes and contusions that glide over Vatsana’s body like a second skin. She considers herself a plain Jane in terms of height and outer appearance, but others say otherwise; with her ever-present ghost of a smile and gossamer limbs. And with her bodice and face always being ailed with the mucky-dried splotches of grime to dirt from God knows where. Standing at just 5'5", hitting just right under the mark of being underweight and baring little to no fat to focal parts of her body, which adds to her molt of a thinly cherubic appearance. Her complexion is notably tan, only to have gotten tanner from her adolescent years of working herself down in the pith of dirty holes and thickets of brittled-yellow wheats and grass-fields. She has grey-blue eyes and sleek yet unruly black hair that nips just the end of her tailbone. Her posture usually slugs, comparably in tune with her initial attitude. Although it appears her only redeeming quality would be her beauty marks that grace on her cheek and neck, and her full lashes, which she’s fully aware of so she tries her best to not pluck or mess with them.

PERSONALITY. Vatsana is definitely a natural born leader and bares all the raw barebones of the qualities. She is observant beyond compare and is particularly sensitive to smell and touch. But seldom does she use these to her advantages. Despite her initial sluggish and dopey outward appearance, she’s very excitable. She switches from one topic to the next and could be giving directions to a tourist to some mock-speakeasy around town to canting about the differences of apples oxidizing and apples truly rotting. Constantly striving for independence and believes all they have in life are the connections they make.

Truly and and unbearably hedonistic and only willing to follow her own code of morality; considerably straight-laced to a certain extent, but only when it suits her. She has no qualms of using deception or morally grey notions for the greater good or for herself. Vatsana is immensely facetious, which her peers in her life either learn to cope with or to shortly play along with. Often, she has an issue of misplaced empathy or compassion and can be painted as someone with no particular social grace. Vatsana will either feel a heavy sense of dread or humility for others or feel a vastly underwhelming amount of sorts. Which is the only thing Vatsana is secretly insecure about, despite of all her more evident flaws in her comportment. She is most insecure about her ability and her incompetence when it comes to it.

STRENGTHS: - Her unyielding allegiance ; once Vatsana is glued to an ensemble, she'l lstick. Which is unpredicted of her because of her nomadic-like mentality. - Her genuine affability ; she can be seen as not so favorable company by some others because of her rugged physique with a matching sneer and facetious attitude but if anything she’s wholeheartedly a good time. - Emotional support ; in spite of her unable to display the appropriate gestures or feelings at the appropriate time, she grins and bears it and offers solace which a lot of people surprisingly take her up on.

WEAKNESSES: - Grudges ; Vatsana has little to no grip on herself when upholding grudges and lets this get in the way of things incessantly. In order for one of her grudges to take root, you would have to be a repeated offender of something. From borrowing her clothes to taking her food, she will immediately drop ties with you just because she refuses to associate with people who take advantage of her and knowingly does it. She won’t ever do a damn thing for you ever again until you come back groveling on your knees and publically humiliate yourself. - Social cues ; while this speaks for itself, Vatsana does understand social cues now but she can never go through with them. As she matured, she made an attempt every day to improve herself on this and put her heart in it– but it just never ends up falling through for her. - Proneness to gullibility ; Vatsana is much too trusting and once she has befriended someone, she instantly gives them a morsel of herself and latches onto them. Either in a timeless pendulum of mutual comradery or blissfully unaware of an impending doom.

ABILITY. “ALL IS BORN AGAIN” — Based off the short poem written by the author, Sylvia Plath, ‘Mad Girl’s Love Song’. Reminiscent of the line: “I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again.” She retains the ability to summon a any amounts of rotters beyond the grave, ranging from one sole loner to a legion of rotters in that instant. They are neither initially malicious nor benign. But do tend to abide by Vatsana’s wishes– if she just closes her eyes. This ability used to work best in closed quarters as originally posited by her, since Vatsana once lacked the capability to round them up properly since they are so unpredictable and can organically think for themselves. However, she’s improved and found that if she keeps her eyes closed, their minds will sync with her’s. In spite of her eyes being closed, she can still manuveur and see properly. Once ‘All is Born Again’ is employed and her eyes are closed; Vatsana can see an exact layout of what’s happening around her behind her closed eyes. Every road and every bump. There are multiple drawbacks, however. If in too much of a large and open space, she will lose touch with their psyche and they’ll gradually march on forward without her. Their aptitude and ail-ness will also match with Vatsana’s. So if she falls wounded, that will take a toll on their psyche. If she obtains a sickness, the rotters will as well and their movements will be slower and won’t engender as much impact. Pertaining to its usage, she will become forgetful of the moment leading up to it, the moment it’s happening, the moment afterwards, and the perpetrators she used it on when she opens her eyes, which will cause all the rotters to suddenly vanish leaving outsiders and the offenders into thinking it was a mirage. If she keeps her eyes open the entire time, the Rotters’ psyche won’t link up with her’s. So she will just be another breathing being to them and not their Guidance so she has just as equal amounts of probability of getting harmed as the offenders do. Though this is not information Vatsana is aware of.

BACKGROUND. A purebred from the heart of Laos, the ever lovely Vientiane! Vatsana was raised graciously with her single loner of a mother who had metaphorically beaten and whipped her within an inch of her metaphorical life the standing moral code of their family. The expectation implemented on her were high; she was expected to marry young, she was expected to make constant, streaming bank by then, and she was expected to carry her then frail and old mother on her back for the rest of her life. The expectations were never ending and enforced onto her, possibly ever since she popped out. And when Vatsana turned out the exact opposite, her mother’s anger surprisingly did not come to fruition. Instead, she welcomed this unforeseen version of her dearest daughter with open arms– trashing away her memorable dream-scape version of her and not bothering to indulge in them. The Vatsana that was summoned was nothing short of.. a pain. But overwhelmingly friendly. She was considerably grabby and took nothing serious and she kept it along even when she grew out of her adolescent years. Snarky, impish, socially naive, everything her mother was scared of handling. But luckily for her mother, she holds back her ripostes and fends off all the attributes that worries her mother and holds a soft spot for her. Just as her mother does for her. But the one fence that they could not walk around or hop over, was school. Vatsana never cared for school, all the way from elementary to a palpable scenario of high school if she hadn’t been tacitly urged to drop out. Wreaking havoc was all she did, done, and does. From pouring paint on the ground to betting 3 kids she could persuade them to lick it, her ambiance either fended off the other kids or they felt strangely drawn to her. But they never stuck around her unless she was making a big commotion, so she never actually had any friends. Her ability took fruition one day during class, when she encountered a male staff was getting scarily violent with her Arts teacher. She winced from behind the closed doors and shut her eyes until she heard muffled crooning and saw that a spoiled mess of a humanoid being was parrying off the male, choking him until his arms molted off. Until she had physically opened her eyes and it disappeared, like some apparition. He was still gasping for air and had prominent contusions on his neck, but the female teacher had long since ran out the back exit. This had spurred on her eventual, growing discomfort around men, also with the lack of male figures in her life from girlhood to concurrently. Unexpectedly, she was a quiet child. But she was still just as excruciatingly unbearable as a loudmouthed problem child was and the teachers could never obtain the iron grip they needed to handle her and continuous meetings between the school and her mother were as fruitless from the start. Although, the kids all admired her spontaneity and how eccentric she was and she loved them all too. But she was ruled as a bad influence and was forced to move into another school until she eventually became home-schooled by her auntie, since her mother never had a strong foundation of education either and worked 3 jobs to uphold their middle-average class. When the time came for Vatsana to properly build a core foundation for herself, they were all reluctant and saddened to see her go. She packed up her bags, took a plane to some unknown pit-stop, and backpacked all the way until her arrival at Port City where she managed to do street magic with the thanks of her ability and reached a summit of absolute beaucoup money. She figured, she had overstayed her welcome, until a stranger had witnessed and saw through her operation of combined charismatic parlance, and her Ability.

SAMPLE WRITING. A woman, too thinly and too shadily snoops herself into a maroon apartment complex accented with a white plaster. Winter-tide presses against her cheeks, nipping at them until a shade too rosy that clashes with her tanned complexion. A stark contract that collides too brashly in a sea of ashen fields. She’s worn down from the eventful day and feels as if she could cough out nothing but dust all night long like an exhaust pipe. She does all but ceremoniously plop down onto her sofa, instantly comforted by the plush cushions that has since then lost its old buoyancy since the last time Vatsana’s mother would bounce her on her knobby knees when she was just a wee baby. But not all girls stay complete and not all sanctuaries are kept from being slaughtered. But sleep could not do nothing to appease her but solely lick at her wounds with salt on its tongue. She’s every lost definition of dreary / weary / and wary. Which is the very opposite of her very essence. She finds that she misses home. Her mom. The frangible wheat-fields she sought solace in and every hole, big and small, that she would sculpt herself into because she feels homely and undeniably connected to some unearthly beings. ( Rotters? The Rotters? Her Rotters? ) She’s stuck in a core crux of this pendulum– wanting to enjoy her ability but not being able to. It’s cool, in theory. And it’s useful, she’s told. But she never remembers the fine grains of it and she’s irrationally afraid she’ll soon never remember she even can concoct this ability up because it always feels like months to years since she’s used them. She could never– can never remember. She finally sleeps. She hopes that she never remembers this night and these worries.

!! Animated FC: - Yukino Yukinoshita

#accepted

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enstarsrequests-blog · 7 years

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Cute blog with even cuter admin!!! ♡ Can I request a scenario with Trickstar members and their s/o watching a horror movie? Maybe with the s/o a bit scared? ( Up to you which Trickstar member is even more scared lol )

aaaa, thank you;;; jsahka I’m really not that cute hhhh;;; But anyway, Trickstar is so cute, they don’t get enough appreciation! Especially as the main unit, I would expect people to like them more…

Sorry for the wait, here’s your request! These took me quite a while, though they’re pretty short,,, I hope you enjoy! (also spoilers: I made two of them scared oops it seemed to fit)

Subaru

It’s hard to take anything seriously around this boy.

For real, how was he laughing right now?

“Hahahaha! Look, that blood is so fake! It looks like ketchup! I bet they were cutting a sandwich with that knife, and got ketchup all over it!”

The said knife was held in the hands of the killer, who had vanished after the protagonist got only a glimpse. They were breathing heavily; but not as much as Subaru’s poor significant other. They were watching with wide eyes as they followed the screen. A shriek sounded, resulting in them flinching and covering their eyes.

The orangette couldn’t contain himself.

“That scream sounded so fake! And it was so delayed!” he pointed between laughing fits, doubling over.

Having him laugh was pretty reassuring.

They had finally relaxed a bit, smiling at Subaru’s antics. But the moment the killer’s mask appeared in the dark hallway on the television screen, they yelped. A scream followed, along with an eerie laugh and the sound of a blade running through skin.

They had instinctively pushed themself up against the hysterical male, who’s laugh had only grown at the scene. The bubbly and warm sound comforted them; until it came to an abrupt end.

They suddenly felt two arms wrap around their shaking form. Warmth enveloped them as Subaru laughed a bit.

“You’re scared, huh? Don’t be! It’s just a movie, after all! Movies like this are actually pretty funny, if you make them!”

His body shifted a bit, sliding himself closer to his scared partner.

Their face was still buried in his chest. In a swift movement, he had snaked his head down to theirs, peppering their face with kisses. A giggle escaped their lips, forming a grin as they tried to pull themself to freedom. In response, he pulled them closer.

“There’s that smile~ Your smile is dazzling, you know? More sparkly than anything in the world!”

With one final peck, he grabbed their hand and led them outside.

They didn’t have to ask to know what he was doing. This was a normal part of the routine; no matter where they went together, the day always ended with stargazing.

The orangette laid himself on the ground, staring up at the night sky. He squeezed the hand of his significant other, turning to face them. The lights of the starts twinkled in his bright blue eyes. Even in the dark of night, he seemed to be glowing like the sun.

“Hey, guess what?”

Without waiting for an answer, he continued.

“I love you~”

A faint scream sounded from behind them. Subaru laughed once again, seeing his significant other quiver while whipping their head around frantically. He sat up, squeezing their hand to reassure them. Though that didn’t stop his giggle fit.

After all, he left the movie running on purpose.

Hokuto

How did he do it?

Slow, eerie music poured from the speakers, filling the ears of the couple on the couch.

The music stopped for a moment. It was silent; until the creepy doll appeared out of nowhere, jumpscaring one of the two on the couch.

They held tightly to the male’s arm, who didn’t even flinch. His stillness was surprising. After getting a good look at his face, they couldn’t help but stare.

He had no emotions showing. He was deadpanning, watching the movie with absolutely no reactions.

“You’re hurting my arm,” he commented, expression unwavering. They huffed out an apology, releasing their death grip on his arm. Only now did they realize how tight they had been clinging; they had left marks and cuts from their nails.

Their attention was turned to the screen once more. But not for long; they once again averted their eyes as the doll once again creeped up form the shadows in all its glory. Hokuto, however, continued to watch. His expression remained unchanging.

“Why are you staring at me? The movie is over there,” the boy spoke up, sparing a glance toward his significant other.

They finally decided to mention it. They asked how he had such a straight face.

“I’m just not scared, I guess.”

They continued to gaze at him.

“What? I answered your question.”

How was he not scared?

“It’s just not scary. Dolls aren’t alive.”

He’s not scared? At all?

“No.”

Not even a tiny bit?

“I already told you.”

Not even a super small-

They were cut off by a shriek sounsing from the television, resulting in them jumping. They had almost fallen off the couch, breathing heavily as they attempted to slow their heart rate.

“Be more careful. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt while under my care. Your parents might hold it against me.”

They examined his face for any sign of… anything. But they were met with blank blue eyes.

“Why are you so jumpy? Sit still.”

They sighed, leaning back into the couch. He didn’t react as they cuddled up against his side, resting their head on his shoulder.

It was comforting to have him so calm, even with the terrifying background noise. Feeling a new sense of content, they drifted off to sleep.

Hokuto looked down at their sleeping form. He sighed.

“I asked you to sit still, not to fall asleep…”

He placed a tender kiss on their forehead, all while keeping his emotionless expression. He was starting to feel a bit nervous, for some strange reason.

“Huh. Maybe the movie does scare me after all…?”

Looking down at his love’s sleeping face once again, he felt his heart tug.

Yeah, it had to be the movie.

Makoto

The blonde sat motionless, eyes gaping at the screen. Lights flashed through the dark room, coloring the walls and his terrified expression.

It had been Makoto’s idea to watch the new horror film out. He had gotten all excited about it, explaining how everyone’s been talking about it. Being the expert information gatherer that he is, he learned the basic plot, and got plenty of insights on the movie. Yet after all that, here he was, even more afraid than his significant other. And, they didn’t want to be rude, but it was kinda funny. He had been acting all big and brave, claiming he didn’t mind if they got scared. Not even a few minutes after, he was shaking in fear.

Knowing he would be too shy to do it himself, they inched closer to him. He tensed up a bit at the contact, though slowly relaxed. He seemed calm now that the scary part was over. Or so he thought. The blonde fell off the couch at a jumpscare, letting out a short, high-pithed scream. The act was followed with an “Ow…” as he slowly stood back up, rubbing his head. His lover couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of him. They had jumped, too, but his reaction was over the top.

They finally opted to help him up, offering to turn the movie off.

“No, we have to finish it! Subaru told me that the ending was the best pa-” his sentence was cut short as he, once again, jumped. Though this time it was from the piercing screech coming from the speakers.

“Ah! Turn it off!” he begged, covering his eyes. They smiled, pressing the power button on the remote. The screen was overtaken in black, leaving the couple in complete darkness. “Gah, the lights! Where are the lights?” the boy panicked. A crash sounded through the room.

Once the space filled with light, it took a moment to find where Makoto had gone. But there he was, faceplanted into the carpet with the table laying on its side under his feet. Who wouldn’t laugh?

Makoto slowly got up, adjusting his glasses. He must be insanely lucky that they didn’t crack. “Uh, sorry,” he apologized awkwardly. They dismissed it, helping him fix the table.

He stayed silent, just staring at the now upright table. And he would’ve stayed like that, if his lover hadn’t spoken up. They asked if he was okay, to which he nodded.

They took him by the hand, leading him to sit back on the couch. Once he was seated, they pulled a blanket over the both of them.

But when they started spooning him, his face turned bright red.

“Ah, what are you doing?” he stuttered, obviously embarrassed.

Soon after, he mustered up the little courage he had; placing a soft kiss on their cheek.

“Sorry we couldn’t finish the movie.”

They shook their head. They were pretty scared, too. There was no reason for him to feel bad. That managed to cheer him up a bit. Or, at least get hin to smile.

His arms wrapped loosely around their waist. All the terror that had filled him only moments ago seemed to all wash away at once, a sense of comfort overcoming him. A small smile formed on the male’s face; even as shy as he could get, he felt at ease around his significant other. His head fell to rest on their shoulder. After only moments, he drifted out of consciousness.

“I love you…” he muttered out, grinning as he slept in their arms.

Mao

Mao had always been one that enjoys babying others, even if he complains a bit.

Now was no acception. Actually, he wanted more than anything to baby his significant other at this moment.

Feeling their figure tremble nervously as the movie became more intense, music slowling down to add suspense, the redhead wrapped an arm around them. With his free hand, he held theirs, rubbing calming circles on the back of their palm.

“Hey, don’t worry. I’m right here, okay? And it’s just a movie, anyway.”

He gave them a gentle, reassuring smile.

In less than a second, that smile flipped into an expression of pure terror. Mao gaped at the screen, his green eyes staring it down in fear. He was visibly trembling.

“That part scare you?” he had trouble keeping his voice steady as he spoke. His features were set in a grin once again, but his eyes suggested otherwise.

They observed the fear in his eyes, unsure of what to say.

“I’ll be here to protect you if anything happens. And again, this is just a movie. It’s all staging.”

At this point, he sounded more like he was talking to himself. Mao looked more scared than his lover, which made him slightly frustrated. Why can’t he be cool and calm like Hokuto?

He let out a quiet sigh. Nothing he can do but pretend he’s not scared.

Easier said than done.

The second year’s eyes were now shut tightly. The terrifying scene played endlessly in his head, as much as he tried to force it down. He gulped nervously. By then, his arm had slid down his partner’s back, resting near their hip. His other one was still gripping theirs. Or, more accurately, squeezing.

They nudged Mao’s side, successfully getting him to look at them.

“What, are you scared again?” he asked softly. The question made them laugh. Were they scared? Sure, a little. But he, on the other hand, looked ready to pee himself.

“Mao, it’s okay to be scared. You don’t have to act so tough,” they assured. Mao looked surprised; offended, even.

“…You could tell?”

They laughed a bit. He might as well have been holding up a sign that said “I’m absolutely terrified,” because that’s how obvious it was. He frowned.

They offered to shut the movie off, if it’s too scary.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, if you wanna watch it.”

After a quick examination of the redhead, they turned the television off.

“Too scary?” he questioned.

They giggled. “Yeah, for you.”

His face heated up at their remark. Staring at them in disbelief, he spoke. “I said I was fine!”

They decided to leave it be, knowing that Mao would only get offended. They snuggled up against the male, smiling in content. He wrapped his arms around them in response. With his chin rested atop their head, and hand stroking their hair, he whispered gently.

“I’ll become stronger for you. I’ll train until I can protect you from anything that comes your way.”

#ensemble stars imagines #scenario #trickstar #subaru akehoshi #hokuto hidaka #makoto yuki #mao isara #enstars #ensemble stars

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garywonghc · 7 years

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Not for Happiness

by Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse Rinpoche

Buddhist practices are techniques we use to tackle our habitual self-cherishing. Each one is designed to attack individual habits until the compulsion to cling to “self ” is entirely eradicated. So although a practice may look Buddhist, if it reinforces self-clinging, it is actually far more dangerous than any overtly non-Buddhist practice.

The aim of far too many teachings these days is to make people “feel good,” and even some Buddhist masters are beginning to sound like New Age apostles. Their talks are entirely devoted to validating the manifestation of ego and endorsing the “rightness” of our feelings, neither of which have anything to do with the teachings we find in the pith instructions. So if you are only concerned about feeling good, you are far better off having a full-body massage or listening to some uplifting or life-affirming music than receiving dharma teachings, which were definitely not designed to cheer you up. On the contrary, the dharma was devised specifically to expose your failings and make you feel awful.

Try reading The Words of My Perfect Teacher. If you find it depressing, if Patrul Rinpoche’s disconcerting truths rattle your worldly self-confidence, be happy. It is a sign that at long last you are beginning to understand something about the dharma. And by the way, to feel depressed is not always a bad thing. It is completely understandable for someone to feel depressed and deflated when their most humiliating failing is exposed. Who wouldn’t feel a bit raw in such a situation? But isn’t it better to be painfully aware of a failing rather than utterly oblivious to it? If a flaw in your character remains hidden, how can you do anything about it? So although pith instructions might temporarily depress you, they will also help uproot your shortcomings by dragging them into the open. This is what is meant by the phrase “dharma penetrating your mind,” or, as the great Jamgon Kongtrul Lodro Taye put it, “the practice of dharma bearing fruit,” rather than the so-called good experiences too many of us hope for, such as good dreams, blissful sensations, ecstasy, clairvoyance, or the enhancement of intuition.

Patrul Rinpoche said there is no such thing as a person who has perfected both dharma practice and worldly life, and if we ever meet someone who appears to be good at both, the likelihood is that his or her skills are grounded in worldly values.

It is such a mistake to assume that practicing dharma will help us calm down and lead an untroubled life; nothing could be further from the truth. Dharma is not a therapy. Quite the opposite, in fact; dharma is tailored specifically to turn your life upside down — it’s what you sign up for. So when your life goes pear-shaped, why do you complain? If you practice and your life fails to capsize, it is a sign that what you are doing is not working. This is what distinguishes the dharma from New Age methods involving auras, relationships, communication, well-being, the Inner Child, being one with the universe, and tree hugging. From the point of view of dharma, such interests are the toys of samsaric beings — toys that quickly bore us senseless.

The Heart of Sadness

Kongtrul Rinpoche suggested we pray to the guru, buddhas, and bodhisattvas and ask them to grant their blessings, “So I may give birth to the heart of sadness.” But what is a “heart of sadness”? Imagine one night you have a dream. Although it is a good dream, deep down you know that eventually you will have to wake up and it will be over. In life, too, sooner or later, whatever the state of our relationships, our health, our jobs, and every aspect of our lives, everything, absolutely everything, will change. And the little bell ringing in the back of your head to remind you of this inevitability is what is called the “heart of sadness.” Life, you realise, is a race against time, and you should never put off dharma practice until next year, next month, or tomorrow — because the future may never happen.

This race-against-time kind of attitude is so important, especially when it comes to practice. My own experience has shown me that promising myself I will start to practice next week more or less guarantees that I will never get around to it. And I don’t think I am alone. So once you understand that real dharma practice is not just about formal sitting meditation but a never-ending confrontation with and opposition to pride and ego, as well as a lesson in how to accept change, you will be able to start practicing right away. For example, imagine you are sitting on a beach admiring the sunset. Nothing terrible has happened and you are content, even happy. Then suddenly that little bell starts to ring in your head, reminding you that this could be the last sunset you ever see. You realize that, were you to die, you might not be reborn with the ability to appreciate a sunset, let alone the capacity to understand what a sunset is, and this thought alone helps you focus your mind on practice.

Go Beyond Concept

A sincere wish to practice the dharma is not born of a desire for personal happiness or to be perceived as a “good” person, but neither do we practice because we want to be unhappy or become “bad” people. A genuine aspiration to practice dharma arises from the longing to attain enlightenment.

By and large, human beings tend to prefer to fit into society by following accepted rules of etiquette and being gentle, polite, and respectful. The irony is that this is also how most people imagine a spiritual person should behave. When a so-called dharma practitioner is seen to behave badly, we shake our heads over her audacity at presenting herself as a follower of the Buddha. Yet such judgments are better avoided, because to “fit in” is not what a genuine dharma practitioner strives for. Think of the great mahasiddha Tilopa, for example. He looked so outlandish that if he turned up on your doorstep today, odds are you would refuse to let him in. And you would have a point. He would most probably be almost completely naked; if you were lucky, he might be sporting some kind of G-string; his hair would never have been introduced to shampoo; and protruding from his mouth would quiver the tail of a live fish. What would your moral judgment be of such a being? “Him! A Buddhist? But he’s tormenting that poor creature by eating it alive!” This is how our theistic, moralistic, and judgmental minds work. In fact, they work in a very similar way to those of the world’s more puritanical and destructive religions. Of course, there is nothing necessarily wrong with morality, but the point of spiritual practice, according to the Vajrayana teachings, is to go beyond all our concepts, including those of morality.

Right now the majority of us can only afford to be slightly nonconformist, yet we should aspire to be like Tilopa. We should pray that one day we will have the courage to be just as crazy by daring to go beyond the eight worldly dharmas — happiness and suffering, fame and insignificance, praise and blame, gain and loss — and care not one jot about whether or not we are praised or criticised. In today’s world, such an attitude is the ultimate craziness. More than ever, people expect to be happy when they are admired and praised, and unhappy when derided and criticised. So it is unlikely that those who want the world to perceive them as sane will risk flying from the nest of the eight worldly dharmas. Sublime beings, though, couldn’t care less either way, and that is why, from our mundane point of view, they are considered crazy.

Develop Renunciation Mind

If worldly happiness is not the goal of dharma, then what is it that prompts a person to want to practice? Chances are that stepping onto a spiritual path would not even occur to a person who is rich, enjoys their life, and has a strong sense of personal security. Of course all of us, even the rich, experience moments of sadness and hopelessness, and we may even momentarily feel the urge to turn our backs on all this world has to offer. But this is not a genuine experience of renunciation mind, as it has far more to do with weariness and boredom than renunciation; it is often a sign that, like a spoiled child tired of his toys, we are in desperate need of a change.

Jamgon Kongtrul Lodro Taye said that if deep down you continue to believe a tiny corner of samsara could be useful or that it might even offer the ultimate solution to all your worldly problems, it will be extremely difficult to become a genuine spiritual seeker. To believe that life’s problems will somehow work themselves out, that everything bad is fixable, and that something about samsara has to be worth fighting for, makes it virtually impossible to nurture a genuine, all-consuming desire to practice the dharma. The only view that truly works for a dharma practitioner is that there are no solutions to the sufferings of samsara and it cannot be fixed.

It is vital to understand that however positive this worldly life, or even a small part of it, may appear to be, ultimately it will fail because absolutely nothing genuinely works in samsara. This is a very difficult attitude to adopt, but if we can at least accept it on an intellectual level, it will provide us with just the incentive we need to step onto the spiritual path. (Other incentives include making fools of ourselves or becoming entangled in worldly systems by trying to fix them.) The bottom line, though, is that only when a beginner truly appreciates just how hopeless and purposeless samsara really is will a genuine aspiration to follow a spiritual path arise in his or her mind.

As Shakyamuni Buddha, compassionately and with great courage, explained to an autocratic king, there are four inescapable realities that eventually destroy all sentient beings:

- We will all become old and frail. - It is absolutely certain that everything will constantly change. - Everything we achieve or accumulate will eventually fall apart and scatter. - We are all bound to die.

Yet our emotions and habits are so strong that even when the truth is staring us in the face, we are unable to see it.

In addition to recognising the futility of samsara, the point of dharma practice is that it penetrates our minds and diminishes our affection for our ego and worldly life by pressing us to detach ourselves from the eight worldly dharmas. However beneficial a practice appears to be, however politically correct or exciting, if it does not contradict your habit of grasping at permanence, or looks harmless but insidiously encourages you to forget the truth of impermanence and the illusory nature of phenomena, it will inevitably take you in the opposite direction of dharma.

Develop the Willingness to Face the Truth

Most of us tend to resent being confronted with the truth, and from resentment springs denial. The most obvious example is that we feel annoyed when we are forced to acknowledge the illusory nature of our lives and the reality of death. We also take exception to contemplating it, even though death is an irrefutable universal truth. Our habitual reaction is to pretend it will never happen — which is how we deal with most of the other inconvenient truths we find difficult to stomach.

Instead of becoming resentful, though, it is important for anyone who sincerely wishes to become a dharma practitioner to develop a willingness and openness to embrace the truth, because the dharma is the truth. The Buddha himself made no bones about it. He never once provided his students with rose-tinted glasses to take the edge off the horror of the truth of impermanence, the agonies that are “emotion,” the illusory nature of our world, and, above all, the vast and profound truth of shunyata, emptiness. None of these truths is easy to understand, or even to aspire to understand, particularly for minds programmed by habit to long for emotional satisfaction and aim for ordinary bliss. So if someone is able to hear teachings about emptiness and tolerate them intellectually as well as practically and emotionally, it is an indication that they have a real affinity for the dharma.

Overcome Poverty Mentality

Many of us feel spiritually impoverished. Kongtrul Rinpoche said this is because we never stop desiring comfort and happiness. Until that kind of poverty mentality is overcome, a large portion of our mind will always be busy trying to secure personal comfort and happiness, making letting go of anything at all extremely difficult. Even those who present themselves as spiritual practitioners will find it impossible to make the superhuman effort necessary.

The problem here is that on a superficial, worldly level, everything spiritual, especially the buddhadharma, appears to be utterly useless and a complete waste of time. We are practical beings who like to build houses so we can be comfortable and happy, and to put our resources into erecting a stupa with no bedroom or toilet or anything functional in it strikes us as being wasteful. But as Kongtrul Rinpoche pointed out, clinging to the merest hint of an idea that worldly values and ideals might somehow be useful makes it extremely hard for anyone to tackle something as apparently futile as spiritual practice. And cutting the ties of the habits that bind us to worldly values, especially when it comes to material wealth, is virtually impossible. “Wealth,” from an authentic dharma perspective, is understood entirely differently. For a dharma practitioner, wealth is not gold, silver, or a healthy bank account; wealth is contentment — the feeling that you have enough and need nothing more.

Liberation from Illusion and Delusion

As the Buddha said in the Vajracchedika Prajnaparamita Sutra (Diamond Sutra), “Like a star, hallucination, candle, magical illusion, dewdrop, bubble, dream, lightning, or a cloud — know all compounded phenomena to be like this.”

From a Buddhist point of view, each aspect and moment of our lives is an illusion. According to the Buddha, it’s like seeing a black spot in the sky that you are unable to make sense of, then concentrating on it intensely until finally you are able to make out a flock of birds. It is like hearing a perfect echo that sounds exactly like a real person shouting back at you. Life is nothing more than a continuous stream of sensory illusions, from the obvious ones, like fame and power, to those less easy to discern, like death, nosebleeds, and headaches. Tragically, though, most human beings believe in what they see, and so the truth Buddha exposed about the illusory nature of life can be a little hard to swallow.

What happens once we know that everything we see and experience is an illusion? And what is left once those illusions have been liberated? To be liberated from illusion is to dispel all the limitations that false perception brings and entirely transform our attitude. So “liberate” means to be released from the delusion of imagining illusions to be real. But crucially, we have to want to be liberated; we have to want to become enlightened. And it is only once we develop a genuine longing for enlightenment that, almost automatically, we start to learn how not to want to be ambitious in a worldly sense. Such a longing is not easy to generate, but without it, to step aimlessly onto the spiritual path would be utterly pointless.

Millions of people in this world are interested in some version of meditation, or yoga, or one of the many so-called spiritual activities that are now so widely marketed. A closer look at why people engage in these practices reveals an aim that has little to do with liberation from delusion and has everything do to with their desperation to escape busy, unhappy lives, and heartfelt longing for a healthy, stress-free, happy life. All of which are romantic illusions.

So where do we find the roots of these illusions? Mainly in our habitual patterns and their related actions. Of course, no one of sound mind imagines any of us would willingly live an illusion. But we are contrary beings, and even though we are convinced we would shun a life built on self-deception, we continue to maintain a strong grip on the habits that are the cause of countless delusions. Small wonder the great masters of the past have said that although everyone longs to be free from suffering, most of us simply won’t let go of it; although no one wants to suffer, we find it almost impossible not to be attracted to samsara.

Mindfulness

Most of us know that aggression is a problem, as are pride and jealousy, but the truth is that all emotions cause problems one way or another and each has a distinctive character. “Passion,” for example, is starkly different from “aggression.” Fundamentally, though, all emotions spring from one basic source, distraction.

What is “distraction”? Clearly, it is not merely the sound of a chainsaw firing up or blaring Bollywood music that interrupts our meditation practice. On a more profound level, distraction is any of the emotional responses we are sidetracked by — for example, hope for praise and fear of blame, as well as its more subtle manifestations, like being spaced-out, distracted, lost in thought, or worked up.

Since our fundamental problem is distraction, its fundamental solution is to be mindful. There are an infinite number of methods for developing mindfulness that all fall into one of two categories: shamatha or vipashyana. The point of shamatha practice is to make mind malleable. But a pliant mind alone will not uproot samsara completely; we also need to see the truth, which is why vipashyana , or insight, practice is so crucial.

Unfortunately, though, mindfulness is difficult, mostly because we lack the enthusiasm to develop it but also because our habit of longing for distraction is both deeply ingrained and extremely tenacious. It is therefore vital for a dharma practitioner to develop renunciation mind and to recognise the defects of samsara, both of which lie at the core of the Buddhist approach to training the mind.

The masters of the past suggest we should constantly remind ourselves about: the imminence of death; the futility of our worldly activities; and the worst news of all, that there is no end to samsara’s sufferings. Just look around you and you will see that the world never ceases to churn out more and more of the same thing, and that the result is unremitting pain and unbearable suffering. It’s no surprise, then, as the great masters have pointed out, that to maintain mindfulness for as long as it takes to drink a cup of tea accumulates more merit than years of practicing generosity, discipline, and asceticism.

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fanfic-collection · 7 years

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In a Name: Ch 18

The people @pabegay1 @kristenscamander @hannah-caitlynn @graysonmalfoy @falltoashes @solsticestorm @bingewatchingmylifegoby @elenoranave @incadinkadoo @melanin—senpai @juuliiaa05 @sigridlaufeyson @ihaveanobsessenproblem @oneweirdfangirl

Loki watched your retreating form in silence. Slowly he sank beneath the water. There was some perverse amusement that he could feel, mentally noting the parallels of drowning in his sorrows and wanting to drown beneath the water.

After a time, when he knew no more tears would fall, he resurfaced, gasping for air. He struggled over to the dock, pulling himself up and sprawling out on his back. Loki gazed up at the stars. The sky suddenly looked so empty and hopeless. What had previously been a thousand stars symbolizing a thousand worlds, infinite possibilities, now faded into dark nothingness as the moon began its descent. He grit his teeth bitterly, finally forcing himself to redress and return inside. - Arriving once more in his room, Loki curled up on his bed, hugging his pillow to his chest and wanting to cry, but no tears came. He simply lay there, feeling numb. There was truth to your words, of course, which made the pain all the worse. He was reaching an age that marriage was a possibility, and since he was not heir to the throne, he wouldn’t have to worry about succeeding the king. But he had never seriously entertained the possibility of marrying a princess in another kingdom to create a political union; the concept was too farfetched to him. Though it was true of course, royalty rarely married for love. In many arranged marriages, the couple grew to love each other, but it rarely started that way. Palace guards often married one another, almost ensuring a second generation of soldiers. Some married into the court for various reasons, be it love or class gain. Had he tried to fool himself that anything could happen between the two of you? - - Time passed at the palace. You carried out your orders methodically, keeping your emotions guarded constantly, and interacting with Prince Loki as little as possible. For his part, he seemed to avoid you as well. The prince only spoke to you when absolutely necessary, otherwise he threw himself obsessively into his studies, work, and training. Frigga stood on the sidelines, watching yours and Loki’s changed behaviors. Even Thor noticed a new coldness from Loki. The only upside was Loki seemed to more stoically ignore any of Odin’s jabs at his inferiority. Except, Loki just seemed to be ignoring everyone. You were polite to Thor, though it seemed more forced. Your training in the yard had a new vigour to it as well, fighting off some unheeded pain. Frigga stood out of view, on the edge of the training yards, dismayed as she watched you and Loki work viciously opposite each other, bluntly oblivious to the other’s presence. The queen huffed in exasperation, turning away and leaving. “Odin,” she called as she entered the throne room. Odin looked away from the adviser who had just been speaking, dismissing them with a nod. “Yes, my wife?” “Something is wrong with our son.” Odin’s face darkened instantly and he stood up, “What’s happened? Is he injured, did Loki do it?” Frigga scowled, “I’m talking about Loki, our son.” Odin sat back down, relieved, then quickly growing annoyed at the intrusion. “He’s fine. It’s probably just his blood or something, you coddle the boy.” Frigga shook her head, anger growing. “Your neglect hurts him more than you know.” “We have Thor to think of!” Odin protested. “We do, but we can’t push Loki aside to do so.” “You know why we brought him here.” Odin grumbled. “Don’t you dare say that, ever. We love him, and chose to raise him. That is why you brought him here.” Odin frowned, but he could see a cold fury emanating from Frigga and didn’t object. “What can I do then, woman, if it means so much?” Frigga bit back her reply, remembering again the source of her worries. “I’m not sure.” Odin glanced down at the scroll his adviser had handed him. “There is an important trade mission that I need handled on Jotunheim. I was intending to send Thor and his companions as guards. My war council found a chieftain who is sympathetic to our peace cause. Establishing a trade with them might improve our ties.” Frigga nodded slowly, “Yes, I think that will do.” Suddenly another idea struck her and she smiled, “Thank you, my husband, I think that will be just what we need.” She thought of her personal guard, of you. Clearly Loki’s strange mood was connected to you in some way. Perhaps if the two of you were forced to spend time together, your fragile friendship could be restored. It’s not like things could get worse from this, right? - - “My queen?” You asked uncertainly, looking up from the summons paper. “You will be accompanying a small band to Jotunheim.” “What of you, my queen?” “You are to be stationed where best suited for my needs.” The queen replied, “you are versatile in your fighting and knowledgeable as an apothecary or healer should the need arise.” Finally you bowed, “Of course, my queen, I am happy to serve.” You returned to your room, slowly gathering your supplies for a dangerous trek through cold, mostly hostile land. You were going to Jotunheim. Nearly two months had passed since the midnight swim that had ended so horribly. Forcing the memories from your mind, you turned your attention to the upcoming expedition. You and the small band of soldiers, including the princes and their companions, would be guarding a caravan of gifts for one of the Jotun Chieftains. The chieftain, Bjorl, lived in an unusual part of Jotunheim. It was apparently in a somewhat wooded area, at least a decent number of trees, which was a stark contrast to the rest of its icy barren realm. Not that it was any warmer. However, the forest setting made it a home for any number of dangerous beasts and unaligned bandits. A caravan laden with gifts would be a prime target for attack, so your work would be cut out for you and the others. You sighed, finally finishing the last of your supplies. There wasn’t really that many, but being able to store them in a small pack to carry still took time. Casting one last look at your relatively comfortable bed, not wanting to think of the hard bedroll in days to come, you made your way to the stables and ultimately the gathered party. - - “We’re going to Jotuheim, brother!” Thor beamed at Loki as he spoke. Loki grunted noncommittally as he continued adjusting the pack saddle on his horse. Thor frowned and tried again, “It’s our first adventure in months, come now, surely you must be somewhat excited.” Loki sighed, looking up. “Questing is your passion, brother, not mine. But I will accompany you anywhere.” Thor squeezed Loki’s shoulder, “Thank you.” Loki bowed his head, returning to his horse. “Is this everyone?” Thor turned to ask the head Einherjar, noting the large caravan being pulled by a number of stocky horses. It clearly weighed a great deal. “Just a few more preparations, my lord, then we shall be ready to depart.” “Excellent.” - - You arrived, leading your saddled horse, just as Thor questioned the head Einherjar. Trying to remain undetected by Loki, you moved to the back of the procession, ready to stand watch from rear attacks. “Hello cousin.” You looked up at the sound of Sif’s voice. “Hello Sif.” “This seems unusual, given your duties for the queen.” You shrugged, “It’s not my place to question her orders.” Sif managed a smile, “Well it will be pleasant to have another woman along, and my cousin no less.” “Thank you Sif.” You forced a smile. You felt eyes upon you and were unable to stop yourself from looking over: Loki had spotted you. Sif followed your gaze as Loki slowly approached, “I’ll take my position towards the front, I’m on point with Thor and…” She trailed off, not saying who else but instinctively you knew. Not that there had been any prior doubt, anyways. Sif had vanished by the time Loki reached your side, his brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?” He couldn’t quite keep the accusing tone from his voice. “I am wherever her majesty requires.” You replied stiffly. Loki’s eyes darkened, “Mother said nothing to me.” He cut off shortly. “I’m an Einharjar of Asgard, and knowledgeable as an apothecary should the need arise.” You added, suddenly feeling the need to justify your presence. “Of course.” Then he added, “well, your presence is not unwelcome.” You interrupted him, starting at the same time, “Though, it was not my choice to be here.” You grit your teeth, falling silent. Prince Loki looked sad again, “Of course.” He appeared to want to say more, but decided better of it and simply left without another word. “Alright company! Move out!” Thor called from the front. And with those words, you were off across Asgard, through Pithe, across the Bifrost, and into the cold homeland of the frost giants: Jotunheim.

#loki x reader #multi chapter

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