#time to fade into obscurity & become a hermit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

calebwittebane · 8 months

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im not gonna lie, there are people i follow who often make posts that are preddy funny and who often have good opinions, but whom i find unpleasant and annoying and generally unkind, and whom i kind of really hate. its not a hatefollow because i do enjoy many of their posts but i hate them as people and anytime something mildly bad happens to them im like LOL :).

thankfully i am not mutuals with them because if that were the case, the close proximity would cause their body to be affected by that hatred, even if they werent aware of it, or knew but didnt care. but the malice would slowly poison and ruin them, and they would start to become sick. they would feel as though someone had been adding antifreeze to their food and drinks. ethylene glycol and so on and so forth. but they wouldnt make the connection between the illness and the malice of mine that they were being afflicted by. their hair would begin to fall out in clumps, they would experience light-headedness and nausea and increased body stench, they would begin to regularly experience sleep paralysis, they would see mysterious red marks on their skin that would quickly fade away.

unable to think of their condition as anything other than them being infested with demons, and consumed by fear and desperation, they would eventually turn to some real out there pseudoscientific woo Soul And Body Healing bullshit peddled by a guy with a youtube channel and a popular tiktok account. they would purchase tons and tons of his supplements and read all his books, and become invested in the belief system to a shocking degree, still tormented by the disease. all the fans followers friends family and folks at home would have a hard time recognizing them at this point. 'what happened to the goodposter we knew and loved?', they would ask, and ultimately all distance themselves from them one by one.

already holding a new propensity for conspiracy theories, the blogger would take this as a sign that the fools were all simply threatened by their recently mastered forbidden wisdom, and fall deeper into the rabbit hole of fringe internet spirituality. they would eventually become an obscure type of flat earther, believing in an astronomical model so strange that other flat earther would scoff at them and accuse them of making them look unserious.

a viral video would emerge of the blogger approaching some young people in the street, vigorously lecturing them about the mobius strip earth, with the sun being a round hole carved in an enormous egg made of black obsidian that we are all trapped within that shields us from the brilliant divine glow the rest of the universe is bathed in. supposedly, humanity had shattered the egg before, freeing the earth from its prison, however an unhealthy diet (containing dairy and plant oils) causes humans to emit invisible particles that float up into the atmosphere and above, where they solidify into the obsidian shell. many commenters would point out the tshirt the blogger was wearing, depicting an absurdly muscular man breaking out of the obsidian egg, with text above saying "W.H.A.T.: We Hatch Again Together".

humiliated and scorned, the blogger would make the decision to abandon their brethren at least for some time, and retreat into solitude deep in the woods. they would sustain themselves on acorns, the youtube guy supplements, and whatever birds and rodents they managed to find. no longer in close online proximity to me (and no longer online in general), they would quickly start to recover from their illness, and (not incorrectly) attribute that improvement to their hermit lifestyle far away from those poisoned by dairy and plant oils.

one day, a bear would attack them. against all odds, newly full of vigor and powered by years of pent up anger, they would emerge victorious from the encounter. they would skin the bear and start wearing its pelt like a fursuit, giving them the appearance of a somewhat deflated bear with eerily human movements. emboldened by this experience, they would make the decision to return to their preaching, and travel from the wilderness to the nearest populated area.

having arrived in a small town, still wearing their hard-earned fursuit, they would cause widespread panic. not sure how to approach the issue just yet, and weighing the possibility of leaning into the bear thing regardless to add some extra dramatic flair to their sermons, they would walk into a convenience store to get some soda. the cashier would immediately flee and call 911 from a safe distance, reporting a horribly fucked up bear casually strolling into the building, so even if the blogger had any money, they would not be able to pay for the soda, absolving them of this responsibility.

they would take a generous sip of the cold refreshing soda they had so dearly missed during their time in the wilderness. unfortunately, the effervescent sugary drink would unexpectedly interact with the supplements and acorns still in their system, causing a violent chemical reaction. the energy released as the byproduct of said reaction would be so great, it would cause their body to disintegrate in a burst of blinding orange light.

as their body faded away, they would smile serenely, knowing that although they did not manage to convince everyone they had spoken to, they had sown the seeds of knowledge among them, and that even the arrogant nonbelievers would eventually start seeing the signs. there is hope for humanity, that it would one day break out of the obsidian shell, and regain the long-lost enlightenment and magic. they would feel that they have done well.

some time would pass absently--seconds or centuries, one could not tell. to their shock, they would realize that their consciousness has not been extinguished by death. suspended in endless void, they would try to scream, yet their efforts would be in vain.

then, another change would occur--they would begin to experience a tingling sensation, seemingly psychological rather than physical. cell by cell, they would regain a physical form, and their senses would all at once return to them as they awakened. their surroundings would snap into focus. they would be surrounded by otherworldly tall green structures, curved and swaying lightly. their field of view would span 360° on every axis, their eyes situated on flexible stalks. they would then realize--they have been reborn as a slug.

all because they had roamed too close to the powerful confident beautiful gentle unemployed brown-eyed bloggeress whose righteous ire they had earned despite her peaceful nature. all because they did not heed the signs. by then they would have learnt their lesson, but by the time they earned another lifespan as a human, the internet would be no more, replaced by a mass malfunction of amazon brain chips giving those affected constant visions of various ai generated rule34 pictures of the hex maniac that jeff bezos had saved on his hard drive at the time the disaster struck

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akechi-stole-my-heart · 1 year

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🍔

murder bfs au tag

Much like in canon, Makoto has been spying on the Thieves at Principal Kobayakawa's orders. She targets Haru as one of her suspects and tries questioning her, but she ends up invited out to tea instead. Haru and Makoto have tea together, and Makoto realizes that she must have the wrong person as her target and confesses she was suspecting Haru as a Phantom Thief. She apologizes for assuming something so terrible, and Haru says with a wide smile, "Oh! But I am a Phantom Thief! And say, I've been having a problem as of late, and perhaps you could help me with it." And Haru proceeds to drag Makoto to Mementos.

Haru explains her problem with being underpowered, and needing more power to keep leading the Phantom Thieves. Makoto is intelligent, so maybe she knows what she should do. Makoto, wondering if this is all some kind of prank, halfheartedly offers that returning to the place she first got her powers might help. Haru exclaims in delight that she must be right, and drags Makoto to Okumura's Palace.

In Okumura's Palace, Haru fails to Awaken to her powers fully and is defeated by the shadows. Shadow Okumura offers Makoto a position of power and promises to spare Haru if she simply steps in line. Instead, Makoto Awakens to her powers to protect Haru. It is Extremely Gay of her. Makoto and Haru barely escape with their lives. Haru feels guilty afterwards for endangering them both, but Makoto says that she owes Haru for making her realize her mistake in letting adults manipulate her. Haru insists on helping Makoto anyway, and Makoto admits there is a problem she's been having lately with a crime syndicate that has been targeting the students at Shujin. But when she looks up information online about it, she finds out that Kaneshiro is dead, and the rest of his syndicate is in shambles.

(With Akira's help, Akechi has been able to target many more people much more quickly, including Kaneshiro, who was becoming a problem to Shido by hoarding money Shido believed was rightfully his. Akira is the one to kill Kaneshiro himself.)

Makoto insists they prioritize Haru's situation above all else, and so the Thieves work together to change Okumura's heart. Haru's marriage to her fiance has been moved up because her father has sensed her rebellion and wants her completely under his control, and so they race against the clock to free Haru before it is too late. Haru finally fully Awakens to her powers, and she and Makoto become the Thieves' gay moms.

Unfortunately for everyone, Akira and Akechi are up to their own gay shenanigans. The two of them forge a plan in Leblanc while no one else is there to overhear them. Since Akira has been spying on the Thieves he knows they are planning to target Okumura next. Okumura is already a target of Shido's, since he's been abusing his Black Mask privileges and is becoming a threat to Shido himself. So, Akechi will kill Okumura, which will scare the Thieves off from changing any more hearts. The public will turn against them, and the Thieves will fade into obscurity, no longer a threat to Shido. They'll kill two birds with one stone.

Akira is uncertain--he doesn't want to kill Haru's father--but he knows this is the only way to save them. So he volunteers to kill Okumura himself, because if he's going to agree to this, he is going to bear the brunt of the moral burden himself or he can't justify it. And when the time finally comes, Akira kills Okumura's Shadow.

The plan goes perfectly. The public turns against the Thieves. Having only successfully changed two hearts at this point and without Akira's guidance, the Thieves believe they are at fault and they stop changing hearts--they even stop venturing into Mementos for smaller targets. At first, it seems like everything has gone according to plan. The Thieves are history, and Shido is--temporarily--happy.

But, of course, none of that is destined to last, as there is a certain gremlin hermit that overheard the truth who is desperate for her own change of heart.

#akeshu #shuake #okujima #murder bfs au #sera answers #anon

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dead-man-in-the-grave · 1 year

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Season Switch (Really Just Means Floating In The Void For Months On End)

(Cross-posted on AO3)

part one | part two | part three | part four (you are here)

It's the end of the world.

All the Hermits' builds, their animals, their farms… the bases and shops and everything that's been done, all the impossibilities that had become possible with some redstone and spite…

Grian's Midnight Alley that he never got to finish the back of…

Scar's Swaggon that would certainly have even more wagons if he'd had the time to build them…

Mumbo's redstone machines that he'd spent hours upon hours tinkering with…

Impulse's factory that was almost completely empty on the inside…

Pearl's own tower, and her upside-down animals, and Padllama Co….

The Boatem Pole.

It was all gone, and it was all her fault.

She couldn't even reign in her powers for one whole season.

Could she get any more useless?

And even though she ruined their world, their hard work, their home… no one is mad at her.

No one has yelled. No one has glared. No one has disconnected her tethering cable and allowed her to drift off into the Void.

No one is mad, and Pearl doesn't understand.

She is the daughter of the Moon. She is a demigod. She's supposed to be better than this.

And yet, the Moon still fell from the sky.

She still failed.

…

Pearl wishes they would untether her; let her drift away, never to be seen again.

It'd be better that way.

Scar belts out the lyrics to Wellerman as loud as he can, clapping to the beat as he does. Mumbo and Impulse have joined in on his shenanigans, Mumbo hesitantly – almost shyly – and Impulse with reckless abandon. Grian rolls his eyes, but fails to hide his fond grin.

Pearl, though… hm.

Pearl seems bothered. Her knees are tucked up to her face, arms wrapped around her legs, and wings obscuring as much of her as they can. She's been like that ever since they jumped into the Void.

Scar knows the others have noticed, based on the worried looks they keep sending her, and they've also tried to snap her out of it. Nothing has worked so far, though.

The last lines of the song fade out, echoing out into the empty expanse around them.

It's quiet for a moment. A ringing makes itself known in Scar's ears.

"Are you actually done this time, or are you gonna start singing Drunken Sailor again?" Grian asks, arms folded over his chest, still smiling fondly. Scar laughs in turn.

"I could sing A Whole New World instead?"

"The last time you sung A Whole New World you dropped us both in the Boatem Hole."

"And what a fun time it was," Scar sighs wistfully.

He doesn't miss that, just on the edge of his vision, Pearl curls up tighter, tensing up.

But why?

She doesn't have reason to be tense at the mention of the Boatem Hole, at least, Scar didn't think so. Maybe something had happened near the end of the season relating to it…?

…

Wait.

The moon crashing into the server! That's why she's upset! She's a moon demigod, isn't she? She must think that the moon crashed because of her powers!

…Well, Scar has no evidence that it didn't. But in the event that it was her powers that had done it, he was sure it wasn't intentional, let alone malicious. It was obvious how guilty she felt from her disposition alone.

Scar decided he wouldn't let her feel guilty all on her own.

He just needed to figure out how to help…

Grian is worried about Pearl.

She's been… distant, lately.

Not physically distant, not at all - their tethering cables keep them connected even as they float through the endless darkness that is the Void - but emotionally distant.

Even when Scar went through what must've been his hundredth time singing one of the two sea shanties he knows, she didn't smile, or grimace, or emote at all. It was as though she turned into a brick wall.

Something is wrong.

Grian had tried talking to her. A few times, actually. The only result was her closing off more.

Does she still think that she's at fault? He thought they'd drilled it into her head that none of them blamed her for the whole moon thing. Maybe she's worried about what the other Hermits would think?

Grian shifts his wings, inadvertently pulling the sleeping forms of Scar and Mumbo closer, as they're using the feathery appendages as makeshift blankets. Impulse is also asleep on Scar's other side. And on the other side of Mumbo…

Pearl is curled into the same ball she has been for the past two weeks. Grian thinks she might also be asleep, but then again, the tense, coiled position her body is in would indicate otherwise.

Grian wants nothing more than to pull her out of the shell she's encased herself in, but she's been putting up one hell of a fight.

A sigh escapes Grian, and he wishes – not for the first time – that he could sleep while out in the Void. Something about his Watcher side absorbing energy from the endless expanse of nothing dashes any chance of him getting any shut-eye.

In contrast, the others are rarely fully conscious. Mumbo and Impulse have been asleep practically the whole time they've been out here, and Scar has been awake only about half the time.

And Pearl… well, she's barely interacted with anyone aside from a few nods and the occasional murmur, so Grian's not entirely sure how often she's slept.

Grian licks his dry, chapped lips, and swallows down the painful lump that had grown in his throat.

"Hey, Pearl?"

At the sound of his voice, she only ducks her head down impossibly farther. Every muscle he can see is tense. She says nothing back.

"...Nevermind."

Grian closes his eyes, and lets his mind wander.

Pearl lifts her head from her knees, stretching her sore muscles for what must have been the first time in days. Grian's eyes are closed, his head is tipped back in a facsimile of sleep. She knows he can't sleep out here, the Watcher in his blood wouldn't allow it.

He looks peaceful, she can't help but think, with (his friends? partners?) Mumbo and Scar wrapped in his multi-colour wings, drifting in the endless nothing.

She wonders, passingly, why he'd called out to her. What had he been going to say?

Was he finally going to get mad at her? Finally, was she going to be untethered from Mumbo and Impulse, allowed to float away like the garbage she's sure she is? Or would he have tried to lie, say that no one blamed her for her own mistake? Left her to wonder when the other shoe would drop?

Well, it's not like it matters, anyway.

She resolutely ignores the stinging behind her eyes. It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

She repeats it like a mantra.

It doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter.

She doesn't matter.

Pearl closes her eyes and feigns sleep, hoping that it would claim her soon.

She knew it wouldn't.

The Void is pretty boring, if Impulse is honest.

There's nothing to do but talk to the others and sleep, and sleeping all the time was getting dull.

There wasn't even any redstone for him to tinker with! How's he supposed to keep his hands occupied?

Mumbo seems to be feeling the lack of redstone just as much as himself, based on the way he's always wringing his hands together and looking stressed. Impulse has to catch himself from doing the same thing absentmindedly.

The only real source of entertainment is watching Mumbo and Grian blush and stutter whenever Scar decides to tell them they're cute completely unprompted. And even then, that's only when everyone is awake at the same time.

Impulse can't help feeling like a fourth wheel whenever that happens, though. The three of them are very cute together, of course, but when they all get caught up in their own little world together, Impulse ends up on his own.

Well, not completely on his own. There is Pearl.

He glances over at her, and like usual, she's got her head tucked against her knees, face hidden from view.

So, in other words, he's basically completely on his own.

He turns his attention to the three lovebirds and finds them, predictably, curled up together.

Grian's wings are wrapped around the other two, and he has one hand in Mumbo's hair. Mumbo himself is out cold, drooling a bit on the inside of his helmet where it rests on Grian's shoulder, and Scar is resting his folded arms on Grian's stomach as he blathers on about something inconsequential. He's kicking his legs back and forth in the air the way those high school girls in movies do.

They're good for each other.

Impulse shuts his eyes, and hopes that they'll be out of the Void soon.

"Um, guys?" Mumbo speaks up, staring off into the distance with furrowed brows. "I think I see something…"

There's a speck of… something, way off in the Void. Barely noticeable, but it was strange to see much of anything out here, so Mumbo had latched onto it, squinting and turning his head in an attempt to make sense of… whatever it was.

"What? Where?" Grian asks head swivelling around to try and spot it.

Mumbo points a finger between Scar and Impulse, who both turn and look in that direction as well. He even sees Pearl look up from the corner of his vision.

All five of them stare into the Void, searching for the thing – that looks somewhat like a star, now that Mumbo thinks about it.

It's green, or maybe blue? It's hard to tell, with how small it is, but it glitters and sparkles in the blackness like a lone star in the night sky.

"Well, what're we waiting for?" Scar pipes up. His wings sprout from his back, and he flaps them a few times. "We'll never know what it is if we don't get closer!" He flips around and starts flying toward the sparkle, pulling the rest of them along with him.

Mumbo catches Grian rolling his eyes before flying up next to Scar and pulling some of their weight himself.

As they fly closer, the sparkle gets bigger, and bigger, and bigger until Mumbo can clearly see green grass and trees, grey stone, and blue water and skies inside of it. Because it's not just a random sparkle…

It's a portal.

It's a portal back to the overworld!

The others also seem to realise what it is, because Impulse is grinning from ear to ear and Grian and Scar are flying them all at a breakneck pace directly at the portal.

Pearl, when he looks, has finally uncurled from her ball. She looks to be in shock, eyes not quite seeing.

At least she's not curled up like she was before.

Scar and Grian shoot through the portal, the rest of them careening through after them.

Gravity takes hold the moment they're out of the Void, the combined weight of Mumbo, Impulse, and Pearl weighing down the two fliers too much to stay airborne.

Boatem falls into a heap of bodies and wings and tethering cords onto the stone ground.

Mumbo ends up landing on top of Grian and Impulse, Pearl having landed on top of him, and Scar laying face down a short distance away. The space suits seemed to save them from most of the fall damage, but the now-unfamiliar weight of gravity made it hard to move.

"M-Mumbo…! I c- I can't breathe!" Grian wheezes somewhere beneath him. Mumbo gathers all the strength he can and rolls off Grian, making Pearl topple off him in the process.

They all lay there for a moment, reacclimating to the force of gravity.

Scar, still face-down, starts to giggle, and it doesn't take long for the rest of them to join in.

Even Pearl, who's been out of it since they entered the Void, lets out a wet chuckle or two.

Mumbo can't help but think they'll all be okay.

Grian is the first to stand. He disconnects the cords tethering him to Scar and himself, and then removes his helmet.

Impulse is next, cracking his back as he stands, and Mumbo follows suit.

"Uhm, guys? I don't think I can stand on my own," Scar says from where he's managed to roll onto his back and get his helmet off. His wings have disappeared and he's sprawled out on the stone in a way that just can't be comfortable.

Impulse, his helmet now removed as well, pulls Scar to his feet and allows himself to be used as support.

Mumbo detaches his own helmet from the rest of his spacesuit, and is instantly hit with what must be the freshest air he's breathed in forever. The way the spacesuits recycled air made it livable long-term, but it got stale fast.

He vows to never take fresh air for granted again.

"Wonderful of you guys to join us," a new, but familiar voice butts in.

Mumbo turns, and just a little ways up the stone hill is Xisuma. He's got his admin control panel open in front of him and is typing almost frantically. There are seven different portals open around him, just like the one he and the rest of Boatem had come through.

There are also several other hermits wandering about. Zedaph is pacing around and writing things on a clipboard (where he got that, Mumbo doesn't know), Ren, Doc, Keralis, and Iskall have begun deforesting the nearby birch forest, and Beef, Stress, and False are mining the exposed coal and copper from the stone hillside.

"You're the first ones to come through a portal," Xisuma says, "So at least I know that will work for everyone else as well."

As though on cue, Gem steps through one of the open portals, stumbling slightly, most likely unused to the much more powerful gravity here than on Season Eight.

"It's taking quite a bit out of me to generate the server, keep it stable, and keep all these portals open, though," X says, condensation fogging up his visor. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up."

"I can help," Grian, who had at some point made his way to Mumbo's side, pipes up. He makes his way over to X and his admin panel. "I've been an admin for three servers before, I know what I'm doing." Xisuma nods in thanks.

And that is the moment when Mumbo completely loses track of what's happening.

X slides the panel over to Grian, who, instead of typing like X had, he sticks his hands directly into it. The panel changes from glowing Xisuma's signature green to a purple similar to that of a nether portal.

X immediately slumps like the weight of the world was just lifted off his back – which is basically exactly what just happened, actually – and Grian's eyes start glowing the same purple as the panel.

"Who are we missing?" Grian eyes flitting back and forth, but looking at nothing.

Weird.

"Tango, Cleo, Joe, Wels, Cub, and Jevin. Everyone else is here already."

"Alright then, here we go…" The panel glows brighter than before. It hurts Mumbo's eyes, but he can't seem to look away.

And then, there's code on the panel, moving so fast Mumbo couldn't ever hope to read any of it, let alone understand it.

"Holy moly," Scar says, and Mumbo can't help but agree. Holy moly, indeed.

All at once, there are figures falling out of the portals. Every missing hermit Xisuma had mentioned were now there, in heaps on the ground.

"That's everyone, right?" Grian asks, sweat building on his brow. X, who'd been staring wide-eyed, snapped out of his stupor and nodded.

"That's everyone."

Grian rips his hands out of the admin panel, and it turns back to it's normal green and closes. His eyes stop glowing as well.

It's quiet.

"I think I'm gonna pass out now."

Xisuma manages to catch Grian before he hits the stone ground.

Grian knocks on the door of Pearl's starter base, wringing his hands together nervously.

It had been three days since they'd arrived in Season 9, or so he was told. He'd been unconscious the whole time, recovering from the huge amount of energy he spent pulling hermits through portals and helping Xisuma keep the server stable.

Y'know, the typical stuff that happens at the beginning of a season.

The door opens to reveal Pearl, bags under her eyes and hair clearly unbrushed under her jacket's hood.

"Oh," she says, clearly not expecting to see him, "hi, Grian."

"Hey, Pearl. Can we talk?"

"I-" Her eyes flit back and forth, never landing anywhere for more than a tick, and never meeting his gaze.

She's looking for an excuse, he realises.

"Pearl," Grian says, desperate, "please."

She huffs, and continues to not meet his eye, but she opens the door wide enough for him to enter.

He follows her inside, and she leads him to an oak table set under an azalea plant with two oak chairs to match. Grian's head is on a swivel taking in every little detail of her base. The floors are spruce and stone bricks topped off with a moss carpet, the walls are sandstone, terracotta, and jungle and birch wood, and the ceiling is made of oak and warped wood.

It's made of so many different woods and stones that it should clash, but Pearl somehow found a way to make it work.

Pearl sits down at the table, and Grian takes the remaining chair.

Neither of them speak.

"So…" Grian says after a while.

"So," Pearl repeats, "what did you… want to talk about?"

"I think you know."

She pulls her legs up onto her chair, pulling her knees close to her chest and obscuring half her face. It's reminiscent of how she was while they were in the Void.

She's closing off.

"And if I do…?"

Grian ponders his next words carefully.

"Well," he licks his lips. His mouth is dry. He fixes his eyes onto the table as he begins to speak. "If you did know… I'd say that it wasn't your fault, even if you think it is. And- and no one blames you, because the season would've ended eventually anyway. And yeah, maybe it was your powers that did it, but you can't be sure! There are a load of other factors that you had no part in! And… nobody could have stopped it."

He hears a small sniffle and a shaky exhale, and Grian looks up at Pearl to find her on the verge of tears.

His heart tightens in his chest.

"Oh, Pearl…" Grian stands from his chair and wraps his arms around her neck. Pearl leans her full weight into him without hesitation. He feels her arms wrap around his back and clutch at his sweater, and she buries her face in his shoulder.

She lets out a broken wail, muffled by the sweater. Grian gently pulls off her hood and runs his fingers through her hair. There's a wet patch forming on his shoulder.

Grian's not sure how long they stay like that. He eventually devolves into braiding Pearl's hair while she sniffles and cries out the last of her tears.

"...I got snot on your sweater…" She pulls away from the hug, seemingly to inspect the damage, but Grian waves her off.

"It'll wash out."

Pearl looks like she wants to protest, but lets it go. She doesn't say anything more, but seems to have something on her mind still. Grian stays quiet, letting her sort out her thoughts.

Finally, she speaks.

"You're sure no one's mad?"

"Positive."

"You promise?" She says. She leans forward. Grian can see the desperation in her eyes.

He takes her hands in his own, and gives a light squeeze. She squeezes back, and Grian knocks their foreheads together.

"I promise."

#hermitcraft s9 #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #hermitcraft fanfic #mumbo jumbo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #gtwscar #gtws #pearlescentmoon #impulsesv #xisumavoid #rain writes #rain speaks

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lingshanhermit · 5 months

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Lingshan Hermit: What is Omniscience

I am a scattered person who has spent most of my life in chaos. I try not to fall into chaos but when I'm not in meditation, I automatically fall into chaos. A few days ago, I wrote an article about ChatGPT. In the article, I told everyone that ChatGPT’s state is not the kind of omniscience that people usually think of - it has just learned billions of articles, read millions of books, and knows how to integrate, analyze and learn by itself. This is completely different from the “omniscience” talked about in Buddhism. Many people want to know what real omniscience is. Most people understand omniscience as knowing every single piece of information - from how many eggs the big halibut in Alaska produced this summer, to how many drops of rain fell in London this morning, to how many punctuation marks there are in every book in the Boston Public Library, to how many sneezes and delusions you had today. I can’t say this understanding is wrong. Such supernatural powers and abilities of the Buddha are indeed recorded in Buddhism.

But today let’s talk about omniscience from another perspective. Please don’t expect me to clearly explain what omniscience is in words, because that is impossible. However, I can try to talk about what omniscience is not, and try to talk about the differences between ordinary people and the omniscient Buddha.

Right now, you are staring at your phone screen reading my article, trying hard to explain to yourself what I am saying. At this moment, can you feel your toes? Can you feel the pressure of your eyeglass frames pressing on the bridge of your nose? Can you feel what it feels like where your slightly sweaty back sticks to your clothes? Can you know every subtle change of emotion and every arising of thoughts? You may say you can feel them, but that is only because after seeing my questions you deliberately tried to feel them. You can only feel these things when you deliberately try to feel them, and it is at the expense of everything else. Most of the time these feelings are ignored. You are busy with other things, your mind is occupied by other matters. You are busy grasping all kinds of oncoming sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches and dharmas, busy interpreting them, busy using them to fill the self and feel the existence of self and others. At times like this, you will only notice the things you pay attention to, everything else fades away - you are like looking out from a peephole. And you should know that when you perceive any sight, sound, smell, taste, touch or dharma, what you perceive is only your conceptualization of them. Your self system conceptualizes all of them. What you perceive is not their original state. When sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches and dharmas go through your eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body and mind, they are processed and interpreted into something else. They become “itchy”, they become “a little prickly”, they become “a cat running by”, they become “she’s looking at me”.

Most of the time, you do not know everything that is happening in your body and mind. Your mind is either attracted by this or that. When your mind is attracted and occupied by them (the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches and dharmas), you cannot feel your buttocks, you cannot feel your toes, you cannot feel your back, you cannot feel the legs of your eyeglasses pressing on your ear bones. As an ordinary person, you have always been immersed in two kinds of illusions you created yourself. One is the moment-to-moment feeling that you really exist. The other is the moment-to-moment perception that external sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches and dharmas really exist. These two kinds of perceptions have existed since ancient times. They form your entire world. They appear unceasingly moment-to-moment, obscuring the true nature of things and preventing you from touching the real world. These things form your entire perception. Every second, several conceptualized sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches and dharmas simultaneously attract you at the same time. Your mind is busy grasping, interpreting, labeling, and reacting, while neglecting other perceptions. In different stages of Buddhist practice, there are many interpretations of “chaos”, and this is the highest level one.

If one day, you can simultaneously “perceive” everything that is happening in your body and mind without being attracted to certain things and neglecting others, and without conceptualizing any sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches and dharmas, then perhaps you will be closer to true omniscience.

Written by Lingshan Hermit on February 13, 2023. First published on February 15, 2023.

Copyright Notice：All copyrights of Ling Shan Hermit's articles in Simplified and Traditional Chinese, English, and other languages belong to the natural person who owns "Ling Shan Hermit". Please respect copyright. Publishers, media, or individuals (including but not limited to internet media, websites, personal spaces, Weibo, WeChat public accounts, print media) must obtain authorization from Ling Shan Hermit before use. No modifications to the articles are allowed (including: author's name, title, main text content, and punctuation marks). We reserve all legal rights.

灵山居士：何谓遍知

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science-lings · 2 years

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My own Links meeting AU’s main characterizing focus is what the Links do after they’re done being heroes, and as someone who hasn’t played all the games it’s hard to pinpoint some of them but I also think it would be neat to talk to other people about.

So far I have that HW Link rose to the rank of general and is still in the military,

SkSw Link is the newly first king of Hyrule and that was not his fault and he’s trying his best,

OoT Link fades into obscurity and started working at LonLon ranch but sometimes is recruited by Queen Zelda/ King Sheik to help take out monsters and stuff,

WW Link co-captains Tetras ship and is a fully fledged pirate but by the time they find new Hyrule they’ve accepted that they’re going to be the new king and queen and are enjoying being pirates for as long as they can,

TP Link is a wandering monster hunter that kills things for money and is also heavily rumored to be an unnatural shadowy wolf,

BotW Link is a bit of a hermit who lives out in nature with his Zelda and after revolutionizing the potion making industry, they travel for elixir ingredients and sell them to help people,

and last of all AoC Link is courting his Zelda and kind of training to become king and he’s only partially on board with this.

If anyone has any more ideas for them I would love to talk about it! (Preferably through asks or this posts comments/ reblogs)

#I know the least about the downfall Links so they aren’t included yet and also four swords/ minishn #I just don’t know enough about their stories and characters to determine what they’d be after heroing but feel free to add what you think #I don’t even have an official name for the AU rip #Zelda AU #my links meeting au #links meeting au #botw #botw AU #Hyrule Warriors #skyward sword #ocarina of time #loz twilight princess #twilight princess #wind waker #loz wind waker #age of calamity #hw:aoc #loz au

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yusuke96universe · 3 years

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Underappreciated Dragon Ball Character: The Crane Hermit's Story

The Crane Hermit is introduced as a very one-dimensional mustache twirling bad guy who quickly faded into obscurity, but after digging into his history and connecting the dots, I found him to be a rare 3 Dimensional villain from classic Dragon Ball.

I mean the dude starts out as a rich snob, humbles himself while befriending his one time enemy and forges a brotherhood with other martial artists under the same dojo. He even is so loyal and brave to the point of fighting alongside his brothers in arms to the bitter end against a horde of Demons. To top it all off, he was even willing to do it again when suggesting they come back and try to defeat King Piccolo again right after barely surviving their first encounter with him. This is very much in tune to what many noble members of the Dragon Team would do, meaning at one point, Crane was a redeemed villain like half the Dragon Ball cast, but willingly CHOSE to return to his old evil ways.

And this only happened after his master gave up the fight which turned his heart away from the light, as if GOODNESS itself betrayed him and/or the lure of the evil King Piccolo's power could've swayed him to be the self-serving man he is today. I would love to explore that side to him because there has to be something still awesome about him for Tien to have held such high respect for him

This is the story that I pieced together from watching a string Crane Hermit related episodes.

He is first introduced in Roshi's picture book as Roshi's good friend and owner of Inoshikacho with early designs before they shaved their heads and started wearing their master's uniform, like in the flashback of them fighting against King Piccolo. Those designs are used two more times, when Roshi climbed Korin's Tower and trained for 3 years gaining the power pole and Nimbus, so they must've looked like that for a few years at least. We get more details on their lives when Mr. Popo sends Goku to the past and meets a sort of cowardly or at least less confident Roshi, we know that this is more of a simulation of the past because this is basically used again for the humans to fight some weak Saiyans in early Z, so the events of Roshi and Crane starting out as romantic rivals in their teens and Crane's highly inflated attitude without any strength yet to combat Kid Goku implies that he came from a wealthy upbringing like a lot of similar people in old Kung Fu movies. You put these together and you got a very interesting character Here is how I rationalize it-

Roshi and Crane's bickering/ fighting over a girl likely got them disciplined hard by their mutually shared master, Mutaito. (Whom they both respected and studied under) Young Crane respected enough to restart his training over from scratch rather than being expelled during the Kid Goku goes to the past episode, so the probability that this would once again apply to a young Crane and possibly young Roshi in this new context seems pretty high. The punishments was probably super harsh and severe, probably was too much for Crane's flunkies to bare and they quit early, but NOT Roshi or Crane. They both are WAY, WAY too stubborn to quit early. Plus the thought of not wanting to be outdone by the other is what probably aided in pushing themselves past their limits throughout the harsh punishments and the intensive training.

So now it's basically two teenagers, one from a humble background and the other from a privileged background. Both with a lot of beef. Now stuck together alone. So while they're busy being bickering and competing, perhaps that girl they both were interested in, Fanfan, found herself a boyfriend in the meantime, leaving both of them heartbroken.

Now, since they are in the same boat together, they can start relating and bonding with one another as teenage punks do. Talking about mistreated they are, how unfair things, mostly complaining and roasting one another, etc. But the important thing is, they put their differences aside to overcome the challenges in front of them and this newfound bond leads them to becoming best friends.

The rivalry while healthier becomes stronger with time though because they're young and brash so Roshi goes to Korin's Tower at some point for bragging rights and Crane probably did something equally outrageous in an attempt to one up him, like maybe he won a Martial Arts Tournament or completed some grand trial of their dojo or something.

After being studying together for many years, they shave their heads and join the other students in wearing the formal uniforms of their master, so this is likely the peak of their disciplined lifestyle as Martial Artists.

Eventually this school made a stand and fought to the last man against Demons that terrorized and devastated entire cities and destroyed armies, harming countless innocents in the process. So in order to face such a threat implies a strong brotherhood and loyalty within the group.

Also the effect of his master giving up the fight being one of the factors for his turn toward evil implied that the Crane had great respect for him and that was the greatest disappointment of his life, plus the allure of power that King Piccolo showed must've been too tempting for him to resist so he left the losing side and returned to a lifestyle similar to his origin, using his skills in service of his own self and living it up in a lavish style (as shown in how much of a big spender he is and comparing his hotel room to the Turtle School's). In doing so, he purposely pushed away all the great teaching his Master had taught him, deeming them as weak or worthless for what he believed to being truly strong in his own distorted mind. He desperately needed someone like his Master to correct his misconceptions, and maybe at one time Roshi tried to, but failed because Crane closed off his heart to his once best friend (kind of like Gintoki and Takasugi frrom Gintama) who exemplifies everything he now hates and stands against.

Though some lessons still stuck, like loyalty, specifically to his brother Tao. Which is his prime motivation in the 22nd tournament was to avenge his brother and he even lamented on how they never patched things up so he tried getting justice for him instead of blaming himself. Dodging accountability, but accepting responsibility. Proving maybe even he is not too far gone, if he felt their was even a point to change.

But that doesn't mean he was the nicest brother. His pride and jealousy couldn't stand the idea that his brother was far more naturally gifted than him and so he attempted to sever one of the few remaining bonds he has in his long life of losses, with his own hand because of his own inferiority complex.

He allowed his greed, anger, pride, and jealousy blind him to what would've been his greatest legacy as a Master of Martial Arts. His students. The most well known are Tien and Chiaotzu. Who he long since failed to guide them to the righteous path which led them pass the point of no return. Tien and Chiaotzu were one in a million prodigies that he wanted to turn into a mere weapons at his command. To make matters worse, these self-centered, cruel and down right malicious teaching actively corrupted Tien's nature and forever shut his Third eye's truest abilities. So he didn't nurture his disciple like he was completely capable of, instead, he actively/incompetently crippled his number 1 student forever preventing him from reaching his full potential by stealing his birthright. Truly failing as a Master.

He makes one last appearance in the 23rd Tournament feeling betrayed and wronged, but leaves as a coward. It is such a shame to see what once was a great man, how far he had fallen.

His Death. Toriyama mentioned that he and his brother Tao Pai Pai got in over their heads and died somewhere in the middle of Z off-screen. In-spite of all of his gifts, he utterly failed as a Master by actively trying to spite everything his Master taught him and what did all of his efforts and years of experiences gift him with? An inconsequential death that will not be remembered, which is heartbreaking for a man who was once and could've forever remained as great as the fan-favorite Master Roshi. It is a shame because unlike his teacher, he never redeemed himself, not even in death. What could've been a Legend, instead turned into a Cautionary Tale.

Honestly, it is such a shame that this character wasn't utilized more. I've got a few more Crane Hermit related headcannons, some from when he was younger, some of how he could've been used after the 22nd Martial Arts Tournament, like a role in the King Piccolo Saga since that is so closely tied to his past, watching his continual, but strained relationship with his students, etc.

#@bushidraw #dragon ball #crane hermit #dragon ball classic #tao pai pai #general tao #tien #tenshinhan #master roshi #muten roshi #headcannon #dbz #cautionary tale #shen #shin #crane shcool #failed master #master mutaito

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goldenvoicedminstrel · 3 years

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realised after posting it’s actually @feanorianweek and even day 2, so have some Maglor

The sun was hidden from the sea that day, the rough waves turned murky grey in a perfect mirror image of the dull clouds overhead, both divided only by an endless pale horizon. All around, the colours had disappeared from the earth and Maglor wondered, if perhaps this was what the void looked like. An endless space devoid of colour, sound and feel.

An endless nothingness to isolate one from one’s own existence and drive one mad.

It was a far more frightening thought than any darkness or torture.

Is that what my brothers feel? he asked the only person still listening.

Does it matter? he answered his own question. He would never join them now, it had been much too long since he had failed to follow his brother’s example and throw the Silmaril into the waves with his body still attached to it. Too many years of wandering and suffering had passed, that had made his next step and the next note of his lament as unescapable as the passing of the hours and years. He had woven the mourning resonance of the Noldolantë into the music of Arda itself and himself with it.

Even if he did not care if he lived, he had been surviving for so long he thought he might not know how to die anymore.

The coarse sand and stones were biting into the soles of his bare feet as he walked, having long since discarded his worn through boots. Now the quiet crunch of his steps in the sand formed an imperfect metronome for his song.

“I fixed it.”

Curufinwë stands before him, hands outstretched and in them a little box, ticking away with the steadiness of his own heart beat.

“It was easy, Atar did not even have to show me how. Now you must not be cross with me anymore.”

Again his feet lost their rhythm, one sinking a little deeper into a puddle of water that had been hidden under the wet sand. Around his foot he could feel the pull of the waves towards the sea, dragging the sand with them and hollowing out the ground he stood upon. He stepped aside instinctively, onto a sharp shell that cut through his skin.

“Careful, Laurë!” Maitimo calls and the white towers of Alqualondë glitter behind him, shining with the colours of the Mother of Pearl fragments inlaid in their walls.

“Let me see that. Where was that head of yours again?”

He picked up the shell. Its hard, curved form was broken and the white edges ragged, now tinted pink with his blood.

“Káno, look what I found!” A smudge of silver races towards him, so fast, that his light hair whipping behind him in the wind blends into the pale morning light around him. When Tyelkormo opens his small hands they reveal a cone shell and, emerging from it, the scarlet claws of a hermit crab. “Can we please take him home with us?”

He thought his hair might be turning pale too. Grey, like that of the Edain, when their spirits and bodies started to wane after long years of sorrow and grief. His skin seemed grey as well, and sometimes he thought it was because he could see the grey sky through it. Perhaps he was just becoming a part of that greyness around him, fading into a lament on the waves, his song lost under the cry of the gulls and raging of the sea. Another gull flew over his head, so close this time that he could feel the gust of wind from its wings in his hair.

A shrill scream comes from the other side of the beach, followed by a bought of laughter.

“You sound like the gulls, Moryo!”

A dark haired elfling’s face is turning an impressive shade of red as he scowls at his brother.

“I do not!” he cries and crosses his thin arms, but when his indignation shows no effect, he quickly ducks down and picks up a handful of wet sand, hurling it towards his still laughing brother.

“Stop laughing at me, Tyelko!” he insists and the blonde’s face immediately turns grave, as he bends down in an exaggeratedly somber manner to pick up his own lump of sand.

“If this is how you want to play…” he says, and the scene quickly dissolves into childish screams of laughter.

Little wet droplets were running down Maglor’s cheeks. Ah, he thought, it must be raining.

There was an opening in the high basalt cliffs, nothing more than a crack in the dark structure looming over him, a comfortable shelter for a child perhaps, but not enough to hide a grown adult. He walked past and let his scarred hand trace the stone. It was as rough and blackened as his own scorched skin and its sharp edges seemed detached from under his unfeeling finger.

The wind blew sharper now and the dark strands of his dirty hair tangled before his eyes, obscuring his sight. He listened instead to the desperate howling of the wind trapped in the small cracks and hollows of unmoving stone.

Two red-haired children cling to him, the vibrant colour of their hair burning with the curb’s fire behind them and their identical faces are flushed with excitement and the only recently abandoned heat of the flames.

“Tell us a story Káno! About why the wind howls so. Does it sing like you do? What does it sing about?”

His hair was whipped away from his eyes again by another violent gust of wind, but the darkness stubbornly remained. Was it night already? There were no stars he could distinguish, not even in the West was his father’s creation visible to the hopeful eye. He clenched his hand and walked on, the howl of the wind lost beneath his own.

He walked until the path before him rose away from the soft sand and up on uneven stone, crumbling away under his feet as he climbed, the small pebbles falling endlessly into the abyss beside him. He would not sleep, only make one step after the other until he would drop from exertion, too exhausted for even dreams to find him, may they be horrible- or worse- good.

He stumbled.

There was a bird at his feet, the white feathers making it visible to him even in the night- no, that was the dawn breaking over the horizon.

One of the creature’s wings was twisted and its neck broken, overstretched into an unnatural position on the ground, his honey coloured beak turned away from its body as if pointing out the way ahead.

Did the storm do this to you? he asked, but the dark eyes gave no answer.

He touches the impossibly soft feathers with a trembling hand and suddenly, for the first time since he has been born into these immortal lands of Aman, he understands that even here nothing lasts forever. He thinks of his grandmother, lying as beautiful and lifeless as this little bird while his father strokes her soft hair. The bird must have a mother too, or little nestlings screaming for it, and if it doesn’t, how lonely it must have been. Perhaps it is a silly thing to anguish about, but he has a vivid imagination and a soft heart and has never seen death before.

Through his tears he sees his father hurrying from his forge, alarmed by his young son’s despairing wails.

“What is it, Makalaurë? What has happened? Are you hurt?” his father’s face is tight and pale and his hands are running over his child’s small form, trying to find the cause of his hurt, to fix it as he always does. “Please, tell me why you are weeping,” he asks again and spots the lifeless bird in the same moment. His shoulders drop in relief and his features relax into a sad smile as he pulls his sobbing son into a tight embrace. “It is alright ‘Laurë,” he whispers to him. “Everything has its time.”

He turned away from the bird and walked on as the sun rose higher into the clear, blue sky.

His father, who then had been so much younger than he must be by now, and so anxious about any sadness befalling his newly formed family.

Maitimo had been an easy child in that regard, and really in any other regard as well. Happy and content, with the sure confidence of someone who had grown up with all of his parent’s praise and attention and who, deep down, believed he deserved it. Kind and courteous to everyone and widely loved- and later admired- in return. When he had been quiet, it had been with thoughtful consideration or the comfort that needed no words. Maitimo had never been despairing.

He himself however, befitting the poet he would become, had been much more volatile. His joy had been delightfully loud but his sorrow even louder. How unsettling these first fits of despair must have been for his father, who had always lived under the shadow of his mother’s fate.

His brothers had shed tears too, of course, but they were easily quietened. Tyelko had cried in pain after falling out of a tree and Moryo often in anger. Curvo had sometimes teared up in frustration and the Ambarussa had sobbed in fear the first time they had heard the tale of their father’s mother and discovered that there might be a force in this world that could separate them after all. But Maitimo…

The hard stone under his feet had softened into dry earth and the narrow path was being overtaken by yellow and green patches of grass and finally a thick carpet of heather, the sea of small green leaves parted by spots of rose and purple flowers. A twig snapped underneath his weary feet.

The air is filled with the fragrance of blooming petals as he wanders through the labyrinth of thick green hedges and thorny bushes heavy with blossoms of every colour. Even now, thirsty and irritated as he is, he marvels at the beauty of it all, his parched throat aching to burst into a verse of song in celebration. Yet first he needs to find his brother, as his father had sent him out to do hours ago. But today Maitimo seems to have disappeared from the face of Arda entirely and his grandfather’s rose garden is his last hope. There is a spot there his brother had shown him when he had been but a little boy- his secret hiding place he had called it.

He ducks under the low branches of a young tree and carefully pushes away some of the dense shrubbery before he stills.

He hears their laughter before he sees them, sitting in the grass, a bottle of what must be grandfather’s good wine lying forgotten next to them. They are leaning against each other and speaking in hushed, excited tones, and suddenly his brother is throwing his head back and is laughing, laughing until there are tears running down his cheeks and he has to gasp for breath. He is still holding onto Findekáno’s arm as his giggling cousin wipes away his tears of mirth.

Quietly he turns away and leaves, reporting to their father that Maitimo is nowhere to be found.

The sun was high in the deep blue sky and the sea glittered faintly beneath it.

Maglor’s path lead him down again, away from the heather, towards the waves where the smell of salt perpetuated the air he still breathed. He did not hear the gulls anymore and the light breeze that seemed to caress his cheek was too weak to drown out his lament.

When his feet sank into soft sand again, the sun was already setting and suddenly the sky was set aflame in the same shade of red he had loved and hated and grieved more than anything else.

And again he walked on. Was it raining again?

And when Maglor walks the shore alone, his brothers walk with him, and on the wind his father’s voice whispers: “Why are you weeping, Makalaurë?”

#today on making myself sad at 1:30 am #maglor #i love you bby i'm sorry #makalaure #maedhros #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #ambarussa #feanor #feanorians #silmarillion #just realised it's #feanorianweek #and maglor day as well here #tis fate #golden writes

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cela-astral-projection · 4 years

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Purple clover, Queen Anne lace. Crimson hair across your face. You could make me cry if you don't know. Can't remember what I was thinkin' of. You might be spoilin' me too much, love. You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.

It had been weeks. A month. Longer. If Muriel didn't know Asra better, he would be concerned. Asra was nothing if not leisurely in his pursuits under the best of circumstances. But Celeste was getting a bit worried. She had never been subject to Asra's whims and flights of fancy.

It was the early evening. The sun was still warming the forest, but Muriel knew he was running out of time before the dark.

Muriel had taken it upon himself to be the guardian of the forest — a routine task most days. And Celeste had come with him since she had been at the hut. It was nice to walk together in the early mornings and late afternoons, enjoying each other's company.

Celeste had been unsettled most of the day. And they both knew that something had changed. He had asked for her to stay inside, anticipating resistance. But she had complied.

She was afraid. And it instilled fear into him.

Nothing truly seemed amiss, at least not that he could pinpoint. Perhaps something on the air. The way that the light shone through the trees. If anything, the world around him seemed more peaceful. More alive.

He questioned himself. What was this paranoia? What was this feeling of dread that had seated itself in both of them, destroying their tranquility?

He knelt by a stream, bending down to splash cold water on his face, trying to steady his nerves before he headed back to the hut. But, in the rippling of the water, he saw a reflection on the other side, shimmering. The world dimming around him.

He rose slowly and was confronted by a hooded figure in a pale grey robe. Their face was obscured, but he could see a long salt and pepper beard spilling out. They held a lantern in one hand, and a long, gnarled staff in the other.

He knew this Figure. His patron.

"The Magician's Pledge is coming." The Figure spoke, it's voice placid. "Your reprieve is at an end, Muriel. I pray that it shall be enough to sustain you."

He stared, confused. "Reprive?"

"From the terms of your deal. It has been generous. I think you will agree."

"I didn't ask for a reprieve. Asra brought her to me." he countered as if his denial mattered.

The Hermit inclined its head. He could see the shape of their mouth, the corners upturned. "You did not need to ask. These things fall into place for a reason. You needed her, and the Magician and I made sure that you were supplied, and that the Magician's Pledge was given respite. Enough that you can continue and fulfill the terms of your compact with the Arcana."

"You can change this. You can free me. Free Celeste. You can heal her." he pleaded. "I don't want this. I don't want to go back to being alone."

"I know. It is a heavy burden to carry alone. You were informed of this before the deals were struck. The best is bought at the cost of great pain. And life restored..." the Figure breathed a heavy sigh.

"Please, I have had the pain. I have had more than enough sadness. My whole life has been one misery after another...the solitude was meant to be a blessing, was it not?" Muriel said, his voice rising, frantic.

"Dear Boy, if it were not for your pain, I would not have trusted you with this deal." the voice responded, calm as ever. Unfazed by his increasing panic. "You are well acquainted with hurt and loss. You are practiced in grief. I know you can survive this just a while longer. There is a great blessing on the other side of this endeavor."

"What happens if I refuse? What happens if she stays with me?" he implored, resisting the inevitable.

"Then she is reclaimed by Death. Her body falls away to bone and ash. The Magician's Pledge is also taken. His heart is contained within her Vessel, they will not be parted by Death again."

Muriel drew a ragged breath. Celeste and Asra. Lost to him. Taken by Death.

The Hermit resumed. "And that is simply the immediate effect. There will be grief in it. But, understand me, it will be nothing for the misery to come. There are more significant, much more far-reaching implications."

"I don't understand," Muriel said, defeated. "I can't understand this. Of course, she's worth it, to me. But...why does it have to be this way? What aren't you telling us? What are we paying for?"

"It is foolish to believe that I, alone, set the price for this deal. The winds have already begun to shift, Muriel. These days feel long, but the years will be shorter now. You will be broken by this. That was the goal. So that you would be weakened, and brought low."

The voice changed, and it sounded almost sympathetic.

"I wish you to know that if it were up to many of us, the balance would lean much more heavily in your favor. But...sadly, there is a precarious balance. Twenty-one Major Arcana. All of us with our players, playing the ends against the middle. There is a certain matter of inexactitude, knowing how things will ebb and flow." The Hermit lamented. "I would not ask this of you if I did not truly believe that you were worthy of the challenge."

"I'm not," Muriel said, his head falling, his voice breaking. "I'm not worthy. I can't do this. I don't know how to do this. I don't want to do this."

The Figure floated across the stream, and Muriel stepped back, not wanting to be near to them, far out of their grasp.

"Do you know what it means, Dear Boy, to be The Hermit?" the voice implored. "You are inhabiting the reverse right now. You have been in this for years. Your longing for seclusion, though, entirely understandable, has cost you dearly. It is a perilous path you are traversing. But, even until now, you have not been alone. You might have felt alone. But you had your friend. Your lover. And he brought you a beautiful woman. And they have loved you fiercely when you could not love yourself. And still, you were turned inward, keeping them at a distance. Afraid."

"Not now. I'm not alone now. I'm better with Celeste. With Asra. This is how I'm supposed to be." Muriel objected, shaking his head.

The Figure nodded in agreement. "You are better. Remember that. You are made better by love. You will have loneliness thrust upon you. And what you do with this time will guide you going forward. That's what it means to be The Hermit."

The Figure extended their lantern to Muriel, dangling it on the finger of one large hand.

"It will be dark. But, you will have enough light to see the next step ahead. The path you take...it can lead to great introspection. Alignment with who you are meant to be. Or, you can continue the way you have been. Into true seclusion and madness. And I assure you, influenced by pain, the sirens call into the abyss is very tempting."

The Figure withdrew their lantern. They lifted the hand to his hood and pulled it back.

Muriel stared into their eyes. His green eyes. His face. His scars were there, but they were faded. And there were wrinkles. Marked by age. The Hermit looked regal. His hair plaited back, streaked with silver. A long beard framing his jaw. The appearance of one well acquainted with their inner voice. Someone that had found their destination. A mentor. A guide. Muriel's face reflected back at him.

"I have seen your ends, Muriel. And I have hope for you. I don't think you'll fail me." The Hermit smiled. "There are better days beyond this darkness. I assure you."

Muriel was entranced. Unable to move, barely able to breathe.

The Hermit laughed. "You age well. It suits you. I could have taken my more traditional form, but I thought this might be an inspiration." He lifted the hood again, and the face was obscured.

He continued, "I will take my leave from you. The Magician has nearly finished with your friend. He will be here soon. Please, go home. Say your goodbyes. You'll have to take the charm from Celeste. She can't keep it."

"Celeste won't understand," Muriel replied, shaken from his reverie when he was confronted with the reality. "She knows she has to keep that to remember me. It will break her heart."

The Figure scoffed. "That Woman is more resilient than you give her credit for. And so are you." He was moving away from Muriel and disappating. Becoming more translucent. "The days will be long, but the years will be short. Stay the path. There is an end to this darkness. I promise you."

And then The Hermit was gone. The light was restored to the forest. The sun was setting, and there was a brilliant orange glow cast around him, flowing through the trees.

Celeste had made dinner, picked up the hut. Magicked the furs on the bed clean for what felt like the thousandth time since she had arrived, so terribly abused in the wake of their lovemaking. Now, she was just worried and bored. She sat on the side of the bed, alternating between watching the door and casting spells on the plates to keep them warm.

When Muriel came in, she rose to greet him, but he was across the room before she could even take a step. He had her face in his hands, bending down to catch her mouth, pressing soft kisses against her lips. His eyes were closed. Celeste was pleased but caught off guard. She brought her arms to his neck, drawing him in more firmly against her. He smoothed his hands down her neck, her chest, to her hips.

Celeste pulled back a bit, breaking free of his lips, studying his face. "What...what's wrong?" she asked, seeing how his expression was fallen. All false passion. Sadness radiating off of him.

He didn't answer, but he held her hips, his hands moving at her side subtly, fidgeting. She tried to pull away, and he released her, his hands forming fists at his sides.

"What happened?" she asked, looking him over, searching him for signs of injury. "Muriel?" She pressed, but he would not meet her gaze.

"Please...just..." he started, trying to find words. To compose himself.

In his hand, he had the tiny satchel of myrrh. Stolen from her skirt pocket. It felt like it burned in his fist.

"Celeste, I need you to kiss me. Just...I need you for a few minutes. Please?" he said, opening his eyes. He swallowed his tears, trying to remain composed, not wanting to give himself away.

"Muriel..." she said, confused. He never needed to ask her before. She was free to him, to kiss, to touch.

She heard the door open again behind Muriel. And she stepped to his side. Muriel tense, not turning.

Asra.

"Oh," she said, staring.

Asra said nothing, his eyes downcast.

"Oh, no," she said, putting the pieces together. Her hand moved to her side, and she found the pocket emptied. The memory charm gone.

They all stood silent for a moment, unsure how to move forward.

"I don't want to forget," Celeste said, finally. "Please...we can stay here. Asra. Please. Master, Please." she implored, frantic, feeling tears welling in her eyes.

Muriel, pained by the tone of her voice, turned to sweep her into his arms, and Asra was across the room as quickly, catching her. They were tangled together, trying to comfort her, explain themselves, words falling on her like rain.

None of it made sense. Wasn't this what they all wanted? Why did they want her to forget? Why would they punish themselves in this way?

"Celeste, we love you," Asra said, clinging to her. "That's why we have to go. We will be together. Soon. But, for now, we have to take care of you...and that means we can't stay."

Asra's eyes met Muriel's, and Muriel nodded, continuing. "We are going to fix this. I promise you. But we still have things to do. We have promises to keep. You don't understand...but you will. Soon. Okay?"

"No, no. I won't understand. Why is this happening? Please, tell me." she said, sobbing into his chest. "Why can't I remember? Why can't I stay?"

They held each other, Asra's head on Celeste's shoulder, tears streaming from his eyes. Muriels face buried in her hair, breathing her in. There was no good answer to any of this. Nothing satisfactory to offer her. It was devastating. Knowing she was too fragile to entrust with this knowledge. That maybe she'd never be able to grasp it. And what if she could? Would she trust them? Would she be able to go on loving them?

But, for now, their patrons had been clear. Celeste and Asra were not safe to stay. They all had to play their part.

Asra disengaged from them. He gave Muriel's arm a squeeze. Hoping to impart some small comfort, but knowing it was utterly useless.

Muriel whispered words of love and comfort. He made promises that he didn't know he would be able to keep. He kissed her over and over. He wiped her tears away, held her tight. He pledged his love and devotion to her.

When she was exhausted and defeated, she moved from the circle of his embrace, her hand at his cheek, staring into his eyes.

She made one last plea. "Let me stay, Muriel. I won't forget."

He shook his head, drawing a ragged breath. "It will be okay," he replied unconvincingly. "Because we love each other. And we'll find a way back to one another."

Asra placed his hand on her shoulder. "We have to go. Okay? Once you're outside, it will be easier. I promise. It will be quick."

Muriel looked upwards, remembering. It wasn't easy, last time. He remembered her wailing as he disappeared from her. He never wanted to feel this again. Never wanted to hurt her like this.

He followed them to the door. He caught her arm as they moved to leave, pulling her back to him for one final kiss. It was shaky and painful. Almost bruising.

"I love you," Celeste said, new tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

"I love you," Muriel replied, his hand falling away from her.

Asra swiped his arm across his eyes, watching as Celeste stepped out. He turned back to Muriel, and Muriel raised his hand to him.

"You can't come here. Not anymore." Muriel said, dark, his eyes narrowing.

Asra blinked at him, shaking his head. "Muriel, please..."

"You aren't welcome here. I won't do this again. I can't." he said, finally.

Asra stepped back, clenching his jaw. "You don't mean it."

"I do." Muriel bit back.

And then the door swung closed. Asra heard Muriel fall against it, bracing against Asra. Against Celeste. Sealing himself away.

Asra stood, staring. Numb.

Celeste was staring off into the forest. Her hand was at her chest, unsure of what this sensation was. Why these tears were creeping from her eyes. Where she even was. She turned around, and caught the sight of Asra's hair, staring at a stone structure, buried below a tree.

"Asra?" she asked, looking around, panicked. "Asra, what's happening?" she cried out, frenzied when he did not turn to her.

Muriel sat, back against the door, listening to her scream Asra's name, completely lost.

He drew his knees up to his chest, arms crossed over them and lowered his head. His body shook with painful, silent sobs, wrenching out of his chest.

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iamcinema · 4 years

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IAC Reviews #013: The Forest (1982)

I’ve been gone for far too long and in desperate need of a massive pick-me up with how everything around us is becoming more of a tire fire by the minute. So, let’s pack our bags and make our way for the woodlands to get away from the chaos for a while. I miss being out in the great outdoors during times like this. It’s so calm and peaceful, and with us approaching summer here in the northern hemisphere, it’s all the more pleasant. The fresh air, wide open space, the clear night skies - what could possibly go wrong? _______________________________________ I first heard about The Forest back in 2008 when I came across the Creepy Kentuckian’s review of it as part of his now dead series “Creepy’s Crappy Movie Reviews”, in which he spotlighted other horror titles like Lost Boys: The Tribe, Terror on Tour, Return to Sleepaway Camp, and Bates Motel to name a few. Since then, it sort of faded away from my memory and much like other films like Don’t Go in the Woods...Alone and Backwoods, which was for better or worse. Because I have an unusual fascination for these gritty, lesser known or spoken of titles, my eyes almost always light up when I come across something in the wild like this. I hope you packed your bug spray, because we’re going in deep for this one. Who knows what we’ll find?!

The Forest is a 1982 horror-thriller film that was directed, produced, edited, and written by Don Jones who doesn’t exactly have the most impressive filmography with anything too noteworthy to speak of. Most of his credits are attributed to the sound department, with titles like Blood of the Iron Maiden, The Psycho Lover, and Girl 27 (which is most recent credit as of 2007) coming up when you crosscheck his information. In regards to the cast, most of them didn’t go on to do a ton either after the 1980s for the most part, apart from Gary Kent who has the most prolific career of the crew with most of them being attributed to acting and stunt work - something he provided here as the acting stunt coordinator, which he went unaccredited for.

Our story centers on that of two couples and longtime friends who go on a camping trip to get away from the city and potentially help save one of their marriages from divorce. However, their fun doesn’t last too long when car troubles, bad weather, and a cannibalistic hermit looking for his next meal before winter puts a damper on things. While this isn’t anyone’s first rodeo with woodland cannibals, hermits, and weirdos, perhaps this one will bring something special to the table to help it stand out among all the rest.

The Forest In One Gif:

Well, color me impressed...I think. ________________________________________ It’s hard to really put a pin in movies like this since it feels like you can only do so much with the concept. You don’t exactly know what you’re going to get, so at best you might get something above average and at worst you’ll have a disaster of a time. Going into this, I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect given the mediocre review from the Creepy Kentuckian and the abysmal 3.8/10 rating on IMDb. I’ve had luck with poorly rated and received films before in the past, so maybe there was some hope that this would impress me. Maybe.

As far as the story goes, it's not all that bad and the motivation for our main characters feels like it means something so it doesn’t feel like a completely bland and generic slasher film - sort of. With the reviews I’ve come across on IMDb, some say that while this absolutely looks and feels like a stereotypical horror film with the same tired tropes, it bring something else to the table that helps it feel a bit more different. But, what this thing is I can’t exactly nail down either. I think it's partially due in part to the supernatural elements that come into play a bit later, which caught me off-guard because I wasn’t expecting it - certainly not for a film like this, as well as the subtle drama with our villain’s backstory and the marital subplot.

If I had to make one gripe about it that I can think of, it would be the logic and reasoning behind why our cannibal hermit, John, is doing what he does. I mean, we do learn more about his backstory and why he’s the way that he is, but why he chooses to hunt people for sport and his food supply doesn’t completely make sense to me if that’s how he’s scraping by alone. He’s situated on miles upon miles of woodland with plenty of freshwater sources, so why he isn’t utilizing those to his advantage doesn’t make a ton of sense to me. Plus, you’d have to have a good amount of luck to just stumble across random hikers and campers like that, but again, that's just a small gripe that we don’t get much of an answer for.

With our characters as a whole, they aren’t all that bad and or as forgettable as others are from similar low-budget, obscure, and forgotten horror films. There’s something charming about our main characters, even if the acting isn’t very good and the dialogue being clumsy which starts to show itself more as things go by in a way where it boarders between feeling awkward and sometimes unintentionally comedic. The latter feels all the more accurate when it comes to one of the scenes towards the end of the film, and I don’t know if that was done on purpose or it was a weird stylistic choice with the editing [which, as a spoiler, flashing epilepsy warning for those who are photosensitive].

From a technical standpoint, it’s pretty good for what it’s worth and I have very little to nitpick about.

However, the only way to truly enjoy this is in 1080p+ because you’d otherwise be robbing yourself of the all around sound visuals, which is probably the strongest thing going for it. The film was shot in the Sequoia National Park, which makes for some truly beautiful shots with the scenery; both the day and night shots when the lighting was good. But, some of the day for night shots it feels a bit off because we’ll cut from that to an actual night take, and then back to day for night. It can throw you off a bit with what time it’s supposed to be, but that feels more like something that can be overlooked with some patience.

If I had to fault the technical department somewhere, it would be with the sound. For the most part, it’s quite good and clear. In spite of that, we have a few hiccups here and there where the dialogue feels muffled or low due to the background noise of the rivers they were shooting near or on part of the child actors who have a filter distortion over them. Once again, this can be glossed over, but without captions or a good ear you might overlook something unless you don’t care.

When it comes to the SFX work, I’m impressed by how gruesome it was for something this low budget. The opening sequence in particular is probably the most graphic moment of the film and it gets us off to a nice start with what we can expect for the duration of the film, even when it comes to the more tame murders or bloody injuries. The same can be said with the stunt work as well in a way too, I suppose. While the fight sequences aren’t anything special, it’s interesting that one of the actresses, Tomi Barrett, did her own stunts; which included a scene where she dove off a small cliff and was swept down the river over some rapids. Much like her co-star and husband Gary Kent, this also went unaccredited for.

On another semi technical note, the score and soundtrack isn’t all that bad either and is kind of catchy, at least to me. It was composed largely by Richard Hieronymus and Alan Oldfield; with Hieronymus providing work for films like Lethal Pursuit, The Astral Factor, and The Love Butcher and Oldfield working on films like 10 to Midnight, The Fear, and The Fear: Resurrection. The songs are also a nice touch as well, even if they’re brief; particularly “The Dark Side of the Forest” (ft. David Somerville) and the closing song “The Edge of Forever” (ft. Carol Browning). If you have a guilty pleasure for 80′s horror soundtracks, especially the somewhat cheesy like ones like Blood Lake, Psycho Pike, and Truth or Dare?: A Critical Madness, then I think you’re going to have fun with this one. I hate to admit it, but I’ve been jamming to both ever since I wrapped up seeing this a few hours ago.

________________________________________

So, where am I at now with this? I don’t completely know, if I’m being honest.

To hearken back to something I said about Rot last year, I think that the low score it has is a rather harsh and a bit unfair. While I agree that it’s better than Don’t Go Into The Woods Alone by a long shot, it doesn’t sit right with me. On that note, I feel that seeing reviews that place it at 8/10 or above is being a bit too generous as well, even if it’s in a “so bad, it’s good sense” which I don’t consider this to be since I don’t see it as a terrible horror film either. This is why it’s difficult for me to stick some pins in this damn thing to figure out where I’d place it.

It’s not a masterpiece by any means, absolutely not, but it’s not trying to be and it’s not a massive disappointment either like a certain film around the same time was. If you’re looking for a different slasher film of the time, especially if you have a weakness for woodland flicks goes, consider giving this one a watch some time and see where you fall with things. I’m stumped with how I feel about this one. I didn’t hate it, but I don’t see myself rushing to watch this again in the near future.

Rating: 5.3/10

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sepublic · 4 years

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Okotan Ghost Stories

-The Phantom of the Tides is a ghastly, translucent image sighted in the Region of Water. The earliest known report was approximately a few years after the initial emergence of the Skull Spiders. Described as a skeletal, spindly being covered in spines with a hunched-over back, some have theorized the timing of its appearance to be related to the Skull Spiders. One popular theory is that the Phantom of the Tides is the ghost of one of the Skull Spiders’ victims.

-Returning from a long day of hunting, in which he noticed many inexplicably slain carcasses strewn about, Podu the hunter was passing through a series of stone canyons in order to reach Levato. As the sun began to set and shadows spread across the canyons, forming distorted after-images, Podu felt a chill crawl down his spine as he heard claws scraping against stone. Anticipating a predator, he whirled around, and off in the distance, right in front of the setting sun, was a figure, clinging to a rocky hill.

It was thin and spindly, almost like a skeleton, with dulled, rigid skin. Its limbs were elongated, almost exaggerated and twisted. Red eyes blazed within the recesses of its dark, inhuman face, and unable to contain his terror, Podu screamed and fled. When he recounted the tale to his fellow Levatans, some dismissed it as a trick of the mind –it was getting dark and the ‘figure’ was shadowed from the sun behind- while others have speculated it to be a Wendigo, or the Hunter of myth. Needless to say, Podu, ever since the incident, made sure to head home well before sunset, and avoided the canyons he was passing through.

-“I’m here too,” a very short and brief story recounted by Hafu of Levato. While patrolling the Motara Desert, Hafu had an obnoxious tendency to carve into nearby stones and boulders his signature phrase, “Hafu was here.” Most rolled their eyes at this, but one day, after returning to a spot where he’d carved these words, Hafu decided to check up on it. Surely enough, he saw the words, and right beneath them, carved in a ragged manner into the stone, were the words, “I’m here too.”

Hafu, chilled to the bone, interrogated the other members of the Levatan Patrol about this. All of them denied profusely of ever answering his graffiti, and the hand-writing was unlike their own; Besides, it looked as if the words had been carved in with claws, and not an implement. In denial, Hafu decided it had to be some other Okotan- Perhaps a hermit like Melea, or Takua, playing a prank- She’d responded to his graffiti before. However, when Hafu one day questioned the vagabond during a visit, Takua confirmed that she had never written this statement, reminding Hafu that she always added a signature. And Takua’s memory was impeccable as well…

-The Sand Tarakava, a tale of a Levatan Patrol squad being caught in a sandstorm, communicating that they were being chased in the radio, before disappearing. When the storms ceased, patrols found the wreckage of the boat and no sign of the patrol members, who were presumed devoured by the beast. Later, when Hewkii showed Macku a sketch of the wreckage, she noted it resembled an attack from a Tarakava, an aquatic beast. Yet, the attack occurred in the Motara Desert, miles from any source of water, much less one large enough to support a Tarakava...

-Sand Screamers, unseen things whose cries are heard at night. Strange footprints belonging to them are found near dead animals that have been torn apart. No one knows what a Sand Screamer looks like, but it’s apparently powerful enough to kill beasts such as the Kikanalo or Spiny Stone Ape.

-The Dweller in the Deep, a story of how a group of Okotans were travelling on a small boat, when they noticed an incomprehensibly massive shadow move underneath them, bigger than any beast of the sea they had ever seen or known about. Its colossal tail flapped once, sending the entire boat and its passengers flying into the air before they plunged back into the water- By the time they’d gotten their bearings, the shadow had begun to disappear, fading as it sank further into the depths below.

-In the sands of the Motara Desert, legend has it that there reigns an eternal sandstorm, the largest in all of existence, constantly roaming and traveling around a general area it has been bound and cursed to. In this eternal sandstorm, those trapped inside can see the shadows of giant, colossal monsters in the distance, hidden and obscured by the whirling sand.

If one stays still for too long in this eternal sandstorm, they will quickly find themselves buried alive, and tales report sightings of gigantic masses moving underneath the sand, bigger than any creature spotted before. Some rumors and whispers claim this sandstorm is the embodiment of Ketar’s slighted rage against mortals for the sins they committed that defiled Okoto through the Grat Cataclysm- Others go as far as to claim the storm IS Ketar herself.

-Deep in the Motara Desert, perhaps not coincidentally in the eternal sandstorm from time to time, is the massive stinger-tail of a Kofo-Jaga. When hunting, the massive scorpions burrow through the sand, and when chasing prey their stinger-tails will emerge from the sand, marking their location as the Kofo-Jaga chase after prey.

But amongst these encounters is the story of one stinger-tail, far larger than any seen before. This stinger-tail is bigger than even a Kofo-Jaga, and Okotans have dubbed the unseen owner of this tail the ‘Nui-Jaga’, AKA the Great Scorpion. The Nui-Jaga is one of the mythical Rahi of legend, a cryptid that has never been fully seen, only glimpsed, so nobody knows its true size, and guesses based on Kofo-Jaga proportions to their tails are just that- Guesses.

-The ‘Will-O-the-Wisp’, a mysterious blue light, an ethereal orb spotted randomly in the dark corners and alleyways of the Mega Villages at night. Sources indicate that the Will-O-the-Wisp was seen shortly after the Skull Spider emergence, and sightings of it ceased sometime after the official establishment of the Mega Villages, suspiciously.

According to one eyewitness, they had been walking around their home one night, unable to sleep, when they briefly spotted a bright-blue light hovering above their loved one’s face. As soon as the witness cried out, the light disappeared, even as the loved one began murmuring and twisting around, becoming more troubled by the passing second. Concerned, the eyewitness woke their loved one after several intense shakings- Awake, the loved one reported having particularly surreal nightmares of their worst fears and eldritch entities chasing them down, attempting to kill them.

-The Kane-Ra Demon, a story about how those who wander into random openings in the ground will find themselves lost in an inescapable maze, where a Kane-Ra demon will track them down and kill them. Very rarely, those who have gotten lost and chased were able to find passageways leading back to the surface of Okoto. However, said survivors apparently reported that the openings they exited from weren’t the same ones they entered the maze from.

Allegedly, some survivors reported running for what felt like miles, only to find themselves in an exit not too far from the entrance; Others barely wandered in the maze and emerged in an entirely different Elemental Region to begin with. Attempts to return to these entrances and exits have failed, as when the survivors came back to them after marking down their location, the openings had inexplicably disappeared.

-Death Vines, an urban legend of a strange, rotted-looking type of vine across the floor of the Region of Jungle that when approached, lashes out and strangles the victim, or else drags them off to never be seen again. According to these myths, these Death Vines feed off of heat and warmth and are wounded by the cold. Some Okotans believe the ‘Death Vines’ in question are actually Bog Snakes/Kuna/Z-Strikers (whichever name floats your boat), camouflaged into the environment. There preference of heat over cold is simply because they’re reptiles- And while many find this explanation reassuring, others aren’t entirely convinced.

-The Whispers of Tiro, a story of how amidst the whistling and songs of Tiro Canyon, if one listens closely, they can hear what seems to be the whispers of others. Most dismiss these as just the wind, or an overactive imagination, but others insist that they’ve heard voices whisper and plot wicked things in Tiro Canyon. Perhaps it is the Skull Puppets, their words carried on the wind?

-The Hunter, a fabled dark creature spotted all across Okoto. A common ghost story uttered to children, parents warn them that if they misbehave, the Hunter will emerge from the woods, the water, whichever, in the deepest darkness of night, and slit their throats before skinning them and displaying their pelts for all to see! While most who have grown up have since doubted the authenticity of this tale, a few HAVE claimed to have seen a darkened, elusive hunter chasing after the elements themselves...

There are many suggested origins for the Hunter, one of the most popular being that the Hunter is the spirit of a mother deer, slain cruelly by a vicious hunter as she protected her offspring. From her dead corpse sprung a twisted, blackened tree with branches shaped like antlers, and one night the tree uprooted itself, forming legs and arms as it began to take vengeance on all Okotans who hunt. Those who go hunting will suddenly step down and find their legs caught in sharp, bloody bear-traps as the Hunter emerges from the shadows to kill and flay them.

Others claim the Hunter was once a regular Okotan who went on a killing spree, and even slaying fellow Okotans when their bloodlust wasn’t sated. Angered, the other members of the village in turn hunted down the Hunter, ironically enough, and impaled them to a tree with flung arrows. The Hunter died, but not before uttering a final curse. After their demise, the Hunter was either absorbed by the tree, which twisted into a humanoid creature with branches sprouting from its head shaped like antlers, OR the hunter’s body was buried, and from it sprouted its familiar, oaken body.

#bionicle #Bionicle RaE #halloween #ghost stories #okoto #umarak #makuta #tarakava #rahi #nui-jaga #scorpion #ketar #krika #october #spoopy

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dragon-0nline-blog · 5 years

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Tarot notes

The Fool:

Upright:

The fool stands on a cliff's edge, overlooking the limitless potential of their future.

The way is uncertain, but you have all the tools. Make the leap. Do not let insecurity bind you.

Reversed:

The Fool rushes in without guidance, ignoring all the warning signs.Beware of acting rashly.

Consider the consequences of your actions and tread lightly in the dark.

The Magician:

Upright:

The Magician makes real that which is unreal, manifesting desires from nothingness.

Now is the time to take action, before all comes to naught. Stay focused: You have a job to do.

Reversed:

The Magician manipulates and obscures the truth. Their honeyed words seem like hope in the haze.

Be wary of lies from the mouths of charismatic charmers. They will not keep their promises.

The High Priestess:

Upright:

The High Priestess stands guardian to the gates of mystery, offering arcane secrets to the initiated.

Listen to your dreams; allow intuition to guide you. All will be revealed in time.

Reversed:

The High Priestess stands between you and your inner self, blocking the way forward.

Be careful of losing touch with your intuition. Do not close your mind to the world's mysteries.

The Empress:

Upright:

The Empress embraces her inner beauty and kind nature, allowing it to flourish in the world around her.

Now is the time to nurture your relationships, carefully cultivating your connection to others.

Reversed:

The Empress gives until there is nothing left for herself, leaving an empty husk behind.

Do not sacrifice yourself for the sake of others. They may not return what they have taken.

The Emperor:

Upright:

The Emperor is in control of his own destiny, building his empire on a solid foundation.

Trust your experiences. You can learn much from observing the consequences of your actions.

Reversed:

The Emperor rules over his world with an iron fist, allowing nothing to escape his grasp.

Be careful not to hold too tightly to your empire. Plants only grow when given room to flourish.

The Hierophant:

Upright:

The Hierophant values tradition above all, encouraging conformity and trust in established institutions.

You may find yourself seeking instruction in new areas of life. Place your faith in long-trusted methods.

Reversed:

The Hierophant has grown too comfortable in the fortress of tradition, at the expense of necessary progress.

It is time to break conventions, question your longheld beliefs, and embrace positive change.

The Lovers:

Upright:

The Lovers embrace each other, united by the knowledge they are stronger combined.

Remember the value of connection and communication. A new partnership may soon be in your future.

Reversed:

The Lovers turn from each other, allowing the bridge of communication between them to crumble.

It may be time to re-examine your relationships and decide whether your values truly align.

The Chariot:

Upright:

The Chariot is in complete control of its own destiny. It hurtles towards victory, unhindered by adversity.

Work hard and stay focused. Your drive will be rewarded; the road will lead you right.

Reversed:

The Chariot careens out of control, losing its way as it becomes stranded on the road.

Sometimes you must learn to release the reins in order to move forward.

Strength:

Upright:

Strength can be quiet; often she shines through patience and compassion, not aggression.

Trust your own strength. You will find courage inside when it is most needed.

Reversed:

Strength has lost her careful equilibrium, and with it, control of her inner beasts.

Now is the time to reconnect to your core. Do not lose your confidence: you have power yet untold.

The Hermit:

Upright:

The Hermit knows the value of silence and embraces it in all things.

Look inside yourself for the answers you seek. Take time for introspection in the days ahead.

Reversed:

The Hermit hides in his cave, shutting out the world and ignoring its lessons.

Be wary of retreating too far within your own mind. Others still have valuable things to share.

Wheel of Fortune:

Upright:

The Wheel turns endlessly with the passage of time, changing fortunes as if by whim.

Take heart: you are still the guardian of your own fate. Work hard and life will provide the rest.

Reversed:

The Wheel must return all to its beginning- life cannot remain in the sun forever.

Forces outside your control may conspire to bring you down. Embrace this: it is the way of the world.

Justice:

Upright:

Justice carefully weighs every option, making her choice with complete objectivity.

You may soon be faced with a decision. Allow Justice to guide your hand, and you will find peace.

Reversed:

Justice has allowed bias to cloud her judgment, darkening the world with chaos and lies.

Take a step back and gather all the facts before you make a decision. Your choices have consequences.

The Hanged Man:

Upright:

The Hanged Man relinquishes control, sacrificing himself to the judgment of the World.

Sometimes, the best strategy is a swift retreat. Take time to regroup and re-examine your options.

Reversed:

The Hanged Man is offered as tribute against his will, and self-determination is wrested from his grasp.

Be careful of stagnation- your own goals have value. They don't deserve to be put on hold.

Death:

Upright:

Death reaps that which has run her course, allowing new life to grow in the space left behind.

Do not fear change: all things must come to an end. Beauty lies in the transition.

Reversed:

Death turns her back on his duty, allowing things to fester and rot in her negligence.

Do not delay the inevitable- you threaten your own future in the process. Change will come.

Temperance:

Upright:

Temperance shuns extremes and embraces harmony. She finds tranquility in the midst of struggle.

In all things, there is a balance. Take the middle road- it will not lead you astray.

Reversed:

Temperance allows conflict to overwhelm her peaceful disposition; she reacts with extreme measures.

Be at ease: some things can not be forced. Take a step back and recenter yourself to see more clearly.

The Devil:

Upright:

The Devil knows there is power in perception. He binds those who cannot see their path to freedom.

Shake off his veil: you are not trapped. There is always a way out of even the darkest places.

Reversed:

The Devil loses influence over his flock as the chains of bondage drop from his tight grasp.

It is time to clean house: purge the things that harm you from your life. Take back your power.

The Tower:

Upright:

The Tower rises above the world, a beacon of great upheaval and crumbling structure.It may be painful, but the Tower offers a balm: things will be better when the dust settles.

Reversed:

The Tower is a portent of destruction. Ignoring its message is never wise.

You may be delaying an inevitable disaster. Take heed: the Tower has a way of crumbling regardless.

The Star:

Upright:

The Star has faith in herself that radiates through the darkness, guiding the lost and weary.

Believe in your inner light. You may have endured great hardship, but it only makes you shine brighter.

Reversed:

The Star has allowed doubts to dampen her light, losing faith in herself and the world around her.

Now is not the time to despair. Keep believing and let your star shine bright. The world needs you.

The Moon:

Upright:

The Moon creates illusions in the dead of night, obscuring truth and casting long shadows.

Do not ignore your inner voice. Trust your intuition to lead you true, and the darkness will fade.

Reversed:

The Moon hangs low and dim in the sky, obscuring the way forward with darkness and confusion.

It may be time to examine what fears are blocking your path. Your next step will become clear.

The Sun:

Upright:

The Sun shines brightly on your path, illuminating what seemed lost in the darkness of night.

Rejoice in the hope of a new day. Nothing can stop you now; success is in your future.

Reversed:

The Sun shines weakly in the sky, threatened by storm clouds building on the horizon.

You may be struggling to see the good in a bad situation. Things will be alright; storms always clear.

Judgment:

Upright:

Judgment looks within for absolution, shedding time-worn insecurities and guilt.

You should forgive yourself of past mistakes, heal old wounds, and start anew.

Reversed:

Judgment cannot shed his past. He has become ensnared in self-doubt and flagellation.

Do not be too hard on yourself. Mistakes will be made- what matters is how you learn from them.

The World:

Upright:

The World celebrates a journey come full circle. A land of new opportunity lies at your feet.

The road has been long, and often brutal. Take this time to be proud of all you have accomplished.

Reversed:

The World strays from its path just before its final goals are met. Something holds it back.

You may be lacking closure. Don't risk losing your way when your journey is almost at its end.

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nvzblgrrl · 7 years

Text

Boy, I sure love the Persona series despite never owning a single Atlus game in my life and sucking at video games in general.

I’m designing Personas for every version of the Doctor and a few companions besides. I’ve only got the lineart and specific details done for Four and Six’s, though I’ve got Arcana picked out for all the Doctor’s along with Personas for all but... about half of them (and some of the ones I do have are subject to change). I use the Elemental Affinities from Doctor Who Legacy to fill out some of the details/reduce the number of potential Personas.

First Doctor -The Hierophant, Fortune, Death

Persona - Itztlacoliuhqui (Aztec Winter/Death God - thought it was fitting)

Second Doctor - The Emperor, The Lovers, The Moon

Persona - IDK need to do more research. Really, Two got the Arcana he did sort of by default.

Third Doctor - The Chariot, Strength, Justice

Persona - Uriel (picked partially because I thought it was cool, but also because of the ‘sword of truth’ mentioned in Pertwee’s ‘I Am The Doctor’ - also for reasons of cool).

Fourth Doctor - The Magician, The Lovers, Fortune (Technically, I gave each Doctor three arcana that I thought added up to sum up their personalities/situation rather well - or to round out the numbers of other cards, since I wanted a limit on Magicians. Then out of the three, I’d pick one as their ‘Prime’, which in this case, is the Magician for Four).

Magicians are tricksters, the protagonists of their story who have power or knowledge (or sometimes both) at their command. He can be a literal practitioner of the mystic arts or the kind that pulls rabbits out of his hat, but he’s definitely doing things tha the average person would be hard pressed to follow, much less understand.

Persona - Loki. I thought that out of all the trickster figures, Loki suited Four very well. The Time Lords used Four as an agent despite his displeasure in the role, the Aesir used Loki as their agent (and general problem solver) despite generally not liking him in the first place. The mythological Loki’s character can run the gamut from benign to outright malicious (though the last seems to happen only after extreme provocation, seeing as the Loki kills Baldr story seems to have mostly cropped up after Christianity moved into the area), but I think that Loki’s fight against Skrymsli would be the exact sort of thing Four (and the Doctor in general) would do.

Fire, Lightning, and Ice affinity, high magic stat. Has access to Tri-Attack (which doesn’t have a particular Elemental Nature but randomly inflicts a status condition along with generic damage; either burn, paralyze, or freeze). A few healing skills, but generally a solo act in battle. Wields sword and snakes together, with the serpents acting as ropes.

Fifth Doctor - The Emperor, Strength, The Sun

Persona - Gawain

Sixth Doctor - The Chariot, Temperance, The Moon

The Moon is a card associated with the mind, be it dreams, illusions, trickery, creativity, or madness. It’s also a possible prediction of a journey, though where that winding path through the dark might lead is a mystery.

Persona - Tybalt. This one was a bit trickier, because while I was pretty clear on Six’s Persona definitely being a cat of some sort, there’s not a lot of positive feline figures in stories and myth that really worked well with the Moon Arcana. My first choice was actually the panther of legend, what with the fact that it’s a big cat with a coat of many colors, but that seemed just a touch obscure for my needs (though I kept elements of it).

Then, I considered the Cheshire Cat. Again, it didn’t work - despite the delicious irony of the most conspicuously dressed Doctor having a Persona that goes invisible -, though this time because it would have been a bit better fit for another Doctor (Four). So I plucked a few traits from there and moved on.

Finally, I turned my gaze upon the works of Shakespeare and not only found a fitting character (Tybalt Capulet being a hotheaded show off and Six... well, being himself) but also a connection to an older character - Tybalt/Tibert, the Prince of Cats from the Reynard Fox stories.

Physical focused skills, minor Fire and Electrical affinity, higher Dark typing, well-rounded stats. Mind-altering area of effect attacks (Panther’s breath). Wields a pistol sword/gun blade. Has a relatively subdued color scheme (apart from iridescent patterns on his coat) and a habit of fading in and out of sight (ironically for its master). Long tail (fur resembles snow leopard). Has irises that change through the phases of the moon.

Seventh Doctor - The Magician, The Emperor, The Hierophant

Persona – Odin (another Trickster deity)

Eight Doctor - Strength, The Hanged Man, The Star (haven’t made up my mind yet)

Persona - Was leaning towards Dionysus/Zagreus for maximum pain, but with the Arcana undecided, his final Persona’s similarly up in the air.

War Doctor – Justice, The Hermit, The Hanged Man

Persona - Undecided.

Ninth Doctor – Justice, Fortune, The Hermit

The Wheel of Fortune is a symbol of the cycle of life. Things go up and go down in their own time, good can become bad and go just as easily in the other direction. A user of the Fortune Arcana is usually a person interested in taking control of their own destiny in spite of fate and are responsible for making the important decisions in the face of what life throws at them.

Persona - Mothman. An ominous cryptid that seems to appear in relation to disaster... not unlike the incarnation of the Doctor most closely followed by whoisdoctorwho.co.uk. Scary and enigmatic, but not necessarily evil.

Design wise, I took a few cues from gas masks, various artistic interpretations of the Mothman, and actual moths.

A Persona that operates mostly at range, making excellent use of Mental-Ailment abilities (apparently through the scales it sheds from its wings) and Wind -type attacks. Has an uncanny ability to predict the movements of others.

Tenth Doctor - The Lovers, Hunger/Jester, The Tower

The Tower represents a loss of control, unhealthy attachment, emotional turmoil, a fixation on the past, tragedy, ruination, death, and foundations shaken. If one ignores the wake-up calls and the unavoidable fact that all relationships will eventually end, the only fate left to the person who draws this card is disaster. Self-deception saves no-one and neither does hiding yourself away in the Ivory Tower; this card will see it destroyed in totality.

Persona - Ozymandias. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair. A fair fit for the Doctor obsessed with the past and eventually declared himself a god, only to fall. Besides taking designs cues from the statue that may have inspired the poem, I also took reference from other fragmented statues from antiquity; particularly the legendary Colossus of Rhodes. Not visible in the WIP are various leakages of oil/something else black, dripping, and unpleasant.

A very physically focused Persona, it does have a few unexpected talents, such as a proficiency in Dark and Fire-type attacks (as befitting a corrupted visage of Helios) and a variety of healing abilities. Probably would be a more stable and powerful Persona if its owner was capable of recognizing his own hypocrisies. As it is, it is still a force to be contended with.

Eleventh Doctor – The Magician, The Chariot, The Hanged Man

Persona - Undecided.

Twelfth Doctor – The Hermit, Death, The Devil

Persona - Undecided.

Valeyard – Hunger/Jester, The Devil, The Tower

Persona - Angra Mainyu

Dream Lord - The Devil

Persona - Undecided.

Curator - The Hierophant

Undecided.

#why do i do this to myself?#answer: because i like psychology tarot mythology and funky JRPG character designs #persona #doctor who #my art #doodley #doodles inside #will be updated as i do more

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abigailabbyallen · 6 years

Text

oh hi there.

abby here.

"me, doing what i do best: trampsing through the forest in long effluvious dresses like some sort-of Marie Antoinette-esque faux Bohemian will-o-the-wisp-ish Nietzschian Dionysian desperate hipster. but really, i’m just me, which isn’t much of anybody…not really. Guess the joke’s on me. Good one, abby…good one."

ok ‘abby,’ so what?! who am i and what do i do and why on-earth should you care?

ok, okay. honestly, you probably shouldn’t care. but, on the freakish off-chance that somebody out-there happens to feel, even just mildly intrigued, here’s a bit (ok, a bit more than a ‘bit,’) about what makes me totally amazing…

i’d call myself an amateur dabbler of-sorts in the epic pursuit of creating something, anything that feels actually meaningful, which seems increasingly difficult to achieve in this culturally divisive, label obsessed, social media skewed, generally soul shattered and straight-up surreally apathetic zeitgeist of our current national climate circa 2017-’18.

So i guess i spend most of my time trying to figure-out how to say something that’s relevant, that at-least feels important, that speaks to people in some emotionally real or soul-stirring way, that would resonate at a frequency that could be felt and so heard by a few finely tuned ears above the din of mostly angry static.

so. what does all that make me, exactly? personally, i’d say it makes me a dreamer, of sorts (quite possibly a delusional one, but still) a dilletante, an idealist, a bit of an agoraphobic hermit, and, once again: a dabbler in the arty-ish-esque pursuit of the visual, creative, and i hope one-day truly meaningful sort, mainly involving drawing, photography, and mixed-media manual mashups of the two.

i like art that shows its fingerprints; some lingering trace of the soul who created it (this “trace” would smell of pine needles, preferably. Or of a match, right-after after its been struck).

i love the way art can often bridge the gap of pleasantries and personna and politeness, to meet at a point where two souls can just sit quietly and reach an intuitive understanding. Whatever this is, this Soul Speak (so-to-speak. ha..)

“i call this creature ‘the Being of Unbearable Lightness’…a winged yet tragically flightless creature typically seen fetally perched amidst the words or glimpsed wandering deeper in the subtext between, the lines of Milan Kundera’s ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” deep in the midst of an existential crisis, paralyzed by life’s seeming lack of meaning, held forever in-place by the great burden of being, and all of life’s just barely endurable beauty and hoping all fraught with subsurface knowing that it is all ever so fleeting- so we’re left half in awe half overwhelmed by the weight of these feelings of being alive and awake to our own fear and trembling, by the simple sound of our own heart’s beating, the sigh of our unspread wings impatiently heaving…. such unbearable weights both the beauty and sorrows of life can become , by such undeserved and immeasurable freedom, our brightness, our lightness our weightless capacity to rise-up in flight, it’s a light that, taken lightly- can both inspire and ignite us, but stared at directly with wide-eyed intensity, it becomes a dark sort of brightness- the kind that will bind us and blind us to the wings we have enfolded behind us, unseen afixed to our backs, and to that which has taken our sight and is holding us back; our capacity for flight kept just out of sight and beyond the brink of our wildest dreaming, and life instead becomes a picture of some living thing captured, a winged being whose chest is still heaving, whose heart is still audibly beating, emanating still a waning sort of fading light, living paralyzed inside a picture framed-in perfect still-life.”

anyway, i just think it is utterly crucial to the honesty and depth of empathy we seek to express and receive in this all-too-human exchange of hearts that beat just beneath the pristine surface in the ancient language that is the secret to all art–

something ancient, forgotten but infinitely innate hidden wisdom that’s held deep beneath the surface of mind, in the depths of every human soul, lost beneath layers of dreams upon blackness upon nightmares upon imaginings upon shadow-figures’ outlines traced in ghost-chalk, held beneath layer after layer of our heart’s bottomless, untamed and unknowable darkness.

and even-though i think We’ve mostly lost touch with-it, there is, every so often for just a little while, that unmistakably “other” sort of silence, that draws-forth our tentative visions from beneath the shadowy-netherrealms of our subconscious, and into the illuminated theatre of our mind’s interior.

Art has the capacity to capture and translate what we can only glimpse or guess-at through our mind’s eye, which is all one very long-winded way of looking at it. Mainly this was just me at my worst: being wordy and tangential in-attempts to sound extremely intelligent. My hoity-toity Stream-of-Unconscious-Gobiligook.

… my somewhat obscure/obscured Point-being: it’s all a matter of how you see things, and what you feel is the best way you can express something deeply and honestly.

And while I’ve seen so-much digitally created art that has taken my breath away ( i marvel at the artist who can look into that boundless techno-void of infinite creative possibility and bring that dream into the light of actual reality…) Because our current technology is pretty powerful stuff- pretty powerful, as in:

“ANYbody! even YOU! possess the power to become magical-God-like-omnipotent-creator-of-virtual-realities-from-pure-visionary-techno-void! All that’s required is some basic computer Know-How and the requisite digital dexterity in-order to press that ‘click’ button!”

But…speaking personally (with way fewer exclamation points) all this apparently very “basic” technology that My Generation is simply expected to have some magical, inherent understanding of,

or at least possess some innate potential for understanding,

or (at the absolute and very least) possess the intellectual hubris necessary to reassure myself that, while theoretically, i totally have all the inherent, intuitive and intellectual hutzpah necessary to develop a highly advanced & thoroughly complete understanding of ALL this technological hooey, if!

If …i felt like it,

the truth is? i DON’T.

Ergo? i DON’T.

instead, i choose to fill my head with whatever i find interesting, such as:

Legends, myths, and figures of ancient Icelandic lore,

apt metaphors and poetic similies that parallel the plight of moths,

Rhymes and imagery relating to the moon,

various metaphors, symbolism, allegories and what have you that embody the nature or capture some elemental facet of the meaning of illumination; including but not limited to such qualities as related to emanation, refraction, reflection, invocation, obfuscation, sfumato, chiaroscuro, projection, bioluminescence, phosphorescence, foxfire, prismatic bifurcation and so-on and so-forth,

other light-related Questions such-as, implications of what it really means to be the kind of thing known to have a particular propensity and/or the inclination to “shine,” …versus the very different sort of thing known for being inherently bestowed with that coveted capacity to emanate from within, i.e. To “glow.”

(This is all important stuff, people)

i also think a lot about eyeshine, a.k.a. “tapestra lucidem,” (i highly doubt that my spelling there is correct, just bytheby) but which essentially translates to mean “illuminated tapestry.” ...which is obviously pretty intriguing because the two things (eyeshine and illuminated tapestries) don't immediately strike-me as being in anyway related let-alone synonymous, so by its very definition alone this idea of eyeshine is weird, in that mysterious, spooky-beautiful & phantasmagorically delicious kinda way...

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