#'an unprecedented creature' indeed

[songofwizardry]

had about half of the most recent critical role episode left, decided to watch some to calm down before sleep.

that was two hours ago bc holy shit was i uh. not expecting the whole last hour. holy fucking shit, did ashton ever push that damn red button. we got the perches. we got sam hiding in the hood. we got the book-on-the-head. we got the yelling. we got what i am now referring to as matt's 'molly face' every time he rolled. i have not been this tense since the otohan fight and... this felt like a different kind of tense? also it's been a while since then i hadn't realised!

what an absolutely fucking wild series of events and rolls and i cannot believe that worked.

[cheriecelestial]

Jacob Black's Self Saving System Pt.1

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ crack.swearing.not proofread

synopsis *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Jason, a self-proclaimed no. 1 Stephenie Meyer hater, finds himself unexpectedly transmigrated into the very novel he disdained. Following this ironic twist of fate, he is now tasked with the challenge of creating a better version of the story himself.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Inspired from @duckysprouts ’s series. It’s so good ⁉️‼️. If you haven’t seen it already, PLEASE GO CHECK IT OUT. Like finally svsss content that isn’t shizun sphinx cats or binghe skin creature abomination. Art and concept so fresh it made my heart cry with joy and pulled me out of my three-month long writing slump. So, I humbly present this as an offering to our lord and savior, Ducky. Comment, Reblog and Like (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer was a modern classic in its renaissance era with a large cult that loved to hate it. Set in a place with relentless rain, mist shrouded forest and an ethereal light piercing the gloom — the light being the one of only Edward Cullen. Though the statement is subject to fan bias — he was a man, rather sparkly vampire, who somehow managed to be both irresistible and perpetually constipated. 

Nonetheless, his charms never overshadowed the stellar performance of our female lead, Isabella Marie Swan— better known as Bella — a teenager who gained worldwide fame for having a personality less vibrant than a wet cabbage. Together, they navigated the perilous world of teenage angst, vampire baseball, millenia old racist italian politicians and werewolves with a curious t-shirt allergy, all in an impressively monotone palette.

It was a heartwarming tale that began with awkward stares, cryptic yet nauseatingly clichéd conversations and Bella’s inexplicable attraction to danger, making the romance as thrilling as it was perplexing. Meanwhile, the supporting cast of her high school friends, each with their own irrelevant quirks and subplots, served as convenient plot devices — appearing and disappearing at the whim of the author.

And as if her love life wasn’t tumultuous enough, Bella befriended Jacob Black. A werewolf who, unsurprisingly, hated all things vampire and Edward Cullen in particular. Between Edward’s brooding, Jacob’s abs and Bella’s classic damsel-in-distress antics that made poor Elena Gilbert seem unremarkable by comparison — the story unfolded with the subtlety of a glitter bomb and reached unprecedented heights of melodrama. Something that helped the tale become a global phenomenon, demonstrating that improbable love stories can indeed shine in their own sparkly “skin-of-a-killer” fashion.

“This has to be the worst piece of literature I’ve ever read in my life.” Those were strong words from a man who spent years and at least six hundred dollars collecting softbacks and hardbacks in every special and limited edition the series offered. Jason Black was an anti-fan who lived to scoff at the literary mediocrities of authors who, after taking one look at their drafts, believed they deserved to be released into the world as actual literature. Such people, often inspired by similar works, spawned their own deranged narratives, subsequently contaminating the sanctity of literature. 

In layman’s terms, Jason was a fervent hater of the highest order. He had a long list of things he despised about the series, yet curiously, re-watching the movies and re-reading the books always found its way to the top of his to-do list every other weekend. But do not get him wrong, not once did he say anything in favour of the series. Jason simply considered it one of those brain-rotting pieces that needed to be experienced to truly appreciate the beauty of classics like Emily Brontë and Jane Austen.

_username_1 : Bruh stfu. You’re probably an unemployed loner with nothing better to do in life than to be a keyboard warrior.  

_username_2 : then idk buddy don’t read it ? It’s not that hard. 

Jason huffed at the screen crossily, his fingers dancing over the keyboard unsure of what to type next. With a sigh, he stretched his arms as if preparing for battle. And a battle it was — being an anti-fan required more dedication, practice and patience than being a regular fan. What he didn’t realize was that he had knocked a water bottle off the table onto the frayed cord of his PC.

He couldn't fathom why people defended it as if their lives depended on it. If he ever met Stephenie Meyer, Jason would have a long talk with her about the plot—or rather, the lack thereof. With the number of plot holes in the books, they could qualify as swiss cheese. The inconsistencies were glaring: if sunlight made them sparkle, wouldn't they still sparkle during the day, just less brilliantly ? How did Jasper and Alice not overhear the phone call despite having super-hearing ? Why did Jasper go ballistic over a papercut when he attended a school where students would get paper cuts and scrapes all the time ? Why were vampires and werewolves the only species to exist ? And why was Bella, or more specifically her blood, so exceptional ? Did she perhaps descend from a line of flavourful blood havers or was it due to her mother's partial albinism ?

Was she special because she was the female lead, or was she the female lead because she was special ? There were so many unanswered questions and half-assed excuses for the events in the story that most explanations came from clever fans trying to make sense of things the author clearly put no effort into planning or thinking through. These questions had plagued him since he first read the series, and the lack of satisfying answers only fueled his irritation. So much so that Jason was embarrassed for the author. Regardless, he didn’t like the direction this conversation was going so he did what any intelligent person would do, i.e., spew hate comments and log off. 

edward_my_bbg : Dumbfuck novel, Dumbfuck author 

And as if on cue, a new notification popped up, dragging him back into the fray. It was another comment, this time mocking his apparent obsession with the series he claimed to hate. Jason’s face flushed with irritation as he furiously typed a retort, but before he could hit send, his screen flickered and went black. 

He looked down and realized the water bottle he had knocked over had short-circuited his PC. With a groan, Jason leaned back in his chair, staring at the dark screen. It seemed the universe had decided to give him a break from his self-imposed battle. His hand fumbled in the dark for the plug only to feel water on the surface. The sharp pain and crackle of electricity were the last things he knew before he plunged headfirst into endless darkness.

[Activation Code:「Dumbfuck Author, Dumbfuck Novel」 ]

[System activated] 

[Pairing command successful]

“What system ?” Jason asked out loud into the void even though he knew that it was most likely a figment of his imagination. He hadn’t expected to receive a reply however he did receive one much to his surprise. 

[Welcome to the system. During the opening of the 「you can you up」system currently in its development phase, we wish to provide you with the best experience. It is our sincere hope that during the process, you will achieve what you have stated: to transform a piece of stupid writing in accordance with your wishes into a high-end, expansive, and classic work. We wish you happiness.]

Jason blinked, trying to make sense of the message. He glanced around the dim room, half-expecting to see some kind of holographic interface or futuristic display but there was nothing. Just the voice in his head and the darkness. “What the hell is this ?” he muttered, feeling a mix of confusion and curiosity.

[You have been selected to participate in the beta phase of the 「you can you up」 system. Your task is to improve the story you despise, turning it into a masterpiece. All resources and guidance will be provided to you. Do you accept this challenge ?]

Jason hesitated, the situation seemed absurd, yet a part of him was intrigued. As he sat in silence, a thought occurred to him—what if he could actually fix all the plot holes that drove him up a wall ? Maybe this was his chance to prove he could do better. But then, the possibility of all of this being real seemed too slim. How did he get here ? What happened to him after the electric shock? Was he dying, or was he already dead ? "And if I don't accept ?" he asked, uncertainty and fear bleeding into his voice despite his attempt at maintaining his composure. The system responded quickly in the same mechanical tone as before.

[Your connection between your former body and soul was severed before the initiation of the program. If you choose not to accept, you will be returned to your previous reality with no changes made. This opportunity is unique and will not be offered again.]

“Severed from my body ? Wait— doesn’t that mean I’ll die if I don’t accept ?” Jason's question hung in the air, met with nothing but silence from the system. The lack of response only confirmed his fear.

The system's silence was deafening, seemingly pressing him to make a decision. Realizing he had little choice, Jason took a deep breath. “Fine, I accept,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. How bad could it possibly be ? 

[Command acknowledged. Initializing story rewrite mode.]

The void around him began to shift and wrap. Till now he felt as though he was floating with no sensation except the system’s sound. His reality dissolved into swirling colours and Jason felt himself being pulled into a vortex. When the chaos settled, he heard a man’s voice call out to him. Unlike the clinical tone of system, this voice felt comforting and personal. He could feel tender warmth run through him however he couldn’t quite figure out what the voice was saying. 

“Son ? Can you hear me ?” 

“Dad ?” Jason murmured involuntarily, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up from a long sleep. The gravel in the voice reminded him of the joys of his childhood when his dad was still — wait a second. Who the hell is that ?

His eyes struggled to focus as his eyelids fluttered a few times. Eventually, he was able to make out his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the ceiling. Unlike the damp ceiling of his old apartment with its peeling plaster and harsh lighting, this one had old glow-in-the-dark moon and star stickers. It wasn’t familiar, but it seemed oddly comforting, like he had known it all his life. He slowly turned his head and saw a middle-aged man sitting on a wheelchair beside him with concern clouding his face. The man's russet complexion was lined with wrinkles yet his hair was long and lustrous.

“Where am I ?” 

“You’re at home. You’ve been asleep for so long, it’s alright if you’re confused. Take your time son.” The man he called ‘dad’ answered sincerely.

Jason’s mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. The familiarity of the room and the comforting presence of the man didn’t align with the reality he remembered. In that moment, everything came back to him—his death, the void, the system, everything. Jason went into what could only be described as psychological shock. His brain went on autopilot.

The man reached out to grab Jason’s hand, but Jason flinched and pulled away. Slivers of hurt flashed in the old man’s eyes as he slowly withdrew his hand. Jason hadn’t meant to react so harshly, but the information dump combined with the influx of sensory input, he was simply too overwhelmed to cope.

“I-I think i need some space. Do you mind ?” Jason spoke each word carefully, then added, “...dad,” feeling strangely guilty for hurting his feelings. The old man nodded slowly and wheeled himself out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Jason jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror. "Who the FUCK is this?"

Staring back at him was a boy, fifteen or sixteen, with the same russet skin as the old man and glossy black hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. Recognizing the features, Jason knew this could only be one person.

 [System activation successful ! Binding your role as : Jacob Black]

[System : Booting Up]

Jason, now Jacob Black, stared at his reflection in disbelief. The reality of his situation hit him like a shit ton of bricks. He brought his fist to his mouth and sobbed into it, and here he thought college was devastating. “But I’m Team Edward,” he choked out between sobs. “That’s so fucked up.”

[Thank you for initiating the execution of the system. You are not bound with the account ‘Jacob Black’. All resources and guidance will be provided to you in due time. Initial B points : 100]

Jason—Jacob—felt a rush of confusion and frustration. “Now what the hell are B points ?!” he yelled, his voice reverberating off the walls of the unfamiliar room. The loudness of his own voice startled him, making him realize just how different everything felt in this new body.

[As the plot progresses, a number of opportunities to gain more points will be available. Please make sure your B points are not lower than 0. Otherwise, the system will automatically impose penalties.]

He stumbled back from the mirror, running a hand through his hair, which was definitely longer and thicker than he remembered. He could feel the strength in his limbs, the vitality of youth coursing through him. Yet, despite the physical vigor, his mind was in turmoil. He had transmigrated into the very novel he hated; the universe always seemed to have a field day when it came to ruining his life. Jacob looked around the room that was littered with the relics of a life he had to now live — a cozy bed with rumpled sheets, a desk cluttered with schoolbooks and posters of motorcycles, bands and scenic landscapes on the walls.

“Um, so is Bella here ?” Jacob asked, scarfing down the bacon his dad made for him. Despite stressing over the role he was supposed to play in the story, he quickly adapted to his new life. He had a family, a house to live in, no worries about finding employment, no bills or taxes, a social life—or at least he assumed he had one—and, most importantly, no backaches. In hindsight, this might not be all that bad.

“Oh, you remember that ? Charlie said she’s arriving in a couple of days,” his dad, Billy, replied. Jacob felt a strange mix of anticipation and relief. Unlike most unfortunate transmigratees, he had no death flags to worry about, so he could sit back and watch Bella and Edward fall in love without “Jacob” interrupting them. Maybe he could even make things easier for Bella by acting like the perfect wingman. Who cared about making a better story anyway ? And once he had seen his OTP together, he could take his ticket out of town after the wedding and never return so that he could avoid the whole Renesmee business because some fates are worse than death.

[WARNING: Your plan is extremely dangerous and constitutes a violation. Please do not attempt it, or the system will impose strict penalties.]

Jacob choked on his water as the sudden warning window popped up in front of him. For a moment, he was so immersed in the domestic comfort of his new life that he almost forgot about the cursed system. His father looked at him with concern.

“Water went down the wrong pipe, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” Jacob said awkwardly, trying to reassure his father. So you can read minds now ? He internally taunted the system.

[It is a feature designed to ensure maximum support for the user.]

“That’s bullshit. Also, what do you mean by violation ?” Jacob asked. Does this system really have no respect for privacy ? If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was some kind of Zuckerberg’s meta gimmick.

[You are currently at the beginning stage. OOC function freeze is activated. You must complete the beginning stage before any functions can be unlocked. If you perform any actions against the original ‘Jacob Black’ role before the functions are unfrozen, a certain number of B points will be deducted.]

Given his extensive time spent on the internet, Jacob was well aware of what OOC meant, and he knew it wasn’t a good sign. OOC stood for Out Of Character, referring to actions taken by a role that deviated from how the character was originally written.

“FUCK OFF. I’m an adult. I already finished my degree and Bella is like, a baby. And you can forget the whole Renesmee shit too. Bella belongs with Edward and and I have no intention of pursuing either her or her future daughter. So back off, you creep of a system.”

[WARNING: The system is issuing another alert. If your B points fall below 0, you will incur a penalty, which involves being automatically transported back to your original world.]

“You know, threatening me with death is really getting old,” Jacob stared at the warning message with his anger mounting. It felt like the system was encroaching on every aspect of his new life, imposing rules and restrictions without offering any clarity or real support.

He took a deep breath, trying to push past his irritation. There was no point in arguing with an automated system, especially one that clearly had its own agenda. Jacob decided to focus on what he could control. He needed to immerse himself in his role as Jacob Black and complete the introductory stage without attracting undue attention. The system’s warnings might be annoying, but he couldn’t let them derail his efforts to adapt to his new life.

As he finished his breakfast, Jacob glanced around the house. It was warm and welcoming, albeit a little messy, which was understandable. He and his dad were the only ones living there and according to his dad, he had been inexplicably unconscious for almost a week. Keeping the house tidy wasn't exactly a priority for a man worried sick about his son.

“Thanks for breakfast… Dad,” Jacob said, still not used to the idea of having a father again. There was the whole issue of stealing the real “Jacob” ’s life, dealing with imposter syndrome, and the guilt of replacing the memory of his own father by calling this old man his dad. But that was an existential crisis he chose not to mull over at the moment, especially on the precipice of the story's start. Call him selfish, but he preferred to focus on his blessings.

“I’ll go take a walk. I’ve been asleep for a while, so I need to… uh, stretch my legs,” Jacob said awkwardly, hoping Billy wouldn’t notice anything strange about his behavior.

“Sure thing, son. Also grab some red meat from the store for dinner. A growing kid like you needs that protein. And buy yourself something nice with the leftover money,” Billy replied, taking out his wallet and handing him some cash.

Jacob stared at the man in awe. As a kid who had bounced around the foster system after his dad died, he was used to being scorned and neglected. This might be part of the reason why he had become a social recluse, spending his time bashing bad literature and authors online. To him, Billy Black was the closest thing he had ever seen to an angel.

Jacob took the money, still feeling a bit dazed. “Thanks, Dad,” he managed to say, pocketing the cash. The air filling his lungs was much fresher than the pollution-riddled air of the city he used to live in. Nature seemed a lot nicer than he remembered. So, here's a lesson for the kids—don’t wait until you die and get transmigrated into a novel you hate to understand the importance of getting outside and appreciating nature. In short, go touch some fucking grass before it’s too late.

Almost as if by instinct he found himself at La Push beach. He wandered through the familiar yet new surroundings, trying to piece together his plan. If he was going to be stuck in this world, he might as well make the best of it. He thought about the story and mentally reviewed his plan. He would stay under the radar, be friendly but unobtrusive and focus on blending in with the locals. If he played his cards right, he might just manage to navigate this strange new life without getting points deducted by the system’s restrictions.

After strolling along the shore for a while, Jacob found a rock to sit on and watch the ocean. It was a stark contrast to the urban jungle he was accustomed to, this place was serene and almost idyllic.

“Ayo, is that Jacob ? Hey, Jake !” he heard someone call out. A moment later, a boy close to his age ran up to him, followed by one more. “Um, hey guys. How’s it... going ?” Socializing wasn’t one of Jacob’s strong suits; in fact, it was the exact opposite of the skill he had meticulously avoided developing over the years.

“Man, the whole crew was freaking out about you. You were out cold for a week and for no reason !” One thing Jacob appreciated about the system was the introduction tags above each character’s head. The boy speaking was named Quil, his cousin from the Quileute tribe. He knew these interactions were unavoidable, given their significance to his new role in the plot.

“Well, I got better ?” Jacob attempted a witty quip but cringed at how poorly it landed. To his surprise, the two boys just laughed. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Stop by Sam’s sometime; he’s been asking about you,” Embry said, giving Jacob a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“Wait Sam ? Right of course. Duh. Sam’s place. Got it.” Jacob replied, blinking in confusion for a moment. Sam Uley was the Alpha—or at least the to-be Alpha—of the pack Jacob was supposed to join during New Moon.

[Mild OOC warning]

“Ay man, you feeling okay ?” Embry asked again, noticing Jacob’s hesitation. Jacob froze, Embry Call was the real Jacob’s best friend and if he figured out that Jason wasn’t really Jacob, it would spell massive trouble for him.

Jacob forced a smile. “Uh, yeah. I just—” He quickly tried to think of something. What would Jacob Black say in this situation ? What does he do to feel better ? He racked his brain for answers, knowing he needed to play the part convincingly, at least till he found a way to unfreeze the OOC function.

Go bother Bella ? a small voice suggested. Bella’s not here yet dumbass, another voice countered sharply. After years of social isolation, Jason’s inner dialogue had evolved to the point where he could have entire discussions with himself. No, he wasn’t schizophrenic.

“—I was just going to grab some red meat to chow on and uh y’know, work on my bike,” he finished, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nerves.

Embry and Quil exchanged a knowing look, which made Jacob's anxiety spike only to burst into laughter. “Classic Jake. At this rate, you might end up marrying your bike,” Quil teased and Jacob laughed along, though he desperately wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

“Just take it easy, yeah ? We don’t want you passing out on us again. By the way, there's a sale at the store on the other side of town,” Embry squeezed Jacob’s shoulder reassuringly again. The familiarity they seemed to share with him was comforting, even if he felt like an imposter. He knew he had to get up to speed quickly if he wanted to maintain this facade. They soon parted ways and Jacob headed towards the store.

The store lady was overly enthusiastic upon seeing Jacob. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his face or the fact that he was a regular. As Jason, he had always been below average in looks and physique. Whereas, by the virtue of being the second male lead of a popular teenage romance novel, Jacob Black was undeniably attractive. With his deep-set dark eyes, prominent cheekbones, and beautiful long hair, he looked like someone Jason would have envied. Maybe he could try his hand at modeling once the story ended, because there was no way he was putting himself through college again.

And as unpredictable as the weather of Forks was, it began to rain. Normally, Jason would wait it out and then go but now that he as in Jacob’s body, he thought to test his body’s limits. Like c’mon a little drizzle isn’t going to hurt a big strong werewolf alpha-to-be. He stepped out into the rain, feeling the cool droplets on his skin. It was refreshing, almost invigorating. Jacob’s body seemed to handle the cold and wet far better than Jason’s ever did. As he made his way back the store, he noticed people giving him friendly nods and waves. It felt strange to be acknowledged so warmly, a stark contrast to the anonymity he was used to.

At the red light he stopped, waiting for it to turn green. Sure, there were no cars around and he could have just walked, but road rules were no joke. He liked this life too much to risk having it taken away by truck-kun. “Hey system, is double isekai a thing?” he asked. The system didn’t reply, so that was probably a no.

Jacob glanced to his side and saw a person standing under a large black umbrella. A strong sweet scent pricked his nose. How strong does this guy’s cologne have to be to reach me even with the rain ? There was a name tag hovering above the person’s head, but it was obscured by the umbrella, as was his face. One thing he had learned was that only people relevant to the story had name tags over their heads, which meant this person was a character in the story. He looked down at the stranger’s hand—it looked like porcelain.

Jacob felt a sense of foreboding, creeping up his veins. His instincts were on high alert, telling him that this stranger was no ordinary person. The rain began to pour harder, each drop bouncing off the asphalt with increasing intensity.

The person probably noticed Jacob staring and as he did, the umbrella tilted slightly, revealing a glimpse of a pale, almost ethereal face with piercing golden eyes. The moment their gazes met, Jacob was momentarily blinded by a brilliant golden aura radiating from the name tag above the person’s head.

[Edward Cullen]

Jacob’s heart skipped a beat. Of course, it had to be Edward. What were the odds of encountering your favorite character on the very first day of your new life ? He felt his knees weaken. Despite the dim lighting and gloomy setting, Edward was undeniably striking. The rain seemed to fall more slowly around him, as if even the weather was reluctant to mar his flawlessness . His tousled bronze hair framed his face perfectly and Jacob felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it. Despite all his criticisms of the novel, Edward had always held a special place in his heart for reasons Jacob couldn’t quite explain.

Damn, this mf looks anemic as hell. Maybe I should feed him. It was a half-serious thought, borne from both concern and his internal struggle to reconcile his feelings towards the character with the reality of his situation.

[OOC WARNING! OOC WARNING!]

[Edward Cullen is your enemy.]

“Fuck off, he’s my babygirl,”Jacob shot a mental retort at the system in exasperation and a streak of protectiveness. The system’s declaration that Edward was an enemy wasn’t misplaced given Jacob’s role in the novel but that didn’t mean it wasn’t at odds with his feelings.

Edward had always been his favorite character, a source of fascination and admiration. This was supposed to be his chance to explore and perhaps even improve upon the narrative, not to be embroiled in conflict with a character he held dear.

Jacob didn't even notice when the light turned green and Edward started walking away, his steps soundless on the wet pavement. Acting on impulse or perhaps some hidden desire, Jacob found himself walking towards Edward and grabbing his elbow, accidentally knocking his umbrella aside. Edward stopped and turned to him as the rain continued to soak them both. His gaze was like a sharp, unyielding beam of light, cutting through the rain. His eyes, an unusual shade of golden amber, held a depth that seemed to pierce directly into Jacob's soul, scrutinizing every hidden corner of his being.

[OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC!]

[EDWARD CULLEN IS YOUR ENEMY]

I’m so stupid — I forgot completely. Jacob and Edward haven’t met yet. Maybe… maybe I can salvage this ? Be a dick and still be nice ? He definitely didn’t want to end up on Edward’s bad side, nor did he want to break the system’s rules. Annoying as it was, the system was what kept him alive. Though he’d never say it out loud, he was terrified at the thought of dying, again. The system’s constant reminders of their supposed enmity were starting to grate on him, but he couldn’t afford to make more mistakes. What was a man to do when every choice seemed fraught with peril ?

Ack — he’s staring. Can he hear my thoughts ? I hope not. He and Bella meet soon, if I remember correctly so— Jacob’s anxiety skyrocketed under the weight of that gaze. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat drumming in his ears. A tight knot of dread twisted in his stomach and whether it was the rain or not, he could feel cold sweat forming on his palms. He needed to say something—anything—that wouldn’t completely derail the plot but also wouldn’t make Edward hate him from the start, even if it was inevitable.

“Oh uh — my bad, dude. I just thought you looked kinda sick so I thought — I mean,” Jacob scrambled for an explanation, forcing a nonchalant tone as he released Edward’s elbow. He felt like a small animal trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car, desperately searching for a way to escape unscathed.

“—Uh, here.” He shoved the raw steak he had just bought into Edward’s arms. The system fell silent for a moment, as stunned by his actions as Jacob was. The sound of the rain was almost deafening as awkward silence stretched between them. Edward looked down at the raw steak in his hands, confusion and surprise painting his features.

Without waiting for a reply, Jacob quickly turned on his heel and hurried away, his footsteps splashing through the rain-soaked pavement. “Later ! Get that iron up and be the lady killer you were born to be !” he called over his shoulder. After walking a few metres, he paused briefly and added,“ And seriously lay off the sauvage man !”

As he put more distance between them, Jacob’s thoughts began to spiral. What had he just done ? Did Edward think he was completely nuts ? Or worse, could Edward have read his thoughts and seen through his facade ? Jacob shuddered at the possibility.

[Why did you do that ?]

“I don’t know okay !? I thought it’d help with looking y’know less dead when he meets Bella.” He shrugged. Explaining himself to the system felt pointless considering it was neither his parent nor his babysitter. The system remained silent, as if considering his response, Jacob rolled his eyes.

[OOC ! -20 B points ↓ ↓ ↓]

“Oh come on !”

“Still staring at that bag of steak, Ed ?” The pixie-haired woman leaned over her brother’s shoulder, teasing him.

“Go away, Alice,” Edward muttered, his gaze still locked on the steak as if it held some profound answers of the universe. His fingers occasionally running over the plastic, making the blood inside to squelch against the surface.

“Seriously what’s up with you ?” Alice frowned, dropping the banter. Ever since Edward had returned, he’d been fixated on this bag of steak that suspiciously smelled like wet dog. What was even more peculiar was the fact that she hadn’t had any visions of this event. Normally, Alice caught glimpses of all the interesting things happening with her family throughout the day but she had no clue how Edward had ended up with that steak. And from the look on his face, Edward didn’t look like he was divulging anything either.

“Nothing just… trying to figure someone out.” Edward sighed. Alice was his favorite family member, and he seldom told her off but this was something he couldn’t even make sense of himself. If he told Alice, she’d likely blow the whole thing out of proportion. But despite everything, one question kept lingering in his mind.

Who was that man ?

A.n - should I make this into a series ? If yes please lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Benjamin Kerstein

The U.S. decision to finally end Iran’s perennial impunity and force its theocratic regime to pay a price for its genocidal imperialism is welcome, but it means we are about to meet a familiar personage once again: the weeping terrorist.

The weeping terrorist is a bifurcated creature. First, there is the terrorist part: He slaughters large numbers of people in the most sadistic and public way imaginable; wipes out entire religious, ethnic and racial groups of which he disapproves; undermines and topples governments; foments civil war; props up dictators and tyrants; and finally commits genocide.

Then comes the weeping part: When the victims retaliate, the terrorist erupts into floods of tears at his unprecedented and unspeakable suffering, the brutal assault on his rights and freedoms, the vile racism and bigotry of those who persecute him, the immutable purity of his motives and the righteousness of his cause.

The weeping terrorist has been here before, particularly in his Palestinian nationalist form.

For over a century, the Palestinian national movement has murdered, raped, dismembered, incinerated, assaulted, slandered, demonized, ethnically cleansed and religiously persecuted not only Jews and Israelis but anyone who stood in its way. For just as long, the Palestinians have responded to any retaliation with a deluge of tears. No one has suffered as much as they, they sputter, no one’s “resistance” has ever been more justified, and no people has faced such racist and genocidal enemies. After all, look at all these dead women and children, the weeping terrorist wails after having murdered scores of women and children.

This piece of theater has been performed by many empires, nations and religions. But it must be said that it is embedded particularly deep in the history of Islam. To this day, Muslims view Muhammad as a persecuted prophet without honor in his own country, when he was an immensely powerful and notably aggressive warlord. One may feel he was justified in being so, but the fact that he was is incontrovertible.

The Muslim world today often brands its enemies as “crusaders,” although the Crusades were essentially a belated response to the Muslim conquest of the entirety of the Middle East and North Africa, the subjugation of their indigenous populations, and the establishment of a settler-colonial empire. Indeed, Muslims still lament the loss of Andalusia, even though they had merely lost what they had conquered and colonized from Christians a few centuries before.

[llondonfog]

And now for the million dollar question: Do Lilia and Tsum Lilia have their own rivalry on who Silver snuggles up to more when the sleeping curse hits?

"Have care, Lilia," Malleus begins sotto voce, an embedded note of deep amusement apparent only to those who could claim centuries of friendship. "That particular expression is not very 'cute', as you would say. One might even think you're the second coming of General Vanrouge, though certainly that is altogether impossible."

Lilia merely tosses him a disgruntled scowl and wedges himself further into the second most comfy armchair in the Diasomnia common room, the first having been stolen by their little interloper. The strange creature had been quite the wonderful prankster-in-arms at first, but now, Lilia is feeling downright mutinous as he watches it snuggle gleefully with a napping Silver by the emerald glow of the fireplace, a smugness radiating from its tiny plushy body at a rate unprecedented.

"You're to be congratulated, dear prince," he mutters back in a tone that promises anything but. "How wonderful for you to have at long last discovered a sense of humor."

The young heir seated beside him flashes his fangs in a bold grin, delighting rather unfairly in the plight unfolding in their home away from home. "I see no reason for your dampened disposition," Malleus slides his gaze over once more to the cuddled pair, a rare emotion softening the sharp edges of his features. "After all, is it not a compliment that in all manners of worlds, the boy naturally seeks his father?"

To any one else, the wistful edge of his words might have gone unnoticed; Lilia, however, shifts slightly in his seat and falls silent. They're still so young, Malleus and Silver— painfully so. Malleus has only just begun to grasp the rushing tides of humanity, the lives that slip between their fingers faster than grains of sand. He has yet to understand that when Lilia looks upon his son now, he sees not an adorable moment, but a memory stolen away between the real father and son, one more scrap of time erased from his rapidly ticking clock.

He does not know how to tell them yet— how much of a greedy, insatiable fae he truly is, to want claim of every moment that his son still needs his father. That still, after nearly eighteen years, he's not fully memorized the colors and patterns that break across Silver's eyes when he scrunches them before waking. That soon, he may not have that chance ever again.

Malleus is waiting for an answer, brows growing closer and closer together the longer that Lilia remains silent, so he affects an exaggerated sigh to placate the younger fae, placing his chin into the palm of his hand as he keeps watch over the two slumbering figures. "A compliment of the highest order indeed," he murmurs, utterly underserving of Silver's grace.

Still, he must wonder; in all manners of the world, would he too, seek his son?

[madamlaydebug]

*Olympic opening ceremony - Paris 2024*

At the opening ceremony of the 2024 Paris Olympic Games, a spectacular and unprecedented spectacle captivated spectators present and those from around the world: a metal horse launched majestically on the Seine.

This performance, which combined technology and symbolism, offered an unforgettable moment, anchoring the ceremony in the history of major Olympic celebrations. Designed by a team of renowned sculptors and engineers, the horse was an imposing piece of art, both beautiful and powerful. Measuring several meters in height and length, this animated sculpture stood out for its neat details and futuristic look. Covered in shiny steel plates and equipped with a sophisticated movement system, the horse seemed almost alive, with a smooth and elegant gait. Its reflective surface captured the light from spotlights and fireworks, creating a stunning visual spectacle. A highlight of the ceremony was the arrival of the metal horse on the Seine. Emerging from the mist, the horse advanced gently on a specially designed floating platform. Its progress along the river, against the backdrop of the iconic monuments of Paris, such as the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame, symbolized an alliance between the past and the future, the classical and the modern.

The horse, a mythological figure and an emblem of strength and freedom, embodied the spirit of the Olympic Games, uniting peoples and celebrating human achievements. Choosing a horse for the event was no trivial matter. Indeed, the horse is a universal symbol of power, courage and nobility, essential qualities in sport and in life. The metallic version of this noble creature added a dimension of modernity and technology, recalling the advances of our time while honoring traditions. The show illustrated the theme of the opening of the Games, which is focused on unity and progress. The metallic horse raced down the Seine to the cheers of the audience and the marvel of the spectators, marking the beginning of an evening full of surprises and emotions.

This performance not only celebrated art and innovation, but also conveyed a message of peace and solidarity, true to Olympic ideals. The images of the brilliant horse moving gracefully through the waters of Paris will be remembered as one of the most memorable moments of the 2024 Paris Olympic Games.

~Good vibes~~

[bagog]

N7 Month, 2023 - Day 27: Pyjak

This stumped me. Remember the first time you see Pyjaks? A re-imagining of the scene.

++

Elatania was supposed to be a simple touch-down, recover a downed probe, and get back to the Normandy. But when Shepard and his squad arrived at the site of the downed probe, they found it picked to pieces. Notably, the probe’s data recorder had been pulled out of its housing.

“Commander,” Liara chimed in from behind where Shepard stood, appraising the debris with a frown. “I suggest it could be native primates who may have taken the data recorder. I’m detecting five colonies of these creatures within a kilometer radius.”

“We should probably check those out,” Kaidan sighed. Kicked at a piece of degree on the ground. “How would they even know to take the data recorder, anyway? They’re just primates, huh?”

“They must have found something appealing about it.”

“Let’s get moving,” Shepard turned to the other two. “This was supposed to be a quick mission. Come on.”

The first colony was a few modest structures built of twigs and mud, the space monkeys wandered about the colony, but seemed to give little heed to Shepard and the others as they carefully stepped between the monkeys to search each hovel independently. Nothing.

Two more colonies with no indication of the recorder. Finally, at the final site marked on Liara’s map, they found something they did not expect. No monkeys were outside of their little huts, but in the center of the colony, a much larger dwelling was made, enough to fit the whole population of the little colony within.

When they emerged from the Mako, they became aware of a high pitched humming coming from within the large structure. They carefully made their way over, having to stoop to look inside the hut.

“Does anybody else have a bad feeling about this?” Kaidan whispered as they entered. The space monkeys were indeed all gathered inside this larger hut, and at the center, open ceiling directing a beam of sunlight down upon it, was the data recorder, roughly attached to a weathered looking log by winding various wires and filaments from the crashed probe around and around it. The monkeys were gathered around it, heads bowed, issuing forth the high pitched whine they had heard from outside.

“Would… creatures like this have a concept of ‘religious worship,’ Liara?”

“Not that I know of,” Liara whispered, “Though I admit I am at a loss for alternate explanations.”

They stepped carefully through the crowd, still ducking down a little to fit, until they were at the center of the hut. The closer they got to the recorder, the more the high pitched drone changed pitch. When Kaidan reached out to grab the recorder, unbinding it from its log, the noise suddenly stopped.

The monkeys stared. Shepard cautiously put a hand on his pistol.

“Alright, let’s take it slow everybody…” They tiptoed back through the crowd, recorder in hand, and the monkeys watched. They followed. Back outside, the monkeys came pouring out of the hut, steadily becoming more animated the quicker the fire team moved away from them. One finally made a blood curdling scream. “Mako! Now!”

They ran, monkeys in hot pursuit, and scrambled to get into the Mako. A few of the monkeys almost squeezed in behind them, and the hull of the rover was covered in the shrieking monkeys.

“Monkey zealots!” Kaidan declared once the Mako was backing up, trying to shake the monkeys atop. “Now I’ve seen everything!”

“This is unprecedented behavior for their species,” Liara spoke above the din of monkey paws banging and walking over the doors. “It should be studied…”

“It was supposed to be a quick mission,” Shepard said, exhausted.

[madame-mesdames]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

me détestez-vous, ma chère soeur / ты ненавидишь меня, дорогая сестра? ty nenavidish' menya, dorogaya sestra?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"Ayeshah, would you like to accompany me?" she invites, yet her words carry no hint of genuine inquiry; instead, her eyes brim with deceit, her smile wide with artifice, and her tone delivered an unsettling chill. "Come here," she commands, her mischievous smile belying her true intentions.

ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

We traverse the labyrinthine forest, venturing forth through great lengths, as an opaque veil of mist envelops our surroundings. My garments cling damply to my body, and moisture clings to my hair. The murmurs of unseen creatures echo, while the watchful eyes of towering trees track our every move. "Let us proceed a little further," she urges, beckoning me beyond the bounds of the mansion, far from my sanctuary's protective embrace. With each step I take in the company of my father's connubial choice, the very air grows thinner, taut with trepidation.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤ

Dusk stubbornly clings to the night, unwilling to relinquish its hold, as the temperature plummets to unprecedented depths. I have never ventured this far from the comforts of my home, especially not at such a late hour. The biting cold pricks at my pallid skin, exacerbating the discomfort of my damp attire. Fear grips me tightly, for I dread succumbing to the imminent threat of freezing. How much farther must we tread upon this path? To what extent shall we journey? I can no longer discern the origin of our trail or the destination that awaits us. How shall we find our way back?

ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"My lady, what do you clutch within your grasp?" I dare not voice my concerns aloud on this frigid night, for we are alone, far removed from prying eyes. The woman I am trapped with, the woman who harbors disdain for my existence, reveals a concealed axe from a band encircling her thigh. As my eyes fall upon the gleaming blade, a surge of electricity courses through my spine. —Safety has eluded me, for it never truly existed from the moment I found myself alone in her company; my life has been steadily ticking away its final moments. "I beseech you, Lady Sylvia, let us retrace our steps," I implore, concealing my growing suspicion and terror behind a wavering voice.

ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"Do you harbor fear towards me, Ayeshah?" she inquires, her question's answer already known. Indeed, I am beset by terror! Inwardly, I plea for those words, as my weakened knees succumb to the ground, fervently praying for our return. "Do I perceive trembling in you, Ayeshah?" The night is mercilessly frigid, the air thin and suffocating, while my heart pounds within my chest, a desperate battle for breath in the face of mounting unease. I can no longer discern her subsequent remarks, as my waning respiratory affliction drowns out all sound. I realize I must answer as she wishes, in a desperate bid to increase my chances of returning home alive. Tears stream down my cheeks, unable to stem the tide of cold that permeates my trembling form. My vision blurs with the surroundings, yet from my prostrate position, I perceive Lady Sylvia tightening her grip on the axe. "I implore you, please, let me go home." I cry, gasping for air, my hands clutching at the hem of her dress, clinging to life itself—sister, I am paralyzed by fear. Alas, I fear I shall never return home.

ㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

"Ayeshah, do you hate me?" Her decapitated body limps, her lifeless eyes wonder. —Were you not there, dear sister? Some may argue that a twin's perception is scarcely reliable. However, your presence was palpable, a familiar sensation flickering as Lady Sylvia and I delved deeper into the enigmatic depths of the woods. A pair of eyes, a set of footsteps seemed to shadow my every move. Amidst our woodland sojourn, the branches of the trees offered solace, resembling outstretched arms beckoning me to return. Yet curiously, those hands never extended to save me. Tell me, sister, do you truly despise me? Is that why you concealed yourself behind that tree, silently witnessing my brutal demise?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤ

©️ Penned by Exquise

[kharrneth]

The Hounds Maw, Brass Citadel / Previous Concurrent Ost: Is She With You?

The Entity’s challenge, Kharneth decided, could not have come at a better time. In a time of upheaval and of unprecedented traitorous splintering factions it was just the thing to remind the realm of Kharneth’s strength. A chance for the Blood God to dominate utterly this foreign force that had been so bold as to slithering into his kingdom without leave. And the Brass Lord was no foolish being. The Upheaval, The Siphoning, the sudden rise of Malal; he was willing to entertain that he was wrong about his siblings and that it was this being who was responsible for it all. This creature that dared refer to him by his whelp name, Akhar.

Clad in his baroque armor glowing with hellish red runes, Kharneth strode into the center of the amphitheater. Greeting him were the calls and cheers of a million million fawning daemons, roaring his praise. Screaming their worship and their loyalty to their Bloodlord and Father. The air was alight with their fervor, warping with the heat. Any mortal unused to the fiery embrace of Kharneth’s kingdom would have surely died. The cacophony of shrieks and calls melted into one sound, one singular chant.

“ Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!”

And so it went as Kharneth hailed his loyal followers and those followers who’s hearts had wavered, holding his armor fist aloft with a mighty roar. Still, yet, they desired to see their Blood God fight. They desired to witness his battle prowess, for him to show them exactly why he was the God of War and Master of Battle. To affirm and assuage, perhaps, the doubts sown in their hearts by turncoats, traitors and usurpers.

It was not only the Blood Lord’s legions who had come to see the sport about to take place, for news of the strange entity had spread fast and far. Tzeentch had requested audience, informed by spies no doubt. Nurgle had as well. Even Slaanesh was due to arrive, the thrones of the three gods built into the massive rings of the Hounds Maw so they might spectate. Kharneth was all too glad to host them. Let the inferior gods bear witness to their better. Let them see the Blood Lord strike down this villain who had surely visited such inconvenience upon the lives of the Chaos Gods.

It was felt before it was seen. The entity. The foreign presence, building behind the great, brass and iron doors at the other end of the Hound Pit. As soon as they cracked open, drawn apart by fell machinery and clockwork, a mass slithered past the doors, filtering into the Pit like a swarm of a billion billion black locusts. At once, the bloody chant stopped, replaced instead by roars of rage, recrimination, and not a few yelps of terror by the lesser and greater daemons in the stands. This it did purely for intimidation it seemed, but if it meant to frighten Kharneth it would find itself disappointed. Thus, tired at last of it’s own game, it formed before the Blood God on the other side of the arena, building itself up from the myriad fragments of itself.

Each god resembled some creature or other from the Mortal Realm they visited terror upon, but as Khorne peered at the great beast through his War Helm, he could identify for sure no one creature. It was muscular in places, but spindly in others. It’s back was lined in tendrils that would straighten into turgid quills or fall soft back into tendrils once more. Four long arms grew from it’s body and four silver eyes were set within it’s long face, black saliva dripping from it’s heavy jaw. It bore four tails, each tipped with a weapon and as it unfolded to it’s full state, Kharneth found himself staring at a being nearly three times his size. But he had no fear, only anticipation, for he was the master of battle and this was a great foe indeed.

“🇦​🇰​🇭​🇦​��​, 🇸​🇹​🇷​🇴​🇳​🇬​🇪​🇸​🇹​ 🇴​🇫​ 🇲​🇾​ 🇨​🇭​🇮​🇱​🇩​🇷​🇪​🇳​. 🇦​ 🇸​🇭​🇦​🇲​🇪​ 🇮​ 🇼​🇮​🇱​🇱​ 🇭​🇦​🇻​🇪​ 🇹​🇴​ 🇱​🇦​🇾​ 🇾​🇴​🇺​ 🇱​🇴​🇼​.” The Voice of the beast crooned from across the field of battle, echoing in the mind of Kharneth and drowning out the raucous daemons to any side of them. “ 🇧​🇺​🇹​ 🇾​🇴​🇺​ 🇼​🇮​🇱​🇱​ 🇷​🇮​🇸​🇪​ 🇦​🇬​🇦​🇮​🇳​, 🇧​🇪​🇹​🇹​🇪​🇷​ 🇦​🇳​🇩​ 🇸​🇹​🇷​🇴​🇳​🇬​🇪​🇷​. 🇷​🇪​🇲​🇦​🇩​🇪​ 🇮​🇳​ 🇲​🇾​ 🇮​🇲​🇦​🇬​🇪​. 🇰​🇮​🇱​🇱​🇮​🇳​🇬​ 🇺​🇳​🇩​🇪​🇷​ 🇲​🇾​ 🇧​🇦​🇳​🇳​🇪​🇷. 🇦​🇸​ 🇮​🇹​ 🇸​🇭​🇴​🇺​🇱​🇩​ 🇧​🇪​. 🇦​🇸​ 🇮​🇹​ 🇼​🇮​🇱​🇱​ 🇧​🇪​.” The Blast of a Horn brought the duel into being and no sooner did it begin did the beast stretch out it’s arm, crooking a single claw at the Blood God. It appeared a jeer, but no. The Ebon Blade, brought as a taunt to slay this upstart entity, melted in the grip of the Brass Lord and spilled as ink across the black steel of the Pit’s floor.

It crawled instead into the claws of Entity, the same black as the beast, for it was it’s sword and not Kharneth’s. The Blood God didn’t hesitate, drawing his other sword, Woebringer and rushing forward to retrieve that which had been taken from him and reap the life of he who dared to wield the pure black sword in his stead. The Beast grinned, and joined the angry duel of death.

Foolish Kharneth. Dimmest of his children. But the scheme would soon be apparent and when the Blood God knew at last, he would also know defeat. And so the beast traded blows with the Master of battle, suffering no few injuries and delivering no few with his own claws and blade. He watched, closely, intently. And just as expected, just as Two Brass Books were stolen away from beneath his notice, the Blood God’s attention wavered.

That was when the Beast Struck, surging forward and swinging his sword in an arc. Khorne moved to deflect the blow, but too late. The impossibly black blade carved through armor, into the jaw of the Blood God down into his neck and the hollows of his throat. It cleaved through breast plate, through god-brass skin, through organ and bone, nearly driving Khorne into.

A great cry of alarm went up from the assembled daemons who had looked on with awe and terror at the temerity of this opponent, this enemy who had finally laid their god low. The others gods watched too, Tzeentch with calm satisfaction at adds with Slaanesh and Nurgle. The God of Pleasure and God of Pestilence beheld the scene, then one another. Then they both eyed Tzeentch.

Had this really been a scheme all alone? To remove Khorne?

Nurgle was the first to move, for Kharneth was least hated and foremost of his allies when he cared to have any. He knew, in this new dynamic without the Blood God, Slaanesh would side with Tzeentch. And they both would bear down on him. The Pleasure Lord watched the happenings in rapture, crowing his delight at Kharneth’s defeat, delirious at the suffering of his myriad daemons, of Nurgle’s fear and Tzeentch’s own satisfaction.

However, he was not foolish or so gone to remain in the same realm as a being who could slay his elder, strongest brother. He had come to same conclusions as Khorne upon laying eyes on his foe. Forget Malal-- this was a being capable of spurning the Gods so. The Godling had clearly been a patsy, a distraction. Whatever the case, Slaanesh slithered away from the bedlam with much reluctance but with many draughts to create back in the safety of his own realm.

As for the Beast, it had fled. Kharneth was gravely injured or perhaps dead-- it was not sure sure. Either way, it did not intend to remain. Basking in victory would have to wait.

There were so many other things to do and now it had a proper army to do them.

[eternal--returned]

To the extent that the cloister sculpture of Silos pointed toward the anatomical naturalism and poise of the Renaissance ideal, Rothko turned his back on that side of Schapiro's dialectic. The curator Katherine Kuh, who organized Rothko's first major museum exhibition in 1954, recalled that he "found most painters of the past, Turner and Rembrandt excepted, slightly distasteful, even denouncing Piero della Francesca as producing nothing more than 'tinted bronze.' . . . Indeed he deplored the whole Renaissance." The virtuosity of the Silos illuminators was not, as was the case in the Renaissance art he denigrated, monopolized by worldly human figures, factitious stand-ins for the transcendent. But Rothko had no illusions that the pictographic idioms of the distant past could survive uncontaminated by the peculiar ills of his own time. In the same Romantics essay of 1947, he writes:

The familiar identity of things has to be pulverized in order to destroy the finite associations with which our society increasingly enshrouds every aspect of our environment.

Unfamiliar identities as well, like those of the Book of Revelation's outlandish creatures and personages, fell under the same strictures, which Rothko's choice of words—pulverize, destroy—laced with an imagined violence. The Spain of the Reconquista might seem as unsettled and dangerous an era as history affords, its fascination with cataclysmic end-times entirely comprehensible. But those living though the first half of the twentieth century could be forgiven for seeing their own era as unprecedented in the scale of its carnage and destruction. At the same time, the dominion of commercial expediency mocked any adequate depth of feeling with compulsorily 'finite associations. Anti-naturalistic diagrams of the Apocalypse made a suitable point of departure but could not persist as quotation or as merely transposed, surrealist-derived organisms. Successfully pulverizing his own 'finite associations' proved a halting process, but one in which the original components of the illuminated Mozarabic page survive and flourish in a transformed universe of forms.

Thomas Crow ֍ "Illuminations Past and Present in the Painting of Mark Rothko." Toward Clarity (2019)

[slash-and-laugh-film-school]

“The Mist” written by Stephen King and directed by Frank Darabont fits well into the Supernatural genre because it contains supernatural entities and themes and is the topic of choice for this blog. Produced in 2007, “The Mist” is set in the aftermath of a hurricane in the small town of Bridgetown, Maine. The main character, David Dayton, played by Thomas Jane, plays the father in this film, along with his son, Billy, age 8 years old, who is played by Nathan Gamble.

The main storyline of this film is about surviving an anomalous situation, which is set in a grocery store. An unexpected “Mist” envelops the town and entities begin to attack the patrons and workers of the grocery store. Because the film’s “mist” conceals fictional monster type creatures that are “unnatural” and occurring within an “alternate reality”, this film is categorized as fitting within the Supernatural genre.

At the outset of the film, the characters are uncertain as to what is really out there, and this unknown, is what causes an even greater fear than knowing what will kill them. While the patrons of the grocery store are attempting to discern the cause of the “Mist”, the predators attack. An octopus, huge insects, and spiders which capture and entwine people into their deadly webs, strike fear and horror into the characters, leaving them helpless against the huge threat of impending doom and death. A look at humanity’s response under unfathomable fear is part of the story’s goal.

Practical effects, a subcategory of visual effects, are effects that are made by hand and non-computer generated. They are props, sets, creatures, vehicles and make up that create scenes that are emotion provoking, intense, and suspenseful. An example of a practical effect in this film, “The Mist”, are the realistic looking creatures which are shown to have double-jointed legs, multiple-jointed appendages, and tentacles which eventually show themselves. These gigantic spiders which cocoon their prey, are particularly fright producing.

“Low-key lighting” is used in this film to intensify the horror of the film. Scenes are basically dark, but in addition, use deep shadows which contrast with extremely bright lights which serve to heighten the frightful scenes. Single sourced lights originating from the background of the set, or from the sides of the characters, are special effects in lighting that create added thrill and peril to the emotions generated from this horror film.

Original reviews of the 2007 film, “The Mist” were found to be mixed. Some supported the film’s acting, cinematography, and script, while others were more critical. The movie’s ending was noted as “shocking” by one critic. It is the personal opinion of this blog writer that indeed the ending was “shocking, “unexpected” and “unprecedented” for its time.

In Richard Propes independent review of the 2007 movie, he referred to the filmwork as having, “unbridled cynicism”. He added that, “While the Mist isn’t a particularly brilliant film, it is a surprisingly effective one that blends Darabont’s gift for humanity with audience - pleasing thrill and chills”.

Propes, Richard, Independent Critic. (2007). The Mist Review”, Reviews and Essays.

Avroman5, (2014, July), “The Mist” Mise En Scene: lighting. April’s Film Blog

[xasha777]

In the heart of the galaxy, where stars birthed and collapsed in a symphony of light and energy, there existed a creature unlike any other. This being, known as Astro, was a cosmic Shiba Inu, born from the remnants of a supernova and infused with the essence of the universe itself. Astro roamed the vast expanse of space, his fur shimmering with the colors of distant nebulae and his eyes reflecting the wisdom of ancient stars.

One fateful day, while navigating the ethereal pathways of the cosmos, Astro sensed a disturbance. His acute senses, attuned to the vibrations of the universe, detected a cry for help emanating from a distant blue planet—Earth. More specifically, the signal originated from a small yet historically rich nation known as the Czech Republic.

Astro directed his flight towards Earth, entering its atmosphere in a blaze of light. He descended upon Prague, the capital city, where the signal was strongest. The city, with its gothic architecture and cobblestone streets, was a stark contrast to the boundless beauty of space. Yet, it held a charm and a mystery that piqued Astro's curiosity.

Upon landing, Astro was greeted by a group of scientists and astronomers who had been monitoring his approach. Leading the group was Dr. Eliska Novak, a renowned astrophysicist who had dedicated her life to studying cosmic phenomena. She had detected Astro's presence in the galaxy and had sent out a distress signal, hoping to make contact with the celestial being.

"Welcome to Earth, Astro," Dr. Novak greeted with a mix of awe and excitement. "We have much to discuss."

Astro communicated telepathically, his thoughts echoing in the minds of the humans around him. "I sensed your call. How can I assist you?"

Dr. Novak explained that the Czech Republic was facing an unprecedented crisis. A rogue black hole had been detected on a collision course with Earth. Its gravitational pull was already causing anomalies, threatening to disrupt the planet's orbit and bring about catastrophic consequences. The world's leading scientists were at a loss, unable to devise a solution to avert the impending disaster.

Astro listened intently, his cosmic energy pulsing with determination. "I can help," he declared. "But I will need access to your most advanced technology and the cooperation of your brightest minds."

Over the next few days, Astro worked tirelessly with the Czech scientists. Using his cosmic powers, he stabilized the anomalies caused by the black hole, buying them precious time. Dr. Novak and her team developed a plan to create a gravitational counter-field, a concept theorized but never before implemented.

Astro infused the technology with his cosmic energy, amplifying its capabilities. As the black hole approached, the device was activated, creating a powerful field that pushed against the black hole's gravitational pull. The tension was immense, and the strain on Astro was visible, his normally radiant fur dimming under the effort.

With a final surge of energy, Astro and the device succeeded. The black hole was diverted, its path altered away from Earth. The skies above Prague lit up with a dazzling display of colors as the danger passed. The people of the Czech Republic, and indeed the world, rejoiced.

Exhausted but triumphant, Astro looked at Dr. Novak. "Your world is safe," he conveyed. "But remember, the universe is vast and full of wonders. Cherish and protect your planet."

Dr. Novak nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Astro. You have given us hope and a new appreciation for the cosmos."

With his mission complete, Astro ascended back into the heavens, returning to the stars. The story of the cosmic Shiba Inu and the scientists of the Czech Republic became a legend, a tale of cooperation and courage in the face of cosmic peril. And as the people of Earth looked up at the night sky, they knew that somewhere out there, Astro continued his journey, a guardian of the galaxy, watching over them.

[yourhouseison]

The Fateful Gala

Act I: The Gauntlet of Gaiety

(Scene: The opulent drawing room of Lady Pricklesnatch's estate, adorned with extravagant furnishings and lavish decorations. A large window overlooks the manicured gardens. Lady Pricklesnatch is seated on a chaise longue, while her maid, Ethel, stands nearby reading from a society newspaper.)

Ethel: (In a monotone voice) "And in the latest of high society's dalliances, Lady Snogbottom's gala, themed 'Restrained Revelry: A Night of Propriety and Convention,' has been declared a triumph of taste by none other than Lady Donna-Tart herself..."

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Interrupting, with a disdainful air) Oh, spare me the sordid details of that insipid affair! 'Restrained Revelry,' indeed! It sounds like a symposium for snoring. (She sighs dramatically.) Ethel, we are in dire need of a soiree that will set all of society ablaze with envy and admiration. We must eclipse that Snogbottom spectacle with something daring, something... (She pauses, searching for the word) ...unprecedented!

Ethel: (Dryly) Shall we set the drawing room on fire, then, my lady? That would certainly be unprecedented.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Ignoring the sarcasm) No, Ethel, we shall host a gala! But not just any gala... (She stands up, pacing with excitement.) We shall throw a costume party, a celebration of 'Pastoral Elegance: An Evening on the Farm.' Our esteemed guests will dress as farm animals, frolicking amidst the hay and the... (She waves her hand vaguely) ...other farm-related things.

Ethel: (Barely hiding her disbelief) Farm animals, my lady? Are we to expect the Duke of Wellington as a winsome pig or perhaps the Countess of Derbyshire as a delightful dairy cow?

Lady Pricklesnatch: (With a gleam in her eye) Precisely, Ethel! It will be an event teetering on the edge of scandal and sophistication. The talk of the town! The pinnacle of pastoral pageantry!

Ethel: (Dryly) I shall prepare the invitations, my lady. Shall we include a note advising guests on the preferred type of manure for their costumes?

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Laughing) Oh, Ethel, you do have a way with words! No, we shall leave some things to the imagination. But do make sure the invitations are sent posthaste. We mustn't give Lady Snogbottom even a whisper of a chance to upstage us.

Ethel: (With a resigned nod) As you wish, my lady. I shall see to it that your 'Pastoral Elegance' becomes the talk of the town, for better or for worse.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Sitting back down, satisfied) Excellent, Ethel. This gala shall be my magnum opus, a veritable feast for the senses! Let the games begin, I say. Let the games begin.

(Ethel exits, leaving Lady Pricklesnatch to bask in the glory of her impending social triumph. The stage darkens as the curtain falls, signaling the end of Act I.)

Act II: The Fowl Ball

(Scene: The grand ballroom of Lady Pricklesnatch's estate, transformed into a barnyard paradise. Hay bales, rustic decorations, and farm-themed accoutrements adorn the space. Guests in elaborate animal costumes mingle and chatter. Lady Pricklesnatch, resplendent in her peacock-inspired gown, surveys the scene with pride. Lady Snogbottom, equally stunning in her swan-inspired attire, approaches with a forced smile.)

Lady Snogbottom: (With feigned admiration) My dear Lady Pricklesnatch, what a... unique soirée you've orchestrated. Who would have thought we'd see the day when the crème de la crème of society would masquerade as barnyard creatures?

Lady Pricklesnatch: (With a sly grin) Oh, Lady Snogbottom, I always strive to provide an experience that is both enlightening and entertaining. After all, it's not every day that one gets to see the upper echelons embrace their... animalistic side.

Lady Snogbottom: (Sarcastically) Indeed. I must say, your peacock ensemble is quite fitting. A creature known for its ostentation and, might I add, its raucous call.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Unfazed) And your swan gown is a marvel, my dear. A bird celebrated for its grace and beauty, yet notorious for its... troublesome hiss.

(Their thinly veiled insults are interrupted by the grand entrance of Lady Donna-Tart, the elderly matriarch of high society, dressed in an ornate hen costume. The guests part ways reverently as she makes her way towards the hostesses, leaning heavily on her cane.)

Lady Donna-Tart: (With a critical eye) Lady Pricklesnatch, I must confess, this theme is most... unconventional. One can only hope that it does not ruffle too many feathers in our esteemed circle.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (With diplomatic charm) Ah, Lady Donna-Tart, your wisdom is as evergreen as your spirit. I assure you, this evening is but a harmless frolic in the pastoral idyll. A reminder of the simpler pleasures in life.

Lady Donna-Tart: (Skeptically) Hmph. Simplicity is one thing, but let us not forget decorum. The line between whimsy and waywardness is perilously thin.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Smoothly) Fear not, dear matriarch. Tonight's revelry shall be conducted with the utmost propriety. After all, we wouldn't want to lay an egg in the eyes of society, now would we?

Lady Donna-Tart: (Grudgingly) Very well. I shall reserve my judgment for the morrow. But mark my words, any hint of scandal, and it will be your name that's dragged through the mud.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (With a gracious nod) Your caution is duly noted, Lady Donna-Tart. And now, if you'll excuse me, I believe it's time to officially commence the festivities. (She raises her glass) Ladies and gentlemen, I bid you all a hearty welcome to 'An Evening on the Farm.' Let us embrace the joys of the countryside and revel in the spirit of pastoral elegance!

(The guests raise their glasses in a toast, and the music swells as the ballroom comes alive with dancing and laughter. Lady Pricklesnatch and Lady Snogbottom exchange one last competitive glance before joining the fray. The curtain falls as the gala reaches its full swing.)

Act III: The Menagerie of Mirth

(Scene: The gala is in full swing, with guests mingling and enjoying the festivities. Lady Pricklesnatch makes her way through the crowd, stopping to chat with various attendees. She approaches the Dowager Countess, who is dressed in a remarkably lifelike sow costume.)

Lady Pricklesnatch: (With a polite smile) Dowager Countess, your costume is quite the marvel. It's as if you've stepped straight out of a pastoral painting.

Dowager Countess: (With a self-satisfied smirk) Why, thank you, Lady Pricklesnatch. I do pride myself on authenticity. One must fully embrace the role, after all.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Tactfully) Indeed, you've captured the essence of the sow most... convincingly.

(She moves on, leaving the Dowager Countess preening. Her next encounter is with Lord Cockbottom-Prancington, a dandy dressed as a fox, who is surrounded by a group of amused guests.)

Lord Cockbottom-Prancington: (With a flourish) Ah, Lady Pricklesnatch, welcome to the den of the fox. I trust you're finding the evening as foxy as my attire?

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Laughing) Oh, Lord Cockbottom-Prancington, your wit is as sharp as your costume is cunning. Do regale us with more of your quips.

Lord Cockbottom-Prancington: (With a twinkle in his eye) Well, my dear, I always say that a soirée without a soupçon of scandal is like a garden without flowers—pleasant, perhaps, but dreadfully dull.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Amused) A most apt analogy, my lord. A little mischief does add spice to the evening.

(Lady Donna-Tart, overhearing the conversation, interjects with a disapproving tone.)

Lady Donna-Tart: (Sternly) Beware, Lord Cockbottom-Prancington, that your spice does not turn into a full-blown inferno. Even the merest suggestion of scandal can lead to ruin.

Lord Cockbottom-Prancington: (Unperturbed) Ah, but dear Lady Donna-Tart, without a flicker of flame, life would be terribly tepid, wouldn't you agree?

(Lady Pricklesnatch smiles diplomatically, then moves away as Lady Snogbottom approaches Lady Donna-Tart, seizing the opportunity to criticize.)

Lady Snogbottom: (In a conspiratorial whisper) You must admit, Lady Donna-Tart, the theme tonight is a tad... unconventional. One might even say it borders on the barnyard.

Lady Donna-Tart: (Nodding) I share your concerns, my dear Lady Snogbottom. A deviation from the well-trodden paths of decorum is a precarious venture indeed.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Overhearing, with a retort) My dear Lady Snogbottom, perhaps if you had possessed the good judgment not to don that horrid swan costume, you might see the charm in a touch of daring. Jealousy does not become you, especially when it's as plainly visible as your... (She glances at Lady Snogbottom's attire) ...plumage.

(Lady Snogbottom bristles at the comment, but before she can respond, Lady Pricklesnatch raises her glass to address the room.)

Lady Pricklesnatch: (With a beaming smile) My esteemed guests, I hope you are enjoying this foray into the pastoral as much as I am. Let us continue to revel in the whimsy of the evening, and may our spirits be as free and joyful as the creatures we embody tonight!

(The guests cheer in response, and the music resumes, signaling the continuation of the gala. Lady Pricklesnatch, with a satisfied glance at her rival, rejoins the festivities, leaving Lady Snogbottom to stew in her feathers. The curtain falls as the guests dance and laugh, embracing the unconventional theme with gusto.)

Act IV: The Swine Scandal

(Scene: Guests are seated around a sumptuously laid dining table as a string quartet plays)

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Raising her glass) To an evening of unparalleled delight, where we embrace the pastoral in all its glory!

Lord Cockbottom-Prancington: (Holding a dessert spoon) Indeed, my dear lady. And what better way to celebrate our barnyard brethren than by adopting their dining habits? (He begins to eat his soup with the dessert spoon.)

Duchess Faintly: (Gasping) Oh, the impropriety! (She faints, causing a stir among the guests.)

Lady Donna-Tart: (Approaching Lady Pricklesnatch) My dear, this is precisely the sort of scandal I feared. A duchess fainting, a lord flouting etiquette—this gala teeters on the brink of disaster!

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Attempting to remain composed) Fear not, Lady Donna-Tart. A minor hiccup, nothing more. Allow me to divert our guests' attention. (She gestures grandly, and a curtain is drawn back to reveal a pen of Muscovite swine.) Behold, the crowning jewel of our evening!

Guest 1: (In awe) What magnificent creatures!

Guest 2: (Admiringly) Such a rare breed! Lady Pricklesnatch, you've outdone yourself.

Lord Cockbottom-Prancington: (With a sly grin) Ah, from spoon scandal to swine spectacle. Only in the world of high society!

Lady Snogbottom: (Under her breath) A pig is still a pig, no matter how rare.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Overhearing) And yet, my dear Lady Snogbottom, it is the rare pig that garners admiration, much like a certain gala hostess, wouldn't you agree?

Lady Donna-Tart: (Sternly) Let us hope, Lady Pricklesnatch, that your gala is remembered for its swine rather than its faux pas.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (With a confident smile) Fear not, my venerable matriarch. This evening shall be etched in memory as a triumph of creativity and elegance. Now, let us continue to revel in the delights of the farmyard, with all the grace and decorum befitting our esteemed gathering.

(The curtain falls as the guests return to their merriment, with Lady Pricklesnatch navigating the treacherous waters of high society with aplomb.)

Act V: The Farmer's Folly

(Scene: The ballroom is abuzz with laughter and chatter as guests enjoy the gala. Suddenly, the doors swing open, and a senile old lord, dressed as a farmer but with his trousers around his ankles, shuffles in. The guests gasp in shock.)

Lord Ditherington: (Confusedly) Where are those blasted pigs? I swear they were here a moment ago!

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Horrified) Good heavens! Who let that... that old relic into my refined gathering?

Lady Snogbottom: (Smirking to herself) Oh, what a delightful turn of events. How lovely that someone thought to invite Lord Ditherington. It seems the farm has come to us!

(Lord Ditherington stumbles towards the Dowager Countess, a vacant look in his eyes, and reaches towards her)

Dowager Countess: (Indignantly) Unhand me, you... you peasant! I am not one of your swine!

Lord Ditherington: (With surprising strength, lifting the Dowager Countess) Come along, Bessie! Time for your mud bath!

(He hurls the Dowager Countess into the pigsty, causing the Muscovite swine to react with alarm. The guests are aghast as the countess flails in the mud, her sow costume now a little too convincing.)

Lady Donna-Tart: (Eyes bulging) This... this is an outrage! A calamity of the highest order!

Dowager Countess: Pricklesnatch, you will be hearing from my solicitors!

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Desperately trying to maintain composure) Fear not, esteemed guests! Let us not allow a minor... er, agricultural mishap to dampen our spirits. More music, I say! Let the revelry drown out this... unfortunate incident.

(The music swells as servants hastily drag the muddy and raving Dowager Countess out of the pigsty and lead the bewildered Lord Ditherington away. Lady Pricklesnatch forces a smile, but the guests are visibly disturbed by the spectacle.)

Lady Snogbottom: (Whispering to Lady Donna-Tart) It seems Lady Pricklesnatch's gala has turned into a veritable barnyard brawl. How utterly... rustic.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Overhearing, with feigned nonchalance) Ah, Lady Snogbottom, your penchant for melodrama is as unbounded as your... creativity in attire. Let us not exaggerate a trifle into a tragedy.

(The curtain falls as Lady Pricklesnatch struggles to salvage the evening, the guests whispering among themselves about the scandalous turn of events.)

Act VI: The Lamb's Lament

(Scene: The ballroom is slowly recovering from the previous scandal. Guests begin to mingle again, trying to forget the earlier commotion. Servants are seen mopping up the mud stain on the floor. Lady Donna Tart watches the scene with a stern expression, clearly not amused by the turn of events.)

Lady Donna-Tart: (To Lady Pricklesnatch) I must say, this evening has taken a turn for the scandalous. I do hope there are no more surprises in store.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Forcing a smile) Fear not, Lady Donna-Tart. I assure you, the remainder of the gala shall proceed with the utmost decorum.

(Just as the atmosphere begins to settle, a young debutante, dressed as a lamb, steps forward with an excited expression. She clears her throat, drawing the attention of the guests.)

Debutante: (With naive enthusiasm) Oh, what a thrilling evening this has been! Lady Pricklesnatch, I must thank you for opening my eyes to such... exhilarating possibilities. Who knew that the animal kingdom held such...erotic potential? Especially the swine, with their... robust physiques and primal urges.

(The guests gasp in shock, and the debutante's mother, along with several other guests, faint with a loud thud. Murmurs of disapproval spread through the room.)

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Horrified) My dear, I think you may have misunderstood the theme of the evening...

Guest 1: (Whispering to Guest 2) This is the greatest scandal in years! That poor girl's innocence has been corrupted by this...this barnyard debauchery!

Lady Donna-Tart: (Beyond scandalized) Good heavens, this is precisely the corrupting outcome I feared! A gala themed on the farm has led us to... to beastly revelations!

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Desperately trying to regain control) Ladies and gentlemen, please, let us not dwell on this unfortunate misunderstanding. I invite you all to join in a gavotte, a dance of elegance and grace!

(The music starts, and some guests hesitantly begin to dance, trying to put the shocking revelation behind them. The young debutante, naively unaware of the degree of her impropriety, is discretely led away. Lady Pricklesnatch watches, her composure barely intact, as Lady Donna-Tart remains, vigilant for any further breaches of propriety.)

Lady Donna-Tart: (To Lady Pricklesnatch) I shall stay, not out of enjoyment, but to ensure that no further damage is done to the fabric of our society by this...unorthodox theme.

(The curtain falls as the gala continues, its reputation tarnished by the unexpected turn of events, and Lady Pricklesnatch's attempt to salvage the evening hangs by a thread.)

Act VII: The Swine's Revenge

(Scene: The ballroom is tense as guests continue their awkward gavotte, trying to ignore the earlier scandal. The ladies who fainted are carried out on stretchers. Lady Pricklesnatch is watching, still in denial about the disastrous turn her gala has taken.)

Lady Pricklesnatch: (To herself) A mere trifle, that's all. The night is still young, and the revelry must go on!

(Suddenly, there is a commotion at the entrance. The senile old Lord, still in his disheveled farmer costume, breaks free from the servants and stumbles into the ballroom, mistaking the center of the dance floor for a latrine.)

Lord Ditherington: (Confusedly) Ah, finally! The outhouse! (He proceeds to defecate on the floor, causing an immediate uproar among the guests.)

Guest 1: (Shrieking) Good heavens! What is he doing?

(The Lord begins flinging his feces, mistaking the costumed guests for animals in a bizarre delusion)

Lord Ditherington: Back foul beasts! Back to the fields from whence you came!

(Pandemonium ensues. Guests scream and duck for cover, hiding behind haybales and furniture. The Muscovite swine, agitated by the noise and smell, break through their pen and join the chaos, attacking guests covered in filth.)

Duchess Faintly: (Covered in mud, fending off frothing swine) This is a nightmare! A complete and utter nightmare!

Frail Duke: (In a misguided attempt to intervene) Stop this at once, you fiend! (He throws a ball of pig mud at Lord Ditherington but misses, hitting an innocent bystander instead.)

(The ballroom descends into a full-blown feces-flinging battle, with guests hurling filth at each other in a frenzy of outrage and disgust. Lady Pricklesnatch watches in horror as her gala becomes a battleground of swine and scandal.)

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Yelling above the chaos) Enough! Enough, I say! (She signals her servants, who rush to restrain the old Lord and lead him away.)

(The curtain falls as the guests cower and dodge both swine and filth, the height of the night's chaos captured in the final moment. Lady Pricklesnatch stands in the center of the ballroom, her dream of a triumphant gala shattered by the pandemonium around her.)

Act VIII: The Matriarch's Misery

(Scene: The ballroom is in ruins, encased in mud and feces. Servants are pulling the swine off of the last of the guests and leading them back into the pen. The guests, in shock, watch as Lady Donna-Tart, covered in filth and with her costume in tatters, slowly makes her way to the center of the room. A hush falls over the crowd as she prepares to speak.)

Lady Donna-Tart: (Spitting out a foul glob) Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your undivided attention. This evening...this travesty...has been a scandal of the highest order. A debacle, a disaster, a disgrace to the very fabric of our esteemed society!

(The guests gasp in shock as she continues, her voice rising in fury.)

Lady Donna-Tart: We gathered here tonight under the guise of 'Pastoral Elegance,' only to be subjected to an evening of...of barnyard bedlam! This gala, orchestrated by none other than Lady Pricklesnatch, has descended into a cesspool of vulgarity, an orgy of obscenity!

(Lady Pricklesnatch stands in shock, unable to respond.)

Lady Donna-Tart: (Pointing accusingly at Lady Pricklesnatch) You, madam, have sullied the sanctity of our noble gatherings. You have taken the concept of 'themed entertainment' and twisted it into a grotesque mockery of all that we hold dear. Your name shall forever be synonymous with scandal, your legacy a cautionary tale of hubris and folly!

(The guests murmur in agreement, their expressions a mix of horror and fascination.)

Lady Donna-Tart: (With a dramatic flourish) And so, I declare this evening not a celebration, but a catastrophe! A blight upon our history, a stain upon our...

(Suddenly, overcome with the weight of scandal and filth, Lady Donna-Tart collapses, her tirade cut short. The guests are thrown into hysterics, their shock giving way to panic.)

Lady Pricklesnatch: (In hysterics) Oh, the horror! The utter horror!

(The curtain falls as the guests rush to aid the fallen matriarch, their cries echoing through the ruined ballroom. Lady Pricklesnatch stands alone, her dreams of high society grandeur shattered by the night's calamitous events.)

Act IX: The Fall of Lady Pricklesnatch

(Scene: The ballroom is in disarray, with guests in shock and Lady Donna-Tart's lifeless body lying amid the wreckage. Reporters have arrived, cameras flashing, capturing the scandalous scene. Lady Pricklesnatch stands, mouth agape, as a photographer snaps a picture that will immortalize the evening's events.)

Reporter: (To Lord Cockbottom-Prancington) Lord Cockbottom-Prancington, can you give us an account of tonight's... extraordinary events?

Lord Cockbottom-Prancington: (With a flourish) Ah, my dear, where does one begin? The evening promised a bucolic romp, a frolic in the pastoral idyll. Instead, we were treated to a spectacle of scandal, a veritable opera of the obscene!

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Protesting) But it was not my intention! This was all a dreadful misunderstanding!

Lord Cockbottom-Prancington: (Continuing) Oh, but the pièce de résistance, my dear scribe, was not the porcine pandemonium, nor the defecatory debacle. It was not even the untimely death of our dear Lady Donna-Tart, struck down by the filth and the evening’s madness. No, it was the grand finale, a coup de théâtre orchestrated by our hostess herself!

Reporter: (Eagerly) And what was that, Lord Cockbottom-Prancington?

Lord Cockbottom-Prancington: (Inventing) Why, the grand reveal of the evening! Lady Pricklesnatch, in a daring display of avant-garde artistry, bathed in the mud with her porcine companions, declaring herself the Queen of the Swine!

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Horrified) That's an absolute fabrication! I did no such thing!

Lady Snogbottom: (With glee) Oh, but what a deliciously sordid tale! It seems Lady Pricklesnatch has redefined the boundaries of taste, quite literally!

Reporter: (Excitedly) This is sensational! The story of the century! Thank you, Lord Cockbottom-Prancington, for your vivid account.

(The guests begin to leave, their exit a parade of humiliation, covered in filth and scandal. Lady Pricklesnatch stands alone, her reputation in ruins.)

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Despairingly) My reputation, my gala, my dreams... all sunk in a sea of scandal and swine. What have I done?

(The curtain falls as Lady Pricklesnatch is left to contemplate the ruins of her once-glorious evening, now forever etched in infamy.)

Act X: The Morning After

(Scene: Lady Pricklesnatch's boudoir. She is seated in a chair, looking disheveled and forlorn. Her maid, Ethel, stands beside her, reading from the gossip columns of the morning paper.)

Ethel: (Reading) "Last night's disastrous gala, hosted by Lady Pricklesnatch, will forever be remembered as the ‘Scandal of the Century.' Guests arrived in barn-inspired attire, little knowing they were stepping into a sty of unprecedented debauchery..."

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Sighing) Oh, the shame of it all...

Ethel: (Continuing) "The evening began on a note of bizarre scandal, when guests encountered the Dowager-Countess wallowing in the mud of a pigsty. This was followed by a shocking announcement by a young debutante, who proclaimed her...unusual affections for swine. Guests were later treated to a porcine stampede that left gowns tattered, and faces smeared with filth and tears. But the true highlight was the unexpected performance by Lord Ditherington, who defiled the dance floor and later engaged in a fecal fracas with the gentry."

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Burying her face in her hands) I shall never live this down.

Ethel: (Reading) "The scandal reached its climax when Lady Donna-Tart, a respected matriarch of high society, succumbed to the shock and filth, meeting her untimely demise amidst the chaos. It is said that her last words were a curse upon Lady Pricklesnatch, blaming her for the evening's atrocities."

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Despairingly) A curse...from Lady Donna-Tart herself. My fate is sealed.

Ethel: "Polite society is reeling from the rumor that Lady Pricklesnatch planned the entire evening as a grand experiment in social Darwinism, a test to see who could survive the night's trials."

Lady Pricklesnatch: "Preposterous! I am a hostess, not a mad scientist!"

Ethel: (Reading) "High society is in an uproar, with scandalized guests calling for an investigation into the gala and demanding moral recompense. Lady Pricklesnatch has yet to show her face in public, and many wonder if she will ever recover from this calamitous event."

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Resignedly) My reputation is in tatters. I am a pariah, doomed to be remembered only for my folly.

Ethel: (Soothingly) There, there, my lady. Perhaps it is a lesson learned. One must be cautious when venturing into uncharted waters, especially at galas.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Nodding) Yes, Ethel. A lesson learned indeed. No more risks, no more scandals. Just...obscurity.

(The curtain falls as Lady Pricklesnatch contemplates her fall from grace, a broken spirit in the aftermath of devastating scandal.)

Act XI: The Odd Couple

(Scene: Lady Pricklesnatch's estate, weeks later. She is sitting in her drawing room, looking disheveled and weary. The young debutante, herself abandoned and now a permanent member of the household, is playing with a Muscovite swine on a leash, much to Lady Pricklesnatch's discomfort.)

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Irritably) Must you insist on parading that...creature around as if it were a prized pet?

Debutante: (Giggling) Oh, but isn't he just adorable? (She kisses the pig's snout and tickles its udders, causing Lady Pricklesnatch to grimace.) Besides, we're all pariahs now, aren't we? You, me, and Mr. Snuffles here.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Sighing) Please, do not lump my fall from grace with your...peculiar indiscretions. There are degrees of scandal, my dear.

Debutante: (Pouting) Oh, come now, Lady Pricklesnatch. We're both outcasts, shunned by society. Why not embrace our new life together? We can be pariah pals!

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Resignedly) Pariah pals... How utterly...dreadful.

Debutante: (Cheerfully) Cheer up! We can host our own little galas right here. Just us and the swine. We'll be the talk of the...well, the barnyard, at least.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Dryly) How utterly...thrilling. From socialite du jour to queen of the barnyard. What a precipitous fall.

Debutante: (Clapping her hands) Oh, let's not be glum! We can have all sorts of fun. We'll throw mud parties, swine soirées, and piggy picnics!

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Groaning) Heaven help me.

(The curtain falls as Lady Pricklesnatch looks on in morbid detachment at her bizarre new life, a far cry from the grandeur of her past, now bound in strange companionship with the young debutante and her beloved swine.)

Act XII: The Twilight Years

(Scene: The once-grand estate of Lady Pricklesnatch, now dilapidated and overgrown. The drawing room is shrouded in shadows, dust covering the neglected furniture. Lady Pricklesnatch, now elderly and bitter, sits in a worn armchair. The middle-aged debutante, eccentric and slightly mad, is playing with her three pigs and a donkey, all on leashes, which she affectionately refers to as her "husbands.")

Lady Pricklesnatch: (With distaste) Must you insist on parading those...those beasts around as if they were royalty? It's unseemly, even for a disgraced debutante.

Debutante: (Laughing) Oh, Lady Pricklesnatch, you're just jealous of my happy marriage. My husbands provide me with more joy than high society ever did.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Sneering) Joy? Is that what you call your...depraved frolicking? You've turned this estate into a den of iniquity!

Debutante: (Shrugging) Better a den of iniquity than a mausoleum of regrets. At least I've embraced my fall from grace with open arms and open...well, you know.

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Launching into a tirade) You've embraced madness, that's what you've done! For thirty years, I've been trapped in this purgatory, watching you cavort with swine, while my life, my reputation, my very soul withered away!

Debutante: (Calmly) Oh, come now, it hasn't been all bad. Remember the time we taught Mr. Snuffles II to waltz? Or the swine serenade under the moonlight?

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Shuddering) Don't remind me. Those were moments of sheer lunacy, not bonding.

Debutante: (Sighing) You're so melodramatic, my dear. We've had our ups and downs, but we've weathered the storm together. Isn't that worth something?

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Bitterly) All it's worth is a lifetime of regret and a front-row seat to your descent into madness.

Debutante: (Smiling) And yet, here we are, still together after all these years. Like two peas in a pod. Or should I say, two pigs in a sty?

Lady Pricklesnatch: (Grimacing) Spare me your twisted humor. Our fates are intertwined, but that doesn't mean I have to enjoy your company.

(The curtain falls as the two women continue to bicker, bound by their shared disgrace and mutual dependency, their lives a testament to the dark humor of their twisted existence.)

[expectantdaddies]

Caspian was renowned among his peers as one of the most accomplished wizards of his generation. A prodigy from a young age, he had graduated from the prestigious Arcane Academy at an unprecedently early age and then went on to take part in several pivotal conflicts that would shape the fate of the world.

The Dimension Rifts Crisis, a catastrophic event where unstable portals opened all over the land, causing aberrations to pour out and ravage the nations, was one such occasion. Caspian was one of the many powerful wizards who closed these rifts, and he also contributed in the effort to hunt down and destroy the extradimensional monsters that escaped the rifts. The eldritch god C'thaloc, whose return had been heralded by ominous portents and ancient prophecies, was another foe that Caspian faced in his early career as a wizard. When the Eternally Sleeping Eldritch God had been awakened by his doomsday cultists, Caspian was part of the band of heroes who had been investigating the cult's activities and was instrumental in stopping the cult's ritual and banishing C'thaloc back to his realm.

Perhaps most notably, however, was his involvement during the bimillennial Tarrasque migration. These ancient beasts, said to be capable of leveling mountains with a single step, had been dormant for millennia but began stirring anew. Its awakening led to widespread destruction as it wandered the world in search of mates. Caspian and his allies were instrumental in diverting the creatures' path and ensuring that it did not bring about global devastation.

Throughout these conflicts, Caspian consistently distinguished himself through both his vast knowledge of magic and his sheer power as a wizard. He was widely credited alongside the other heroes involved for saving countless lives and preventing the permanent collapse of society. These actions cemented his status as one of the most celebrated wizards of his time.

However, Caspian is not just known for his heroic deeds but also for his unique personal circumstances. Unlike many members of his profession, he is a member of the royal family - the second son of Queen Lucinda of Tellomarinus. This dual role often finds him acting as an envoy for his mother to neighboring kingdoms and other courts. As such, Caspian frequently travels abroad, engaging in diplomatic efforts on behalf of his homeland.

It is rumored that Prince Caspian enjoys these diplomatic sojourns a bit too much, often returning with souvenirs in his womb that are decidedly more personal than mere trinkets or mementos. The Queen, while not publicly acknowledging her son's extramarital dalliances, has instead chosen to spoil her ever-growing brood of grandchildren, whom she spoils dearly. Despite being semi-retired from active heroics, Caspian's lifestyle as a wizard and royal envoy continues to result in frequent travels, and pregnancies.

Interestingly enough, Caspian might indeed be Queen Lucinda's preferred choice for succession when she eventually steps down from the throne. Her other children show little interest in the duties and responsibilities of ruling Tellomarinus, leaving Caspian as perhaps her most likely heir apparent. The Queen has attempted to slow down his family growth by introducing him to eligible bachelors and bachelorettes, hoping that marriage might stabilize his personal life.

However, Caspian's claims of an overly demanding schedule due to his work as ambassador and occasional magical problem solver seem to make marriage a less urgent concern for the moment. The Queen watches with a knowing smile as her son once again becomes pregnant, wondering if perhaps it is time to reevaluate her matchmaking gambits.

Caspian, pregnant wizard.

[potchatok-art]

While there is development and diversification of Sutviprra, there is also death and disaster brewing. In an area known to Kafunukujurr’ as Iakui Syrrwer - Big Canyon volcanic activity, earthquakes have been recorded more and more. For the sages, who recorded and investigated the phenomena, these pulses may be movements of the giant creature, on which they all live - their cosmology dictates that everything is alive, and their islander heritage points out how earth is not a singular thing. So, Kafunukujurr’, though living on a continent, believe themself to be living on several “islands”, with boundaries such as rivers or, indeed, revienes. Their occasional movement indicates either them just waking up with no malice, or their way to express displeasure. Their model of the planet turned out to be closer to the truth - both the island from which they started and the area they inhabit currently is on the border of a tectonic plate, and the Big Canyon is a continental rift. However, this ridge is under sea levels at multiple points. Sea is separated from the canyon by a large geological formation that is affected not by two, but three geological plates. While two plates separate from each other, the third one is getting pushed deeper and deeper into the opening. This tectonic stress and the effects of water erosion makes the Wall Stone a ticking clock. Once, Kafunukujur’ foragers may discover several openings, gushing sea water. It may even form ponds of water with salt and minerals, freed from erosion. These ponds, perhaps, even used for some medicinal purposes. However, the pond is overflowing, there are more and more splinters and cracks and earthquakes seem to be more frequent. In the known world for Kafunukujurr’ and beyond there are many local disasters - landslides and sudden riverflow changes haunted Sutviprra who lived nearby.

At first, this disaster was slow moving - saltwater ponds kept filling and overflowing into the lowlands of the Iakui Syrrwer. They even reach the lands of warring northern tribes, where they are interpreted in a diverse range of ways. However, water erosion, tectonic pressure and the age are wearing off the wall in between sea and the reiveen. This erosion does not happen on the same time scale, as a stone age Sutviprra life, so as once these pools were a novelty, and now they are an accepted feature of landscape. As their appearance was not anticipated, there is no reason to expect further change. Grand-children of those who discovered the pools, now experience the next part of a story beyond them. During an unprecedented earthquake felt all throughout the continent, the wall is finally dislodged and overwhelmed by the shifting of water. Wall of rock, mud and water, collecting any trees on the way, streams all the way from the previous shore to the Lake of Order. The geological feature, that once united the entire culture, is now decimated, becoming extremely muddy and salt-saturated, the landscape northwest of it collecting all the debri from thousands of miles away. Some very unlucky foraging parties or traveling tribes might have been swept up by the formation of the new gulf, leaving no world behind. Even weirder, some spaces have been left like islands, surrounded by rubble, and what might be the fate of Sutviprra, stranded there? Witnessing the calamity and living to tell the tale is an interesting experience. Kafunukujurr’ named the place and the event Nurrawas - Breach, and the island, from which one could see the new entry is now personified as a witness of the disaster - Nurraswawear’. From the side of Kastakama, the story is even more somber - their home environment is now decaying, with remnants of their lake drying up. In the next several decades, the desert and savanna they new is bit by bit shifted by earthquakes into the new sea, now cutting them from Unzu - the majority of “faceless” Sutviprra. Descendants of Kastakama follow disperse and many follow the dried up riverbed. This river flowed out of Lake of Order to the southeast, and sometime ago a passing tribe shared words about the great body of water with no visible end.

Sudden spike in earthquake also did provoke the activity of volcanoes, and for all individual tragedies they might produce, they also cause a cold spike to shorelines to shift - oceans recede, uncovering weird underwater fauna, and the beginnings of agriculture by Kafunukujurr’ are undercut by eruption induced years without summer, acid rains and shifts in temperature. Their centralization becomes unsustainable, Kakujufurr’ elites bicker and break up, and many city detach and start to fend for themself. Some of them migrate southward, chasing the favorable climate, settling on the shores of the river Wejykōifur. Some families, mostly of fishers, decide to brave the unknown and settle the uncharted islands of Wowerdai and Fur’wer.

The Kaikaiwar of the islands, completely free from Kafunukujurr’, find themself in a destroyed environment, after two audacious empires exhausted the resources of the islands. To stay is to be the braver one, adapting to the new environment and risking it all. Most migrate to the continent, adapting either to bountifull and lively jungles Nisnisōw or more familiar climate-wise, but without benefits of island rule - predators and potential game is three times larger and somewhat accustomed to Sutrpviprra presence. Savahnas of Kochfurnuer force them to stick to being exclusively river farring - they never abandon their vessel building and creating crafts.

Newcomers refer to the new land as Koujsōer, and their prevalence makes this world stick as the name for this continent.

[ufo-thetimesareripe]

UFO Disclosure - Mexico vs USA: The Hunt for Extraterrestrial Truth

Introduction:

In recent years, the interest in UFOs and the possible presence of extraterrestrial life on Earth has reached unprecedented levels. While debates about the authenticity of such sightings continue to dominate discussions, a recent hearing held in Washington D.C. on July 26, 2023, has raised further questions on the matter.

During this hearing, three high-level witnesses presented compelling evidence of the existence of unidentified flying objects (UFOs), paving the way for a possible official disclosure.

Alleged Alien Remains in Mexico:

Meanwhile, the Mexican Congress has been the stage for another significant development in UFO research. Mexican journalist Jaime Maussan presented alleged evidence of alien remains to the Congress. One of these artifacts underwent rigorous scientific testing, including X-rays and CT scans. The results of these analyses have raised the hypothesis that the artifacts could indeed belong to alien mummies.

But which country, Mexico or the United States, will make the first official announcement?

Sightings in the United States:

The recent revelations from the United States Department of Defense have shaken the world. U.S. military pilots have confirmed the authenticity of UFO sightings, emphasizing that the characteristics of these objects could not be attributed to U.S. or any other nation's military technologies. The Pentagon itself has reported at least 291 UFO sighting reports in the past year, some of which describe high-speed maneuvers and unusual maneuverability.

The testimony of former pilots Graves and Frevor, supported by tangible evidence (including recorded sensor data), has raised a series of questions about the origins of these objects and has led many to wonder if the official announcement regarding the existence of extraterrestrial life may be closer than ever. Additionally, the indictment made by former Major David Grusch against the Pentagon for secretly holding non-terrestrial spacecraft and unidentified aerial phenomena bodies in their hangars and laboratories, with impeccable credentials, to be further explored in a SCIF (Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility) closed-door meeting in November, adds further fuel to the fire and rekindles the hope of at least a cautious partial official admission that there is evidence that we are not alone in the universe.

The further analyzes of the mummies and the further declarations in the new hearing in November

Meanwhile, in Mexico, despite fierce criticism from Maussan's opponents regarding the exhibition of the Nazca mummies in the Mexican Chamber of Deputies, expert Jose de Jesus Zalce Benitez, following a live TV CT scan, states that the remains show no signs of assembly or manipulation and belong to a single skeleton. It has also been highlighted that one of the beings was alive and in gestation, suggesting the presence of eggs inside its abdomen. These discoveries have added further support to the theory that Earth is visited by extraterrestrial beings. Furthermore, the nature of the unusual metallic implants found on the bodies of the mummified creatures will be discussed in the upcoming Mexican congress. This could make a difference.

The Race for Official Announcement:

With the testimonies of UFO sightings in the United States and the discovery of alleged alien remains in Mexico, the question arises: which country will be the first to make an official announcement regarding the existence of extraterrestrial life?

In the immediate future, neither country is likely to make such an announcement, although the United States, having already conducted official hearings on the UFO topic, seems to be at the forefront of the search for truth. The past hearing in Washington demonstrated a commitment by the U.S. government to seek rational explanations for UFO sightings and to acknowledge the possibility of extraterrestrial presence on Earth, and the upcoming SCIF meeting in November could provide further impetus for positive developments in this regard. However, the forces at play, as there is a real war between those who are pro and those who are against, could slow down this process, particularly because if the Pentagon were to make an official admission after decades of lies on the subject, many, too many people would have to be held accountable for their criminal behavior. There are millions of dollars at stake that have been used for the development of Black Programs, derived from not-so-clean operations, and many would be called to answer, at various levels, both present and past. Not to mention the intimidations and killings that David Grusch briefly mentioned, targeting witnesses of such incidents.

Conclusions:

The UFO hearing in the United States and the authentication of the Nazca mummies are significant events that push us towards a possible, yet cautious and controlled, official disclosure regarding the existence of extraterrestrial life on Earth, in order to minimize the social impact such a revelation would have. Both countries appear to be actively involved in the search for truth and in providing plausible explanations for the sightings and evidence collected, despite numerous opponents on both sides.

It is difficult to predict which country might take the lead in making the first official announcement, as both have demonstrated a commitment to pursuing the truth about UFOs. However, regardless of which country takes the initiative, an official announcement regarding the existence of extraterrestrial life would have a significantimpact on society and our understanding of the universe. It would undoubtedly spark widespread debates, scientific exploration, and philosophical discussions about our place in the cosmos.

As we await further developments and the outcome of ongoing investigations, it is important to approach this topic with an open yet critical mind. The search for truth and the exploration of the unknown are essential aspects of human curiosity and progress. Whether the truth is revealed by Mexico, the United States, or another country altogether, the potential disclosure of extraterrestrial life would mark a pivotal moment in human history.

Oliviero Mannucci

[maximummuses]

"You're damn right it was a kill squad!" Logan shouts back. "It was a kill squad! I ain't interested in making it sound any better than it was!" That was the point behind all of X-Force. That's why everyone who was involved ended up being involved. Not a single one of them held delusions of morality or of things being better than they actually were. They all knew damn well what they were doing and how no one could ever forgive them for that. And Logan sure as hell wasn't interested in anyone's forgiveness. The point of X-Force sure as hell wasn't to be forgiven, either. It was to burn at the stake so no one else had to. To cross lines so that no one else had to get their hands dirty in the field and cross the line into being a killer. To wage a war so that no one else would to get blood on their hands. If Logan really wanted forgiveness, then he would have gone to Charles. But his sins have never deserved forgiveness.

Control. Logan has spent his entire life in search of control. Control of himself. Control of the animal inside of him. Control of his rage and anger and all that ugliness that came too naturally to him. But he always found a way to fall short. Always found a way to let people down. X-Force was no different.

"I was fine goin' around with Slim until he started training kids to be killers. Until he started crossin' lines that were beyond the pale for both you and I. Once kids started to think that bein' an X-Man meant bein' a killer was when I knew that I couldn't follow him anymore. That he wasn't the man Jeannie fell in love with or the man I would have followed to hell and back. You damn well know that, Hank." And it hurt like hell to leave. Hurt like hell to break apart the only real family he had ever known for his entire life. But he did what he had to do. Even if he isn't happy about it.

"Now I know it's just the alcohol talkin' for you, Hank. You really think I'd go through all of this, sink every dime I ever had into this school, go back to Westchester, all of that just to tick him off?" Even if Logan knows that it's just the alcohol taking the wheel in Hank's brain, even if he knows that Hank can't be held completely accountable for everything he's saying right now, it stings more than Hank will ever know to believe that for a second, one of Logan's oldest friends thought that little of him. But he'll learn to get over it. He'll heal past it all. Somehow, when push comes to shove, he always finds a way to heal.

He knows that bringing up Dark Beast and Sinister was below the belt. The Legacy Virus was unprecedented, and that the days after M-Day were hard as hell for everyone. He damn well knows that. But his emotions were running too high. He was never a creature of science, logic, or reason. On his most base level, Logan was driven by his own emotions. For better and most certainly for worse, everything about Logan comes from the heart. So when he's hurt, the first thing that he thinks to do is hurt back. Take the pain and give it back. Like a wounded animal. That's always been a part of who he is. A wounded animal.

Then, when Hank hurts back, he feels it harshly. And the worst part of it all is that Logan can't argue with all of it. For as much as he wants to fight back, he can't argue with some of Hank's points. Logan is indeed a liar. He is indeed emotionally incontinent, barely civilized, booze chugging, bloodlusting, all of that. Despite his best attempts to be better than that, he falls short every time. And he can't even call himself a good father as a redeeming quality. Good fathers don't put their own sons in the ground. Meanwhile, Akihiro is dead and it's all Logan's fault he's dead. No one else to share the blame with. Just him.

"You think I had a ball of a time with X-Force? You think I was killin' anyone I wanted to, left, right, and center, enjoyin' myself the whole damn time?! You think me or anyone else felt good about ourselves bein' in the same room as Fantomex after he killed a kid?! You think it was all fun and games for us?! Because it sure as hell wasn't, Hank! The things we did with X-Force, none of that is shit we can take back! All of us are forced to live with the shit we've done for the rest of our lives! The blood on our hands, it ain't ever gonna wash off! No matter..."

Logan stops abruptly, taking a step backwards. He turns his back to Hank, and one could swear that he's weeping.

"...I had to murder my boy. Akihiro. He was tryin' to turn Evan into Apocalypse. And if I let him live there, then he would have killed the kids at the school. So durin' the last mission with X-Force... we got into a fight. And I..." He pauses, choking. "I killed him. I killed my boy. The boy who I failed for all his life. Who, if I had known he existed before, I would have gone to hell and back to bring him home and give him the life he deserved. But I didn't. And I put him in the ground and buried him." And not a day goes by when Logan will ever let himself find forgiveness for that. So long as he lives, for the rest of his mercilessly long life, out of all the horrible things he has done, he'll hate himself the most for this. More than anything else he's ever done. More than anything else he ever will do, Logan will always hate himself the most for killing Akihiro. And nothing that anyone could ever say or do will be enough for him to forgive himself for that.

"Doing that was... killing Akihiro was a bridge too far for me. It shouldn't have taken that long for me to realize that, but it was. And I look at X-Force and what comes next and I don't have it in me. Doin' that... it took everything out of me. I don't have it in me to go back to that again, Hank. I just don't."

Logan doesn't bother hiding his hurt when Hank rips off the patch and hands it to him. Even if it is all his fault, there's no point in hiding the hurt. No point in hiding any of that. "If you really wanna leave, Hank, then I ain't gonna stop you. I ain't Slim. But if we're all bein' honest in here tonight, then the truth is that we need you here, Hank. I need you here. Honest-to-god, that's the truth. Do what you gotta do."

"Every single time you open your damned mouth, it's a never ending, frothy deluge of effluent, Logan. Every single time you reduce it, every single time you try and make it not exactly what it was, a goddamn KILL SQUAD, you insult me! You insult my damned intelligence, you insult my damned morality, you insult my innate ability to sense BULLSHIT!" By now, he was damn near screaming at the other man, and it was a good thing he'd had the lab soundproofed, or every single student up above would be able to hear the Headmaster and Vice Principal at each other's throats, roaring bloody murder at one another. He knows he's cut too deep with the comment about the current crop, knows that Logan's displaying such incredible, indescribable, immense self-control by not just popping his claws right there and then, but he doesn't care.

Henry McCoy has spent his entire life wagging his finger and mouthing off at things and people more than able to kill him, and it's far too late for him to stop now, just because one of them was allegedly a friend.

"Is that really the reason you're here, Logan? For the children? Or. And bear with me here, because this is only a theory, only a hypothesis, but what if it's just because you finally got tired of playing second fiddle to Scott Summers. Hm?" Hank brought his paws out, as if proposing an insane theory to the floor, knowing exactly how wrong it was, exactly how off base an accusation it was, but he was hurting and he was feeling very uncharitable and very drunk at the moment, so he'd bear that cross. It wouldn't be his first dummy of a theory, and it wouldn't be his last.

"The Jean Grey School for Higher Learning. Quite a way to thumb your nose at her husband, isn't it? You know, I'm starting to re-contextualise everything, knowing what I know now, knowing you've been lying to me from the start about what you were actually doing, and it really is beginning to make just so much more sense. You lost Jean to Scott, and you've never been able to get over that fact, so Scott tells you what to do one time too many and you pretend to leave in a huff over the way he's treating those children, but you really just wanted to flip him a good old fashioned adamantium bird, didn't you?"

Now he really was just talking nonsense, talking insanity, but it felt so good to throw it all in Logan's face, to try and make him feel as shitty as possible, to make him feel even half as raw and naked and betrayed as he did right now, because Hank had spent so many late nights working away on school reports and grading papers, thinking he finally had the moral high ground, only to find out he'd been made a fool all along. Been made to look like even more of a hypocrite than he already was.

"I don't believe you. I don't believe you, I don't believe you, I don't believe you, not for one second. You could tell me that the air is comprised of an exact blend of nitrogen, oxygen, argon, CO2, neon, helium, methane, krypton, and water vapour, and I would still feel as though I need a spectroscope to make sure you aren't lying to me. Maybe you even mean it, right now, right this second, but - " Was he being overly dramatic? Perhaps. But Hank had always been a little . . . well, there was no way to get around it, a little bipolar, always swinging between the extremes, always manically happy or crushingly depressed, vacillating between the two at the drop of a hat or the wink of a mirror. Arguments with his fellow X-Men at the dead of night were no different.

But then, Logan returned the favour. Logan got his claws out, and stabbed them dead centre into his heart, and Hank recoiled as if he'd been struck, his face the picture of grievously wounded. Within an instant, he snapped back, and he was shivering with fury, with loathing, with pulsating, thumping, bloody, incandescent rage.

But his voice was calm. His breathing was feverish, but his voice was calm.

"You, Logan, are a liar. You are a pathetic, knuckle dragging, emotionally incontinent, barely civilised, booze chugging, bloodlusting, borderline sociopathic malcontent with delusions of adequacy, but more than all of those things, you are a liar. And I will not stand here, and let you throw your shit on my shoes, and thank you for it anymore. You do not get to throw my choices in my face. You don't have that right. You've never earned it."

In. Out. In. Out.

"You want to talk about what I've done? Do you? Do you think it was easy? Do you think I had fun? Do you think you're ready to talk about cradling the body of a six year old child with a gunshot wound to the back of the head, feeling the pressure of an entire nearly dead race on the exact point of your skull where it's weakest, and having to put the child down in the mass grave because it isn't an adequate test subject? Are you ready for that conversation, Logan? Because I am. I've been ready for years. I've been ready ever since I found the exact point I get off. Do you know what he said to me, when I said, no, this is where I stop?"

There was barely an inch between them now.

"'You're fighting for the future of your species. Did that slip your mind? It's the only fight that matters, Henry. It's the war in which nature enlists every last one of us.'" Hank smiled humourlessly. "'And you're a deserter.' That's what he said to me." Right before he tried to snap my neck, he reminded himself. "'Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, / And thus the native hue of resolution / Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought.' Hamlet, Act Three, Scene One. Well, the native hue of my resolution has been restored by this conversation, Logan. You've helped me work out exactly where I get off. Where I say, no, this is where I stop."

Hank reached up and grabbed the X patch on his uniform, ripping it off and pressing it gently into Logan's chest with the clawed point of his finger, before letting go and watching it float to the floor.

"You fought for the future of our species the exact same way he did - with bodies. And just like then, I'm saying, no. You can consider this my resignation. You'll have a typed version on your desk in the morning, and I'll have vacated the premises by 3PM, after I give Kitty all of the security codes she needs for the school."

His jaw was stiff and his eyes were watery.

"Call me a deserter if you want. Tell them whatever story you want about why I left. Keep telling yourself whatever you want, convincing yourself you'll never go down this road again. I - really don't have it in me to care anymore."

He turned away.