Hold on something's just hit me.

If everyone in the Plex were to believe that Gregory dropped Cassie at the end of Ruin to keep himself from being found, whether he did it or not, wouldn't that make Roxy to one most able to understand him?

As Mimic's guard dog, surely she would know the lengths you have to go through to keep that fucker trapped. A whole team of Raceway construction workers went straight to their deaths down there. Roxy won't let the Raceway be repaired and re-opened in order to keep people safe. She's probably been able to see Mimic and its victims through the floor this entire time, she knows what it can do and what it's done, even if she doesn't know the full extent of it.

She's willing to sacrifice her Raceway and Salon to keep people from finding Mimic. Her pride and joys, basically her whole reason for being built in the first place. They're not worth the risk to her.

Whether Gregory sacrificed Cassie to keep Mimic trapped or not, surely Roxy would realise some sort of similarity. She may think doing that to Cassie was too far, she may think he's a monster for even considering it and she may feel as though nothing could justify what he did... But there's a part of her that gets it. The absolute terror that comes at the slightest possibility that Mimic could escape. She gets that sacrifices have to made, fuck she's made those sacrifices herself. She would never have sacrificed someone for this, that's why she ran headfirst at Mimic instead of just sealing the exits again, but there could be that tiny little part of her that feels the need to constantly to remind her that Gregory was trying to do the same thing she was.

The key difference here, is that if Gregory had done it, it would fall in line with almost everything else we've seen him do. The sacrifices he makes, are of other people, and not himself. He sacrificed Roxy, Chica and Monty to upgrade Freddy for his safety and possibly the safety of Vanessa. If he also dropped Cassie, then he's once again sacrificing someone else for the sake of his own safety. Not like he has that much else to lose, but I'm drawing comparisons here.

Roxy on the other hand, sacrifices herself. She sacrificed her Raceway and her Salon for the benefit of both herself and others. Unlike Gregory finding himself in a hopeless situation and hurting others to get out of it, Roxy was given this job (probably) and chose to give up what little she has in the world to keep the situation from happening. Even when Cassie deactivates her and ends up face to face with Mimic, Roxy jumps straight at it to buy her time to escape which could have easily killed her.

So now you have Roxy, who unfortunately does understand Gregory's choice to drop Cassie (if she believes he did it which yeah she probably does) but has absolutely no sympathy for him. She couldn't care less about him. There's potentially a fearful little voice in her head that she's the same as Gregory that fuels her anger towards him even more. She hasn't ever sacrificed someone else to keep the Mimic at bay and she's been doing it for fuck knows how long, what gives Gregory a free pass? Maybe if he hadn't stolen her fucking eyes she would have been able to stop the whole thing from getting that far anyway!

I'm not saying this to frame Gregory as a villain or anything. I don't think he dropped Cassie and I still think it was entirely Freddy's fault for what happened to the others in SB. I just think this is interesting from a character stand point. The one person that could understand the choices they've made to keep Mimic from escaping is each other, but they're both too hateful of each other for it to affect anything... If they were ever to settle their differences, I think it would have to start here. The only common ground they share, is the one thing no one else does.

But Gregory didn't even fucking do it so I bet that goes well lmao

The Marshmallow Torture Test

Now and again it appears like funded nursery near me examination clinicians appreciate watching kids wriggle. They unquestionably devise a huge amount of innovative ways of testing their understanding or disturb them for sure. One such model is the notorious marshmallow analyze (we like to consider it the marshmallow torment test) directed by scientists at Sanford University.

The group brought a gathering of preschool kids into a room and gave them a final proposal: they could have it is possible that one marshmallow to consume right, or on the other hand, assuming they held up 15 minutes, they would be given two to eat when the scientist returned. The grown-up then left the room, overlooking the marshmallow and the children to their own gadgets. The thought was to test the degree of restraint in the young people.

At the point when it was everywhere and finished with, around 33% of the children destroyed the marshmallow right, prior the drawn out remunerations for guaranteed delight. Around another third of the children had the option to stand by the full fifteen minutes, and the rest separated some in the middle between, enjoying the sweet treat before the full 15 minutes was up. The group of analysts then, at that point, monitored the children, chasing them down again 14 years after the fact. Here's where things truly got fascinating.

Incidentally, the kid's capacity to control their driving forces during this poise test was a harbinger of what might be on the horizon. Presently as youthful grown-ups, the ones in the first, most hasty gathering had definitely more scholar and social troubles than those in different two gatherings. In like manner, the gathering who as youngsters had the option to stand by the longest to win another marshmallow scored a normal of 210 focuses higher on their SAT. It just so happens, self-restraint and poise are both significant variables for progress in numerous parts of life.

Further examination from that point forward has just fortified such discoveries. Likewise of uplifting news to guardians and instructors: extra examination has shown that discretion and deferred delight is an expertise that can be fabricated and sharpened through training, very much like activity constructs muscle tone. A few children start with an inclination toward a greater amount of this regardless, yet the individuals who need it can bring their motivation control satisfactory through preparing.

Instructors and guardians the same can transform this exemplary examination into their very own tomfoolery investigation that will both test a kid's proportion of discretion as well as give them work on limiting their motivations.

The Classroom Experiment: In bunch time, give the children a marshmallow prior to plunking down to peruse a story. The book ought to be a fair length, something that takes you 10-15 minutes to peruse. Tell them that assuming they stand by the entire way to the furthest limit of the story to eat their marshmallow, you'll give them another toward the end. Transform it into a challenge to find out the number of them can really make it. Toward the end, have a conversation about the experience:

*Did pondering the marshmallow before you make it more challenging to focus on the story?

*On the off chance that a few children couldn't avoid, ask them about for what reason they ate their marshmallow when they did.

*Among the people who endured, inquire as to whether it was challenging to hold back from eating it, and how troublesome it was.

*What was their take on or advise themselves to hold back from eating it?

You might find that your children in this movement show improvement over the ones in the other examination, reasonable because of several key distinctions. Here the kids are in good company in a room, (and sitting with at a table with lots but idle time) however in a gathering, where prevailing difficulty might well keep them in line. However it's as yet a moving undertaking to any small kid, and will deal with drive control. Toward the finish of the trial, hold consistent with your promise, and deal a second marshmallow to the individuals who have held back. Any who didn't will obviously be envious and disturbed, yet here's the magnificence of it: this gives the ideal chance to attempt once more. Let them know that you'll rehash this action the following day, and they'll get one more opportunity to win two marshmallows the sometime later. The whimpering ought to stop, and you'll have given them inspiration to chip away at their motivation control.

The experience of not getting a marshmallow when their friends did gives inspiration, yet it's a substantial illustration of imprudence having outcomes. Between the inspiration to procure the prize and the example that limiting one's driving forces can result eventually, you might see a sensational improvement the sometime in the future. In the event that conceivable, proceed with the cycle until each kid can stand by through the story. As a prize, you can have an exceptional "marshmallow day" where they can eat their treats during the story, which is more enjoyable in any case. What's more, for those educators whose whole class traverses the activity the initial time around: Congratulations, you live over a few diligent little understudies.

The Home Experiment: Track down a modest morning timer or stop watch, and set it for 15 minutes. Hold on until a kid is playing alone in their room, and stroll in there with the clock and a sack of marshmallows. Remove one from the sack and hand it to them, and afterward set the snap on a table or bed close to them. Illuminate your young person that "we will play somewhat game." Tell them that on the off chance that they can hold back from eating the marshmallow and hold on until the alert goes off, you'll give them one (or two) more assuming they come show you their uneaten marshmallow after the caution sounds. Then, at that point, let them potentially run wild. To give this examination added kick, set up a secret camcorder some place in their room in advance. It tends to be enjoyable to check out what sorts of battles and enticements (if any) they have.

After the analysis is finished, once more, pose similar kind of inquiries: Did pondering the marshmallow make it more challenging to play? What sorts of things did they think about? Once more, stay faithful to your promise, remunerating them on the off chance that they refrained and not compensating them in the event that they didn't. This experience will possibly support unfortunate standards in the event that you don't comply with the guidelines. Assuming they whine, illuminate them that you'll attempt this once more later, and that they'll get one more funded nursery near me opportunity to dominate the match.

Lupophobia

Yandere "Escape Attempt" prompt - Razor

-------------------- Words: 8,944 Warnings:-fem reader, attempted noncon beastiality (none actually happens), yandere/captivity, noncon, biting, breeding, brief gendered themes/tones involving animal mating. Heavily inspired by my degrees of lewdity "deviant"/beastiality playthrough. I applied things I learned in college linguistics for this. Truly putting my education to a good purpose. --------------------- The fortunate thing about animals, and their adjacents, was that they were very easy to deceive, and no matter what, they would fall for the same trick, time and time again. "You see it girl? You want it?" You grimaced at the slimy texture on your fingers, wiggling the fatty slab in your grip and swallowing the sickness that came from looking at it. Out of, you supposed, ingrained social habits, you gave an awkward smile as you wiggled the meat. In contrast, the wolf had the opposite reaction, her ears immediately perked up, and she leaped into a playful position, front half low to the ground as her tail stuck up, and a low whine escaped her throat, eyes fixated on the meat. Yes, unlike with people, who had a greater capacity for pattern recognition and learning, who followed the fool me once, fool me twice mantra, you could count on animals to be easily deceived over and over without having to change the way you deceived them. This was far from the first time you had pulled this exact move, nor was it difficult to do -- you merely waited for a spare moment to rip out a chunk of the meat and hid it away for a little while while the rest of the pack was not looking, too absorbed in their own gorging to even cast a glance in your direction. "You want it...?" You repeated, wiggling the slab again in front of the wolf's eyes. Drool spilled out of the side of her mouth between her sharp, glistening teeth, and she let out another whine.

This was not the first time this trick had worked. This was not the first time you'd managed to steal and hide a hunk of meat away while the animals gorged themselves on the remains of whatever poor creature fell victim to them. Hell, this wasn't even the first time that this specific trick had worked on this specific individual wolf. You'd come to recognize each of them with time, even assigned them little names in your head by identifiers. She was a mother, one of the wolves that remained behind at the little den while the others went out for hunting, leaving only the nursing females, the smallest pups, and, well, yourself. Albeit in a weakened state in nursing, they were still easily capable of overpowering you, and, through means you honestly did not understand, they somehow knew they were supposed to prevent you from leaving. Even when you stood up, one or more of them would immediately pick their heads up, ears falling flat and even letting out the softest of warning growls.

She whined in front of you, eyes fixated on the slab. You wiggled it again. It was an easy deceit to pull off. "You want it... then go... get it!"

You hurled the hunk of red flesh as far as your arms could manage, and, exactly per plan, the she-wolf immediately bolted in the direction of the throw. And likewise, you turned on your heel and began the now-routine dash in the opposite direction -- the direction of human civilization. That had been the easy part.

It was the rest of the way that would be difficult. This time of day was the only opportunity you had to pull this whole thing off, but the sun was quickly setting, and unlike the wolves, you were not exactly gifted with night vision. You likened the route to an obstacle course, a puzzle -- repeated actions that became muscle memory. The first few times, you'd merely stumbled around in the woods for a few minutes. With each successive attempt, you retained more knowledge of the path, could clear a longer distance in increasingly shorter times, memorized landmarks, remembered little helpful actions and hindrances, and with each successive attempt, you found yourself making it closer and closer to the end of the woods than the time before. There wasn't much else to go by, so you used trees that stood out to you. The huge tree with the hollowed out hole in the center was the first landmark -- go right. The tree that had an oddly-angled branch came next. So on and so on. You measured success by how many of said landmarks you could pass in time, striving to make each a longer and longer venture every time. Just when despair had been finally getting the better of you, the last attempt had had you finding a footpath used by the Springvale hunters, and that meant you were close. If you could just find that again -- there. To say flat ground was a welcome feeling to your bare feet was an understatement. The slimy dirt texture of the forest floor and prickly leaves and pine needles was not a pleasant sensation. Nonetheless, there was no time to savor it or anything, soon, soon, you'd walk on paved streets, and floors, and, and... You stopped for a mere moment, panting, desperately taking in deep breaths to soothe the exhaustion burning in your chest. You darted your head from side to side. There was no sign of anything coming your way. No footsteps or growls in the distance behind you. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, as much from physical exertion as it was from a blooming, disbelieving excitement. I might actually make it.  Your legs felt weak at the prospect, and you steadied your stumbling against a tree. You were certain you'd never made it this far before. It was difficult to process, almost surreal. After so, so, so many times, over the course of months and months, you were so used to being stopped by this point that your brain half-expected it at any moment. You'd really reached a point at which the escape attempts were almost done with a knowing futility, you no longer really had much hope when setting out, merely running on principle and the faint chance that was now so real. You could be stopped any moment. And yet, after a few more breaths, nothing happened. You shook your head to clear the dizziness, taking a deep breath and squinting forward in the twilight. You nearly felt your heart stop when you processed a shape in the distance -- a building. Springvale. It was distant and downhill, but visible. Right there within your reach, and all you had to do was go to it, so you steadied your breath and took off as fast as-- The world suddenly spun around you as something snatched at your ankle. Your shriek echoed off the trees, reverberating until it grew silent. A clanging of metallic sounds accompanied it, rattling hollowed objects triggered into motion. Everything began to settle, the sudden flooding of stimuli to your eyes and the feeling of sudden movement both slowing to a gentle sway. You were unbreathing, unblinking, heart pounding as your vision spun and, in a panicked haze, you desperately darted your eyes and head each way, struggling to process your senses. Your head felt suddenly tight and tense, your upper half heavy, and a burning pain wrapped around your ankle. Everything was... upside down. You looked down -- no, up -- at your feet. One was bent at the knee, falling in the direction of gravity towards your head, the other was extended perfectly straight, tense and unable to move. A cord was snagged around your ankle, a perfect tightened knot that wrapped around the flesh. You looked up -- no, again, down -- at the ground. Nausea lurched in your stomach as you did, seeing the forest floor a good drop below. You took a moment to process. You followed the trail of the rope from where it tugged painfully at your ankle, followed it to the branch it looped over, and down the trunk to the base of the tree, where it was securely tied around a knotted root. The metallic sound had come from what appeared to be collected garbage, metal scraps, a glass bottle or two, and some metal tools and cans all tied up in a net and secured to the spot where the rope met the branch, an alert that the trap had been set off. Your mouth hung open, you blinked over and over, before finally, bitter anger burst in your chest. "Ghhhhh!" You let out a frustrated, furious cry, thrashing wildly and pulling at your scalp. You kicked and struggled, but only succeeded in making yourself swing, making the nausea and dizziness worse. A trap. Of course. The furthest you've ever gotten, and you were stopped by a fucking hunting trap. Damn those Springvale hunters for coming this far out into the woods. It could be worse, you tried to console yourself. It could have been a bear trap, which would have more or less destroyed your leg, possibly taken it clean off. But nonetheless, misery and frustration bubbled up in your chest as you swung back and forth, slowing down to stillness. You'd never made it this close to town before. You could see the road as well, albeit just barely, a few hundred yards in the distance. You could make out where the dirt path became gravel in the distance, upside-down in the last light of the quickly-setting sun, and, as tears filled your eyes, you reached a hand out to it, miserably grasping your hand shut before letting your arm fall. It was so, so close! Now you were trapped, stuck here in this miserable, humiliating predicament, and you'd have to wait to be saved, and inevitably dragged back the way you'd come. You thrashed again, trying and failing to curl your body up and reach your foot. Your fingers just barely grazed the knot of the rope, but even if you could reach it, it was designed for your body weight to hold the knot in place to begin with. You let out a shaky sigh and a small sob, tears dripping directly out of your eyes and falling downward with gravity. You wiped your eyes, and a thought made a bit of nervous, daring hope light up in your chest. You were close to Springvale, right? Maybe you could be heard. This trap was set by the Springvale hunters themselves, right? You'd seen these types before, a snare that, when tripped, released on one side and whipped around the center of the force that tripped the rope, forming a perfect, tight knot around the ankle of the prey before hauling it upwards by use of weight. You took a deep breath and cupped your hands around your mouth. "Help!" You called out, straining out the vowel as long as you could, before inhaling a ragged breath and repeating the action. As the echoes quieted, you waited, but nothing happened. You wriggled and writhed, but only succeeded in making the net of metal rattle. You supposed it helped the hunters hear animals struggling, and led them to the source. But the hunters wouldn't be back out until tomorrow, you couldn't afford to wait for them to come rescue you on their own. You waited a moment, trying again and again to yell. The Springvale hunters, a traveler on the road, hell, you'd accept help from treasure hoarders if they hung out in this part of the wilderness. Anyone, anyone human. Well, except one, preferably, but still. Any other human being. You couldn't even remember the last human interaction you'd had. At least, a fully human interaction, without any licks or whines or growls or other canid behaviors you'd become far too accustomed to. But nobody came. You waited. Tried again. And again. And again. No response. Your head was beginning to pound and throb. You'd black out if you stayed like this much longer, and you were pretty certain it could even kill you. But nothing was responding to your cries for help. You wracked your brain in panic for a solution. An idea popped into your head. You'd seen Razor do it before, and the wolves responded to him even though he produced the sound with a human voice, so maybe you too could... It was embarrassing, but worth a try. You didn't exactly have many options. You jerked your bodyweight in the other direction, making yourself turn to face the woods in the direction you'd come from instead of Springvale. You reached your quickly-numbing arms up and cupped your hands around your mouth, forming your lips into an "o" shape, and, well, swallowed your pride. You didn't have any better ideas. "Awooooo--" You tried to mimic the howls you'd heard so many times as accurately as you could manage, but it came out a bit strained and comical. You waited a moment, and, receiving no response, whimpered in your desperation and tried a second time. Your voice echoed throughout the trees. You weren't certain exactly how it worked, you were pretty certain they had different tones they used, some for aggression, some as a cry of distress, but you weren't capable of telling them apart. You could only hope for the best. It wasn't really as if they could help you, but at the very least, they would probably go find Razor for you. They'd done so before, after another humiliating failure when you'd fallen into a hole in the earth during a past attempt. You'd learned they were far more intelligent than you once thought, and they understood things like that, at least. But gods, did this make you feel dumb. Your face heated with embarrassment with each attempt. You inhaled to try a third time, but as you did, a shrill howl pierced the air from a distance. A response. Your heartrate picked up as a little spark of relief and hope -- albeit dread that lurked in the back of your head -- made you shudder. You howled again, and received a second response. It carried on for a few minutes that way, sounding back and forth, and it sounded like the other was getting closer. Finally, you heard steps, and anticipation swelled in your chest. You were pretty sure that the response howls had been that of an actual wolf -- even you, in your time in these woods, had learned to tell the difference between Razor's vocalizations and that of the wolves. There were simply some aspects of the canid sounds that human vocal chords could only mimic, but not recreate to a perfect likeness, and thus his vocalizations were a bit distinct. Still, you could be wrong, or, even better, perhaps the footsteps coming close to you weren't an animal at all, but perhaps a different figure, maybe a hunter...? No, that was definitely a four-legged gait. That, too, was something you had learned to tell apart, a two-legged gait versus a four-legged one. It kind of came in handy when you were trying to to hide or run and needed to gauge exactly what was hunting you down. You craned your neck to the best of your ability in the direction of the sound. A creature emerged from the trees. You took a sharp breath. ...It was merely a very large, brownish-greyish wolf. It gazed up at you with big black eyes and ears perked up in alertness. You squinted. You'd never seen this wolf before. You were fairly certain of this much; during your time in the woods, you'd learned to distinguish between them pretty well. You learned the little differences -- this one was bigger, this one had a scratch on its ear, this one had a scar on its hip, this one was more brown and this one was more grey, and so on it went. This one was different from all the wolves you'd become familiar with. The wolf sat down, tilting its head at you, tongue lolling out as it panted. It was huge, muscular looking. "Help," you whimpered. As aware as you were that it obviously did not understand, you couldn't think of anything else to do. You flailed a bit in your desperation, and pointed towards the spot where the rope was tied to the tree. "Help me... Come on, please..." The wolf actually followed the line of your pointing, eyes settling on the base of the trap. And, miraculously, moved towards it. Your heart pounded. Did it actually understand? Would it help? It walked over and bit at the rope, shaking its head rapidly in the same way you'd witnessed the wolves kill small prey, or how dogs played with toys. It was helping! You shuddered again, hope burning in your chest, and a tear of relief dripping from your eyes upside-down to the ground below. And if this wolf wasn't from the pack, it wouldn't take you back, right? How, you weren't certain, but the other wolves seemed to understand the... arrangement going on. Many of your escape attempts had been thwarted not by your captor himself, but by the pack -- surrounding you in a circle, barking and growling and snapping at you until you were forced to turn back, even tackling you as you ran, biting your clothes and arms to drag you back. But this wolf would let you go, right? .... Wait a second. Cold dread suddenly made your stomach lurch. This wolf had no reason to help you, and no reason to drag you back. It had every reason to see you as easy prey. Any relief or hope you'd felt was immediately replaced with a chilling rush of panic. Yes, you would be easy prey, right there for the taking. You thrashed about, trying again to reach up and loosen the knot on your foot, but failing. Fuck. You were trapped between two unpleasant options. There was a chance the wolf was just helping, but in the end, it was an animal, not a person, with instincts of goodwill or benevolence. It would follow its instincts. Once you hit the ground, you'd have to run. That was the only solution. But... it also occurred to you only then that you were hanging a good fifteen feet or so in the air. Upside down. What if the fall knocked you out? Hell, what if it broke your legs? What if it broke your spine? If it were Razor himself, he'd lower you down slowly, but the wolf lacked the sense  or ability to do so. You'd just drop. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was a thick coating of leaves on the ground, which would hopefully help, and this part of the forest had soft, clay-like ground rather than hard rock, but nonetheless, it was a long drop. Dammit! Your body wracked with a sob of frustration, anger, and panic. Why did all of this have to happen to you? You'd asked yourself that that plenty of times. You didn't do anything to deserve-- There was a snapping sound. You shrieked as gravity immediately sent you crashing down, world spinning around you, and you collided with the earth with crash that took the breath from your lungs; the sound flooded your ears, echoed as your head went numb. You landed directly on your back, eyes looking up at the trees and the sky beyond then as the world spun around you and your vision darkened. Pain ran through your body on impact, a rough, blunt sort of pain that ached through your flesh and meat and bones. You groaned in pain, teeth clenched as it flooded your senses, trembling as it slowly began to ebb away after the initial blow. The wolf's face popping into your vision sent you jolting back to awareness. It was startling, it's cold wet nose pressing against your own, and after a moment, it lapped its tongue against your face. Panic seized your entire body, and you were frozen, unable to move, not even breathing, eyes wide in terror. And then it licked you again, letting out a soft, tender whine. It was being friendly. You let out a shuddering sigh as relief washed over you again, and you thanked whatever god was looking out for you for granting you your life. "Th-thank you," you murmured, reaching a trembling hand up to pat the wolf's head, wincing at the soreness in your arm. It whined again, bumping its head against yours. Wolves were far, far larger than you were certain most people realized. Back home, you'd always thought that the howls you heard at night from within the safety of Mondstadt's walls were from creatures no bigger than the large hunting dogs you'd seen in Springvale. In reality, that was not the case. Even the smallest of the wolves were massive in comparison to those dogs, their heads easily twice the size of your own. You'd been utterly terrified of them in the beginning, bursting into frightened tears whenever one made its way over to sniff you in their curiosity, or dump an offering of a small creature's carcass at your feet in a show of friendliness (an unsettling experience, no matter how many time you were told it's good, 'cause they like (y/n)), or lick your face in an attempt to show affection. You'd grown used to it with time. But this wolf was even larger than the majority you'd seen, easily thrice your size in every capacity. Likely a loner separated from its pack. You were aware there were sometimes conflicts between the larger, stronger pack males that ultimately ended in the loser leaving the pack and heading off on its own, although it seemed nearly incomprehensible that a wolf of this size would lose to anything. Had it chosen the route of violence, you wouldn't have stood a chance. You laid there for a moment, head spinning as you took deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself down and regain your sense of control over your body. You curled your fingers and toes, flexed the muscles in your arms and legs. You were a bit scraped up and your entire body still ached from the impact, but miraculously, nothing seemed broken. You closed your eyes, feeling the cool evening breeze and the wet tongue that was repeatedly lapping at your face. Finally, after a moment, with a groan at the ache in your body, you pushed yourself upward with your elbows, flipping over to your hands and knees, pulling your leg forward to stand-- The breath was knocked out of you yet again as a massive weight crashed down onto your body. You clawed at the ground, gasping to regain oxygen, body going tense. "Wh-what-" The creature let his bodyweight fall down on your frame, and you grunted as your upper half slammed into the ground. It rendered you entirely immobile, this wolf was both massive and heavy, you could barely breathe under the sheer mass of its body. You struggled to push yourself back up onto your elbows. "H-hey, what are you--" With a whine, it rutted its hips forward. Oh, fuck. "N-no!" You tried to rear up, pushing your upper half upward on your elbows as hard as you could, to no avail. Its weight was crushing. "B-bad! Bad dog! Stop!" You clawed at the dirt, gasping as it thrust again. "Get off!" It only let out the same high, throaty whine, thrusting its hips several times in quick succession, humping your ass with desperation. You could feel its blunt-ended cock digging into the flesh, making your blood run cold. When it rutted forward, the motion hiked your ragged little dress up, bunching up the fabric and exposing your cunt. You whimpered with fear, desperately trying to drag yourself forward. "Stop, stop, get off!" You thrashed again, achieving nothing by the action. The worst part, the dread that was quickly overtaking your thoughts, was that you knew it was futile. You'd learned a long time ago that your resistance would mean nothing, not by the brutal laws of the world outside of the fragile sense of safety human society provided. It was expected. It happened among the wolves themselves all the time -- the mates were not something that were chosen in the same way humans did. Too many times you'd witnessed the ritual -- the males would fight, snarling and growling and lunging at each other until one would give up and run scurrying away, tail tucked between its legs. Growing up with all the knowledge you'd learned from books and what humans generally observed of the animals, you'd always assumed that from that point, the she-wolves would then gladly and willingly copulate with the victor, but, you'd quickly learned, that was not the case. It had shocked you the first few times, your eyes widening and your mouth dropping open as you witnessed the poor females get tackled, mounted, their whimpers as teeth sank into their shoulders and kept them in place. It was brutal, and yet, you'd come to understand and accept it was simply the way things were. Perhaps the part that had shocked you the most was how accepted it was -- the other wolves would simply look on, adjusted to what was normal among them, and the brutalized female would, from that point on, act as a normal mate to what more or less was originally her assailant -- licking and grooming each other, sleeping next to one another, spending time with each other, all as if such a thing made sense. Given the acceptant, compliant state you sometimes found yourself slipping into, you supposed you weren't too different in that way. Because they're strong, you'd been told. Beating the other male and forcibly mating the female herself signified strength. They were supposed to try to run and fight, and the male was supposed to forcibly overpower them, a display of strength, of suitableness as a partner. That was why fighting back didn't matter -- it was supposed to be that way, in the minds of the animals, and thus they were content with that setup. The present moment was anything but content. Another rut of the wolf's hips brought you snapping out of your brief thought, back to the moment at hand. The forest was quiet aside from your own struggling, the last rays of light were fading from the sky, the moon hanging high in place of their light. You let out a shrill, squeaking cry, thrashing with renewed effort, but, predictably, not even budging. "Get off! Get off me! Stop it, bad dog!" No matter how you tried, you couldn't move your body in the slightest, perfectly pinned still. "Fuck..." It let out another whine, not even seeming to notice your struggles, grasping at your shoulder with its teeth, and you feared that if it bit down, it might shatter your shoulder. It rutted forward, and this time you froze, entire body going tense as the blunt head of its cock pressed firmly against your exposed slit. You finally managed to claw at the leaf-covered ground enough to pull yourself forward, if but just an inch -- and the wolf, snarling, thrust its own body forward to push you back into the same position. One of its front paws reached forward and clawed onto your shoulder, and you squealed as it pulled you back, forming a tiny cut in the flesh of your jugular. Your began to nearly hyperventilate, trembling, breaths shallow and quick. "S-stop..." Your plea was defeatedly quiet, realizing that further protest would only hurt you. Tears gathered in your eyes. Your back was bent at an angle under the sheer weight of the furry mass that kept you pinned, and it felt like your very lungs were crushed, breathing quickly becoming difficult. You began to feel your body tingling with numbness. It was so heavy and difficult to breathe you weren't certain you'd even survive if it fucked you. Panic seized your brain, overriding any coherent thought. There was a snarling, growling sort of noise that cut through the surrounding stillness. It wasn't coming from the creature mounted on your body. It didn't sound canid. It was human. Much like the howls, you had learned, with time, how to distinguish between the real and the imitation, those sounds that, no matter how long of a lifetime of practice one had, could simply not match the vocals of another species. The wolf stopped its motions, turning its head, and likewise immediately transitioned its entire demeanor, tensing up and returning the sound, a low snarl, baring its teeth as its snout wrinkled up. It dismounted your body and lowered itself to the ground, hips and shoulders raised as its core sank low, a preparatory stance ready to lunge. You fell forward, face crashing into the leaves, before scrambling upwards and falling back on your ass, propped up with your hands behind you and your knees bent as you froze, unable to move a muscle, eyes open wide and gasping for breath as air burned in your lungs. You could see red-orange eyes glaring in the moonlight from a short distance, and for once, the face of the wolf-boy made a wave of relief come crashing down, rather than panic at being found. He made another low sound in his throat, a snarling growl. His shoulders hunched up in a similar motion to the wolf, baring his teeth, glare locked on the transgressor. He didn't have a weapon on him, so his hands clenched into fists at his side. You'd witnessed this plenty of times in the past by now, but never before with him as one of the participants. The other male wolves within the pack hadn't exactly taken an interest in you, rather, simultaneously accepted you as one of their own, while seeming to recognize you as something of an "other," as they did him. Among them, though, these conflicts were regularly occurring, a constantly shifting hierarchal dynamic that was weighted in blood and pure brute strength. Your heartrate picked up anew. Strong as Razor may be, this thing was massive. And he didn't have his claymore, you remembered he'd left it near the den earlier, before going on his daily routine to check the various animal traps. This wolf could kill him. And given that it wasn't a pack member, it wouldn't hesitate to do so. The wolf took a few heavy steps forward, growling all the while, and the wolf-boy reciprocated the action, a deep low growl in his throat as he stomped forward, fingers curling into a claw-like shape, not exhibiting so much as the slightest hesitation to show aggression against the massive creature. You tried to stand on your shaking legs, but fell on your ass again. "W-wait, no, r-run," you stammered, words spewing out of your mouth before you could process them, "he'll hurt you--" Your vision went white, bright light exploded all around, a crashing, booming sort of sound cutting off your words. There was a heat to it that you could feel on your skin, but it blinded your vision, leaving you blinking as, in a mere moment, the electric energy faded to a purplish glow that sparked with a buzz in the palm of his hand. The wolf leaped back in terrified shock, immediately flattening its ears, turning and tucking its tail between its legs, scrambling with fear into the darkness of the trees. And just like that, the threat was gone. You were left slack-jawed, mouth hanging open, trembling and panting as you watched it disappear, footsteps growing quieter and quieter until they could no longer be heard. Instead, the leaves to your side crunched in a two-legged pattern as the figure drew closer, and then dropped down to his knees to get on a face-to-face level. You turned your head and your eyes met. His eyes were wide and pupils blown even wider, mouth slightly open, looking you over. His eyes had always had a softness to them, full of light. After a moment, he reached up, slowly, and wiped the tears from your eyes, a soft, unthinking gesture, and leaned forward. He nuzzled his face against yours, and, after a moment, licked a few quick, short laps up the side of your face. It was nothing you weren't very well used to, and you merely sat numbly as he did so. His eyes trailed downward, widening as they met the gash that had been created on your neck by the massive wolf's claws, and he leaned forward again, lapping at your skin. You inhaled a sharp breath at the sting of his tongue on the wound, but you knew it actually was helpful in terms of clotting, so you didn't resist. You sat like that for a moment, silent, still, letting him clean up the wound, saliva naturally helping the healing process. It was bizarrely intimate in its own way, but it certainly wasn't the first time he'd helped in that way with a wound. It stopped stinging after a moment, blood clotting under the wet warmth. He pulled his head back, looking over you again as if to ascertain your unharmed state, eyes wide and expression flat, looking directly at your face - your weary face, trembling lip, expression still uneasy from the remaining shock. "You... Okay?" There was a softness to his face, a wide-eyed look of innocent concern. You did your best to nod. Any hope you'd had left had been crushed at some point in the adrenaline of the encounter, and thus, all chances of escaping gone, defeat and weariness washed over your body, and you slumped forward in exhaustion. Of course, he was unaware of and most likely did not even consider why you suddenly fell against him, he tended to take any action you made at face value and accepted it as simply what it was, and likewise, every action he made was easily interpreted the same way. It was, you sometimes consoled yourself, a rather welcome simplicity in contrast to the hidden and subtle meanings that humans often portrayed through their actions, and you never had to worry about an innocent action being misinterpreted maliciously, nor did you worry that your emotions were too transparent in your actions. Instead, he merely seemed pleased by the gesture, eagerly wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling your closer, rubbing his head up and down so the sides of your faces nuzzled together, squeezing you tightly. "I heard you," he said, a cheerful sort of pride in his voice. "Came to help." You swallowed. "Th-thank you..." As much as his sudden appearance crushed any chance you had of reaching Springvale, you couldn't help but feel a genuine relief, even gratitude, for saving you from what would have undoubted been a highly painful and traumatizing experience, if you'd survived the lack of oxygen. Not that you weren't already getting your fair share of traumatizing experiences out here, but, well, none quite like what your experience would have been had he not shown up. After a still, silent moment of embrace, he released you, shifted and stood up, but then suddenly tensed, and his eyes widened with what seemed like surprise, or perhaps realization, mouth opening slightly. His eyes were cast downward, settled on the cord that was still tightly tied around your ankle, and reached down to loosen the knot, slipping it off and tossing the remaining cord to the side. You made a small sound as if to start speaking, but cut off and fell silent, shutting your mouth. And then, as he came back up, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and processing, mouth slightly open as he looked a bit to one side, then the other, to you, and up to the tree from which you'd hung. The wheels were turning. Finally, after a moment, it seemed to click, his eyes went wide with realization for a split second before he turned his head back towards you and narrowed his eyes in a glare. His "angry" face had always been a bit difficult to take seriously, he had maintained a baby face despite his age, big eyes and soft features making it look like more of a pout than anything, but in time you'd learned the rightful amount of fear to have at seeing it. Your heart sank in your chest. "You ran away again." His voice was a bitter, grumpy mumble. You'd feared that when you noticed the surprising lack of anger up until a few moments ago. That it hadn't yet clicked with him, until now, exactly why you were out here, how you got out here, in the first place. He might have thought the larger wolf had dragged you out here, or, perhaps more likely, it had not crossed his mind at all in the intensity of the previous moments, too focused on conflict and comfort. "I..." You trailed off, trembling. There was a moment of silence. You couldn't exactly argue against it. It was true that he was rather gullible, and would often believe rather ridiculous excuses or explanations that anyone else would never buy, but there were limits to that, and at the present moment, you couldn't think of any excuse that even he would believe. Even if the wolf had come in to drag you away, the she-wolf set to guard you would have made a noise to alert the others, and he knew that. There was a moment of silence, and, not receiving any objection to his claim, he exhaled a frustrated huff through his nostrils. "I'm mad." As nice as it was that you didn't have to worry about being misinterpreted, another pro to your situation was that your captor was easily the most transparent person you'd ever met, bluntly honest, so much so it sometimes worked against him. You were pretty sure he couldn't be indirect or subtle with his words if he tried. Passive-aggressiveness or anything of the sort was foreign. "I'm sorry," you murmured, hoping to ease his anger, but you knew by now those words didn't really hold any meaning to him. He opened his mouth, that same pout on his face, and took a breath as if to speak, but no words came out. He closed his mouth, looking at the ground for a moment, opened again, repeated the process, and again, before roughly shaking his head, head hanging and expression falling to something like irritation and disappointment. With other people, you'd feel more intimidated by silence, silence meant someone was angry and trying to get under your skin. And while he made no attempt to hide being angry, you knew the silence wasn't an intentional passive-aggressive act, but rather, just lacking the proper words. It was a process you went through frequently, and to some degree, you felt bad for him. Having feelings, having complex thoughts, but lacking the knowledge or ability to articulate them, being unable to adequately express what you thought and felt, limited to such simple terms as sad and mad, words that could only convey incredibly simple feelings... you could only imagine how frustrating that would be. He knew that those words weren't enough, but didn't have any other ones to use. You understood why, then, he grunted in frustration, kicking at the ground, sending a few leaves scattering. But you also knew that if he could not express himself with words, actions would have to suffice. You knew better than to expect any different. This routine, despite its variances in the specifics of how the events went down, went like clockwork from this point onward, the moment of defeat. They say humans are, after all, creatures of habit. You nonetheless let out a little surprised sound at the suddenness with which you were lifted by the armpits, quickly moved a few steps to the side and unceremoniously pushed forward, facing one of the many boulders that dotted the forest floor. Instinctively, releasing an exhale of defeat and acceptance, braced yourself against it, hands pressed into the rock. You were technically standing, but leaning far forward, bodyweight resting mostly onto the rock you were bending over on. His front pressed against you, hand pushing your back down into an arch, latching arms around your waist. There was no hesitation, no preparation, merely pulling the fabric of your dress up with one swift motion, and the waist of his pants down in another, all in a matter of a single moment, and rutting against you, once, twice, cock slipping against your folds, and on the third thrust, it actually slid in, pushing about halfway in with harsh force with no warning. You gasped at the sting, clawing at the rock as your face twisted with the slight pain, but his hand gripped hard on your shoulder. "Stay... Still." It was honestly impressive, you sometimes thought, to manage to get a cock inside you so easily with hip angling alone. He'd never thought to use his hands to do so, you guessed due to merely mimicking what he observed, as all humans did. Nonetheless, you let out a mewl at the feeling of friction against your walls as it dragged, pulling out a bit before slamming back in. Then again, faster. And again, faster still. And finally, setting into a rhythm, quick and harsh, your body lurching forward at the force. Defeat and despond had fully set in, and you made no movement to fight back, instead attempting to ease the discomfort by pushing back with the thrusts. And then, after a moment, it stopped. It often did -- again, a set pattern, a routine. Increasingly often these days, he changed his mind at this point, initially going with the instinctive, natural option, but it would take a moment to remember that there was an alternative. You shuddered at the sliding feeling and emptiness as he pulled back out, but even though you braced yourself, the air was knocked out of you as you were flipped over, back hitting the rock -- and this time aching as the bruising flesh from the earlier fall was hit again -- now leaning your weight onto the rock on your back, facing forward. The roughness with which you were tossed about and maneuvered was, you knew, not intentional, nor out of malice, but it always left you disoriented as your vision spun a bit. And it was only a single second before you were filled again, gasping a deep breath and reaching your hands out to claw at his back as you felt yourself stretched apart all in one motion, and your legs fell into the routine position of hooking over his arms. He liked it this way. The human way, he called it, with you on your back in some form rather than on your hands and knees, facing him rather than turning away, which had been the only way you'd done it -- you supposed the only way he had been familiar with -- for a good while. You'd introduced the position once when your arms and legs were exhausted from strain, and, perhaps to your relief, it became the most common way that the routine went down. You supposed that, deep down, no matter the way in which a person was raised, there were certain innate needs and instincts that could not be overridden, woven into the very biology of a person. For humans, intimacy, the feeling of affection, and you supposed that that itch was met for him more adequately this way. And he liked to mimic normal behaviors in that regard. You recalled a time ago, back before you were brought out here for good, the wide-eyed fascination with which he'd watch passing couples of people on the road and streets, would make an attempt to imitate the same actions, albeit lacking in the same gentleness, technique, or appropriate timing. Reaching out to grab and hold your hand (with a crushing grip) as you walked, awkwardly pressing your mouths together (so firmly that your teeth clacked and your jaw hurt). That, at least, had gotten better. Now, it was somewhat gentle, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Gentle, but still very awkward, lacking in the rhythmic motions with which you'd expect, more like holding still but pressing firmly against you, but lapping a quick lick to your lips. You could taste blood on his lips and tongue, a permanent coppery taste that never went away. That didn't last long. It was hard to maintain the mouth contact when he started rutting into you, causing your body to rock in jerking motions up and down on the surface, and his face buried itself into your shoulder, panting shallow breaths that were warm against your flesh. And again, like clockwork, you knew how the issue of your body rocking back and forth, disrupting the rhythm, would be solved, and you inhaled as you braced yourself, first for the tightening grip of arms around your waist, and then-- You gasped a sharp breath despite your mental preparation as teeth sunk into your jugular, opposite the one with the injury, further locking your bodies together. He growled, a low throaty sound. Teeth gnawed at your shoulder before releasing and sinking down in a different spot, digging into the flesh just short of the force it would take to break it. You cursed whichever god thought it would be funny to give him abnormally sharp canines. Even with your weight leaning against the rock, a good portion of it was still being supported by his arms, which, with any normal human being, you would hope would cause enough strain to perhaps slow down the actual thrusting, but you knew better by now. Nor did you expect any kind of buildup or anything, no, you gritted your teeth at the immediate fast pace that dragged against your insides, raw and with little fluid to lessen the friction. The quickness and suddenness always left you sore, your internal parts not having enough time or stimulation to expand or prepare, so each thrust that slammed into the top of your insides sparked a shock of pain and pleasure sensation so strong your entire body jolted with the feeling. The bruising soreness of the recent abuse to the same spot -- how many times earlier today, three, four? -- heightened the sensitivity. And, as with the rest of the routine, you didn't expect words. You couldn't blame him -- talking was hard enough when he was focused, you imagined it was much harder when preoccupied with sensation, and with less blood in the brain. It also made sense that he didn't seem to process anything you said either -- any slow down or wait fell on deaf ears, or rather, non-comprehending ears. Eventually you, too, fell into the same state- "I-- hah, ah, w-wait, mnn-" -- unable to form words, unable to take in anything around you, pure sensation clouding your brain of any and all thoughts. You heard your own little cries ring out and echo through the empty forest, and soft, pleasured whines in your ear, hot breath from panting that grew faster and faster as the thrusts became more erratic and harder, slamming in and out, the wet, slapping sound ringing out with your own voice. It pushed against all the right spots, stretching you incomprehensibly full, overloading your brain with the feeling, and the harder your nails sank into his back, the harder his teeth bit down into your neck. The sparks of pain from the feeling felt small, distant, erased by the overwhelming good feeling created by adrenaline and pleasure, and the thought of how badly it would hurt later was the furthest thing from your mind in the moment. And because you knew words meant nothing in the heat of these moments, you had learned that announcing or warning for orgasm didn't matter. Neither of you needed words -- as with many things, you could communicate it without them just fine. He could still sense it, the way you clenched and your hands grasped at his hair and raked down his spine, and in response, the thrusting somehow grew harder and faster still. A perfect and clearly understood communication as clear as any verbal exchange. The squealing you made, the way your body spasmed and your back arched, was better than anything you could have said, really. You weren't... actually fully certain he understood the action as anything other than communication, like a message indicating "cum now." You assumed that was what it meant to him, since, as always, you felt the movement stop, panting as he pushed into your one more time, holding your hips as close as possible as you felt a twitching inside. It was always perfectly coordinated like that. The peak was always too short, always that same burst of feeling that you wished could last just a moment longer, leaving you panting. Heavy breaths in and out, shuddering, sweaty flesh clinging to each other. You could feel the arms that held your legs up shaking with aftershock, forehead falling to rest against the spot between the mounds of your chest. Then, after a moment, a nuzzle, slowly rubbing a cheek against your collarbones. As soon as that stopped, his head popped up again, looking up at your face with those same wide amber eyes, soft and somehow, despite everything, they always seemed so innocent and bright. A curious, but fairly neutral, content sort of wide-eyed gaze. Anger resolved. Sometimes you were grateful it was that easy. "Ok. You're... good, now." You understood without needing it explained. "Good" indicated something along the lines of fixed or resolved, the phrase "you're good" indicating, in this context, resolution. You assumed it had originated from listening to others in some context or another. You swallowed, and nodded. There was no point in fighting now. A sort of numbing aftershock had set in, and your head was spinning so much that even if you ran, you might fall over on your own without the inevitable tackling. It was a struggle for another day... the same conclusion this always, always resulted in, a conclusion you reached more and more quickly each time, but you tried to put the concern that thought sparked away, merely standing on trembling legs. "...Stupid hunting trap," you muttered, giving the remains of cord a kick into the leaves. He tilted his head and made a soft hm? of confusion. "Th-the trap," your voice was raspy. "They laid out traps for - for catching animals, the hunters, you know." He blinked for a moment as he processed your words, then shook his head, but smiled, beaming with pride. "Mm-nn, I made it. Put lots of them around here." You squinted, head jerking up to scan the treeline - sure enough, now that you looked closer, you could see several treetops dotted with similar nets full of scraps set to make a sound when triggered and struggled against. In fact, the more you gazed around, you realized there were easily dozens and dozens of similar traps, some of different styles and shapes, all perfectly lining the edge of the woods before the road. "...You won't catch things like that," you muttered. "It's too close to the end of the woods." Another slightly confused stare. He shook his head. "Traps are... for you." You could always count on him for two things. Undying loyalty, and obtuse honesty. You blinked at him, expression flat in blunt surprise, then, with a crooked smile, you let out a single huff of bitter, tired laughter. You were numbed to the point that you were, at the very least, able to recognize the humor of it all. Another way of coping, perhaps. It only occurred to you then, as your thoughts cleared, how relief had washed over you when the lone wolf had run out into the night, but your mind had not been focused on your own violation. You remembered your words. Run, he'll hurt you. Your only concern in that moment had been his safety. The thought set off some sort of alarm bell in your head, but the utter exhaustion made it difficult to place much concern in anything.

Your legs were trembling in aftershock, numb and heavy, but it wasn't as if that mattered. Even as you briefly put a hand to the stone beside you to lean your weight onto in an effort to stand, you knew you wouldn't be walking anyway, that wasn't part of the routine. And sure enough, as you got about halfway upward, arms wrapped around your waist instead, and you were roughly maneuvered, tossed like a ragdoll, knocking the breath out of you as you were tossed over his shoulder. "Okay, we're going home, now." He started taking a few heavy steps forward, not even struggling in the slightest to carry your full bodyweight, instead walking as if you were light as air. You didn't protest. You slumped over defeatedly, merely casting your gaze all around, trying desperately to memorize the locations of at least a few of the traps in the dark, but knowing full well in the back of your mind you'd never get past them all. No matter how you may outsmart them, you could never win. It occurred to you that, in a way, you were the one falling for the same trick over and over, continuously placing a ridiculous hope in escape and falling for your own foolishness time and time again. Perhaps that made you a bit more like the animals than you liked to admit.

Hello Friends

It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for! 

My opinions. 

(long post ahead)

I will start off by being honest and confessing. I haven’t kept up with reading the comics. I stopped reading a little over a year ago whenever Kitty became Kate and Gwenpool became a mutant and all that jazz. I dropped off because at that moment the writers started doing something I abhor in comics and that’s changing the foundations of the characters. Granted, I know they fixed a lot of the Kate stuff and gave her a nice revenge point and everything, but it still rubbed me the wrong way. Anyway, I digress. The thing that got me to read Way of X was that it was the first comic update I got that really, really made me go “What the fuck are they doing?”

I’m gonna cover three different things in this post: the state of the comics themselves, Nightcrawler’s character, the religious perspectives of Krakoa. 

As you probably know, people don’t generally like anything that happens in the comics. We’ve been trampling the idea of a mutant utopia for decades now, and my theory on this is that it simply can’t be done. We know that, the writers know that, the Marvel execs know that, and that is precisely why we keep getting them. They know that we’re going to scramble to pick up scraps to love between failed utopias and mass murder. They can give us comics we love to hate, pander to their own little pissing contests, AND have plotline after plotline after plotline to release. Everybody wins(even if it’s massively disproportionate).

The few scenes and moments that I love in the Krakoa story are honestly really warm. The initial scenes of bliss when the first mutants stepped onto Krakoa and Logan was playing with the kids and Jean seemed fine for once. The huge party scene? Amazing. The worldbuilding it took to make Krakoa make a little bit of sense? Amazing. Imagine if they applied this to something that wouldn’t inevitably fall apart. Way of X has it’s good moments too. Seeing Kurt continue to reflect the role of the Soul of The X-Men is always a good time. Seeing more of how resurrection is affecting the mutants and their world view is predictable but well-executed. The art is fantastic, and it doesn’t seem to ever miss any of the designs. The new plotline for the introduction of Onslaught? Equally predictable, and I’m a little excited for it. I’m always down to show how ridiculous Magneto and Xavier are, especially when they’re  working together. But, they always fall short on character representation and how they interact with the plot they’ve chosen, which leads me into my next point:

What are they doing with Nightcrawler? 

I think the overall representation of Kurt(and some other characters) is completely lost on these guys. I don’t think Kurt would ever move towards a “new religion” and their decision to simply make a new religion is really not cool. I think that Kurt consistently is hands-off with most of these things until he has to be involved. He’ll give it his all but someone else has to pull it out of him. Whether it’s love or the greater good or Scott just asking him, he only goes out of his way when people are in danger and no one else is stopping it. Even in the moments he’s died, he understood his role as foot soldier, a disciple, or a supporter. His first death on Krakoa was to help someone else destroy Mother Mold. His first death ever was to save Hope Summers. Another death was to help Bloody Bess. Even in these moments, he sticks to his morals and works to continue to be kind. They mention this several times throughout Way of X #1 and #2. He’s the kindest of them all. 

That being said, his alliance with Legion and the whole issue of the religious aspects of Krakoa are way out of proportion for Kurt’s character. Not only is he abandoning his personal faith, he understands that he would be asking everyone else to adopt a new religion that is missing a lot of aspects that current religion has. Working with Legion simply because he seems to pick out the shitshow of Xavier and Magneto? Are we just ignoring how notably bad he is? Are we just going to kill him repeatedly and hope that he doesn’t get too bad before you noticed he needs to be killed again? Make it make sense, because that doesn’t exactly support the spirituality that Kurt is approaching. 

Religion deals a lot with afterlife, but it also touches so many other parts of creation, conduct, and deities that are meant to drive these two aspects. Way of X looks to afterlife and conduct but leaves out the very supportive parts of religion. It also struggles to address the issue that I don’t think they know they’ve missed. Kurt states that Krakoa houses all of the different belief systems, which is likely as the mutant population grows. While some mutants, like Pixie and Loa, have almost no concern for the spiritual aspects, it’s not up to Kurt to rekindle this. He’s still holding on to whatever beliefs he has. If anything, I think it would be more likely for Kurt to say “God allowed us to resurrect, so we should be graceful with his gifts” or some shit, rather than think he has to find a new way to convince these kids that death is much more than whatever they’re thinking it is. I don’t think Kurt is one to push his religious beliefs to this extent either. He accepts everyone else’s religion to some extent, and everyone else accepts his faiths. 

Way of X’s problems would be more easily solved by drawing everyone back to their own beliefs already. Even if they hold no specific beliefs, it’s not anyone’s position to worry about another person’s beliefs. Essentially, mind your business. We’ve seen resurrection before, hundreds of times, maybe we should work on how murderous and cult-y the whole island is before we do something like convert everyone to a mutant religion. Maybe we should just check in on Magneto and Xavier. They’ve got bad vibes.  

There’s also one last thing I would like to touch on from the comic and it’s this specific panel: 

There’s layers in this one. For context, it’s Xavier asking Kurt to go find out wtf Legion is doing and he says “I have been an abysmal father” but it’s layered over a scene of Kurt praying. There’s so much to interpret from this one and I’m kinda stuck on what we’re supposed to draw from it. Are they alluding to God being an abysmal father? Is Xavier admitting to being an abysmal father to David? Is Xavier hinting at himself being a terrible “God-like” figure to Krakoa’s inhabitants? Is it all three? Probably, but it’s more likely that the writers didn’t even know what they wanted to imply here. 

To wrap up: They’re dong some good shit, and they’re doing some bad shit. I’m not excited to see where the mutant religion goes; it’s a terrible plotline and story idea. The Onslaught situation seems like it’ll be a little fun. I have hopes for it. 

TOP TEN COMICS BOOK VILLAINS WE PROBABLY WON’T SEE IN THE MOVIES

Superhero media is the hottest thing going right now. It was true ten years ago when the MCU was in its adolescence, and it’s even truer now. Even with film production on lockdown, Marvel and DC are still planning on literally dozens of their characters entering their respective cinematic universes. However, for the fans of the source material, things can be contentious. For every memorable Tony Stark quip, there’s Superman destroying an entire city because he’s, frankly, kind of dumb now. A major point of contention is how the various popular villains are utilized. Making an intimidating and potent villain in a comic book is very different than in a film. In comics, you have months to establish motive, powers, and backstory before the villain even makes their first move. In films, that all has to be compressed and spilled out in the scarce few minutes when Captain America and Bucky aren’t making bambi eyes at each other. To be concise, some villains adapt perfectly, and some, no matter how good they are in the comics, just don’t. And to be clear, this list is of popular villains who have the possibility of appearing in a big-budget film, so no, you won’t be seeing Ten Eyed Man or Big Wheel in there. Their powers are, respectively, having ten eyes, and being very good in business. (That’s a lie, he’s just a huge wheel who chases Spider-Man.)

10: Mr. Mxyzptlk:

Cool, let’s get this one out of the way. Despite being one of Superman’s oldest, longest-lasting, and most popular enemies from all the way back in the Golden Age, there’s no way in hell he will be in a movie. For the uninformed. Mr. Mxyzptlk is a 5th dimensional wizard-genie who appears every ninety days to torment Superman with his reality-altering antics, and can only be sent back to his home dimension if Superman tricks him into saying his own name backwards. Yes, it would be very dazzling, as Mr. Mxyzptlk’s powers in a movie would basically look like if Christopher Nolan directed Who Framed Roger Rabbit, but he’s a little too silly to fit in with the current “everything is gloomy and also a bummer” tone of the Superman films. This silly tone has lent itself perfectly to the Supergirl series, where he’s made a handful of appearances. Besides, if we get Mxyzptlk in a Superman movie before Brainiac, I’ll lose my entire freaking mind.

9: Hobgoblin:

There have been eight Spider-Man movies so far, and of those eight, four of them have, in some capacity, featured the Green Goblin. And that makes sense, right? The Green Goblin is easily Spider-Man’s most memorable and reoccurring nemesis, with Doctor Octopus and Venom close behind, and Peter Parker’s link with Norman and Harry Osbourn makes their tragic story perfect for film adaptation. On the other hand, we have the Hobgoblin, who is essentially Green Goblin with all the gimmicks, none of the Parker-adjacent backstory, and an orange and blue color scheme, likely tying him to the Denver Broncos [citation needed]. Still, in those four cinematic attempts at tackling the Goblin, none of them have quite gotten him right, and I can’t imagine this character, who is, even in canon, an intentional Green Goblin rip-off, would fare any better.

8: Starro:

Brave and the Bold #28 from 1960 featured the first story with the Justice League, and this story put them up against a very unique new villain: Starro the Conqueror, a giant telepathic starfish who can release tiny versions of himself. If these tiny starfish latch onto your head, you’re under his control and obey his commands. The Justice League have battled him fairly regularly over the last fifty years, and he’s a distinct and powerful enemy that the fans generally appreciate, leading to him being referenced occasionally in Smallville, Arrow, and Flash. Why won’t he ever be in a movie? Because if you’re a Hollywood producer, you stopped paying attention at “giant telepathic starfish”. Sorry. Maybe Shuma-Gorath will pop up in the next Doctor Strange movie, and he’ll set off a Twilight-esque wave of starfish monster movies! Then again, almost absolutely not.

7: Puppet Master:

Speaking of mind control, what’s scarier than that? For my money, nothing. Having your body and will taken away from you by an unseen force is a terror greater than death. How could you possibly make a villain based around such a chilling concept and have him not be scary? Well, maybe if it’s an old bald man in an apron playing with dolls. The Puppet Master is an ongoing threat for the Fantastic Four who is just that: he makes models of his foes out of radioactive clay, and makes them punch themselves and dance around and kiss each other, because he’s, y’know, a weird old man. Why is he such a consistent threat who hasn’t fallen into obscurity like other dumb gimmick-based villains? His stepdaughter, Alicia Masters, is the Thing’s longtime girlfriend. As long as she keeps appearing in movies (including being played by… Kerry Washington? That can’t be right), there’s always a chance he’ll pop up, but I don’t think any movie studio is that stupid, despite the quality of every Fantastic Four movie blatantly defying that prediction.

6: Bizarro:

Superman has always suffered in the villains department. When you’re essentially a god, what can they throw at you? As it turns out, Lex Luthor, almost always. But why not another Superman? Bizarro is essentially that, an imperfect clone of Superman who speaks in opposite speak - “Bizarro am good! Me not punch you until you live!” - and features the same abilities as the Man of Steel. Sounds great, right? Putting a hero against a villain with their same powers has worked for nearly every Marvel movie (shots fired). So why won’t we see him grace our silver screens any time soon? Because they’ve never really figured him out. Is he funny? Is he lethal? Does Kryptonite work on him? If he does everything the opposite of Superman, why does he wear clothes? Isn’t being naked the opposite of being clothed? Bizarro is a major Superman side-character and has made appearances in Smallville and Supergirl, but the idea of him being the Big Bad going toe-to-toe with Henry Cavill doesn’t sound like it would generate a lot of views.

5: Impossible Man:

You remember what I said about Mr. Mxyzptlk? Remember? So take that bit, but everywhere I say Superman, have it say Fantastic Four instead… yeah, that should do it.

4: The Wrecking Crew:

Thor has a unique quirk of having a very cinematic rogues gallery. Sure, most of the movies have pitted him against Loki, but if they were to run him up against the Enchantress, or the Absorbing Man, or Ulik the Troll, or Kurse, or even the Stone Men from Saturn, that’s not a bad movie! However, in one of the attempts to give Thor more of a mortal nemesis, they put him up against the Wrecker, who has an… enchanted… indestructible… crowbar. Yeah. Incredibly, the Wrecker and his Wrecking Crew have become very present characters throughout the Marvel Universe, essentially serving as “jobbers”, being rolled out to get beaten up by the new top hero or villain, but that may not work in a movie, where villains have to be seen as having some level of potency before being struck down. That means we’d need at least a short scene where it seems like Thor might lose to a guy whose power is “crowbar”, and that’s about as likely as an Edward Norton cameo in the next Avengers. Ho boy, they did NOT part on good terms!

3: Clayface:

When the movie-going public goes to see a Batman movie, they generally want something a bit more grounded than your typical superhero fare. After all, Batman has no powers, and therefore the most supernatural thing that should happen in these movies is a gas that makes you smile, or a different gas that makes you think your dead parents are back and disappointed in you. Might wanna put a mouth covering on that mask, Bruce! The one and only they’ve made a movie where Batman fights people with real, off-the-wall super powers (Batman and Robin), it did not go great. And those guys pale in comparison to Clayface, who is, yes, made of clay. In the comics and cartoons, Clayface looks awesome, turning his limbs into weapons and being very challenging to incapacitate, but in a live-action, realistic Batman adventure, we wouldn’t want to see the Dark Knight fight a poop-colored version of the T-1000, especially if it’s got the same chemical composition of a little dreidel that I made.

2: Red Hood:

A relative newcomer to the Batman universe, Red Hood is the revived body of Jason Todd, the second Robin, who was brutally killed by the Joker in one of the most controversial storylines DC Comics ever produced. Literally, fans called a 900 number to tell the writers to kill him off. A 900 number. That’s how much they hated the little turd. Anyway, Jason Todd, whom Batman and the rest of the world believed was dead, was revived by Ra’s al Ghul and became a ruthless villain. Since then, he’s gravitated more to the side of the hero, though one a bit more willing to spill blood than his mentors. Why won’t we see him in the darker, edgier Batman films? Because… that’s Bucky. It’s the same thing that happened in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Teen sidekick killed in controversial manner, revived by super villain to be a thorn in said hero’s side, later changes his mind and becomes a good guy again, though with enough PTSD to fill a PTSD super store. The two storylines even occurred in the comics in the same year, 2005, to much fanfare and across-the-board declarations of one company ripping off the other, reminding the world of the great Aquaman-Namor debates of the 1940s. Considering that DC’s films have criminally underperformed compared to Marvel’s, the last thing they want to do is be accused of lazy plagiarism, so Jason Todd will likely remain a permanent fixture in the afterlife, hanging out with Batman’s parents and, at the rate that people are coming back from the dead, literally no one else. (Plus, if they can’t even get Robin right, how are they gonna do this?)

1: Mister Sinister:

Yes, he was teased at the end of X-Men Apocalypse, but ignoring that the film underperformed both critically and commercially, Mister Sinister is never going to be in a movie. It would make sense for him to appear, though, right? He’s one of the most present and potent X-Men villains, he’s played crucial roles in many memorable storylines, he’s got a sick cape, but… something a lot of comic book fans tend to overlook is his murky backstory, powers, and motivations. He was a biologist in Victorian London who did genetic experiments on homeless people in the hopes of finding clues about the oncoming threat of mutants. In this time, he unearthed the long-dormant En Sabah Nur, whom you plebeians may know as Apocalypse, and Apocalypse gifted him with great abilities. What abilities you ask? HA HA, good question! At various times, Sinister has displayed: telepathy, telekinesis, energy projection, shape-shifting, regeneration, and teleportation, but these powers will mysteriously disappear whenever they want him to get sliced up real good by Wolverine. Additionally, it has never been made very clear what Sinister wants. Does he seek perfect mastery of the human genome? Does he live to torment Cyclops? Is he a blind follower of Apocalypse? Is he just running through all the different kinds of goatee? Of course, in adaptation, the writers would pick and choose the aspects they’d want to use, but I doubt they’d want to untangle the Christmas lights mess that is Mister Sinister, especially when they’ve got a perfectly good villain whose power is just “magnets”.

CPTSD relationship patterns on repeat

Listen wherever you stream, search “complex trauma” and subscribe. Or, find episodes, blog posts, and a private support community at t-mfrs.com

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Things I’ve gotten good at throughout this Trauma journey:

Seeing connections between where I’m from and where I am

Thinking for the first time about where I’m going

Letting myself have emotions

Letting those emotions go

Redirecting my energy and attention away from ruminating

Being accountable for my own feelings

Being accountable for times of being a shithead

Listening and validating other humans

Listening and validating myself

Recognizing what circumstances do/don’t work for me

Realizing how my codependency plays with relationships

Letting go of self-hate inner critic talk

Reframing events with reasonable views

Accepting myself, even when I first want to thrash myself

Semi-consistently caring for myself

Setting realistic boundaries and goals

Sleeping

Things I’m still shitty at:

Letting my overwhelm skew reality

Anxious self-slave-driving

Being a snarky turd when my head is overloaded

Taking on other people’s energies and emotions

Trusting myself in all areas of life

Forming healthy relationships.

Okay, it’s that last one that has me most perpetually fighting feelings of panic and doom.

This seems like an apt way to kick off the new year. I think a lot of us have questions about relationships and would like to improve our operations in 2021. I can also tell you, this one is extremely appropriate looking back at the last year of my life.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned in the past few spins around the sun has been how romance does - and definitely doesn't - fit into my life. I think 2020 was particularly packed full of important lectures and pop quizzes, many of which I failed. It felt like knowing that the correct answer was C, but finding my hand filling in the circle for A every time, anyways.

This is a terrible ideaaaa... and I'm doing it. Pause for about 2 months. Now I'm upset that it was a terrible idea.

Yeah, it's been great. But I have no one to blame but myself. Because as much as I've worked on this trauma management life of mine, I haven't done a good job of working on the relationship aspect of it. I've let my usual patterns dominate. And that's what needs to be examined today.

I mean. Can someone tell me about healthy relationships in functional terms? What IS that even?

Look, I’m not hoping that someone will pop up and share some, “mutual respect, good communication, trust, support, care, similar goals, similar beliefs…” sort of shit. I fucking KNOW about the idealistic, flowery terms that all the light-hearted couples counselors recommend establishing for a happy relationship. I get it.

I’m not ignorant when it comes to the ways humans should interact. I’ve had enough experience with friendships and relationships, alike, to understand the basics of person-to-person interactions. I know I talk about myself like I’ve been a feral child locked in a cage for 20 years, but the truth is that if you met me on the streets I’d probably seem like a normal, well-adapted, personable human being. That Leo Ascendant component of my personality tricks people into actually thinking I’m an extrovert who wants attention. (Hilarious, explains a lot of comments I’ve gotten in my past)

Nah, I’m not asking for the trite descriptions of a healthy partnership that everyone who’s ever been friends on a basic girl’s Facebook has seen before in cursive writing on top of a washed-out pink-tinted field. Those are empty sounding words that I don’t believe most couples manage to put into action, no matter how many selfies they take together or labradoodles they adopt.

For me, Fuckers, the mystery isn’t, “in a fairytale world, how do two humans interact to have a lifelong bliss factory?” Respect, trust, appreciation, mutual understanding… blah blah blah. What the fuck ever.

The real question is how.

And, shit, let me just be honest with all of you - not just the Patrons who’ve already heard my personal bitching - it’s on my mind because I did a thing I definitely should not have… recently, I got into a new romantic relationship that I definitely was not looking for. I’ll spare you all the details today, but know that I’ve entered it kicking and screaming, and it’s caused me a lot of grief already.

Let the life shittery begin! Can’t wait to be destroyed.

Today, I want to bring this personal fire burning in my gut into the podcast. Motherfuck me, if it hasn’t become difficult to ignore… plus, I know that a lot of us Traumatized folks are in a similar boat when it comes to relationship confusion, unhealth, and destruction. So let’s just count the ways that I have no idea how to do this right and I’m destined to be let down by my poor choices.

This time around, I'm bringing you a list of all the ways I tend to fuck things up with other humans. In part, due to Complex Trauma. In other part, probably due to my own personal shortcomings. Listed in no particular order. On a later date, I'm going to be revisiting a lot of these patterns as I examine how early life set a lot of us up for a lot of abuse acceptance in greater detail. Stick around for those continuations on romantic disaster, if this sounds like you, too.

I'm talking about:

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists, and addicts

Emotional codependency

Mistrust

… That turns into willful blind belief of their words

Inadequacy

Parenting analogues

Authority figures & disappointment

Misdirected commitment

Learned helplessness

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists and addicts

Who has bad taste in partners? Over and over and over again? It’s me! And probably a lot of you.

Maybe that’s not fair. Maybe they’ve been wonderful guys who just didn’t mesh well with my inner or outer world… but I can tell you, there have been some similarities, and they don’t bode well for a happy future together.

You know me by now. Difficulty connecting with “normal” humans, no interest in small talk, a huge fan of deep emotional honesty, a bit gritty and assholeish, tends to be repelled by anything too widely embraced by the general public, definitely comes with a difficult past, fears of the future, and ongoing challenges in the present.

So, who do you think I get along with? Ivy leaguers with stable, supportive families, an optimistic outlook, and a 20-year plan? Or equally messy and complex humans with a set of neuroses handed down from their unexamined early traumas that make them similarly bitter and disillusioned with life? Just… probably hidden from immediate sight.

Grown men who’ve responsibly built a life for themselves with ambition, personal insight, and balance? Or man-children who’re still figuring out that they can’t drink every night of the week if they want to be functional in life and financially sound? But... with their addictions hidden behind “an appreciation for fine whiskies” or a necessity to sample the craft beer they brew.

Independent, confident humans who have no problem running their own world like a boss and trust that I’m capable of doing the same, with integrity and respect? Or distrustful turds who need me to be in their sight, half-directing their lives at all times unless I’m aiming to be accused of cheating, lying, and being unable to care for myself? Only… they hide their controlling and aggressive tendencies behind go-with-the-flow facades in the beginning.

If you guessed “B” in all three examples, you are correct!

Plus... so, so many musicians. Like, the last 6 of them have either subscribed to guitar or drum camp. And that hasn't been a purposeful decision - those are just the men I get along with until we hate each other.

It's always a rapid connection, a mutual respect for our interests in the arts, and a shared shitty attitude that starts out directed at the world and ends directed at each other. So many emotions. So many ups and downs. So many proclamations of "I can't live without you!" until the day we run in opposite directions and never look back.

Is that a coincidence? Or are all musical folk a bit wild? I hate to generalize, but I can tell you with great amusement that if you start typing "Are all musicians..." into Google, it will autocomplete with "cheaters, narcissists, and crazy." It also suggests "rich," but I can tell you for a fact that isn't true. The narcissist thing... uh.... very well might be correct. But I'll leave that for someone else to study.

So, I don't know what to make of this trend. There do seem to be some commonalities between the musicians in my past life - and they do seem to be categorized by the instrument of choice. For instance, drummers are never concerned with my time, and guitarists are emotional catastrophes. But what do I know? Can't make sweeping conclusions... I, at least, need a larger sample size. With my track record, I'm sure I'll have the numbers soon enough.

Congratulations if you predicted nothing but unstable disasters in my past. It's true, I’m an idiot. Okay, that’s not fair. No inner critic talk. Get out of here, Pam and Karen.

The fact of the matter is, I am a terrible judge of character when I start sensing a connection. I tend to connect with people who have complicated lives and inner worlds, just like I do. And from what I can tell, that is always my downfall.

Challenging connections

Let’s go ahead and chalk this one up to never having close connections or support growing up.

You know what I always wanted, hoped for, and idealized as a kid? Someone loving me. Another human actually understanding my weirdness and signing on for more. The idea of a human who wanted to know what I thought and felt. The option of spending time with someone and feeling cared for. Also, somebody finding me attractive, instead of being repulsed by my ass-length ginger hair, flat chest, dorky hand-me-downs, bleach-stained horse sweaters, and buck teeth... also would have been a dream come true.

I’m pretty sure that growing up lonely didn’t help me in any regard when it came to my later-in-life relationship problems. Starving for connection apparently puts you in a state of deprivation, where you’re likely to think anything is better than the empty feeling inside. You know, just for the rest of your life or so.

To this day, if I meet someone and we’re able to converse without abundant clarifications or apologies for the prickly things that come out of my mouth as dry humor or unbendable opinions… we’re on a roll. If we can connect over shared perspectives on humans, life, and psychology… things are getting more serious. If we can honestly talk about the ways we’re horrible to ourselves and joke about our shared challenges in figuring out what the point of this shitty slip-and-slide of life is about… uh oh, this might be a real connection.

And so, it makes sense that I connect with all the most complicated people you’d ever meet. And we connect INTENSELY. I’m complicated, myself, and I look for folks who can accept it without their heads exploding. I’m never going to be happy holding conversations with Sports Bar Joe or Pretty Boy Blaine. They’re never going to understand the internal strife that dominates my world. I’m never going to understand how they can be all *happy,* *close with their families,* and *laid back about life.*

Gross. I can’t even say the words.

But give me the angstiest, most anxious, most misunderstood dude on the block, and we’re likely to get along swimmingly. We’ll talk over beers until the birds start to chirp. We’ll joke in our native tongues, playing with words, obscure references, and dry humor as if we’ve known each other for 25 years. We’ll share secrets about our tumultuous inner worlds and the ways that we can’t seem to get our heads on straight enough to keep our ships on course.

And the next thing you know, we’ll be incestuously connected with a somewhat false sense of intimacy that erupts out of the gates. “No one has ever understood me the way you do. I can really be myself around you. I’ve never had such easy conversations about this shit before.”

… That’s about the point when I lose all perspective. There’s a tunnel running from my face to this dude’s heart. I stop seeing things for what they are. I project a kinder, gentler, more well-intended personality on the subject of my feels. I quickly turn a blind eye to all the shit they’re doing that I wholeheartedly hate or otherwise cause my red flags to be unpacked.

I feel like I know them, inside and out. I feel like I can help them - like we can help each other - to sort through this dumb world we’ve been born into and all the circumstances holding us back. A real Sid and Nancy storyline emerges. No one gets him like I do. If only they could see the things I see. We’re just two broken souls who found each other, a little rough around the edges, but we see the diamonds underneath. And we’re in this battle together from now on.

Yeah, right.

Sooooo… This is how I wind up with the unpredictable narcissists who seem like nice guys, the secret addicts who keep their substance abuse hidden from everyone, and the emotional abusers who are ready to leverage my mental health admissions against me the first time they get the chance. Dudes who have highly emotional worlds and no idea how to deal with them. Men who don’t want to explore their own shortcomings and instead choose avoidant courses in life.

And, again, the musicians. So, so many musicians. I really am coming to think that they’re the most fucked up people of all - and that's saying a lot coming from me. Generally speaking, I've seen that there’s no sense of personal responsibility, an obsession with themselves, and a hidden inferiority complex that turns them into bitchy little dogs when they feel threatened. What’s with that, anyways? Can you guys try to be more original in your plight to be the most original?

Okay, anyways. Sorry to keep dragging on musicians.

The point is, my attempts at relationships start out on the wrong foot. Choosing the wrong partner is a pretty surefire way to dash all hopes for those fluffy ideals I mentioned earlier. No one is going to respect me, listen to me, or support me when they’re too busy dealing with their own alcoholism, abandonment issues, and narcissistic flailings… or, not dealing with them, to be more specific.

We aren’t going to be able to work through things when they’re consumed with being the king of the world, hiding from all negative emotions, and trying to keep their head away from analysing their own actions. Hell, it’ll be difficult to even find the time for serious talks, since they’re so busy traveling to band practices, hustling away for barely-paying gigs, and staring at their social media while they count the ways they’re victims of the universe.

Choose imbalanced, mentally ill, self-serving partners… get unhealthy, controlling, unpredictable relationships. Pretty goddamn obvious. And yet, I still can never seem to see the full picture of the human who’s caught my attention through the fog that’s created by the connection of our shared dysfunctions.

I guess this is where that, “love yourself and get yourself healthy first,” sentiment comes into play, so the connections don’t continue to be as disasterious as your personal experience is. Hopefully I’m on the right path in my own journey, at least. Also, a lot less starved for connection. I got y’all Motherfuckers in the Discord community, for starters. And I’ve become determined to live a life where I support myself and rely on no one outside of Archie’s snuggles, for finishers.

Step one: Be careful about who you deem a good person, just because you can share self-deprecating jokes about being nutjobs and similar musical interests. Learn to choose someone who isn’t an even trashier trash human than you are. It’s a start.

Emotional codependency

Hand in hand with forming connections that include deep emotional outpourings and admissions of all the dark things we hide from the light at our office jobs… comes codependency.

I’ve said it before and let me say it again… I didn’t understand codependency until very recently.

In my mind, it was akin to those creepy couples who won’t leave the house without each other, have the same friends, interests, and opinions on everything... and possibly wear matching cat shirts. Those people who never spend time with other humans because they're too busy being shoved up their partner’s ass. The folks who call to check in on each other throughout the day when they’re at work. Gag. Particularly, I imagined those pathetic girls who cry when their boyfriend is out of sight and post 12 pictures a day of them together.

Rightfully, I scoffed and insisted that I didn't have problems with codependency. That’s not me. But it turns out, this view isn’t quite right, so much as I was being an uninformed asshole.

Codependency doesn’t mean you’re a needy, incapable human being who sucks the life power out of someone else, like I used to think. Codependency is a two-way relationship defined by poor boundaries and non-existent emotional regulation. Two humans who see their experiences as one, all the way down to how they feel and how they deal with how they feel. (i.e. turning to their significant other for comfort and emotional control in a time of need instead of working through it by themselves). Relationships where the emotions are transferred from party to party until it's unclear who’s bringing what dish to the gathering. Waking up not knowing how your day is going to be, because it depends on how someone else feels about theirs. Emotional enablement city.

Oh, yeah, when you put it like that, I definitely have issues with codependency.

For me, the codependency is largely going to be emotional. In the past, I didn’t know how to have a relationship of any sort without having a third influence in the mix. There was the person, myself, and our shared emotions... that often called more shots than either of us did.

Because I tend to be on the empath scale (although I do everything I can to fight it out of defense), I think I’m naturally tuned into other people’s emotional and energetic states, for better or for worse. When someone walks into the room with a bad vibe, I feel it to my core. I become so uncomfortable that I take it on myself to try to “fix” the problem for them, and in doing so, I avoid the negative sensation, myself. This is negative reinforcement, if anyone wanted to ABA with me.

That being said, clearly if my boo is having a hard time… it’s not okay. They’re in a shit place and therefore so am I. I must do whatever I can to make it better. To sit down and talk in circles with them, if that’s what relieves some of their tension. To commiserate about how unfair the circumstances are. To validate the negativity that they’re projecting and wallowing in.

Don’t worry though, this goes the other way, too. In the past, I have fully expected my romantic partners to alleviate any inner discomfort that I’ve felt. If I was having a low-down day, I wanted them to cheer me up. If I was full of anxiety, I wanted them to find a way to release it. If I was frustrated with a work situation or coworker, I wanted them to be as angry and indignant as I felt.

So… I guess that doesn’t even sound too off-base to me, at least not when I’m leaning on my teenage expectations of what relationships are supposed to be. In my head, it was always completely ideal that I would wind up with someone who could essentially read my thoughts and comfort me like my family never did. I just wanted someone who would be by my side, thinking about me all the time, and working double time to make sure I was keeping my depression and anxiety on the up-and-up. Is that too much to ask? Uh… yeah, it is.

Maybe in a fairytale love story like the ones I saw in teenage romance movies growing up, this is the perfect way for two broken misfits to interact. “We’re both so damaged and hurt that no one has ever really seen us - but now we have each other to lick our shared wounds.” Yeah, romantic. Also really fucked up and dangerous in the real world.

The problem is, after a few months of this, it gets pretty hard to determine what’s my experience and what’s yours. The emotions become so transitive that it can be invigorating, immersive, overwhelming, and exhausting to be in each other’s company, depending on the day and the event. Living together or essentially sharing a residence makes it much worse - there’s no physical barrier between us, so that emotional barrier is even less existent. We don't have to try to text about our woes, we can just unleash them the moment we step foot in the door. Ready or not, your night is about to be ruined by my day, and vice-versa.

How does this go wrong? Uh, let’s count the ways.

1. My emotional management was never up to par, in the first place. Having your feelings catapulted my way effectively pushes me off the balance beam that I was already wobbling on. If I was having a difficult day but holding it together on my own through coping techniques and reasonable thinking - fucking forget it, that’s over now. We’re both in a shitty state now. Great. In the context of trying to recover from mental health issues… yeah, it’s a fucking disaster. Being retriggered by your partner or sucked into a depressive undertow when you’re trying to make positive change is a losing battle.

2. I never learned how to cope with my own emotions. There was generally someone else for me to hurtle them at, and our subsequent hours of bitching would give me the comfort I was looking for. I didn’t need to learn to manage my feelings - I always had a glorified babysitter to keep me alive. I never had to be accountable for my inner world. I never had to look at things with logic or reason. I could let myself spiral and trust that my best friend or boyfriend would catch me before I slipped down the drain.

3. It becomes impossible to talk about issues - personal or shared. When you’re already sharing emotions there’s an explosive effect when conflict is brought up. Neither one of us knows how to handle our shit, we expect the other person to hold us up with kid gloves, annnd now that person is the source of my distress? We’re both completely beside ourselves, upset, hurt, and angry… and it’s towards each other? Now who the fuck do we call? There's a huge sense of confusion and betrayal. No one has the skills to de-escalate the argument or return to a normal emotional state.

4. How do you break up when half of your existence is in the body of another human? You can’t mentally or emotionally separate yourself from them. Physically separating yourself feels like ripping out a few of your organs and leaving them on the streets. And, who’s going to keep you afloat when you’re going through the pain of the break up? That’s the job of your partner, afterall… can’t have a vacant desk sitting here. It’s best to just suck it up and stick with it. No one would understand what you’ve both been through together, anyways.

In a word, that’s codependency.

Not what people think it is. Not what our culture describes it as. Not so easy to spot until you’re educated and honest with yourself… plus, probably viewing things through the lenses of hindsight.

Definitely a sneaky recipe for disaster when you let it take over a well-intended, emotionally transparent, highly connective relationship. And, Motherfuckers, I’ve always tended to.

 Head to t-mfrs.com for more!

              The Rise of Fundamentalism Through Romantic Literature

           Modern fundamentalism includes an array of ideas from the teachings of Bill Gothard and the Quiverfull movement to the multiple sects of The Church of Latter Day Saints, the various fundamentalist churches that pop up from time to time and many others. While these ministries do have somewhat different takes on Christian doctrine, the one thing that will always be shared among these groups is the idea that the modern society is headed towards a dangerous faith. Where most other extremist movements would have died off just as quickly as they were made, fundamentalism has stayed around for centuries no matter how advance the outside world became. My theory is that the reason fundamentalism remains a strong part of American society is because of the historical movements that back it, one of these movements being the romantic era of American literature. The romantic literature movement, better known as Romanticism, was a defining part of American society specifically academia and the arts. Created as a contrast to the growing social-political norms of the current culture around science and industrialization. The romantics strived to bring back the principles they’d deemed necessary to life such as emotion, spirituality, and individualism. Many of the early works of this movement criticized and flat out rejected scientific thought as a whole, believing it to be the destroyer of creativity and free thinking along with turning society to the worst through increasing the standard of secular living. This emphasis on science being the reason behind traditions being put aside, the multiple displays of the scientific taking over religious values in romantic literature along with the popularity Romanticism had, made it possible for more who agreed with the dangers of straying away from convention to continue the revolt against this new wave of enlighten secularism. Taking this opportunity the romantics opened up for them.

           Before the mid 18th century the Age of Enlightment was at its peak. At this time the culture was focused on bureaucracy, industrialization, and secularism. The head of these conventions changing everything from old to new was science. Science is seen as the bringer of all evil. The thing that was separating people from the beauty of the world in favor of scientific discoveries. That the practicality of living in a city, working an industrial job and leaving behind traditional core values, were brought on because of science. The Romantics saw and lived the potential harm this kind of thinking could and did come to later on in time. They saw how the lifestyle of living in a city made one disconnected from nature and therefore the world. How one’s relation to practicality and seriousness made them disconnected from their self. This inspired many to go against the grain and make work that not only expressed the issues they had with the rise of enlightenment but also encourage others to see through the ruse too. In much of the literature during the romantic era science is explained to be the enemy. Ralph Waldo Emerson, a fame writer of the romantic era, writes in his essays “The Poet” and “Self Reliance” how the culture of this time did more negative than good, and how it was better to go against what is the norm when it is not what’s best. Emerson touches on how the enlighten aristocrats do not know what is best for the world, comparing them to fools who are unable to see the true essence of the world around them. That we as individuals would be much better off not following in their footsteps. In “Self-Reliance” Emerson states “To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart, is true for all men – that is genius…. that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse..” (Emerson, 236-237) and in The Poet he says “…if you inquire whether they are beautiful souls…you learn that they are selfish and sensual… It is proof of the shallowness of the doctrine of beauty, as it lies in the minds of our amateurs.” (Emerson, 254) Where Emerson was subtle in his criticisms of this new wave of thought others were not. Edgar Allen Poe, another acclaim romantic, describes in his poem Sonnet - to Science how the character of science is the direct cause of this ruining of the creative and spiritual soul. In one line Poe outright displays science to being a predator while “the poet” is its prey, stating “Science!...Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?” (Poe, lines 1-4) As time went on and Romanticism became to be at its peak this anti-science rhetoric spread. Many people agreed that this push towards innovation and modernity was bad for society. Specially the group that was the strongest on the idea of revolting against invasive secularism were the fundamentalist Christians of the 19th century.

In Romanticism’s prime years a smaller new movement, the Fundamentalists, had come along. This movement had similar concerns for the culture, they too thought that the trajectory of modernization would lead the public astray of its values, that this kind of environment was corrupting to the mind, body and soul and that lessening the importance of religion was unhealthy overall. The popularity and scale of Romanticism grew to become a huge inspiration to others who felt similar about the new ways of the world. They saw how Romanticism took off and figured not only could they do the same but that they could do it better. However, before completely detaching from the romantics they also learned a lot from their endeavors. Romanticism and Fundamentalism have a shared commonality on needing to save the current culture from falling into ruins by the hands of the secular scientific elite. Where in Romanticism science pushes people further away from creativity, for fundamentalist science pushes people away from God.  Rather intentional or not, the romantics made it a point to portray secularism as dangerous. Insisting the public worry about what they thought would come of it in the future. Although, for the most part it was probably more intended as an analogy of how new conventions destroy the older ideas. Fundamentalist are known for their very strict and literal interpretations of the world, therefore whatever written down on paper is what they take away from reading the romantics works. A clear example of this is the story of “Young Goodman Brown” written by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Young Goodman Brown tells the story of a man leaving the familiarity of his home to explore uncertainty. The symbolism of this tale criticizes one’s choice of venturing the unknown and daring to question faith. In relation to the romantics and their plight this story represents on a deeper level how although intriguing at first, the call for enlightment will lead to destruction. This story also however heavily parallels the fears of the average protestant of these times and modern. Young Goodman Brown’s life was never the same after his encounters in the woods. Due to him, quite literally, leaving his faith his entire course of life was altered permanently. This directly follows the structure of the “Umbrella of Protection” in fundamentalism. The Umbrella of Protection is a model of how one should live their life formulated by three umbrellas. The first one being the largest representing God. The second, positioned directly under the first to represent the man of the household. Along with labels of the things he is meant to do like protecting the family and providing. The last umbrella being the smallest representing the woman of the house, with her purpose being to manage the house and children. Followers of this mindset believe that if we as people don’t act according to our roles in this life structure, if we step outside of this bubble of protection dangers will come our way. Young Goodman Brown stepped out of his umbrella and because of that the foundation of his life and spirit were forever broken. In this way Romanticism is portraying secularism much like one would portray a villain in a horror movie. Making it clear to the audience that secularism is the bad guy.  

Fundamentalism has now grown to be a phenomenon in America, lasting for as long as two centuries. While Romanticism faded into textbook obscurity, Fundamentalism has kept the romantics anti-secularism roots strong. In the 1850s towards the end of romanticism’s peak and at the start of Realism, the overall culture was beginning to change again. Artists and academics were shifting to a more realistic perspective of the world wanting nothing to do with the un-natural or supernatural. Although this meant the days of romanticism were over this did not mean the values put in place were leaving too. As romantic ideology spread with time, many were taking more and more liberal, and most importantly less literal, takes on the notion of secularism in society and what it would mean for the greater good. So much like true fundamentalist fashion, they separated themselves from the romantics and created their own groups. Unlike the romantics however these groups were purely focused on religious aspects of the cultural criticism. Their goals were to make it known to the public how harmful secularism really was. Some of the earlier fundamentalist began their careers as soap box preachers, promoting the previously mentioned belief of disturbance in your life if you break away from religious teachings in favor of secularism. Highly influenced by the romantics, people flocked to this kind of thinking. These groups of Protestants and Catholics arose with time, becoming popular American attractions for some period of time as well. While no longer associating themselves with the romantics now believing them to have falling into the category of liberal theology, the romantics still are a large part of why this movement of radical Christians exist today.  Walter E. Houghton mentions in his book The Victorian Frame of Mind, 1830-1970 that the romantics paved the way for individualism that went against temporal thought. His text states “Romanticism, also encouraged emphasis on process rather than on fixed or static truth.” (Houghton, 29-31) Referencing not only the Intelligent Design argument but also both parties’ stances on how to view the world.

Fundamentalism as it is today in America would not be if it was not for the work of the Romantics. Romantic ideology’s emphasis on rejecting modernity and uplifting individualism based around your core beliefs help raise a new generation of extremists in Christian sects. Popularized by influential authors of the time period, separating oneself from science became normalized. Allowing for easier indoctrination into religious groups, soon after the rise of early fundamentalism growing in America. Due to the usages of religious themes as allegories and other literary devices combined with the message of the stories it is no wonder the fundamentalist were drawn to these tales. Much like the origins of Romanticism, the ideology of sticking to the fundamentals of tradition is just as popular now in the modern world as it was back then; Proving how much impact Romanticism had within our culture.

Otaku Reader’s Corner: One Piece, Cutie Shikimori, and a Detestable Demon Falls in Love

Shikimori’s Not Just a Cutie, Vol. 1

Shikimori seems like the perfect girlfriend—cute, sweet, bashful. But Izumi knows that’s only half her personality. Like some moe Jekyll and Hyde, in moments where her boyfriend needs her most, she becomes a super cool and dashing young woman, and it’s especially that part of her personality that Izumi loves so much. Volume one of this fun series doesn’t just play around with this unique personality switching, it also introduces a really fun dynamic. Izumi is lovable but clumsy accident prone, and the sudden transformation of Shikimori into a suave, athletic girlfriend who comes to his rescue time and time and time again swaps traditional gender roles, with Izumi playing the “girl role” and Shikimori the “boy one.” While it’s a source of laughs, there’s a lot of sweetness there, making for a compelling and cute read. Just as importantly, the art style of mangaka Keigo Maki really stand outs, especially in how he places his characters within their surroundings. I found it far more artistic than the usual manga romance. All told, I’m excited to continue with the read, as it hits all the pleasantness of Komi Can’t Communicate, to which Kodansha is comparing it, while featuring a little more depth and greater creativity than that super popular like-minded series. ~ Twwk

Shikimori’s Not Just a Cutie, Vol. 1 is available through Kodansha.

Why Shouldn’t a Detestable Demon Lord Fall in Love?! Vol. 1

Anima is the most powerful entity in the world, feared by commoners and demons alike—all flee before his mighty power, which presents a little problem since all he really wants is a wife and family! So how does one solve such a conundrum? How about a kind-hearted and beautiful maiden summoning him by her side to her own world! Sol Press’ release oozes lovey-doveyness even beyond what you’d expect from the above summary. When Anima arrives in a new land, he immediately falls head over heals for the lovely Luina and takes on the mantle of caregiver and “daddy” for his newfound family. It’s a bit heavy-handed, and I don’t mean the saccharine sweet tone, which is just fine—the conversations, however, are often inane and repetitive. Worse, Anima loses his personality after the first handful of pages and becomes quite a boring character. However, there is hope for the series. Despite how OP Anima is, there are hints of dread on the horizon, and though this sweet series may never go totally dark, there’s opportunity here for the author to earn the love he’s created between his leads through the deeds of the story’s villain and the mechanics of summoning and magic. The best parts of volume one involve foreshadowing and world-building, so here’s hoping those strong elements continue to develop in future volumes. ~ Twwk

Why Shouldn’t a Destestable Demon Lord Fall in Love?! Vol. 1 is available through Sol Press.

Unnamed Memory, Volume 1

Billing itself as “an epic fairy tale,” this new light novel from Yen Press surprised me. It felt unexpectedly reminiscent of western fantasy (as opposed to the sorts of fantasy stories more common to anime and light novels). I can’t quite put my finger on why I get this vibe, but it’s there, and I enjoyed it. Perhaps the capriciousness and danger of the story’s fantastical elements evoke western fairy tales. As the story opens, Prince Oscar, cursed by a witch to be unable to continue the royal line, seeks a boon from the world’s strongest witch, Tinasha. When she can’t break the curse, Oscar sets his sights on marrying her, which would effectively circumvent the curse. I’m tempted to call this a fantasy-romance-mystery story, since secrets and intrigue abound. There seem to be multiple, separate antagonists or factions at work, and there are also indications that time travel is involved. Besides hinting at various mysteries, this volume serves to introduce the the romantic leads, Oscar and Tinasha. The two are quite stubborn and have some good rapport…but they also might totally kill each other. I look forward to the next volume. ~ Jeskai Angel

Unnamed Memory is available through Yen Press.

One Piece, Vol. 1

So, recently I decided to do something ridiculous. I told my Twitter followers that if I was able to get my follower count back above 3,000 I would start reading the One Piece manga. It’s a huge fandom and one of the biggest manga series in the world. It took my followers less than 3 hours to get me back above that threshold. So, true to my word – I started reading it. So, at the time I wrote this I am finishing up the first volume’s worth of chapters. My thoughts so far? I’m really enjoying it. The story kicks off with kid Luffy and introduces you very quickly into the entire world setting Oda has created. From the widespread piracy to the corrupt government to the magic fruit that gives Luffy his stretchy powers, it’s all explained in those first few chapters. I’ve read a lot of short lived manga series that gave us an oversized first chapter that tried aggressively to shove the reader into the plot and world setting too quickly. One Piece brings us into the world masterfully without any of it feeling forced. Instead, I felt immersed in the new characters as they were introduced and enamored by Luffy. I think I’m going to like this series, so feel free to follow me on my journey. ~ MDMRN

One Piece can be read at Shonen Jump or purchased through Viz.

Harem Royale ~When the game ends~, Volume 1

From the creator of Higurashi and Umineko comes a manga with quite the twisted concept. Asunaro is a high school boy who fantasizes about having a harem but has no desire to try to get a girlfriend in reality. When he releases a demon from a sealed bottle, though, said demon decides to “grant his wish for a harem life”… by dragging the girls he fantasizes about into a deadly game of seduction. A number of girls must compete in various tasks to appeal to Asunaro, with the goal to be the one girl he chooses at the end, and any girl that fails will be subjected to being repeatedly killed in Hell. It’s an absolutely vile setup designed specifically for grief and suffering, which is why I’m glad the story at least focuses more on the efforts of four girls not to try to destroy each other or indulge in the whole “harem” romancing thing, but instead how they can try to work around the rules of the game so all of them can survive, while watching out for outside forces trying to sabotage them. As such, it reads less like a sleazy harem story and more like a thriller with mind games and strategizing. With Asunaro himself out of the loop that this death game is happening, though, it does mean that he has no real characterization worth speaking of, and the girls also don’t have much characterization beyond how they are trying to survive the game. Overall, it’s not my type of story so I probably won’t read any more of it, but if “harem death game” with a focus on mutual survival sounds good to you, this should serve fine. (Content warning: there’s a few depictions of detailed upper-body nudity.)  ~ stardf29

Harem Royale, Vol. 1 is available from Sol Press.

Fushi no Kami: Rebuilding Civilization Starts with a Village, Volume 1

The latest reincarnation isekai light novel centered around using modern knowledge to improve lives, Fushi no Kami is a solid entry for those who like that kind of story. The premise might be very familiar, but the execution works well on many fronts. For example, the protagonist Ash not only has to learn how to read the language of the world he’s now in, but also gets to put some linguistic knowledge to use in order to try to decipher ancient languages. Likewise, the story goes fairly in-depth with what sorts of developments are needed to improve life and how to actually execute said developments. However, it is with the characters themselves where the story particularly shines; the narration not only gets into Ash’s head and his thoughts about everything but also switches viewpoints frequently to those of other characters, which helps with understanding and developing all of them as they start to grow to accommodate Ash’s newfound passions. The only downside is that, for as bright as Ash can be with improving the quality of life, he’s rather dense when it comes to romance. Overall, this is a nice, more down-to-earth isekai story that I certainly would like to read more of. ~ stardf29

Fushi no Kami, Vol. 1 is available from J-Novel Club.

Shirahime-Syo

Shirahime-Syo is a single volume series from CLAMP filled with tales of romance and loss in the winter. Interconnected through each of the stories is that the winter itself is living component of the story as the Snow Goddess. Each of the 5 chapters of this single volume set is in ancient Japan during blistering wintery conditions and tell about different tales of love. Some of the stories are tragic, while others are more bittersweet. CLAMP’s art style in this set of folktale style stories were completed with a brush and ink. This gave the art a more traditional flair than more modern pen inking. This was, apparently, done as a cost and time cutting measure; however, the choice to complete the art with a brush and ink helped fit into the setting very well. It entirely felt like you were being told some traditional folktales and I really enjoyed it.  ~ MDMRN

Shirahime-Syo is available through Viz.

Keito Koume Illustrations Spice & Wolf: The Tenth Year Calvados

One of the attractions of both manga and light novels is the illustrations—even in the age of video, still images can remain compelling, especially when masterfully drawn. Keito Koume is certainly a master, and has been the mangaka for the Spice & Wolf manga adaptation for the last 10+ years. To celebrate the decade of his work, a lovely artbook featuring many of the manga’s illustrations, as well original pieces and those from other materials, has been released. The work also has a lovely monochrome illustrations section, a new short comic, and a thumbnail gallery of all the illustrations, including references and Koume’s own commentary. The Tenth Year Calvados is a must-have collector’s item for fans of this classic franchise, and worth checking out even for those who aren’t. Though a bit of warning: Just as with the other platforms, this artbook features heavy doses of a mostly and occasionally fully nude wise wolf. ~ Twwk

Keito Koume Illustrations Spice & Wolf: The Tenth Year Calvados is available through Yen Press. Watch our video review of this artbook on YouTube.

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Thank you to Kodansha, Sol Press, and Yen Press for providing review copies for some of the materials reviewed above. 

Whispers in the Dark - The Slayers Fanfic

A word or two from me: 

the main ship: Xellos x Lina Inverse . Necessary warnings will be included in the beginning of every chapter.

Special thanks for @naiokiara for being my Beta <3 and @wicked-game-black-butler for being my spiritual support <3

Prelude

Somewhere in the Beginning of Ages.

The Darkness moved in the astral dimension, forming, gathering and… slowly splitting. The Greater Beast Zelas Metallium, one of five the most powerful subordinates of the Dark Lord Shabranigdo was already tired, but her efforts weren't over yet. 

The Sea of Chaos had created them, Mazoku, and Zelas could only follow the need The Lord of Nightmares filled them up with: destruction. 

The material world existed, giving them pain, annoying, burning their astral beings. It had to be destroyed. It had to be changed into ashes all together with the Mazoku, and melted back to the Sea of Chaos. They needed more Monsters to achieve that. The World was huge. 

The Five Lords of Shabranigdo instinctively understood what to do. Four of them created each two cruel children: a General who would lead their army of darkness and a Priest who would lead mortals to their doom. 

Zelas Metallium had another idea. Why divide your own power so much, when you can create one perfect servant? A General and Priest at once, her only and the most perfect child.

The Darkness moved again like a snake around the smaller, weaker one. The part of her. The arm with which she was going to crush the world.

Wake up, my Xellos. Wake up and spread destruction for me, so we can be one again and return to the Mother of Chaos. We have to die and the World will die with us.

The smaller blackness was twirling faster and faster, taking the form of a tornado created from evil astral power.

His first form, but not his last. 

Xellos took his first “breath” and his newborn, still fragile mind was filled with the first feelings: hatred and frustration.

 He shouldn’t exist. He wanted to die at the moment he became alive. The newborn Mazoku trembled in suffering, his thoughts clinging more to his “mother”, not wanting to divide from her. Zelas showed him a vision of the World: living creatures there, their aim, and… she left him alone.

The twirling dark tornado scowled in the emptiness of the astral dimension.

Chapter 1

Present time. The Outer Lands after Hellmaster Phibrizzo's death.

The sorceress reached for another plate filled with a tasty-smelling meal, practically taking it from right under the nose of her comrade, a swordmaster, which caused his growl of disappointment. The gingerhead witch answered with her own look, full of lighting as a threat. 

What could she do? The fried shrimp in pasta at this inn was delicious. She wasn’t going to share it with anyone. Not even Gourry.

The last few days had been complicated and the plot twists of unplanned (or more or less planned by their new “friend” Filia ul Copt, the Priestess of Light) accidents led them into those lands outside the Barrier, where almost no one knew real magic, and had mixed them, adventurers, into a prophecy about the end of the world.

Again, others expected Lina to be a hero.

No vacation for me from dealing with Monsters, she thought, a little tired, but happy that on their way to the Flare Dragon King’s Temple, they had found such a cosy place to eat and rest tonight.

Zelgadis was resting on the other chair, drowned into a book he’d found in the library. He was always focused on his search for a cure for the curse of his chimeric appearance. Amelia also was somewhere near, probably teaching simple people about justice and law.

It was so comfortable at the inn now. Even a bard was performing, telling about legends and heroes. Lina was listening with one ear, though. Often she had opportunities to look at “legends” from definitely too close for her taste, and she knew too well that being a hero was overrated. 

Tasty food and cosy beds were the only things that could reward Lina’s suffering.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” complained Filia, approaching their table. “The night is bright. We can continue our journey! The prophecy clearly said! We will be doomed soon!”

Lina Inverse gave the blonde woman a rather gloomy look, chewing shrimp. The priestess and her notions for a mission. For sure it was Filia’s first time rescuing the world.

“I fully understand it and  -- Don't touch this fillet, Gourry! It's mine! --  and I respect your sacred role, but… Filia… You are a golden dragon. We are just mortals. We are tired! How can we defeat all the evil the prophecy will throw at us if we are so exhausted?”

“One night here won’t change anything,” interrupted a familiar male voice. The adventurers turned their heads to see a man in a black travelling priest outfit sitting at the nearest table. Dark straight hair hanging a little below jaw level, in the light of the fireplace, seemed to shine with a violet tint, and characteristically half-closed eyes alarmed the group more than a bucket of cold water poured on their heads, because they were the only ones in the inn who knew that those eyelids were covering reptilian vertical pupils. “Better stay here and have some fun. And hush!!! Listen to this story. It’s a good one!"

Lina raised her eyebrows, focusing her attention on the bard's tale. It was about a girl who fell in love with a Mazoku who wanted her dead, but in the end the pure soul of the maiden had won and the evil creature loved her too, abandoning his dark paths.

“Oh my. I will cry.” The violet-haired priest rubbed his eyes in a gesture of being touched and clapped his hands. “Beautiful story!”

“But Mazoku can’t love, Xellos,” noted Gourry brilliantly, blinking in confusion.

“Oh, don’t ruin a great tale with facts, my friend. I adore fairytales. And tea. Mortals’ inventions never cease to amaze me.” The man sighed in delight and took a tiny sip from the cup.  “Anyway, hello! <3” An innocent smile brightened his sympathetic face, which made mortals treat him like one of themselves. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, YOU STINKY GARBAGE?” Filia finally recovered from the shock caused by the sudden appearance of a high-ranking Mazoku in the inn. Like always, her allergy to the greatest enemy of her race was stronger than anything.

“Oh my. Are you deaf? I’m greeting everyone. You too, my sweet Miss Filia.” Xellos’ smile became wider when he directed his next statement to the bard: “Please! Tell us another FAIRYTALE. Maybe now about the good manners of golden dragons of light?” 

Filia’s face became grey, then blue and finally red, when she realised that their group was  the center of attention for all the people gathered at the inn. The blonde priestess grunted, trying to calm down and not give that pathetic Monster a chance to humiliate her more. The dragon girl smiled politely at the violet-haired man and Lina thought that the priestess’ delicate face would crack into pieces from that forced expression at any moment.

“Oh, Xellos, what a… surprise! So nice to...ekhm... see you!” mumbled Filia.

“The feeling is mutual.” The Monster opened his eyes a little more to fix the pissed dragon lady with his mean amethyst irises.

“How is your... health?”

“Good, I can’t complain, thank you very much!” Exclaimed Xellos happily, his voice sweet like a poisoned chocolate.

Lina rubbed her temples. She had to part those two or soon the town would stand in flames. Like always.

Filia clenched her jaw and sat next to the sorceress as people in the inn returned again to their own business. Her beautiful blue eyes met Lina’s with a clear, angry message: Do something with him.

It wasn’t easy, though. Xellos' presence was a funny problem. Has anyone ever seen a chicken getting a hawk to just go away if it doesn’t want to? Chickens should sit quietly and pray that a hunter isn’t hungry. At least not at the moment. 

So the group should be happy that Xellos (for whatever reasons he has this time) was in a chatting and not killing mood, and Lina was very aware of it, praying that fate wouldn’t ever have them cross paths as strict enemies. Well, officially, they were. Mazoku desired to destroy the world. Humans desired to survive. But who says that they have to jump unprovoked at each other's throats? Especially when Xellos seemed to not be very friendly towards Valgaav. The former servant of Gaav was very thirsty for Lina's blood, as he wanted to avenge his master’s death.

As the saying goes: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Lina preferred to keep Xellos on her side, even if the alliance was fragile and temporary.

However, she could understand Filia’s feelings. Zelas Metallium's Priest had had a very significant role during the War of Monster’s Fall, more than a thousand years ago. Xellos murdered hundreds of golden dragons with just a wave of one finger. Maybe Filia was too young to remember that, but her superiors for sure described the massacre to her with details. 

In her place Lina also wouldn’t be very fond of this particular Monster.

“Can I kindly ask you to leave us alone?” Tried again the Dragon Priestess, still with that fake politeness. “I’m reminding you again: I found Miss Lina first and she will help me to rescue the world!”

“And I’m asking again too: Do you really want to quarrel with me about who, you or me, has the most right to use Miss Lina for their own goals?” Xellos took another sip of tea.

“Hey, you both know I am here and I’m hearing you two, right?” The gingerhead sorceress slowly lost her patience. “What do you want, Xellos? Tell us and go away.”

“And should I abandon such a charming dragon lady’s company?” 

Now Lina could literally feel and share Filia’s need to wash that insolent smile off the Mazoku’s face with a fist.

“Maybe I’m just guarding you from another nasty trick of Valgaav’s? You want me around, Miss Lina.” He opened one reptilian eye to measure the sorceress.

The girl wanted to stand up and scream at him. Mostly because he was right. Xellos always found ways to trick them but it was much harder to trick him. It’s not that the Monster could read Lina’s thoughts, but like every Mazoku, he was an empath. The sorceress could almost feel his astral aura licking her emotions. Besides, maybe in his human form Xellos looked harmless, and sometimes he acted like a total dumbass to confuse people, but a fool was the last thing Lina would think him to be. 

In this situation where Valgaav was hunting on Lina, and Xellos was hunting on Valgaav, it was clear that the Monster wanted to talk about the alliance in detail. Well, maybe not in Filia's company.

Lina nodded without a word, agreeing to his unspoken invitation to the “negotiation table”, and the Monster Priest closed his eyes again, finishing his tea and standing up.

“Well, you’re right. We can’t stress our dear Filia so much. She could get wrinkles because of anger. See you soon then.”

“You little shi-” The blonde was ready to jump on her enemy's head, but Gourry quickly covered her mouth, reminding her that as a Servant of Light she should have more control about filthy words.

Lina blinked and then gave a shrug when she couldn't find Xellos. He had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, so the sorceress opened the menu to order a dessert. Who knew how the rest of the evening would go, so something sweet should reward her with a cool shiver travelling down her spine, even as she thought about what she had agreed.

A lady shouldn't let a man into her room in the middle of night. Especially when that man is the essence of evil.

Trance Dancing - The Rave

by Jason Keehn

(this essay was formerly posted at https://duversity.org/archives/rave.html, but it’s gone, so I’m saving it by copying it here)

Can trance-dancing save the planet

Can you imagine a crazier notion?

Thousands of bored youth pumping themselves up with drugs, going out to huge underground parties and dancing maniacally to electronic rhythms and psychedelic light-shows till dawn.

And this is supposed to help the world?

Shouldn't we be putting our time instead into ecological or political activism, or at least doing some kind of charity work? What about the serious spiritual disciplines that claim to offer the only true path to personal--and thereby social--transformation? What good does all our drug-taking and revelry do for the hundreds of millions of dispossessed, fucked over and starving around the world--not to mention all the untold species and eco-systems being destroyed?

Hard to answer. And yet some of us still have this inescapable feeling, maybe even faith, that what we are doing, confused, silly and commercialised as it often is, is at its core absolutely necessary. . . not just to us, but in the bigger picture, somehow. . .

Why is it that at the peak moments (admittedly rare) of the very best underground house/techno/rave parties, we get this miraculous sense of hope, of possibility, of transformation . . . a feeling that we're actually heading somewhere. . . together. . . towards a brighter future, one worth living in, one where we've returned to some kind of harmony with ourselves, with each other and with our planet as a whole?

Is it "just the drugs," a kind of consensus delusion, or might there be some basis in reality for these feelings, hard to justify as they may seem once we're back out in the normal world?

More dimly sensed than clearly expressed, the feeling for such a possibility permeates the entire global underground dance scene. Thousands of promoters exploit it to inflate their party invites with cheesy techno-spiritual imagery. It inspires and guides much of the music, and some small but key fraction of the hard-core partiers. The rest of the crowds who fill the floors at parties get off on it as a second or third-hand charge that sets the party apart from being just another club, without ever thinking about taking it seriously.

At moments, some hundreds, and maybe even thousands or tens of thousands, of "ravers" have probably found themselves sensing/feeling/wondering that what they were doing might be something really big, something that could really change things at a larger scale.

But of course only people who turn themselves inside out with large amounts of drugs would even conceive the question: Can trance-dancing save the planet?

A few of us, myself included, have made public fools of ourselves already by answering in the affirmative, and even giving some tentative reasons why. Here I want to try to introduce a new way of thinking that complements and deepens what already been proposed by people like Fraser Clarke and Terence McKenna. They see psychedelicized mass trance dances as the only quick, viable antidote to the egotism at the base of the western, techno-industrial mega-machine maniacally chomping away at the life-fabric of the planet.

This different line of thought is based on a simple but profound idea first expressed by the philosopher and teacher of temple dances G. I. Gurdjieff, who died in 1949. His idea is almost completely unknown, outside of his hard to read book All and Everything.

If true, it has staggering implications for ourselves, for our planet, even for our entire solar system. I don't expect anybody to automatically take it as Goddess's given truth, but its worthy of some serious attention.

Energies

As all "ravers" know, there is a mysterious something that makes a rave different from just another club or party-scene. We call this "the vibe"--a mixture of intangibles impossible to find anywhere else, except maybe at a dead show or a rainbow gathering. Roughly put, the vibe consists of: an attitude of openness, sharing, empathy and playfulness; intense, unselfconscious dancing; a collective altered state of consciousness, thanks to the combined effects of specific rhythms, lights and psychedelic drugs; and, at its height, a melding of group feeling and energy into an ecstatic, orgasmic release that feels nothing less than spiritual or religious--albeit in a form that has little resemblance to any type of spirituality or religion we are familiar with.

We all know that "energy" is somehow key to all of this. We know we raise and release energy through our dancing, our feelings, and our interaction on the dance-floor. Energy was one of the main buzzwords of the early English rave scene. The vibe is all about energy--vibration, after all.

But what is this energy? What does it consist of, where does it come from, where does it go? Are there different kinds of energies? Do they have different purposes?

Back around the turn of the century, Gurdjieff and a group of friends travelled back and forth across the Middle East and Central Asia investigating humanity's true history, the nature of the cosmos, and the possibilities for humans to evolve consciously, from their own efforts. In the process, "the seekers of truth," as the group called themselves, also encountered the Masters of Wisdom still alive in that part of the world (the Khwajagan). The Khwajagan were considered to be the bearers of some of the highest spiritual knowledge on the planet, handed down continuously for thousands of years.

One of the focuses of Gurdjieff's research was the transformation of substances and energies--both chemical and subtle--in the human organism. He also learned a large number of temple dances, which he understood as databases in movement intended to preserve ancient knowledge.

Eventually, Gurdjieff returned to the West and presented his synthesis of these searches as a "system of ideas" and a practical method for self-transformation.

Feeding the Moon

Gurdjieff's quest was guided by the basic question, "what is the sense and significance of human life on earth?"

His conclusion, expressed in writing only towards the end of his life, was that humanity does not exist for itself, but to supply the planet, the moon, and the solar system with a particular gradation of energy which they need to thrive and grow. At times he called this principle, "feeding the Moon," though it is not clear whether he meant this literally or merely as a handy symbol.

He believed that the entire universe is in some sense alive and in a process of continuously evolving (and if not evolving, actively devolving). In what could be compared to a cosmic fractal, the universe is in a process of unfolding and giving birth to itself, each birth at a new level mirroring in its unique way that of other levels (known nowadays as the principle of self-similarity). In what Gurdjieff called "the ray of creation," "God" or the Absolute gives birth to universes; universes give birth to stars, which give birth to planets, which give birth to organic life (viruses, bacteria, plants and animals) and to moons. Eventually a planet may become a star, its moon may become a planet in its turn, and "give birth" to its own moon, and so on, ad infinitum.

Just as all plants and animals need a variety of nutrients to exist, grow and reproduce, so our world and its siblings need a very specialised type of substance to fuel their processes--their planetary metabolisms, if you will. Supposedly, this special energetic substance can be produced only by human beings.

Reciprocal Maintenance

Gurdjieff's answer fits into what he called "the doctrine of reciprocal maintenance", the idea that every thing exists only insofar as it supports or "feeds" something else. Everything is part of a vast, interconnected and mutually reinforcing web of life. Or, "everything is something else's lunch," as ecologists like to say. This idea anticipated the science of ecology by at least half a century.

Examples: Bees don't just exist for themselves, they live to pollinate flowers. Algae exists to turn sunlight into more complex molecules, and feed other small creatures, such as plankton and krill. Krill feeds other slightly larger creatures, and even whales. Plants exist to turn sunlight and raw matter into organic compounds, and to feed animals. Worms exist to loosen soil for plants. Bacteria recycle waste into useable raw matter. Predators help to increase the strength and fitness of the herds they prey on by eliminating the weak and sick. Etc. etc.

In the scheme of things, humanity's essential role is that of a transformer of energy.

Human beings, according to this view, exist to serve the cosmic evolutionary process--and not the opposite, as the Bible would have it: that all of creation is merely a resource for us to use and abuse as we see fit.

Our possibilities as human beings are dependent on the degree to which we fulfil this function, a kind of "obligation" which nature imposes on us.

By Gurdjieff's view, this special energy could be produced two different ways: either involuntarily, at the moment of death, when a small "packet" is released into the atmosphere, or voluntarily, in greater or lesser amounts, through spiritual work.

Since Mother Nature, or Gaia, needs a definite quota of this energy from us, she will do whatever is necessary to make sure she gets it. If we don't provide the required intensities while alive, the total number of deaths will have to be increased in such a proportion as to yield the needed amount.

Devolution

Gurdjieff further believed that rather than progressing, the overall quality of human being (as opposed to externalizations like technology, culture, institutions, etc.) has actually been deteriorating over the last umpteen thousands of years, especially in "civilised" societies such as our own. He believed that in the very distant past, before the earliest recorded history, human beings had a much greater presence and power; in a sense, they were bigger, spiritually and existentially, than the vast majority of us today. He also believed that people once had a much greater life-span.

They were energy-pumps.

Gurdjieff had his speculations about what caused this decline in the quality of human being in the very remote past, perhaps even before the destruction of Atlantis (his theory of the "kundabuffer," explored at length in All and Everything). The upshot, though, is that humanity as a whole has "forgotten" how to perform its ecological function in the world--or simply no longer has the necessary juice to do it, which pretty much amounts to the same thing.

So if this is in fact the case--that we human beings generally no longer have the knowledge or ability to "pump" this energy intentionally--Gaia will be forced to increase the total quantity of human death to meet her needs.

This can be accomplished, of course, by 1) increasing the number of human births, and eventually deaths, and 2) by shortening the life-span of existing individuals, or 3) a combination of the two. The net results: Population increase. . . disease, and war.

Following this line of thinking, our increasing inability to properly transform and pump energy means that we have to be treated (by the Gaian mind, if you like) the same way we treat plants and animals, as something to be farmed, bred and harvested. Not a very dignified state of affairs!

So as the qualitative level of human being goes down, the number of human beings, and thereby of human deaths, goes up to account for the difference in energy. And of course, since organisms grow at different rates, with different energy requirements depending on their activities, we can imagine that there might be major fluctuations in the needs for our energies.

The Terror of the Situation

This suggests a radical, and terrifying, view of contemporary history: that the population explosion, famines, plagues, wars and massacres might not be due just to accidental or sociological and political causes but may be induced by the needs of the solar "eco-system" as a whole, with human beings acting for the most part unwittingly to effectuate these needs.

Think about all the horror and insanity that has gone done in the twentieth century, even just in terms of cold numbers: millions killed in World War One, hundreds of thousands wiped out in seconds at Hiroshima and Nagasake alone, millions massacred one way or another in the Nazi concentration camps; supposedly as many as twenty million Russians dying in combat in World War Two, not to mention another twenty million who died in the same period as a result of Stalinist persecution and forced famine. Millions died in the Chinese civil war, six or seven million in Cambodia under Pol Pot. Don't even bother counting all the famines in Africa and South East Asia over the last few decades.

Why the incredible surge of violent death all over the world, paralleled by an equally incredible population explosion? What is up with those peculiar humanoid beings living on the surface of Sol-III?

I'm not going to try to argue the merits of this scheme against other theories. Just chew on it for a while and see how it fits.

And so the picture painted is one of a race of hapless, deluded slaves to some kind of a cosmic food-chain the existence of which we don't even recognise. This is definitely insulting to all our best images of ourselves. But then how do we reconcile all our great assets, our supposed free will, intelligence, and creativity with the dismal facts of what we've done to each other for all of recorded history?

Are we really anything more than automatons most of the time?

Gurdjieff had what might seem to many a horribly bleak, cynical view:

that our ideas of free-will and individuality are a delusion, an image of our potential mistaken for a general fact of our existence. Bluntly put, we are blind products of genetics, conditioning and external influence; on an energetic level, we are next to nothing. We are less, in that sense, than most mammals even.

We have become experts at consuming energy and resources, parasites.

As a civilisation, we no longer transform energy into higher gradients and radiate it back out to the world, we just circulate like little ants in our vast urban hives and manufacture stuff, endless quantities of stuff. We know how to suck energy, make objects, and how to kill. Even if we're not killing each other off at a given moment, we're decimating untold numbers of living beings without even being grateful for their existence.

Sure, for the most part we don't feel ourselves that way, but anybody who's tripped a few times in public places probably had disturbing glimpses--at least--along these lines. We don't see other people--or ourselves--that way, because it's just too hard a vision to live with.

The path of return

This perspective provides a definite way of understanding the connection between our amazingly fucked up global situation and "spirituality"--or the lack thereof. Seen this way, spirituality has less to do with living according to some moral doctrine, or accumulating "spiritual" experiences and states, than with being able to transform and radiate energy of a particular quality.

If it is true that we have been suffering a generalised decline over millennia, all our human institutions must participate in and reflect that decline. So everything we associate with religion, in all its multifarious forms, would generally be a product and mirror of a messed up situation; in other words, just another part of the problem.

At its best, the spiritual component of religious traditions points to a return to what should be our natural base-line of being, something so distant we can barely remember or taste it except at moments of "peak experience," or with the help of psychedelic drugs, or as a result of long, intensive discipline.

Our so-called "salvation" is really more a matter of somehow pulling ourselves back up out of a dysfunctional, disenabled, alienated state to something like a natural way of being--not transcendence or cosmic consciousness or union with God or whatever. We need to re-learn "how to be and to do."

According to Gurdjieff, the two key principles to following this "path of return," were intentional suffering and conscious labour. Through engaging in intentional sufferings and conscious labours we begin again to release the kinds of energies we were intended to give off.

Of course by today's standards, this sounds like a bummer of a philosophy. Isn't life just supposed to be full of fun and games? On the other hand, if we're realistic we know that there's always going to be pain, struggle, suffering in life. If there weren't where would the joy and pleasure and flow be? So maybe rather than seek to escape suffering, or just submit to it blindly, it might make sense to choose your form of suffering and make something out of it.

Intentional suffering. Again, if it's true that we exist in a chronic low-energy state, one of inertia and stasis, it makes sense that in order to get back to a point of being able to consciously transform energy we would need to somehow exercise an enormous effort just to break out of our passivity. "Only super-efforts count." If you're physically weak from illness, it usually takes an extra effort to get to the point of being able to exercise on a regular basis, to return to your previous level of strength. Or as they say, no pain no gain.

This can apply on a lot of levels other than just the physical. Pain can take the form of a kind of moral or spiritual suffering deriving from, say, breaking habits, or confronting bad traits in one's character, or doing exactly that which you least like to do. Suffering in the form of sacrifice is necessary to be there for others, to truly love.

Conscious labour assumes that most of the "work" we do, of whatever nature, is not really conscious to begin with. We are driven by culturally programmed priorities, survival, automatic emotional needs, obsession, neurosis, ego. To work consciously assumes that one must first have become aware of how unconscious one is most of the time, of how automatic most of how our thoughts, feelings, perceptions and actions really are.

To even get to this point itself requires a lot of intentional suffering, because what could make us suffer more than waking up to how we really don't "own" ourselves?

Forms of work

This general process is what people who study Gurdjieff's ideas and methods generally call "work-on-oneself," or just "self-work."

No doubt for many orthodox "Gurdjieffians," this path of return can only occur in the framework of decades of commitment to the "work," in the manner it has been passed down to them.

Much of Gurdjieff's practical teaching consisted of dancing and physical exercises used in combination with meditation and concentration techniques. Some of the dances Gurdjieff himself invented, many were direct copies of the ancient temple dances he found during his travels. (These dances are a closely held secret of existing Gurdjieff groups, and rarely if ever performed in public.)

Other important components of his method were the techniques of "self-observation" and "self-remembering," designed to bring "essence" back into balance with "personality."

What is little known to the world at large, and almost completely suppressed within existing Gurdjieff groups, is that Gurdjieff was interested in and worked with drugs. The references to "active substances" other than alcohol, opium and cocaine in his writings are rare, and even then oblique (he tried to set up a "chemical laboratory" in Russia at one point--for synthesising what?); it is known, but little discussed, that Gurdjieff administered certain substances to some of his students.

The monks of the legendary Sarmoun Brotherhood, whom Gurdjieff spent time with, themselves cultivated and used a psychoactive plant they referred to as the "Herb of Enlightenment." Curiously, Oscar Ichazo, founder of Arica, a 70s psycho-spiritual organisation that also incorporated psychedelics and movement-work, claimed to have accessed the Sarmounis as well.*

Furthermore, we know from Gurdjieff himself that he considered his students "guinea pigs," his groups a laboratory in which he was conducting certain undefined experiments.

According to J. G. Bennett, one of his major students and better interpreters, Gurdjieff experimented continuously with his ideas, techniques and overall approach. While Gurdjieff always talked about his system, it was never fixed in a way that most of his followers seem to believe and dogmatically transmit it to others.

If everything Gurdjieff did was a kind of living laboratory, how does anybody know what were really the goals and working hypotheses and what was just part of the experiment? What if he kept certain pieces of his puzzle secret, knowing perhaps they were too explosive to make public at the time?

The new trance dance

Here is a radically new take on Gurdjieff's philosophy and mission, one that has a direct bearing on our neo-psychedelic-rave subculture:

Is it possible that trance-dancing is one of the most basic forms of intentional suffering and conscious labour?

Is it possible that such dancing, performed by the right people in the right way with the right intentions, is capable of producing exactly that same energy Gurdjieff believed Mother Nature needs from us? Could it be that the use of psychedelics in conjunction with intensive dancing to certain specific rhythms, by a new breed of individuals, may be a way to fill our cosmic obligation without the life-long spiritual training otherwise required?

My intuition is that this is indeed the case--unlikely as it may seem to all the "old school" esotericists and spiritualists.

Perhaps, in fact, we are not really now at the point of being able to do this--being "youthful" as we are, and prone to all the naiveté and follies of youth. But this may be what a certain number of us are instinctively moving toward. Maybe this is just that mysterious something we cross over into as we're peaking and pulsing together on the dance-floor.

Think about tribal trance dances. What better description could you think of for endurance dancing to the point of fainting in the service of the gods than intentional suffering and conscious labour?

Under different names, tribal peoples seem to commonly believe that their dances are essential to the gods, a form of offering, sacrifice, or service. Something necessary to keep the balance, to keep the rain falling, to keep the sun coming up, to keep things moving. That's why they're sacred dances. And so maybe it's not just the form of the dance that's sacred, or even what the dancers experience, it's in what they do: the energy they collectively release.

Isn't it odd that just when most of the cultures that still do this are either being destroyed or forgetting their own traditions, just at that same moment a whole tribalistic, "neo-shamanic" dance craze develops among western youth?

Consider: How does someone behave who has a deep instinct, but in whom that instinct has been muffled by hundreds or thousands of years of habitual suppression and invalidation? Perhaps every now and then the instinct manifests itself in a crude, awkward outburst, only to be quickly silenced by the embarrassed ego and the lack of any proper name or place for it in surrounding society.

In some of Bennett's writings on this whole theme, there is a tendency to paint the "feeding the Moon" scenario in extremes: either one is energetically inert and useless; or else one sacrifices one's life to spiritual work and helps to make up for everyone else's lack.

But must it be such a dichotomy? Maybe that's how it tends to be nowadays, but maybe it wasn't always if people used to "be more" than they are today. Maybe once upon a time (and still in some remaining aboriginal cultures), you didn't have to be a spiritual athlete, a specialist (monk, shaman, priest/priestess, etc.), to return your two or three "cents" to Nature.

Maybe even now, everyone can return some energy, given the right circumstances and maybe the right "assisting factors" too.

And what about the effect of psycho-active substances? If there is anything we know about psychedelics for sure, it is that they act as catalysts. They temporarily shift our system's mode of functioning, our rate of vibration, and enable transformations that are otherwise difficult to achieve--again passing. But what if that transformation, in tandem with the right kind of dancing and mindset, is just enough to enable the release of some special energy?

Does it matter that much whether we're in that state all the time, or just that we have regular access to it and can use it to do what we need to do?

Sure, we have no tradition of sacred dance, and few ravers dance till they drop, few dance with conscious devotional feeling or intent. What we do have, or at least aspire to, is a basic attitude that sets the tone when we come together for our celebrations: Peace-Love-Unity-Respect. Not bad for a point of departure.

And yet, just how conscious do you have to be of your intent if your instinct IS your intent? Maybe as we get high and move together our intent resurfaces into consciousness, and for those few sweet timeless moments we actually DO it, . . . and then we drift back down into consensus reality where there is no name for it, and the veils gradually cover it all up and soon we once again think we were there for nothing more than a good time and some cool music.

But the taste and scent of that ineffable "juice" still lingers, and it keeps us going in the days ahead, going back to more parties, wearing the clothes we associate with it, compulsively getting high and listening to mix tapes round the clock, searching for that rare synchronicity of time, place, people and music where it might magically happen again.

In some of his late writings, Bennett speculated that recent decades are seeing the birth of a new kind of person, maybe even a new race of sorts, with spiritual capacities different from the rest of society.

Could that be us?

And just what is that "juice," that energy, that special nutrient so needed for all things to live and grow in harmony? That erotic radiant mix of thankfulness, joy, and compassion that just wants to fuck the entire cosmos? Could it be . . . L-O-V-E?

OK, admittedly there are a lot of big ifs here. To try to prove that

a) human beings do give off energy when they die;

b) that some can give off an equivalent kind of energy intentionally while still alive;

c) that most of us don't or can't do this anymore;

d) that people could once upon a time do it better;

e) that the planet or the moon or the solar system requires this energy;

f) that if they don't get it human birth and death will automatically be increased with no say on our side;

g) that this energy can be produced through trance dancing among tribal peoples; and

h) that this energy can also be produced by teenagers dancing at parties with the help of drugs. . .

To try to prove, or even argue, all of that would be at least another article in itself. . . or more realistically, the basis for a life-time of research.

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau interview: Lannister’s greatest battle yet — defending the Amazon

The Game of Thrones star is now a UNDP goodwill ambassador on climate change. It’s hard to care about dragons when the rainforest is burning, he says

Was Nikolaj Coster-Waldau — best known as the “Kingslayer”, Jaime Lannister, the sexy, incest-loving baddie (turned goodie, turned . . . it’s complicated) from Game of Thrones — devastated when the hit television show ended this year?

The Danish actor shrugs. “No, I was fine.” After eight series, though, many of the cast were apparently inconsolable. “Yes, I heard that, but I wasn’t. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, I really enjoyed it, but at the end of the day it was just a television show. I would work on it for a maximum of 30 days a year, then I would do other stuff that I would spend more time on. Of course it was a bit sad, when you’ve spent 10 years with a group of people, to know you won’t be seeing them regularly any more, but the job was over. It had run its course — you couldn’t really squeeze any more out of it.”

When he was cast in Game of Thrones a decade ago, Coster-Waldau, long a jobbing actor on both sides of the Atlantic, had no clue that the production he had signed up to would become a cultural phenomenon.

“Actually, when the show started there was a lot of stigma. When I told people I’d got this job with HBO, they were like, ‘Oh my God, it’s going to be amazing — is it about gangsters?’ And when I said, ‘No, actually it’s a fantasy with dragons’, they were like, ‘Oh well then, good luck.’ A lot of people had to be almost forced into watching it before they realised the supernatural stuff is really not what it’s about.”

If Coster-Waldau sounds dismissive about his part in TV history, it’s because, post-Thrones, he has been busy. As well as finishing a couple of Danish films, the 49-year-old is making a documentary about the nerdy world of “comic cons” — comic-book conventions. He keeps in touch with a handful of Thrones pals, especially Gwendoline Christie, who played his non-sororal love interest, Brienne of Tarth.

He has also become a goodwill ambassador on climate change — and on gender equality — for the UN Development Programme. Why do actors seem compelled to bang on about climate change, even when the public makes it clear they don’t enjoy receiving lectures from luvvies whose job consists of jetting around the world to prance around on sets with carbon footprints greater than most of us will produce in a lifetime?

“I acknowledge 100% that actors talking about climate change annoys people. It is ridiculous. I understand why people say, ‘Why should I listen to him? — he’s a f****** actor’,” he says.

“They’re right. You shouldn’t listen to me. It’s what I’m saying: don’t listen to me, but do listen to the experts, the scientists, the people who actually have their feet on the ground and know what they’re talking about.”

Coster-Waldau, 6ft 2in, understands the public are more likely to pay attention to him than to a group of scientists. Dressed in sensible Scandi weatherproof gear, he is determined to talk about his recent visit to the Amazon rainforests of Peru, which have been devastated by fires set by farmers and loggers.

“There’s a huge spotlight on Game of Thrones and I’m happy to use that, because I believe climate change is a global problem and we all have responsibility for each other,” he says. “The UN is a very flawed organisation, but I still think it’s the way forward.”

There is a pleasing Nordic frankness to Coster-Waldau’s refusal to provide simplistic or patronising narratives about the cause of the fires and how they can be prevented. “Fires are very scary and very visually stunning, and there’s no question the deforestation of the Amazon is a huge problem. But when you’re actually there, you realise that everything is complex.”

The actor has long been an activist. When he was a child, his mother “dragged” him on anti-nuclear marches (his late father was an alcoholic).

“In my teens I was very involved in the anti-apartheid thing and we did a lot of ridiculous stuff. There was one night called Close the Doors of Power, when my friend and I went round at night putting sealant into all the locks of every bank and every insurance company. If I saw it today I’d be like, ‘You kids are so stupid. One guy will have the job of cleaning this all up, and nothing’s going to change.’ But at the time it was very fulfilling.”

Coster-Waldau is mindful of what happened when another do-gooding star meddled in complex local issues. “When I was a kid in Denmark, there was the big campaign by Brigitte Bardot and Greenpeace to end seal-clubbing. I remember those posters of her with the cute baby seals. We were like, ‘How can anyone kill them?’ Well, that campaign succeeded, but it also pretty much destroyed the livelihoods of the Inuits in Greenland, so Greenpeace is hated in Greenland. They destroyed a community. That’s what can happen when f****** actors tell us what to do.”

Coster-Waldau is big on Greenland, where on a previous UN trip he witnessed the rapidly melting ice caps. His actress wife, Nukaka, is a former Miss Greenland. She has never seen an episode of Game of Thrones. “She promised me she was going to sit down with my mum [to watch it], but it’s a long series. It requires some dedication.” So his mum hasn’t seen it either? “No, it’s not her thing,” he giggles. “Nor have quite a few of my family. Actually, it’s quite nice when there’s so much craziness surrounding it.”

At least his 19-year-old daughter has watched it. “My 16-year-old has started, but she finds it weird to see me as someone else. I mean, in the first episode I’m having sex.” And not just with any woman — with Jaime’s sister. “Yeah, exactly,” Coster-Waldau sighs. And Jaime then pushes a 10-year-old boy who catches them in flagrante out of a window. “Actually, for some reason people find that bit OK. It’s always the sex that gets people going. But without those scenes, we wouldn’t have had a show.”

No matter how deep into the rainforest he travelled, Coster-Waldau was recognised. The indigenous people had watched the series on the internet — which is also where they had educated themselves about climate change.

“In my own ignorance, I assumed they wouldn’t have much knowledge about it, which is really embarrassing because of course they did. They have a very clear understanding that what is happening to the Amazon is not great. This is their home, which they love and have real interest in seeing preserved, but it’s a question of people doing things to survive. You can’t say to them, ‘Why don’t you go and do something else?’ They have got to feed their families. There are no other jobs — it’s an impossible choice.”

Does Coster-Waldau, who was rumoured to be earning more than $1m (£760,000) an episode for the final series of Game of Thrones, plant trees to offset his hefty carbon footprint, like his fellow eco-warrior Emma Thompson?

“Yeah, when I buy a flight I do that thing of paying extra [to offset]. I just got an electric car. But listen: I don’t have a leg to stand on. I have two homes, one in Denmark and one in Los Angeles, which is absolutely horrific. But we also have to live in this world. I just don’t believe that anyone can magically transport themselves back to living how it was 100 years ago. We need to move away from that guilt thing.” Is he attacked for hypocrisy? He snorts. “I don’t read the comments.”

It is important to be optimistic, he adds. “If we can come up with so many amazing inventions, surely we can find solutions to this. I hate to believe we are so stupid we are just going to destroy ourselves.” This may all sound a bit woolly, but — as Coster-Waldau has made abundantly clear — he’s only a f****** actor.

By Julia Llewellyn Smith December 22 2019, 12:01am, The Sunday Times

https://rwdestuffs.tumblr.com/post/615412314049593344/p-personally-i-think-that-could-possibly-work-in

https://rwdestuffs.tumblr.com/post/615321604335058944/p-heres-an-idea-the-dark-god-and-light-god-are

https://rwdestuffs.tumblr.com/post/615402151399899136/p-probably-to-add-to-the-gods-thing-the-light

So Dudeblade got a series of asks, depicting a deviation about the Gods. One I think completely misses the point of the Gods.

Personally, I think that could possibly work in making Salem a more tragic anti-villain, her whole black crusade would be akin to Anakin being slowly corrupted by Palpatine and the failure of the God of Light would be akin to the Jedi's failure in seeing the evil right under their noses and the Light God and Osma are not only trying to fix the world but also save Salem's soul

Wait.

So instead of Salem being at fault for her own actions, having refused to stop bothering and spiting the deities that have repeatedly refused her...

You want to take away her agency and turn this into a basic God and Satan fuck over Job scenario?

... Okay.

Look, the job of the Gods in the story is not to act as greater forces of good and evil but to give an origin to everything in the world. Making them responsible for the stuff that happens removes the personal element to RWBY because instead of it being about people dealing with the harshness of the world: it’s just people being used as chess pieces for two gods.

Considering what Salem went through prior to becoming the Shadow Grimm Queen, I’d say that this feels like a good way to go about it.

And considering you refuse to acknowledge Salem having any part in her own fuck ups: I’d say good thing no one listens to you.

Here's an idea, the Dark God and Light God are the major forces of good and evil; the God of Darkness tempted Salem to go bad and become his prophetess of sorts and rebel with humanity in attempt to corrupt humanity into becoming like him, which caused humanity to destory most of the world and themselves which also killed Salem's children(she had them before Oz died), The God of Light brought back Ozma, since he's the only who can stop her, and created the silver eyed warriors and maidens as aid

So basically God and Satan AGAIN.

You know, for people who decry clichés, you sure do love pushing the cliché being used in every god story for the past 2000 years.

And again, it removes the personal element of the show which it kind of relies on to communicate it’s message. If Salem is just a victim then that means that she isn’t responsible for her actions and thus it’s like saying people are just being controlled by Satan instead of saying People fuck up, you need to be better.

I’d like this more if Light God hadn’t been such a prick to Salem in the beginning and hadn’t started her path towards darkness with his insensitivity.

Wanna bet that if Salem was a man and The God of Light was a woman he’d be singing a different tune?

Probably to add to the gods thing: The Light God is kinda a "God is flawed" trope, the dark god secretly made Osma sick and die as part of his master plan and unless the Light God knew, he couldn't rectify it, and he didn't know until it was too late and humanity had pretty much destroyed themselves, also Salem and Osma would have had children who have grown to be fine young ladies, thus the couple had lived a more fulfilling life and this would kinda work better in show Salem in the wrong

Except that still make Salem sympathetic as Dudeblade points out.

That just gives Salem more sympathy because this time around, instead of the Light God screwing her over, it was the Dark God. If the goal is to give Salem less sympathy for how she was abused and isolated and her reaction to loss, then this isn’t it.

Here’s the deal:

Salem’s emotions are perfectly reasonable for her situation.

Her ACTIONS, on the other hand, aren’t.

That’s a huge thing in RWBY. Roman stated he was trying to survive (which I still call bullshit), Emerald is being used, Mercry was abused by his dad, Watts was treated poorly, Hazel lost his sister, Adam was branded, Salem suffered-

But the show never justifies their actions, always showing that even though they have good reasons for acting the way they do: they aren’t excused.

Thanks in no small part to the heroes. Weiss was also abused, Blake was also discriminated against, Yang was also traumatized, Ruby also suffered, Jaune...is basically suffering in this show, Ren and Nora watched their home burn to the ground, Qrow’s Suffering squared, Ozpin’s suffering cubed.

They all go through similar shit and yet they still act in the interest of everyone, they’re still good people. thus robbing the villains of any excuses for their actions.

Your changes would remove agency and thus responsibility from the MAIN VILLAIN in a show that depends on it. That’s so stupid.

Toilet-bound Hanako-kun Chapter 12: The 4pm Bookstacks (Part 2)

Previously: Yashiro and the suspicious girl (yes, I’m gonna keep calling her that until we learn her name) met for the first time. Her suspicion levels rose to even greater heights since she seems not only to know about Hanako (and the other mysteries) but also she seemed to imply that there’s possibly another little ghost boy going around? Which made me ask a lot questions last chapter, and apparently they will be answered in due time, so I won’t repeat those here. Anyway, following her advice, Yashiro and Kou ventured into the 4pm Bookstacks a.k,a. the fifth mystery of the school to hopefully learn more about Hanako. And Yashiro did find some details but the big terrifying butterfly monsters in that boundary made their little expedition come to an unexpected end. Thankfully, Hanako and...Tsuchigomori, yes, that was his name, appeared just in time to get rid of the two big butterfly Yashiro and Kou look-alikes. Tsuchigomori really wasn’t pleased with the state the kids left the bookstacks in sooo..... we’ll see what happens.

Now onto the next chapter!

Ohhhhh we’re starting with a colour page of the last portion of last chapter! It’s so gorgeous and btw one of the main things that caught my attention when I saw the anime screenshots was the art style and the colouring. And I gotta say, the manga really doesn’t dissapoint, it’s so beautiful.

Okay, so onto the actual chapter and....

I legit had to go check how the last chapter ended again because I thought I was forgetting something but no. It seems like we’re starting after a little timeskip and Tsuchigomori wants Yashiro to say something?

Ah, here’s narrator Yashiro again. And I just

There’s so much going on here. Hanako cheering with the fans, the little “shame” sign above her head, the “(working title)” gag, and omg the little radishes with the microphones pffft I can’t. This manga really is something else.

But yes, Yashiro is recapping what happened between the end of the last chapter and the start of this one.

Kou mentions that he can’t believe that one of their teacher’s is not actually human and yeah, finding out someone you interact with almost every day is actually a supernatural being must be quite a shock. huh? But! Tsuchigomori says that it’s more common than one would think

Huh. When he puts it like that, I can see his point. I mean, there must be an array of supernaturals that aren’t necessarily bound to a place and they might not want to live in hidding. If they can blend in with the humans and live semi-normal lives, then why not do it? Also, being able to influence your own rumors makes a lot of sense, that way you would be able to stop them if they got too out of hand. But also

................well, now that he’s said that, I’m 90% sure that one of them will end up being a supernatural. Because come on, it would make the plot more exciting.

Yashiro brings up a good point: that could be dangerous, but Hanako says that they shouldn’t worry since that’s what the mysteries are here for and I just 

There’s something so funny about this panels. Like, the contrast between Hanako’s cheery disposition and Tsugochimori and Yako’s just overall “done” aura it’s just great. 

It just keeps getting better pffffft Yeah, idk if that’s the best way to describe their group. “Emo spider” made me giggle more than it probably should have

............Yes, the leader thing is clearly true. And I talked about it during last chapter, but I really wonder if he’s the “boss” because he’s the most powerful one of the bunch and because his task is to take care of not only the random apparitions but also the mysteries themselves (like with what happened with Yako). Also jfc sometimes I forget how scary Hanako can get

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh we have a clearer picture of the mysteries!!! Okay so we have Hanako, Yako and Tsuchigomori highlighted since we have met them already. Then we have another three: I had noticed the girl and the mirror before but this confirms that they are two different mysteries; then there’s a clocked figure....that I know it’s facing away from us but my brain just keeps seeing it as a big bug that has huge bulging eyes and almost human teeth and I hate it. But this is just showing six right now, yes? There’s one missing? (EDIT: Oh, I think I see it now, there’s a separate silhouette between Yako and the bug man, right?)

But anyway!! the important point is here is that apparently they think there’s a traitor among them. And they think this traitor has tied their fate to a human and they’re using this human as a way to alter the rumors around the school. So the human would be the suspicious girl because we know that she’s been spreading rumors. And if that’s the case, then this possibility about the “other Hanako” being the traitor would also be high. Because, come on, the drama would unbelievable

Ohhhhhh that’s interesting. So the reason they think that one of the seven is behind this is because only a powerful supernatural would be able to change the rumors in a way that would actually affect another one of the seven mysteries. And I was right to a point: there meeting was indeed about the changes in the rumors.

...........oh. I mean, I guess that would get rid of the problem. But I really need to know what that would entail. Because it obviously isn’t permanent if he says it’s only “for a while”. Like, would it involve doing something like what they did with Yako? Because Hanako had said that she had to “return her number” or something of the sort when he fought her, right? And she has less power than she had before, too, right?

Ah, okay. The next page confirms that yes, that’s exactly the case. And because of that, Hanako’s idea is to destroy all of the mysteries’ yorishiros before they even have a chance of going berserk. And I can see the value in doing that but like, what if the “traitor” isn’t, for some reason, actually part of the seven? Wouldn’t that leave them vulnerable?

And I agree with Tsuchigomori (side note: my brain always autocorrects his name to “tsugochimori” and I have to make a conscious effort to actually type his name the correct way why is this so hard for me). It does seem like quite a rash plan to put into action, even if they can reappoint the mysteries later on. Then again, I understand why Hanako wants to avoid pissing Teru off because we know how that went and... yikes

Pffffft this face made me laugh so much, it reminds me of one of my favourite Tanjirou faces.

^this one

Also ngl my heart stopped for a second when he said “no” because I thought it would lead to a fight but then I scrolled down so thankfully that’s not the case.

.................. *looks up echinococcus*: any of a number of tapeworms of the genus Echinococcus whose larvae are parasitic in humans and domestic animals. 

Omfg by e that’s harsh but also so nerdy. Yako’s response is both appropriate and incredibly over the top at the same time. I really like their dynamic so far

Ohhh okay. Tsuchigomori says that he’s a supernatural who craves knowledge, and if they’re gonna destroy his yorishiro and temporarily take away his boundry, then he wants information that would be valuable enough as compensation. And, okay, I now see what the beginning of the chapter was about.

Ah, he says that he will still let Yashiro destroy his Yorishiro even if they don’t tell him anything, but he says that if they don’t, then he will broadcast their most embarrassing secrets to the school. That.......that would do it, yeah, I completely understand why Yashiro was so willing to talk at the beginning. That would be a nightmare jfc

.............still kinda hot ngl

Btw I love that this is drawn as a fighting game, it’s so cute.

Yashiro gives it a shot but Tsuchigomori is not impressed. 

(Side note but Hanako’s reaction just gives me life:

He doesn’t even try to hide his jelousy, does he?)

Omg he’s reading the one of the letters she “exchanged” with Teru and omfg Tsuchigomori stop she’s already dead

Okay now it’s Kou’s turn. Good luck, sweet child. It’s probably something really pure

...........Baby boy, bless him

Both of them are getting fired up and spitting out their secrets and they’re such small and dumb secrets, bless their little hearts

Ohhh and Kou is appealing to what’s probably their last resort: asking Hanako to spill any secret he might have (there are probably a lot of secrets, my instincs tell me Hanako’s secrets probably have secrets)

Oh? What’s this we have here? Those looks scream shared history. Well, I guess that Tsuchigomori could have read Hanako’s book since that’s part of his boundary. It would make sense for him to have read it. But idk, I feel like there’s something more to it that I can’t quite put my finger on. Like, why would he say “enough”? Because he’s read Yashiro’s book and he still wanted to know more. What makes Hanako different?

ಥ‿ಥ

and

ಥ‿ಥ ಥ‿ಥ ಥ‿ಥ 

They’re so freaking cute I can’t deal with it omg Also look at Hanako’s surprised face! The NeneKou combo is too pure to resist

.......................................................of all the things I could have expected, this was not one of them. I- why is that so wholesome, though?? like, it’s really silly but also no one gave this child the right to be so freaking adorable (EDIT: also, is this gonna be relevant to the chapter title “donuts”? is Hanako gonna get some yummy donuts? I would honestly be okay with a chapter that centered around that. let the baby have his donuts)

“Are you both morons?” Yes, Tsuchigomori, they are. geez, I thought you had read their books, you should know by now. But also give them so leeway, they’re excited to learn more about their ghost friend. Like seriously

Look at them, they’re so happy together, even Hanako has what seems to be a genuine smile. And by that comment I’m guessing that Tsuchigomori noticed that, as well

Hmmm. Okay, two things: 1) so Tsuchigomori did read Hanako’s book and knows everything about his life 2) the fact that, knowing everything about him, he believed that Hanako wouldn’t want to create any new friendships AND the fact that this kinda implies imo that he hasn’t seen Hanako making that kinda gentle expression before is all just. really sad and it makes my heart hurt

 Anyway, sad thoughts aside, spiderman here tells them their time is up because their secrets are so ridiculously dumb that they’re not worth discussing.

Why is he so fucking weird? and why do I kinda fucking love him already??

This man just keeps earning more and more points in my book

But yeah, he says that he’s not gonna broadcast their secrets since he was (kinda) joking and he did end up seeing something interesting after all. In the end, he agrees to take them to his yorishiro! Yaaay!

RJ’s notes Part 45 by Linda Taglieri

SOURCE

The Pattern is part of the order that the Creator imposed on chaos in the act of Creation. According to Jordan’s notes, there are two levels, of which the Pattern of Ages is the greater. It is the all-encompassing Pattern of all that has happened, is happening and will happen. The lesser Pattern, the Pattern of Days, is more changeable, being woven by living things, yet still has an order imposed by the Creator. The changes in the Pattern of Days are a major part of the differences in each Age compared to when it previously came around and when it will come around the next time. The majority of people think of events as being fated or woven in the Pattern and accept, or are resigned to, these as foreordained. Some people are not accepting of their place in the Pattern: Ishamael became utterly world-weary to the extent of trying to end the world, and Rand objected to both being the Dragon and the cycling of the Ages due to the suffering he endured. However, not all events are fated, although no one knows which ones are.

Ages repeat, like the spokes coming around again. Each time an Age repeats it is the same in great things, but different in smaller ones, as two huge tapestries, when seen from a distance, appear identical, but when seen close up show differences of detail. This is because individuals have free will, but only within the flow of time set by the Creator—the flow that is the Great Serpent, the Serpent That Eats Its Own Tail. (Note: these details can be what seem to humankind as quite large events. Free will is quite far ranging, and such things as wars, or even the way an Age ends, are not fore-ordained.) As one character will say “We are the stuff of legends for Ages to come, and they in turn are the stuff of our own legends.”

“We shall be the legends of the next Age, and the myth of the Age after that and they in turn are our own myths.”

Free will means though that they may be kind or hard, good or evil. You must guide your behaviour and take responsibility for it; predestination does not work that strongly on individuals.

The Wheel puts the threads where it wills, and the truth of what happened is hidden in the Pattern beyond the hope of mortal eyes to see.

“The First Age ended when fire rained from the heavens. The flesh of men melted, and those who did not melt were charred like coals. Plagues, boils and sores roamed the world and famine, yet to eat or drink often meant death, for waters and fruits that once were wholesome now slew at the eating. Even the air or the dust could slay. The wind could bring death. Rivers filled with dead fish and birds fell from the sky. Invisible vapours from the land that slew. Noxious fumes that corroded men’s flesh.

Man stretched forth his hands to the heavens, and seized the stars, and called them his own. For his presumption man was purged of his greatness, purged of knowledge and abilities, reduced to an animal to begin again the climb to the Light…”

“Acceptance at last of the burdens of responsibility; that men must not depend on gods or spirits for salvation, but find it in themselves; that men and women alone are incomplete parts of a whole; that free will is a necessary part of humanity; that evil cannot be destroyed any more than can good; that the possibility of evil is as necessary for free will to exist, and thus for humanity to be human, as is the possibility of good.”

Uncovering Fables

Intermission 1.1

[Scrolls are an important way to keep our history and the events we go through in our minds. Our past is important and it gives lessons to learn so we can improve our future and not repeat the same mistakes. But sadly, we may not get the entire past. Does this mean we don’t learn from it or should we take the fact that something is missing as a lesson in itself?

The scrolls before our young adventurers is covered in blood and a green substance. At first the handwritten Japanese symbols on it is neat but as the story we are now reading continues the handwriting becomes more shaken and panicked.

This is the story of an unhumble and disobedient servant.] 

I accomplished something grand for my people today. 

It almost feels unreal that my research has been funded by our great emperor. Since childhood, my parents have pushed me study and cherish knowledge. I have obeyed their wishes and I continued in school even when my selfish mind wanted me to stop. Thankfully, I did not as I remembered that I must continue the legacy of our wonderful bloodline. It is full of great scholars that I can never live up to but hopefully just a small part of what I do for them will be remembered.

Still, it has taken several years of classes and dedication to my empire to accomplish just the funding of the research but the great emperor himself approved of it. Thinking back to my meeting with him, my heart was racing and as my knees landed onto the ground to bow to him, his presence overwhelmed me. His words felt like soft honey and the peaceful tweeting of birds. His wisdom overtook my senses and I wanted nothing more but to please him. 

I presented the idea of how we should do more study on the waters that surround our great island. If our people are to become more powerful and stronger then we should take advantage of what has been given to us. 

But then I almost felt our world freeze when the emperor stared at me after I explained this. He asked about the life and beauty of nature surrounding us and what I planned to do with it. Did I plan on upsetting the gods that have generously gave us the plants and animals? Did I plan to anger the spirits of this world by disrupting their home and destroying their lives? If I did that, then all I was asking for was the world attacking me and my people.

The denial on his face was clear and I quickly promised to him and to my ancestors that I would not harm any creatures or their homes as I did this research. By some miracle, this pleased him. He agreed to let me travel with a group of samurais who were traveling to a nearby island to do some business that I was unaware of.

I thanked the emperor as I kissed his feet. He has given an opportunity of a life time and I will not let him or our people down. I am grateful for this chance and I promise that our people will grow because of this.

Thank you, my great emperor.

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Soon enough, I gave the news to my wife. A wide smile spread across her face and she hugged me, thanking the great emperor for this happy day. I embraced my love and whispered to her how greatest will continue in our family. To celebrate this great day, we had a giant feast and went to see a play afterwards. The play warned us about the selfish demons inside us and how they can bring the collapse to a great city. I can’t help but praise my ancestors that they have taught me to be better then the selfish man in the play.

We then walked along the edge of the lake near our home. I glanced over at my wife and the smile on her face brightened our great day even more. I will make her and my people even greater soon. She will have a good life.

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Today we embark on the journey to the small island where I will be conducting my research. We will be traveling for a few days on a ship that is smaller than the usual ones. This way the journey will be faster. As I step up onto the deck this morning, I examined the beauty of the sails the careful craftsmanship of the boat. Soon, we started sailing and I walked to the front, placing my hand on the railing and feeling the breeze blow through my hair. Looking down at the crashing waves below, a small smile spread across my face.

I hid this from the crew members that worked on deck behind me and I did my best to keep a serious face as I pretended to take a water sample.

Looking out into the waters, I felt something touch my shoulder as a soft hum could be heard in my ears. I softly sang along with the song without noticing what I was doing until it was too late. The song sounded familiar. Almost like a melody that would help a child fall to sleep after the scares of a storm. 

My heart filled with joy as I quickly looked around, expecting someone to be standing by me— someone that I haven’t seen in years.

The word, “Mom?...” quietly slipped out of my mouth.

Nothing like this has ever occurred during my lifetime and nothing else like this occurred in the hours that followed but I have still been thinking about it all day. As I sit in my cabin on the ship, I am alone. I am thinking about this and I can’t help but wonder if this is a sign. Maybe someone is trying to tell me that I am doing good. That this is what I am meant to do to build our empire. 

Why else would my ancestors come to me in this way? Why else would they send me a guardian in my own mother? My spirits lift as I know that I will successes in making my people grander. No one can stop me with the discovers that I shall make.

I…

 It is strange to write ‘I’ like that. Everything that one does is for their country. One cannot afford to be selfish but… A spirit is following me on my journey. Does that mean that I am somehow special? That my research is important that my ancestors themselves come to protect me? Whatever I was going to accomplish must be great. I shall be great and maybe even the emperor himself will bow down at my feet.

I’m currently smiling at this thought but I need to stop. This will only lead to selfishness and personal pleasures. I need to remove these thoughts for my head and remember that I am here to help my people. Not myself. 

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We had arrived at the island. It is small with a beautiful forest in the center of the land mass and sandy beaches run along the edges of the land. One side of the island raises above over the ocean and its rocky cliffs can be clearly seen from where our ship docked in the distance. 

I was one of the last people to leave the ship and get onto the island using our small canoe for they seemed to be more important. The trip to the island was nothing special but once we walked towards base, I couldn’t help but be in awe of what I saw. In the middle of the island was a hidden entrance to an underground cave that has been made years ago. 

First, we entered a huge and long hallway and I spin around to get a better view of the area. The long tunnel held many doors that lead to rooms for cooking, worshipping and other necessities that the people here needed. Other doors lead to dorms for the people to sleep in and when I asked where my room was, I was told that is was the furthest away from where the important work being held. I was taken aback by the selfish nature of my guide. We were all here for a reason— To improve our people. Why would he think so little of me?

In fact, why did no one see that I was here for a reason? Were they all too busy with their own work? If that was the case, there wasn’t a lot to do on the ship so why did they not speak to me there? These questions still linger in my head.

I was led out of the living quarters where we entered a large cave where nothing has been built and nothing has been disturbed. Leftwards to the door that we walked out of was two other hallways— the middle was where the samurais would train and make plans. I was strictly told that I was not allowed in there. Instead we strolled through the third door and we walked down a long hallway. And soon enough, I found my lab.

There was a few tables and a mat in the corner. And that was it. It was fairly empty and if I didn’t bring my own supplies then I would have been worried for how I would do my work?

I turned to my guide and was about to thank him but he was already gone, probably to the living quarters. I softly sighed and looked around my lab and knew that this is where I was going to live for the next few months.

I was going to be alone so I better get to work. 

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I was right with being alone. I have done most of my work alone as I sit in this lab and every few days, people will only check up on me. Sadly, I only think this is too see if I wasn’t dead. The emperor himself has funded my project so why am I not treated as important as the others here?

That doesn’t matter right now. I need to stop asking these questions and go back to my studies.

I have been doing studies on the ocean for a few weeks now but I haven’t encountered anything special. If I am going to do anything with what the emperor has given me, I need to leave this empty island, which I will do soon. I have finally convinced one of the people here to let me use the tug boat and ride out further into the sea. I have packed a meal and plan to be out all day. I will write if anything of interest is found. 

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I come back with delightful news even if a strong wave almost sunk the boat. The further I went out into the waters the rougher they became as I heard a roar in the distance. If anyone had came with me, they would have told me to sail back to the island, that I was invading on the foreign spirits’ land and that I was angering them.

I almost decided to head back when the boat almost flipped over.

But I couldn’t go back now. I couldn’t when I soon saw the soothing waters in the distance and soon, I made it there. I breathed out and took in my surroundings of the sea. That was when something poked out of the water in the distance. Was that a tail? I needed to know so I continued sailing forward.

And what I saw next amazed me. I couldn’t get a clear look but I could see something beautiful in the waters below. The fishes below had their own community of colors structures and rocks. They lived in unison and none of them seemed to be in danger. It was peaceful and nice.

I think I have discovered something great and I need to look further into this.

But how? There is no equipment for me to get into the waters to swim or a way for me to get a closer look at the beautiful city.

There is also the promise that I have made to my emperor. I would not harm or disrupt any nature and animals. This frustrates me because I am so close to finding something breathtaking for our people yet so far from getting it. I will find a way to get there. I already have a few ideas and I will test them tomorrow. 

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Failure.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Negative. 

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Another Failure. 

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[This goes on for a dozen more times. The handwriting becomes shakier and tear stains can be seen on the strolls as the words of disappointment continue]

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I have done something terrible. I have accidently broken my oath to the emperor and now I am staring at a broken piece of a colorful rock on my table. I have broken a piece of the fishes’ home and I am expecting something to hurt or punish me but nothing is. The wait is killing me more than anything.

My heart is racing as I pick up the stone and examine the smoothness of it. What have I done? How can I face my emperor now that I have broken the oath? How many spirits would be after us now that I have done this? Is everyone in danger now? Will every death and injury that the others encounter from now on be my fault? I didn’t see why not. 

What was I supposed to do now? How do I make this up to my emperor, my ancestors and to the gods? Do I sacrifice myself in order to save the others? Would my blood satisfy them?

Just the thought makes my skin go pale but I would do anything for my people, right? But why would I consider that as one of my first options when I could attempt to return the stone? Right? That was always something that I could do…

Realizing this, I need to sit down and consider all my options. I need to think through this clearly. There must be more that I can do other than the worse. I shall return at night with a clear head. 

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After my pervious fears of what nature was going to do to us, I still decided to fish to think. Everyone around me sticks to the cave during this time of day so it was better to find a place where I could be alone to think. I made my way onto the surface and at the edge of the cliffs, sat underneath a tree. This was where I casted my line to catch my dinner for the evening.

This is where I considered all of my options.

Drawing a shaky breath, I looked at into the horizon and thought that I should try to return the stone back to where it came from. Maybe then, the spirits will take pity on me. They may forget everything that I have done to them. I hoped.

As I continued watching the horizon, I noticed the tail poking out of the water again. Was I not crazy the first time I thought I say a creature like this? I hugged my fishing pull tightly as I watched this animal swimming through the waters and something tugged at my soul. I had a feeling that no one had ever a creature like that before. If only I can see it closer up but why would the gods bless me with such a sight when they are already angry with me.

Suddenly, a pull could be felt on my fishing line and I quickly tightened my grasp on it. Holding my breath and trying my best not to fall off the cliff, soon enough, I pulled the fishing line in and the biggest fish I have ever caught was on the line. I was going to eat well tonight.

But this didn’t make sense.

If the gods were mad at me then why would they give me such a pleasant meal for tonight? Why would they give me the energy like this when they could have sent a tiny fish near my way? Or even no fish at all.

Was this another sign?

As the wind blew around me, I heard the soft hums of a childhood song again and I breathed in. This was a sign. Did I really not angry the gods at all? Was I safe? 

A small smile spread across my face as I slowly became relieved. The gods weren’t mad at me. In fact, I must be doing something right if they gave me this. And if that was the case, did they want me to go into the waters and disturbed the land after all?

And there was that tail again, appearing in the water beyond. Why did it keep appearing? Was this another sign too or was I just think too deeply? No, I couldn’t be. And even if I was, I couldn’t ask anyone else here what they thought. They always ignored me, and didn’t believe that I was supposed to be here with them.

Well, I’ll show them. After all, I have my ancestors behind me and guiding me to my destiny. I am going to show them who is really important here. The gods have given me a sign to show just how important I really am and soon they won’t have a choice but to know that I am the important one here.

 I glanced back into the sea and watched the creature swim peacefully in the waters.

And the first thing I was going to do was get that creature.  

Next 

Pervious

First 

All 32 Memorable Scenes from Avengers: Endgame, Ranked (because to leave out even one would do this movie a disservice)

Before we begin, I wish to make three disclaimers:

Literally ALL THE SPOILERS AHEAD, so go see it first. Seriously. It’s fantastic. It’s greater than the sum of all 22 of its parts. It’s a three hour movie that doesn’t feel too long. It’s funny, heart-wrenching, thrilling, and the pay-off we all deserve. I cannot say enough good things about it. Faith restored.

Despite how critical I sound, I didn’t HATE any of these moments. Some just worked better than others.

I had to go to the bathroom three times, so if I’m missing an amazing scene, please let me know in the comments.

And now, without further ado, every moment from this epic epic, ranked from “worst” to best.

32) Hawkeye for an Eye- Clint going on a faceless-villain killing spree after his family dies is stupidly cliche

31) One too many Cap Speeches- I hope you like your films like you like your pizza: warm and cheesy.

30) Come and Get Your Concussion- Knocking out Quill to pre-steal the power stone was just kinda funny

29) Bruce Rolls a Natural 20- Convincing the Ancient One to hand over the Time Stone felt a little too easy.

28) Picnic Panic- Watching Clint lose his family was rough, but the mom dutifully serving lunch felt cringe

27) Hulk Snaps- While I enjoyed the suspense/uncertainty that follows this moment, it’s weird that a finger snap is actually required to activate the stones powers, except all the times in the movie when it’s not

26) Iron Man Snaps- For such a hugely important moment, the “I am Iron Man” line felt eye-rollingly forced

25) Time Heist is Botched when Loki AGAIN Steals the Tesseract- What a wascally wabbit. You could practically hear the Benny Hill theme in this scene

24) Nebula Shoots Herself- I feel like the “evil” Nebula went down way too easy for the sake of pacing

23) Thor Goes for the Head- Aside from a clever moment in which you think Thanos is altering reality to defend himself but it’s really the Hulk Buster breaking through the floor, this scene is underwhelming

22) My Self-Righteous Suicide- The cliffs of Vormir is a great motif, but wondering which of the two most insignificant Avengers would successfully kill themselves lacked the punch it should have had.

21) Thor Abides- it’s nice that Valkyrie gets crowned the “king” and all, but the new role feels out of character

20) Tony and the Intergalactic Facetime- Paper football is cute, and Tony’s goodbye felt appropriately emotional

19) Iron Dad- this film’s packed to the brim with father/daughter moments, but “Love You 3000” is a good one

18) Let Me Guess, He Turned into a Baby- who doesn’t love a “working out the kinks” tech montage?

17) Scott Reconnects with Cassie- Checking the wall of the dead, and finding her alive? Instant tears

16) America’s Ass- Cap fighting his past self wasn’t surreal enough to stop him from ogling his own butt. Nice.

15) Tony Invents Time Travel- It had been way too long since we had a “Tony does his homework” montage.

14) Every Time Brie Larson entered the shot like a literal shooting star- I will never get tired of her entrances, especially sporting her new do.

13) The Funeral- The Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart is also proof that we love RDJ even more than we realized

12) That 70’s Show- Giving Tony the father/son talk he always deserved/needed was touching, and Steve’s creepy Jim Halpert impersonation sets the movie up for that incredible final shot

11) Passing the Torch/Shield- Old Cap made me so happy, but passing the mantle to Sam? Even happier. Hope it made racists everywhere uncomfortable

10) Emaciated, Stir Crazy Tony DESTROYS Boy Scout Steve Upon Reunion- Were we really expecting a hug?

9) Professor Hulk Takes a Seflie with Fans at a Diner- the precise moment I knew this movie would rock

8) The Taco- I had a very lousy Monday, but still laughed on three separate occasions when I remembered this masterpiece of silent slapstick.

7) Thor Handles His Mommy Issues- you know a movie’s good when it retroactively redeems DARK WORLD.

6) Elevator Redux- Everything about this scene. The tension. The parallelism. The way Steve defeats the entire platoon with a single, sly “Hail Hydra” is both really smart writing and a nod to fans of the comics & films.

5) The Future is Female- suspend your disbelief and realize that this gorgeous, empowering team-up moment is a giant middle finger to all the dude bros who review bombed Captain Marvel. Plus, there’s a freakin’ pegasus.

4) Cap Proves He’s Worthy- the most thrilling, shocking, satisfying, and important fight in the whole film. My whole theater got chills.

3) Thor Really Lets Himself Go- Fat shaming aside, seeing Thor bicker with kids on Xbox Live and belligerently request a Blood Mary is yet another believable, endearing, & hilarious reinvention of the character. The only thing that would have made it better would have been the addition of Darryl as a third flatmate.

2)The Gang’s All Here- I never thought they could pull it off, but when the resurrected heroes, all several thousand of them, return from the dead to fight Thanos’ army, it ACTUALLY felt surprising, moving, and most importantly, earned. Spider-Man’s instant kill. Black Panther emerging from the Lion King sunrise. That look on Hope’s face. IT’S ALL SO DAMN GOOD!!!

1)The Dance- Maybe it’s because I’ve always been Team Cap, but what a perfect way to close a perfect film. I cried tears of pure joy.