#7 minutes in heaven except it's actually hell and both of them trying to escape the mortifying ordeal of being fucking HONEST

[sandu-zidian]

I'm having Yunmeng Shuangjie feelings I am losing it over the way these two idiots try to rationalize the decisions and emotions towards the other through duty and obligation.

Wei Wuxian attempts to rationalize the golden core transfer and his subsequent actions of secrecy and running away by trying to convince both himself and JC (and others) that he made those decisions out of duty, debt, and obligation: duty to JC, debt to Yunmeng Jiang, debt and obligation towards the Wen siblings. By doing so he hopes to mask the deep truth that his singular most important decision -- to transfer his own core to JC -- was done not out of duty, but out of love. If he admits to how love pushed him to try and fix JC, he would then have to grapple with the blatant truth that not only did the decision break the trust between himself and JC, but in fact did the opposite of fixing JC. The event only further breaks them apart. WWX refuses to acknowledge any feelings of regret he could possibly have about the golden core transfer -- either because did not understand how terrible living without a golden core could be, or because he knows that what he did to JC was agonizing -- by only accepting his actions as done by a servant for a master, as a disciple for his sect and sect leader.

Jiang Cheng also suffers from this rationalization. When WWX defects and later dies, JC attempts to reinforce his righteous anger and rage towards WWX by viewing his betrayal not as done by a close friend and brother, but as betrayal done by a sect member and first disciple. By publicly and internally deriding WWX as a traitor to Yunmeng Jiang, forgoing his duty and obligation to his sect leader and the sect that took him in, JC can delude himself into accepting the derision and gloating exalted by the rest of the cultivation world and reject the complex and often contradictory feelings of grief and loss he feels towards WWX that stem from the painful truth that WWX hurt him not because he was a trusted discple, but because he was a close confidante and an almost-brother. Such pitiful emotions are unacceptable for someone so hated as WWX. So, JC aligns his emotional turmoil with the rest of society by refusing to remember the whole truth of his relationship with WWX as not just a trusted disciple, but as a dear friend and an older brother. In doing so, JC's negative emotions are quite unfair (though in his defense it's not like JC knew the truth behind WWX's confounding actions) and also never allow JC any chance to actually come to terms with WWX's betrayal and painful downfall.

I think the best Yunmeng Shuangjie reconciliation stories are the ones where JC has to admit that his comtempt towards WWX during the 13 years that he was dead was unneccessarily unfair and allowed him no place to truly accept and grieve for the loss of his brother, and where WWX has to admit to himself the true reason for the golden core transfer and how he cannot run away from the reality of the pain such a decision caused both himself and his brother, and perhaps even admit that it wasn't really the right decision, if there even is a right decision for that scenario at all. I need JC to yell at WWX about how the whole golden core transfer just serves to prove that WWX never accepted himself as family to the Jiang siblings when JC and JYL both cared for him deeply as a brother, while WWX yells back at JC about how he could possibly dare to see JC as family when all he has done in the years since his resurrection was act as if WWX was nothing but a sect traitor and stranger not worthy of a truthful conversation.

[flannelpunkcalum]

The Devil Wears Kevlar - Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

okay this is like, actually the plot igniting. so that’s exciting right??? also did you guys see the new joker trailer? nice to see the dcu is finally catching up to me... anyway sorry this is a little late it’s just that i’m a hot mess express this week love you bye! word count is about 3.5 k 

Things aren’t exactly easy, but they work.

In the next few days Aspen does start to get yelled at, in small amounts. Calum’s distinctly hungover on Monday, and she’s scared he’ll fire her for turning on the lights too bright. She’s tired some days too, and makes mistakes, or there are meetings she didn’t know about and someone shows up and Mr. Hood is double booked. He always gives her this look as he apologizes to whoever has been slighted, and he always says “new personal assistant” like it’s her fault that it wasn’t in the fucking book. He stops giving her little smiles all of a sudden, and he most certainly doesn’t tell her she did a good job in a low low voice at the end of the day.

Aspen learns to take deep breaths and count to ten and go back to her desk. She knows she’s shitty at hiding her feelings, always has been, but now that she’s a personal assistant she forces it to manifest as extra-saccharine smiles and that’s it.

Mr. Hood knows how she feels; she knows by now he’s too smart not to. It’s ridiculous, what they both know the other knows, but they’re both ignoring that. Logically, it's fucked, but if he closes his door a little too hard or she smiles with too many teeth they let it lie. It works, she thinks.

And here’s the thing; she thinks those are the bad days.

She has no idea.

It starts about a week and a half in, on a Thursday. She knows it’s a Thursday because those are the roughest days and this one is no exception. It starts out okay, actually; her roommate Mel is up in time to grab breakfast with Aspen, and they talk about normal things, goofy things, that episode of Criminal Minds they had watched last night, until they go their separate ways. She’s grinning when she hands Calum Hood his coffee and schedule that morning, and she has a happy song stuck in her head while she taps away at her keyboard. She’d like to think her good mood is infectious, because when Mr. Hood leaves his office to go to the boardroom he’s got a faint smile on too.

Things seem like they’ll be good today.

The next time she looks up from her computer it’s to glance back to the elevator when it dings open and a grey-haired man steps out. The next thing she notices about him is that his suit is nice, and the third thing is that he’s making a beeline to Mr. Hood’s empty office. That's all she has time for before she rushes up to stop him.

“Excuse me, sir?” She says, in her very best polite voice. He turns, thankfully; he may be greying but he certainly doesn’t look frail. “Mr. Hood isn’t in right now, but he should be back soon if you’d like to wait.”

The man jerks his head towards the office door, seeming confused. “Yes.” He says, and moves towards the office again. Jesus, no one goes into Mr. Hood’s office without him, not even the janitors, not even her. She moves to stop him, but before she can touch the stranger Liam’s hand is on her shoulder and he’s moving towards the man. Thank god, she thinks, before he shakes the stranger’s hand.

“I’m sorry, sir, she’s new.” Liam says, and then he turns back to Aspen. “Aspen, this is Don Falcone.” He says it like it’s big news, like this man’s important. It still means jack shit to Aspen.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Can I get you anything while you’re here in the reception area? Coffee? A magazine?” She says, with an admirable smile (considering the circumstances).

The man doesn’t move. “Liam. Talk to this pretty little girl for me,” he says, and then Liam grabs her elbow and pulls her away into his office, hard enough that she almost cries out. He pushes her inside and closes the door behind them.

They can’t treat her like that.

“Liam, I’m not gonna let you do this twice-”

“Would you shut up and listen to me?” He reaches out again, but this time Aspen is expecting it and she darts out of his reach. “Jesus. I know you’re new to Gotham, but you don’t understand- Don Falcone is the most powerful man in this city and I’m doing you a favour, keeping you out of his way.”

“Some favour, I’m gonna bruise!”

“Yeah, well, if you stood in his way you’d get worse, Aspen. Half the city works for him.”

“Wow, Liam, a CEO?” Aspen’s still in what is very nearly a fighting stance - what the hell kind of office is this? He coworker raises a hand, and she flinches, but he just brushes his hair out of his eyes. He’s still between her and the door. “Never dealt with one of those before, thank you so much-”

“He’s the head of Gotham’s biggest crime family, so yeah, you should thank me for trying to keep you safe. He could order a hit on you for less.” Liam says, all biting.

Aspen opens her mouth to say that’s stupid, that doesn’t happen, but then she takes a look around. This is Gotham; this was where you buy pepper spray at the dollar store and where crazy people dress in costumes to burn the city down. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to take this job for a reason. Someone like her, she’d probably be no trouble to kill.

She stops and closes her mouth, looking in the office’s direction through the glass walls of Liam’s office. “...I should call the police.” She says finally, moving towards the phone.

Liam gets there first. “No, you shouldn’t. This is Gotham, the police aren’t gonna do shit. You don’t have to worry about Mr. Hood, their families go way back, the Don’s not going to hurt him. You need to worry about you.”

Aspen’s still for now, but inside she feels like something’s raging, something like a storm. Liam’s hand is on the phone, holding it down. He's twice her size, she couldn't drag him away. He looks… just as freaked as she feels, now that she looks at him. His eyes are wide and his hair, which is usually perfectly gelled straight up to heaven, has let a few stands hang in his eyes. It makes him look a little younger. Aspen feels herself wavering. “What am I supposed to do, let him just- isn’t it my job to do something-”

“It’s your job to stay alive.” Liam says, firm enough that Aspen doesn’t argue.

...for long, anyway. “I thought you didn’t want me working up here.” She says, finding just a little more anger in her.

Liam scoffs. “I don’t,” he says, sitting on the corner of his desk, “but that doesn’t mean I want to see you hurt.”

“How very sweet of you.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t make it easy.”

Aspen starts to inch towards the door, but Liam’s watching and he doesn’t try to stop her. She takes that as a sign that she can leave, but right as she’s about to make her escape she makes herself stop and face him. “You know, the next time you grab me, I’m gonna break a finger.”

He laughs, but she’s not joking. “I mean it. I’ve had enough of being manhandled. Don’t try it again.” She says, and turns on her heel. She leaves stony faced, and she sits down at her desk and looks at her hands and wishes she didn’t have these fucking glass walls so she could have a fucking meltdown.

Her hands are still balled into fists when Calum arrives, and she rushes out of her office to meet him. “Mr. Hood? Don Falcone is in your office, he’s been waiting, I couldn’t-”

“Don Falcone? Wait, he’s in- why didn’t you do something?” Mr. Hood looked reluctant to be stopped, but as soon as she started to explain he turned all the way towards her and yeah, that was worse.

“You think I could stop him? Sir, I-”

Mr. Hood has a briefcase in his hand and Aspen can only imagine that he’d like to swing it at her head. “I expect you to, yes, that’s-” He stops himself and grimaces, glancing at his closed office door. “We’ll discuss this later. Don’t leave your desk until I call for you.” He adds, already walking away.

She stands in the reception area until the office door closes. Janice won’t meet her eyes.  

Aspen’s somewhere between furious and desolate.

She goes back to her desk, of course she does. Feels like she’s in a fucking time out. She’s not prepared for this. She knows science, not mob bosses or office policies, and she’s not used to being pushed around like this (because she associates with decent fucking people in her spare time).

She’s not going to let Mr. Hood get her in trouble for this. She doesn’t think she’ll get fired, but the thought crosses her mind - after all, the man goes through personal assistants like he goes through girlfriends. Anyway, if she loses this position for standing up for herself, then it wasn’t fucking worth it in the first place. In a way, she’s thankful this meeting is going into her lunch break; it gives her time to build her case, get determined.

Carmine Falcone (she did some Googling, but there’s not a lot out there) leaves after a good long time, looking unreadable. Aspen forces herself to smile and wave at him as he passes her office, which gets a nod in return (“order a hit” reverberates in her head). Calum’s office door closes before she sees him, so she grits her teeth and stays sitting down, staring at her computer monitor before the phone rings.

They maintain their polite ignorance over the phone. Mr. Hood asks if he could see her in his office, please, and she says right away, sir, and they both hang up like adults. Aspen doesn’t kid herself, though, he’s going to tear her apart in a minute.

She squares her shoulders and crosses the lobby, knocking on his door before she can chicken out. “Come in,” says Mr. Hood, and she has to take a deep breath and remind herself of the overtime pay before she pushes open the door to meet her fate.

She knows he’s mad because he keeps on writing, doesn’t even look up as she enters. He wants to make her suffer for this, in some small way. He’s really fuckin’ mad, then. Still, she waits. There’s not much else she can do.

Eventually, he puts his pen down and looks up. “Is it unreasonable, what I ask of you, Aspen?”

“Is-”

“No.”

Alright, then.

Mr. Hood continues. “My orders are simple and they’re easy to follow and yet you allowed someone to stay in my office unsupervised for half an hour without so much as opening the door? Do you understand how ridiculous that is?”

Aspen knows she’s in the right, but she can still feel her face growing red. “Yes.”

“Oh, really? I don’t think you do, because certainly you allowed it to happen. I also know that’s the reason Carmine Falcone has a copy of one of my stupid paper schedules in his pocket and for the rest of the day he knows-”

This has gone too far, Aspen has to do damage control. “Sir, I think that’s-”

“Miss McMichael, you will not interrupt me.” His very tone makes Aspen feel like she's been slapped, and she closes her mouth. She doesn't think he's ever called her that before. “God knows what else he’s got on me, thanks to your negligence. I think I’ve been very forgiving of your mistakes, but this is something else.” He stands up. His jacket is off, and his dress shirt is drawn tight across his shoulders. Aspen is reminded of how big he is, but he’s not like Liam. He’s not going to grab her. Right? “Can you give me one good reason that I shouldn’t send you out of this office right now?”

“Look, Mr. Hood, I tried, but-”

“You will not use that tone with me.”

That does it.

Aspen feels lightheaded with anger. “No, you will let me speak, sir, since I’ve sat through your entire rant so far.” She says, with all the energy in her little body. She’s firm. She’s not going to get pushed around any more. “I tried to stop him, and I’m sure he told you that, but Liam wouldn’t let me and I don’t mean to blame him but he told me about - um, Falcone’s line of business, and to be frank yeah, I think it’s a little unreasonable for you to ask me to drag a mobster out of your office while you’re out.”

She almost regrets her harsh tone for a second, while Mr. Hood sits in stunned silence. Fuck, she’s never spoken to him like that. “I understand that you’re angry but this isn’t fair. I don't want to lose this job but if you want someone who’ll let you scream at them just because you’re angry you should send me back to the lab right now.” She says, finally.

Aspen knows from experience the next few moments are crucial, because she’s known to be an angry crier on occasion. If she can just keep it together for a few more seconds, caught in Mr. Hood’s agonizing gaze, she’ll be alright and able to scrape her composure back together. And this is Calum Hood they’re talking about, she’s seen him go cold on people before, but being the target of this is almost knocking her over. If she crumbles now, though, she’ll never have his respect. She can see it in his eyes.

He doesn’t speak.

This silence draws long.

It’s probably only a few seconds, but Aspen can’t stand it. “Also I think if you thought the paper schedules were stupid I think there’s a better way to tell me.” She adds quickly, and that gets a small sniff of amusement from Calum and suddenly she can breathe again.

“You’re... somewhat right.” He says, sitting back down.

That’s something.

“...next time something like this happens, I need you to call me right away. Don’t put yourself in any danger, if it comes to that. If Falcone, or anyone else won’t listen to you, just let them go and call me as soon as you can.” Aspen nods. At least that’s something she can do. “I’m sorry I was unfair. But you should know that if this happens again and you don’t alert me, your job will be entirely on the line.” It’s not the same threat he gave her earlier, but her stomach still twists. She moved for this job, she can’t lose it. Maybe Mr. Hood sees that, because his tone gets a little gentler. “How did Liam stop you from keeping Falcone out, if you don't mind me asking?”

At this point, Aspen’s just trying to calm herself down. She's not sure if she wants to tell her boss about her conversation with Liam, to be quite honest, because she's mad at him and all but… now she thinks he might have been doing the right thing. “That’s… well, he kind of pulled me into his office and had a talk with me and if what he told me is true I should be thankful for it.” She tries to make her choice of words sound neutral, but there's no reason for Mr. Hood to question her. She really doesn't want Liam to get in trouble for this.

“What did- it doesn't matter. Sometimes in Gotham you can't tell myth from fact.” Mr. Hood mumbles, face unreadable. “...thank you for being honest with me, and for… I hired you for this and not Liam for a reason, you know that?”

Aspen doesn’t trust herself to speak, so he continues. “Liam’s wonderful. He’s loyal. But you weren’t afraid to stand up to me in the interview, and you weren’t afraid now. I admire that. I just need some of that to come out next time Don Falcone comes into the building, understood?” He graces her with a rare smile and Aspen almost falls over. He was ready to fire her a moment ago, but now she watches carefully and she doesn’t see any anger seething under his skin. She hopes that’s not dangerous, but when he looks at her like that - well, it feels a little dangerous for a different reason.

Mr. Hood is waiting for her to reply, so she wets her lips and makes an effort. “To be fair, I was very afraid to stand up to you. Both times. But, uh, fortune favours the bold. As do ridiculously wealthy CEOs.”

He smiles outright at that. Aspen can’t believe she missed this feeling over the past few days, when he was just- different. She doesn’t know what it is that’s changed, but now he seems like a person, not her boss. It’s exceptional, this brief side of him.

“Indeed.” He says, picking up his pen again. “And I apologize for Mr. Falcone, if he made you feel uncomfortable. He has… old fashioned manners, I think, that’s a polite way to put it.”

Aspen thinks back to “pretty little girl” and almost pretends to gag for dramatic effect. She doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. “Does he ever, sir.”

“Don’t worry.” Says Mr. Hood. “His kind of man, their time in Gotham is coming to a close.”

Later, Aspen won’t remember what he said after that. She won’t remember exactly what she said to make a polite exit, or if Liam spoke to her after. She’ll remember the rest of the day as mostly a blur, almost like any other day.

One thing that sets it apart is that she’s starting to realize that she may have a teensy, tiny, miniscule crush on her boss. Well, not on her boss exactly, not on Mr. Hood, who is cold and inconsiderate and kind of a dick, but on Calum. She thinks she sees it sometimes; the parts of him that smile and tease and try to console her. It seems pretty superficial on her part, if she’s honest, and it doesn’t happen often so it shouldn’t be a problem, but Aspen’s fucking derailed by it right now. Her time at her desk that afternoon is infinitely complicated by it; she’s itching to get him to smile again.

Mr. Calum Thomas Hood is a complicated man, she’s coming to realize, and even though logically, she knows she wants no part in it, that doesn’t change the fact that she does. If he wasn’t her boss - if she was looking to date - if he wasn’t so stern - if she wasn’t so obviously not his type - if he wasn’t - maybe things would be different.

But here they are.

That’s what Aspen arrives at, at the end of the day. She gives herself the whole subway ride home to feel sorry for herself, but she knows she’s got to repress the shit out of those feelings if she wants to hang on to this job.

When she gets home that night, she tells her roommates about creepy Don Falcone, and they tell her that she should be grateful that Liam pulled her out of there. Paige is a journalist, Melissa is a political aide, and they both know more about Gotham than she does, so she believes them and tries not to let the cold reality of this city get to her.

That does turn out to be impossible.

When Aspen wakes up the next morning, Paige is already in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal and her laptop open. Sometimes after some major crime Aspen will find her like this in the morning, typing furiously and half-awake. It’s rarely a good sign.

“You’re gonna want to see this.” Paige says, in lieu of a good morning, and spins her laptop to show Aspen.

“...Jesus Christ.”

“I know,” says Paige, “Leslie thinks it’s the Batman, doing this, ‘cause you know how he feels about corruption, and, well, it’s Don Falcone, but the police are saying…” and she’s trying to fill Aspen in but Aspen isn’t so focused on that right this second.

She knows it’s silly, and she knows she’s paranoid, but Calum Hood had been really fucking angry yesterday after Falcone left. What he had said - his time was coming to an end, or something - he couldn’t mean…

Well, this was Gotham. There was nothing you couldn’t do with the right kind of money.

Aspen knows it’s just her being crazy, but hell, if she wasn’t planning on staying away from Calum before, she is now.

[velcro-rave]

half shitpost. half serious. all playlist.

I decided to unceremoniously break the one rule I set for myself every single time a new season of this show is released, which is TO NOT POST SPOILERS EVER, because I figured this was too fun not to share. So, instead of outright filling your dash with my critical & ridiculous thoughts, I’ve composed them into musical format via a YouTube mixtape. It’s 27 songs long and will take about an hour and a half of your life.

Keep in mind that this playlist is FILLED WITH SPOILERS. Even though it’s mostly a joke-y song-inspired summary of the events in S6, please do not listen to the playlist until you’ve watched the entire season. It will make 0 sense, as opposed to the minuscule fraction of sense it would’ve made if you had finished watching. Plus, you’ll be mad that you ruined it for yourself. It’s honestly an interesting collection of episodes!

However, if you are indeed ready, listen to it here!

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgZlbfm6-3v1V5C74fT9uwDZmWroOczHR

(bonus link if the first doesn’t work)

I recommend going in blind and letting it play through without reading the descriptions below until you get to the song, but if you’d rather know EXACTLY what was going through my mind when I slapped everything onto the tracklist beforehand, go wild.

MIGHTY MORPHIN' POWER RANGERS

I just wanted the thumbnail tbh, but this is a good intro track for the mess you’re about to experience.

E P I S O D E   1  -  OMEGA SHIELD

MULAN - I'LL MAKE A MAN OUT OF YOU

Hunk training w/ Dayak. This one was probably the most visceral song. It was stuck in my head the absolute second he held up those weights.

BONNIE TYLER - TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART

Shielding the labor planet from the solar sequences (eclipses are tangentially related, right?) and also a very dramatic way of backing Lance getting saved by Allura.

E P I S O D E   2  -  RAZOR’S EDGE

TAME IMPALA - CONFIDE IN ME (KYLIE MINOGUE COVER)

Allura slooowly trusting Lotor more and more & them being awfully flirty. In a serious sense, this is about him convincing her to let down her guard and let him in on what he wants to have.

CELINE DION - ALL BY MYSELF

Lance getting third wheeled hardcore by Allura & Lotor :( poor dude can’t catch a break.

THE WEEKND - STARBOY (ft. DAFT PUNK)

Keith coming to terms w/ Krolia. I also needed a generally serious jam so this was a good fit to fill the space.

Have you seen that one Lance fanzine by the same name though? Holy shit. The art is incredible.

QUEEN - DON'T STOP ME NOW

Keith & Krolia again, this time ft. them living together for 2 yrs on top of a giant space whale with a bootleg Blink Dog for a pet.

WOODKID - THE GREAT ESCAPE

Krolia & Tex (Keith's dad, still nameless smh) and how they were total badasses together. This is a mix between shitpost and serious because I couldn’t think of anything country/southern-related that fit the bill for their “let’s run off and hide and be together” scenario except for this song. Stuck with the horse metaphor, I guess. :P

THE KILLERS - READ MY MIND

Focus on Krolia & Tex's relationship again, her leaving him for the good of the planet and such. The lyrics are really good here, mainly

The teenage queen, the loaded gun The drop dead dream, the Chosen One A southern drawl, the world unseen

E P I S O D E   3  -  MONSTERS & MANA

SKYRIM 8-BIT THEME

for Monsters & Mana aka BEST EPISODE. I can’t believe how nerdy they went. And how accurately nerdy they went. d20s..... playing the same classes after dying.... losing 8 hours in what feels like 8 minutes... Tomb of Horrors... they got it all.

SKRILLEX - REPTILE

CORANIC DRAGON BOSS FIGHT! ‘Cause it’s a giant, fire-breathing reptile.

NITRO FUN & HYPER POTIONS - CHECKPOINT

basically just outro-ing Monsters & Mana. I gotta say, I thought this was the best downtime episode in a while. Maybe not as fun as Space Mall, but really close.

It could also be my favorite because I have 60 D&D characters...  :/

E P I S O D E   4  -  THE COLONY

AC/DC - BACK IN BLACK

Keith returns not only in his dark black Blade of Marmora suit but also to reinstate his role as the Black Paladin for the time being. Kuron’s nearly confirmed as a danger at this point!

THE BEACH BOYS - WOULDN’T IT BE NICE

Romelle telling the tale of their supposed “messiah” being Lotor and all the abuse the missing Alteans went through. I wanted to get a song that accurately captured my emotions of “what the fuck” but nothing I had could match the tone. So why not go for the opposite?

FALL OUT BOY - HEAVEN'S GATE

def Allura & Lotor, mostly Allura thinking that he's finally the one. “Boost” in the lyrics probably refers to Lotor subtly trying to get out of the immoral shit he did in his past that she doesn’t know about yet.

HOE DON'T DO IT, OH MY GOD

they  f u c k i n g  kissed are you KIDDING ME, FOR REAL????

THE GUESS WHO - UNDUN

Everyone telling Allura that Lotor, her bf for all of 2 seconds, is actually a manipulative bastard who not only murdered but isolated and horrifically tortured thousands of her kind. You know, the kind that she believed was entirely EXTINCT except for her and Coran? Oops!

I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME - MODERN DAY CAIN

Lotor betraying the team but AT LAST revealing exactly where he stands. He’s been so ambiguously untrustworthy for so long that it feels nice to get some closure.

Allura yeets him across the castle ship and it’s a work of art.

E P I S O D E   5  -  THE BLACK PALADINS

SKILLET - FALLING INSIDE THE BLACK

Keith + Kuron/Shiro fight, alluding to the episode title and both of them literally “inside” of the Black Lion later on. Almost as edgy as their blades.

WOODKID - I LOVE YOU

Keith & Shiro, Keith doing his “I know you’re in there” plea. BROGANES FOREVERRRRR.

god that scene made me cry.

E P I S O D E   6  -  ALL GOOD THINGS

TCHAIKOVSKY - 1812 OVERTURE

Coran & Pidge pulling off the craziest technical stunts and saving the day. I figured I needed at least one purely instrumental song on here.

CRAZY FROG - AXEL F

Keith goes nyoom, aka he asks Shiro’s spirit to help him get back to the Paladins. But nyooming feels right, just like the narm.

E P I S O D E   7  -  DEFENDER OF ALL UNIVERSES

BLOC PARTY - HELICOPTER

Fighting Lotor and his knockoff Voltron. The lyrics in this one reference him ultimately becoming the father whom he despised so deeply. Sweet, sweet psychological revenge.

GLORIA GAYNOR - I WILL SURVIVE

Acxa, Zethrid, and Ezor getting tired of Lotor's shit and betraying him again. It’s a pretty snazzy battle anthem.

P.O.D. - BOOM

The Castle of Lions is destroyed (BOOM!) & Lotor is maybe dead. Action-y song for AWESOME animation.

EVANESCENCE - BRING ME TO LIFE

Allura reviving the hell out of Shiro. He’s back! Probably! And with white hair!

STEVE AOKI (ft. FALL OUT BOY) - BACK TO EARTH

We're going home.

That’s it! Thanks for listening. Feel free to send me a message telling me what you liked about the playlist; I had a lot of fun working on it for the day. Eventually I’ll post some 100% serious mixes... including lots more actual lyric analysis. Next time you’ll see spoilers from me will be July 15th, 2018!

[thebigpapilio]

The Legend of Phalène: My Prompt For “Hero/Villain”

Hi again!

This is once again for Chloé Appreciation Week. For Prompt #2, I decided to consider the idea of Chloé being the (NOT THE BEE) wielder, and (SOMEONE IMPORTANT TO HER) being the (NOT THE CAT) wielder. What I thought was my best idea here, however, was the idea of two Miraculous wielders using one Miraculous. 

Curious? Find out for yourself!

Phalène wasn’t sure if it was a good day or not for it to be raining. The water always weighed on Paonne’s wings, so she expected this to be a tough battle. That said, it weighed down on Mauvaise Abeille’s too, so the battle was mostly on the ground for the Bee and Peacock wielders. Despite the new factor, Abeille was especially powerful this time, and Phalène had barely been able to save the depowered Marinette from becoming the victim of a particularly nasty bee’s sting. Paonne wasn’t faring much better. Phalène had to do something. She’d always wanted to stay out of the visual fight since the fateful day she and Nooroo met. This time, nothing could be done - Paonne was going to fall very soon, if she wasn’t already done; heaven knows what Abeille would do to her. Transforming back into Chloé, she fed Nooroo quickly. Once they were ready to go, Nooroo gave her a heart-melting smile, (Nooroo was such a ray of sunshine - the only one she knew who was more sunshiney was Adrien), and for what could be the last time, she became Phalène. She jumped out, wings immediately unfolding so that she could fly to where she needed to go. Alas, just when she had finally arrived at the battlefield to deal with Abeille, she saw the newly monikered Bee-tch (Phalène had always been able to think up multiple insulting names for anyone based on their name alone, which impressed Paonne and other temporary wielders) take a defeated Paonne’s brooch. In a burst of light, Paonne was gone, and Sabrina freaking Raincomprix, her best friend (and apparently, her girlfriend too when as a superheroine) was left there, unconscious and in severe danger. With a traditional evil grin, Abeille’s spiked gauntlets raised up, preparing to strike the Peacock (Peahen? Chloé wasn’t entirely sure, and from previous conversations, neither was Pao-Sabrina. Right, vengeance). Phalène saw red. Raising her staff, she shot a small energy beam at Abeille. Enough to distract her and do damage (hopefully), but not enough to wear Phalène out early. This definitely got Abeille’s attention. An interested face turned to Phalène, and the ginger supervillainess lit up like a criminal being practically given what she wanted on a golden platter. Actually, that was almost exactly what it was, wasn’t it? Only problem was for Abeille, she was not going to succeed. Not if Phalène could help the matter. “So you must be the famous Phalène.” The tension broke and reformed at once. “I thought children were supposed to be seen, not heard. Sweetheart, how about you yield? Hand over that Miraculous and you won’t end up like your formerly flashy friend here.” Of course the last bit was a threat - her theory on Abeille’s identity had always been Sabrina’s stepmom Sarah, a harsh woman who left M. Raincomprix a few years back in order to rejoin the theatre crowd, her longtime passion. Regathering her thoughts, Phalène spat her words like they would burn her tongue should she keep them in her mouth. “I should ask you to hand over yours, Sarah Raincomprix.” Before Sarah could even register the fact she’d been called the heck out, Phalène used her second power. “SWARM!” All wielders had more than one accessible power - some just were part of the package, some were there and not there depending on the user. All Moths could make Champions, varying from 2-3 per day (it also depended on the user) Phalène wasn’t able to use Hall of Fame, which was a Moth’s strongest ability, but she could use Swarm. With a snap of her fingers, what seemed to be thousands of chunks of Sociae-shaped pure energy teleported in, forming a humongous ball of energy around the tip of her staff. Phalène had to make a command, or they would just sit there. Kill was not a viable option, but Phalène still had her plan. “Distract, dear Sociae.” With that, hell descended upon Abeille in the form of a storm of moths. They seemed to explode like energy balloons around the striped evildoer. They were not enough to be lethal, but enough to distract her. Speaking of which… Phalène swooped in, and in movement smoother than silk, the hair comb that 100% belonged to the Big Bad Bee Boss was swiped right off her head. Phalène was ready to celebrate now. Early as it seemed, she was done fighting a bee-themed supervillain who was more decisive on her decision to do evil than her own hai- Dear mothman, that’s Mom. Audrey Bourgeois, who had divorced her Papa around the time Sarah Raincomprix divorced Sabrina’s, stood there in the distance. An evil smirk was on her face, and the way it looked fitting for her scared Phalène. A now-depowered Sarah managed to snatch the Bee Miraculous in Phalène’s moment of shock, and just before the police (Roger wasn’t with them, Phalène barely noticed, but she wasn’t surprised) could grab her, she chucked the hair comb with surprising strength. It landed right in the hands of blonde-haired Audrey. OH. OH, NO. “Pollen, do the sting!” With that, Mauvaise Abeille became a threat once more; the only thing changing was the holder. Things did look bad; a still unconscious Sabrina, who Chloé would later learn was taken somewhere safe, was clearly unable to fight. It was all on the generally weakest Miraculous wielder (who would depower in… about 7-ish minutes now) to protect her city. The odds were bad, weren’t they? Well, years later, Chloé would tell anyone who knew she was Phalène that miracles happen, don’t they? As if she’d known how to do it all along, her Miraculous’ power was concentrated in her hands. Abeille - no, Mom - was charging at her, without a care in the world for her daughter’s safety (whether she knew or not) and while she knew, she just knew that she should dodge, any major movement would break her focus. 3 she’s getting closer 2 that spiked gauntlet is NOT looking friendly 1 aaaaand… A humongous shockwave of energy blew Audrey away. The light ball of energy in Phalène’s hands was thrown to the sky like a volleyball (except it didn’t come down). When it died down, an entire army seemed to be on their way, Phalène could feel it. This… THIS was the HALL OF FAME. Clearly, though, her mother could not. A second try from Chloé’s pitiful excuse for a mother was stopped in their tracks by the sabre & giant dual needles of the Adrinette duo (Chloé had moved on after she and Paonne started dating); a third was wrapped up due to Alya’s electrical whip and electrokinesis; a fourth attempt was stopped because Nino’s water cannon blew her into a wall. More and more Champions joined, but while Phalène was touched, she also silently wanted Sabrina to help too. Phalène and Paonne had been together since the beginning, and considering she was Sabrina, it was even longer chronologically (Chloé had not counted Brat-Chloé’s time with Sabrina as real time spent together). So she took out her phone and went to the recording function, watching André’s psychokinetic powers twirl his ex-wife around like a drumstick in a musician’s hand. Chloé was unsure how much of Paris had joined, but she knew that there were outsiders alongside what was probably the majority of Paris - Marinette’s grandma and uncle, Jagged Stone, and others had joined in too. It was a miracle (heh) that the comb wasn’t broken to pieces by the time Chloé ordered the transformed civilians to stop. It wasn’t even the slightest bit cracked.

That’s magic for you, I suppose…

Her powers ran out just in time for her to hide after sending her Mom in a holding cell. It was simple and complicated from there, really. The resolutions for Sarah and Audrey were simple - they weren’t escaping their punishment if anyone could help it, and if they could get out of jail, they would be doing service or something like that for life. All their possessions went to Chloé and Sabrina - most of that, however, went to people that needed it - kids in bad situations, the poor, and whatnot. That was more complicated. Sabrina recovered very quickly - the Miraculous helped a lot, Chloé imagined. That too was simple. What wasn’t simple was the dealing of leaving their Miraculi with Alya Dupain-Cheng-Agreste-Lahiffe-Cesaire, who had been chosen as the new Guardian after some old man had passed the Turtle Miraculous to her. Her want for information about the Miraculi made her a good choice for the position, and her skill with patience and phrasing information was good as well. Chloé had not cried for too long with Nooroo before saying goodbye, but Duusu (apparently that was Sabrina’s peaHEN-themed kwami) and the aforementioned ginger had needed to dry the others’ tears for a while. Chloé knew she would have to do what Duusu could no longer do. Chloé and Sabrina had known each other since about the end of école, worked with each other as superheroines since the middle of lycée, and so help them if they wouldn’t stay together for as long as they could help it. After Chloé and Sabrina passed on, both stories would become practically immortalized; the legacies of Chloé and Sabrina Bourgeois-Raincomprix were more popular for adults in that time period, but the more popular story (and longest lasting) were the ones of Paonne and Phalène.

[samdukewieland]

Stuck Inside Media Diary Week 7

I realized that I didn’t include my watching of the Parks And Rec special thing that was on. By no means was it perfect, though I imagine that it was the best case scenario for something like that (in terms of being an original story, as opposed to a table/script read that the Community cast put together that’s coming out...ur, at some point). Is it necessary as a piece of media? It raised a lot of money for Feeding America and did its best in trying to shine some optimism in really unsettling times. Kinda nice.

Sunday, May 3

Filmworker, Zierra 2017 [as of now this is available on Netflix]

Interesting take on a documentary about, but not about Stanley Kubrick. It would be unusual for any Kubrick dude to not know or have some kind of inkling that he was a complicated figure (an asshole), especially when it came to making movies, so the point of the movie isn’t really to inform that aspect of of it (though it probably confirmed suspicions, should you have any). It’s more a case example of how toxic relationships like these work and how dangerous it is to deify people, especially your own heroes. Of course, should any of us be given the opportunity to work or be near someone we look up to, how’re do we know what our breaking point is for them before we reach it (unfortunately for Leon Vitali, it wasn’t until Kubrick passed away that he could see just how far deep he was). This is also a pretty good example of how companies and corporations will treat you like garbage just to advance their credibility and how sometimes it feels like a documentary’ll show you that but not really do anything change that (as far as I know).

Mad Men, [season 4 premier] “Public Relations”, “Christmas Comes But Once A Year”, “The Good News”, “The Rejected”

So I definitely haven’t watched Season 4 as a more grown person than I was back in high school when this first aired. So I’ve known Don’s life is a nightmare, but never really processed why or thought about why; I was not the most keen observer (probably because I was thinking about not turning in homework). Now with all that said, jeeeeeeez Don’s life is a super depressing nightmare oooof. Now Season 4 feels like it needs some more runway to catch up with itself and its momentum it revved up to at the end of season 3, so the first couple of weeks feel a little wobbly (though wobbly Mad Men is leagues better than some other dramas at their best). However, the Don and Lane friendship does gets established in this slew of episodes, two men who couldn’t be more different, but can’t help but be bonded by a miserable moment in time. 

Three Busy Debras, “Barbra”

Holy shit this episode is so genius. So many shades of Stangers With Candy in this one.

Rick And Morty, “Never Ricking Morty”

Believe me, I don’t want you to know that I watched this either.

The Last Dance, Parts 5 & 6

These were probably my favorite parts of the doc so far, probably because its the most enjoyable stuff you can watch (hold for destroying any chance Charles Barkley had at winning a championship). Jordan as a brand, both figuratively and literally-the concept of celebrity through a Michael Jordan lens; I could lap that up for hours. It makes me mad that there’s only two hours left (now), because there’s clearly so much more that could be covered, but will leave unturned (more on this next week).

Monty Python: Almost The Truth (Lawyers Cut), “The Not-So-Interesting Beginnings”

Good example of the subjects not getting in the way of the subject matter. Probably the thing that leaves to be desired is seeing the remaining members (this was made in 2009, so Chapman was the only deceased member at the time) together and interacting with one another. You get a little bit of Michael Palin and Terry Jones together, but not in an interviewed capacity, which faintly scratches that itch. If I had to guess, I’d say that they all don’t love being together without Palin there as a buffer, just based on what I know about Monty Python. Lotta strong and brilliantly smart personalities with no real acknowledgement on who’s the best, because they all think they’re the best (maybe not Palin or Jones). Also, this is a surprisingly self-aware interview with Idle, which really shattered any preconceived notions I have for him-might have to do some self-evaluation.

Monday, May 4

Escape From New York, Carpenter 1981 [as of now this is available on Prime]

I’ve definitely lied to people about having seen all of Escape From New York before. Why? Because it made me appear better than I actually was. It and Die Hard With A Vengeance (another great New York movie, though for the record, I’ve still never seen all of it) seemed to be two movies that I kept catching just enough glimpses of throughout the years without having actually seeing all of it. For instance, I had no idea that Harry Dean Stanton was in Escape From New York, which instantly elevates movies for guys like me from being “pretty good li’l B movie” to “this is actually advanced and high art” (this isn’t always the case on the HDS matrix, but it is consistent, see Repo Man). 

Mad Men, “The Chrysanthemum And The Sword”, “Waldorf Stories”

Real fool me once with your racism shame on you you, Roger Sterling. Fool me twice, shame on me (re: “The Chrysanthemum And The Sword”). “Waldorf Stories” is really the first episode put in gear this season, maybe it’s because we’re getting Ken Cosgrove back (hell yeh) or maybe it just feels that way because “The Suitcase” is next and I know it; it’s an incredible build-up, what with hindsight and all that. 

Tuesday, May 5

Mel Brooks: Unwrapped, Yentob 2018 [as of now this is available on HBO]

Listen, this isn’t very good. I think some of it has to do with Brooks, who kind of gets in the way of it all, which is a very hard thing to admit. It’s got some moments, when it actually tells you something about Mel Brooks, but for the most part its just a British guy not taking command of his own documentary and subject and that’s just like barely interesting. Mel Brooks is still a king, though.

Mad Men, “The Suitcase”

This is regarded as the best episode of Mad Men and one of the best episodes of television in the 2010s. I don’t know how it stands up by itself, like I don’t know if it resonates well with someone who’s never watched Mad Men outside of the vacuum. Usually going into one of these episodes that almost transcends its own show I tend to be weary, be it brand new (like when I watched “Pine Barrens” for the first time when I watched The Sopranos) or on a re-watch like this. I trick myself into thinking “well I bet its not that good” because you’re told to the contrarian take is the most interesting take, but I didn’t with this one. I remember the first time I watched it and I don’t think I’ve gone back and watched it in years, so I had forgotten almost all of the context around the episode, except for the argument. This episode is really special, hands down. Don’t love the ghost, but pobody’s nerfect. This podcast talks about it way better than I ever could, listen to that instead of reading this (I just want yer clicks, suckers!)

Wednesday, May 6

Heartburn, Nichols 1986 [as of now this is available on Prime]

I say this as someone who doesn’t travel in Mike Nichols circles (though this is the fourth movie of his that I’ve watched during all this, so maybe I do and I just don’t know it), but why isn’t this trotted out more as one of his best movies? My Nora Ephron bias might be showing a lot here, someone I didn’t really appreciate until I watched Everything Is Copy about a year ago (it’s an HBO doc-meaning it’s available on that platform if you want nice documentary to watch sometime), but this movie’s great! And it has two of the most famous movie stars to ever live as the two lead roles and Jeff Daniels as a bit player. And yet its legacy only feels relevant to those who seek out Mike Nichols or Nora Ephron movies, which feels odd, considering one half of that creative team is best known for The Graduate and the other for When Harry Met Sally (or Sleepless In Seattle or You’ve Got Mail).

Thursday, May 7 

Kingdom Of Heaven (Director’s Cut), Scott 2005

I’ll be honest, I wanted to watch Return Of The King, but that just wasn’t an option. This movie’s technically good, like more Ridley Scott movies are than they aren’t, but really lacks any kind of new message besides “Religion’s pretty fucked up how it made people do that, huh?” Which to a lot of people is super appealing, but when you make a movie that only exists because of Lord Of The Rings’ success, you’d hope for something more (though isn’t this always the case with these kinds of movies?) Like make the movie about David Thewlis or Jeremy Irons. Obviously the battle/fight sequences are really cool to watch and look at, and that’s not an at all terrible critique to give it either. It’s fine that there’s dumb-guy Lord Of The Rings (which is semi-controversial considering a lot of the book nerds already consider Lord Of The Rings [movie] is dumb-guy Lord Of The Rings).

Mad Men, “The Summer Man”

Ah yes, the Don journals and goes swimming episode. It’s good considering it has to follow up “The Suitcase.” I can’t think of any from this particular episode, but (and I think it checks out, cultural timeline wise too) this is the season where it almost feels like the writers/directors figures out that their show was ripe for meme-dom and .gifs-sometimes when that happens it goes real south for the sake of quality, but luckily not Mad Men. 

Friday, May 8

Jiro Dreams Of Sushi, Gelb 2011 [as of now this is available on Netflix]

I bet David Fincher loves this movie. I’m not a huge sushi lover (it’s fine, but way too expensive) so I guess I’ve figured that’d be a huge barrier for me to jump over to enjoy this doc. This thing’s got a weird, but great energy to it, where it feels like four twenty-minute segments sewn together; right when you think “well this should’ve just been a quick package on Frontline” it adds another wrinkle. Would probably be constructed more differently now, considering how food docs/series’ work now, but its strengths lie in its simplicity.

Top Chef, Season 17 episode 8

Great Restaurant Wars this season. Very compelling stuff and almost athletic. Andy Greenwald said it best.

Mad Men, “The Beautiful Girls”, “Hands And Knees”, “Chinese Wall”

“Beautiful Girls” is another entry into the best Mad Men episodes (though like “The Suitcase” I don’t think it would necessarily resonate out of context). Iconic closing shot and a great Sally Draper episode, who I’ve feared I might’ve been overrating for the last couple of years. Nah, Sally Draper is underrated even. Big spiral moves for Don as well in here, though hopefully he can course correct after tasting Sally’s rum-cooked French Toast (it won’t!)

Saturday, May 9

Basic Instinct, Verhoeven 1992

I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be completely neutral about this movie; your life must be so care-free, so calming, so unconcerned with trying to figure out how exactly to start calling your close friends either “cowboy” or “hoss” as if you’ve been doing it your whole life. Also, listen, I get it about that one shot and it being the thing people kept talking about and the thing most associated with this movie, but nothing and no one prepared me for seeing Gus in a cowboy hat in that bar/club before the Nick/Roxie chase. That and all the ice-pick stabbings. And the opening crime scene. And a whole lot of other stuff that takes place in this movie.

Mad Men, “Blowing Smoke”, “Tomorrowland” [season 4 finale], “A Little Kiss Part 1 & 2″ [season 5 premier]

The letter! Disneyland! Marriage again! A lot of things happen in these four episodes that are the end and beginning of seasons. But when I realized that I was going to get “Zou Bisou Bisou” in this block of episodes, it was game over. I’ve had it stuck in my head every day for a prolonged amount of time since Saturday and the only thing that makes it not terrible is knowing how pissed off Don was that it happened to him. Don’t marry a 25-year-old. Season 4′s a weird one for Betty as the show tried to navigate how to keep her involved with the show even though she and Don aren’t married anymore and it’s not....great. Probably because they keep making her “true” emotional foil children (specifically Glen and to a greater level Sally, but the tribulations that come between a mother and almost teenage daughter shouldn’t be the same as a mother and some weird kid down the block who just happens to be the son of the show’s creator).

[fairytail-whathesays]

What are your thoughts on how sex (or lack there of) is presented in Fairy Tail? Because for a series who's main theme are the importance of closeness and companionship and is brimming with sexual imagery. The series never really uses it to any meaningful extent. Which could be contributed to how Fairy Tail is a Shonen manga aimed at teenagers.

You would have to actually try in order to achieve a worse presentation of sex in a manga.

Sex is almost always used as a means of humiliation with regards to women or, if you’re Juvia, harassing a man. It is never allowed to be dignified; women must be stripped against their will for “comedy ha ha” or worse yet, for torture scenes. Nudity during torture is supposed to display vulnerability–and that vulnerability is not supposed to be sexy or titillating, something which Mashima apparently never got the memo about.

Of course, this is coming from the author who literally made sex into a weapon against women. Starbiter Satsuki, anyone? Oh wait, we don’t need to go there–we have Larcade. I feel like people need to be reminded that Sorano Aguria’s only purpose in the war was to show up in a bikini and be orgasm’d halfway to death by rape magic.

In another author, I’d feel the need to remind them that women being embarassed by being sexually harassed, stripped, or otherwise nude is not “comedy”–naked people are funny when done carefully and subtlely–you can’t just show tits and go “hey it’s okay! It’s funny”. It’s not funny, it’s just uncomfortable. But with Mashima, I don’t need to do that–because I know he doesn’t think it’s funny. Mashima clearly wants us to think it’s there to be funny, but it’s there to get his rocks off and both he and everyone else knows it. The comedy is a paper-thin excuse.

As far as sex is approached with men, it’s….eh. Fanservice is done semi-competently, at the very least because Mashima knows how to show a man looking hot and badass while not feeling the need to humiliate him sexually. Gray Fullbuster (who every dickhead likes to use to say that Fairy Tail isn’t sexist because, after all, he’s constantly getting naked right?) is quite clearly given a nonsensical habit in order to increase viewership, primarily among women. If Mashima didn’t think it would increase his audience, Gray wouldn’t have the habit at all. It’s not a believable habit in the first place–behaviors that lead to public humiliation and shaming are generally cut off pretty quickly. 

Even if you do take into account that men do lose their shirts often enough, you have to notice the vast difference in how male sex appeal versus female sex appeal is treated. Look at Tartaros, the guild full of demons. 7/9 of the Gates of Hell are male–and are ugly, cartooonish monsters. Torafuzar, Tempester, Ezel, Keyes, and Franmalth are all inhuman, beastly caricatures of demons with no sex appeal whatsoever, at least until Tempester is put through the Hell’s Core at Lamy’s whim. Jackal fares better, but is still not given the same overt, blatant sex appeal of his female peers–anyone who finds Jackal hot probably does so because he’s simply their type. 

Even Silver, a gorgeous DILF, is covered in thick, heavy armor at all times that leaves his body completely to the imagination. Contrast that with Kyoka and Seilah, the female demons. They are dressed in completely inappropriate clothing, with Seilah’s only hint towards being demonic being the horns on her head. Kyoka’s wearing some sort of spandex underwear that is clearly cutting into her ass cheeks, for no other purpose that I can tell other than getting Mashima’s rocks off.

If a man is given fanservice, it’s to show off how badass he is. Someone with huge muscles like that is going to impress the dudes in the audience and make them want to be like him! If a woman is given fanservice, it’s to show how vulnerable and funny she is when she’s vulnerable. Expect men to lose their shirts if hit by a powerful attack. Expect women to lose basically their entire goddamn outfits and be left with some shreds of cloth over the course of a twenty-page chapter or twenty-minute episode.

Sex is essentially what started the ruination of Juvia’s character. What started out as a gloomy, serious, but capable water mage looked at Gray, got blushy heart eyes, and it was all downhill from there. Sex, specifically her sexual attraction to Gray, began to absorb almost all of her other character traits until her “love” for Gray was the only thing left, and was based mostly on his hot body and the fantasies she’d constructed in her head without ever really getting to know Gray. 

While men think about sex in this manga, it’s fairly down-low in comparison to the women. Juvia has already been mentioned, while Lucy is constantly teased for her failures to seduce anything out of anyone, and Erza is hailed as a seductress who even has a goddamn “Seduction Armor” she thought about using on Azuma, not to mention the bunnygirl armor. Wendy gets jabbed at for having small boobs (despite being, you know, 12/13) and is always wishing she would grow into a more womanly body. Levy, too, is constantly the butt of jokes about her small breasts. Mirajane is a goddamn model, and she and Cana both have no objections to showing off the goods for the audience. Evergreen alone seems to have escaped overt sexualization, although she didn’t escape being jammed into a flat love interest role for Elfman.

By contrast, Gray might think about how cute Erza or Lucy are from time to time, or Elfman might blush when looking at Evergreen. Being overtly interested in sex if you’re a guy is reserved for A) older characters, who are portrayed as undesirable perverts (Makarov, Macao, Wakaba, Ichiya, or heaven forbid–Master Bob), or villainous characters (Laxus pre-Fantasia; Kain Hikaru, a fat undesirable stupid slob; Larcade with his rape magic.) Because showing sexual interest is for women, not men. There are a few exceptions–the Trimen pursue attention from women, though are usually not taken seriously. Bacchus Groh is clearly sexually active and promiscuous, though his perversion is never punished or acknowledged as wrong, which is perhaps a tad scary considering what he’s like. Bixlow, who is interested in sex, is portrayed as creepy for it, while Freed is far more reserved and professional and is portrayed as desirable. Levy, Juvia, and Erza are all the ones more interested in romance or sex and prone to humor centered around sex, while their male love interests all have much less sex on their minds.

Considering this is a shonen manga aimed at teens, potentially younger ones, it’s no surprise that actual pursuit of sex is limited to comedic harassment and not any actual serious encounters. But one wonders how Mashima can jam sex into so damn much of his series and break the tension of his arcs over his knee by forcing in a bunch of irrelevant fanservice, and still call it a PG-13 affair. There is a LOT of sex in this manga, just no actual intercourse, if that makes sense.

It makes its way into so much of the manga that it begins to become clear when the author is drawing with one hand in his pants. Need to show a torture scene? Make sure it’s a naked woman. Need to get the audience laughing? Yank some of those clothes off of Lucy or put her in embarrassing fetish costumes. Let’s donate one of the 7 super serious deadly dragons attacking in the Future Rogue arc to sex and preying on women! Want to design a scary demon or Satan Soul? Pack some boobs and skin-tight, body-hugging clothing in there. Carla wants to become more effective in combat! So obviously, she’s going to turn into a catgirl. That last one is especially notable  because even if you countered that Panther Lily’s got it goin’ on in the body department himself, that is due to the above mentioned attempt to make Panther Lily look badass and capable, while Carla’s is solely to make her look fuckable. 

I could be reading a fantastically-written story (I’m not) and the amount of sex jammed into it and used in all the wrong ways would still turn me off of reading any more of Mashima’s work.

[johnhardinsawyer]

Wherever You Go, There Is God

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

7 / 19 / 20

Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24

Genesis 28:10-19a

“Wherever You Go, There is God”

(But I Think We’re Going to Need a Different Pillow)

There is this “app” on my cell phone called “Find My Friends” that I can use to find where in the world someone else’s phone might be.  And, if that phone happens to be with that certain someone, then I am able, by default, to find them – with a map, a street address, and how long it would take me to drive to where they are.  Now, I know that it might sound kind of creepy that I can find you and your phone with my phone, but before I can do that, you and I have to agree to let my phone search for where your phone is, and vice versa.  As of right now, the only people I can actually “find” with my phone are my wife and my mother.  If you want to be added to this auspicious list of people I can find with my phone, we can talk later.  But, chances, are you are probably just fine with me not knowing exactly where you are and not showing up, unannounced, to say hello.

I wonder, what if there really was someone who wouldn’t just find you wherever you are, but actually showed up wherever you are?  And what if they didn’t just show up where you are, but could also know every thought you ever thought and every dream you dream when you’re asleep at night?  Now, before you think that I’m talking about some big government conspiracy or the plot to a science fiction movie, I want you to know that I am really talking about today’s reading from the Book of Psalms.

The ancient words of today’s reading from Psalm 139 paint a picture of a God who is everywhere and knows everything.  Or, if we’re using our SAT vocabulary words, a God who is omnipresent and omniscient.  I’m sure there are some people who do not like the idea that God is everywhere and knows everything about us – when we sit down and rise up, what we are thinking, where we are going, knowing what we are going to say before we even say it[1] – but the picture that the Psalmist is painting, here, is not a creepy one.  It is a comforting one.  Instead of saying that it is strange that God could know so much about us, the Psalmist seems to be saying that it is only natural that the God who made us knows so much about us.  And, maybe, regardless of what we might think about our own privacy, what if we really need God to be this way for us?

In today’s reading from the Book of Genesis, we find a man named Jacob who is on the run from his own brother.  You see, Jacob and his brother Esau are twins.  Esau was born first, but Jacob came out of the womb holding on to his brother’s heel.[2]  They’ve always been at odds – these two brothers.  Esau was always the one who worked hard, hunting for food.  Jacob liked to hang out at home.  Esau was daddy’s favorite son and Jacob was momma’s favorite son.[3]  And now, Jacob is trying to escape from Esau because Jacob has been more than a little sneaky:  stealing their father’s blessing – a blessing meant for Esau – which was something that you just didn’t do in those days, unless you wanted to stir up trouble.  Jacob stirred up trouble and Esau plotted his revenge.

In today’s reading, we find Jacob alone – out in the wilderness, without much of anything except his father’s blessing; which is great to have, but Jacob does not have much else.  As the story goes, he curls up to go to sleep and has to use a stone for a pillow.  It is here, in this certain place, while Jacob is practicing some involuntary social distancing, that God finds him.

As the Psalmist writes,

Is there anywhere I can go to avoid your Spirit [O Lord]?

To be out of your sight?  

If I climb to the sky, you’re there!  

If I go underground, you’re there!  

If I flew on the morning’s wings to the far western horizon,

You’d find me in a minute – you’re already there waiting![4]  

If Jacob were writing this Psalm, I imagine him saying something like, “If I am on the run from my angry brother, after stealing our father’s blessing, and find myself in the middle of nowhere using a stone for a pillow, there you are, God. . .  Here you are.  You’ve found me.”

According to today’s story, Jacob comes to learn that God has found him when Jacob has this dream.  In the dream, Jacob sees a magnificent sight:  some kind of ladder that connects heaven to earth with heavenly beings going up and down, going about God’s business.  And then, in the dream, God sees Jacob and comes and stands beside him and says,

I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you, and to your offspring, and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth. . . and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring.  Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you. (Genesis 28:13-15)

“Jacob, anyone who could see you right now – sleeping on the cold hard ground with a stone for a pillow – might not think you’ll amount to much,” God is saying.  “But through me, you will bless the whole world.  I’m with you now and will never leave you.”  In that moment, suddenly Jacob wakes up from his dream and says, “Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it.” (28:16)

Now, I know that dreams as you and I know them to be can be very unreliable.  But in the Bible, dreams are often used as a vehicle for God offering some kind of message to the dreamer.  In the Bible, if God speaks to you in a dream, then you’d better pay attention.

Of course, if someone came to me and told me that God spoke to them in a dream, I’d probably try to social distance myself from that person right quick.  In the present age, someone saying, “You know, God speaks to me,” isn’t the best way to make a first impression.

But when something Holy makes an impression on you, this is what Jacob is talking about.  Jacob has encountered something Holy – a Holy place, a Holy presence.  In the Celtic Christian tradition, they would say that this place with the heavenly ladder and a God who speaks in dreams is a “thin place” – a place where heaven and earth are so close together that you can encounter them both at the same time.  As one Celtic saying goes, “heaven and earth. . . are only three feet apart, but in thin places that distance is even shorter.”[5]

There are thin places that I have been – the island of Iona off the coast of Scotland, a place called Montreat in the mountains of North Carolina, the ruins of the towns of Capernaum and Magdala on the shore of the Sea of Galilee where it is said that Jesus walked and worked miracles.  But the thing is – these places are thin places for me.  You might have your own list of thin places – where you have encountered something of the Holy and will never forget it.  For some of you, the very room where I am standing now is a thin place to which I know you are longing to return because this is a place where so many people down through the generations have simply said, “I can find God there.”

We do need to acknowledge that not everyone has been to a thin place, yet, and been able to see it for what it is.   Sometimes, we do not know that the Lord is in a place.  Sometimes – depending upon our state of mind or heart – thin places can be kind of rare, even for people of faith.  There are plenty of times in life when it would be so nice to use a  “Find My Friends” app to find God.  In an exchange with Stephen Colbert this past week, the comedian Ricky Gervais – who is a very vocal atheist – said that if there is a God, he thinks that God does a pretty good job hiding from him.[6]  I don’t want to speak for Ricky – or for so many other people who have their own doubts about whether God exists – but I am curious if, in some moment of awe and wonder, a thin place might just be right around just about every corner, for those with eyes to see.  Surely, the Lord is in this – and every – place, and we do not realize it.

In today’s story, Jacob sees God and takes his stone pillow and sets it up as a landmark – a signpost that says, “God lives here.”  I wonder what would happen if every time someone got a sense that God lives in a certain place, they put up a signpost, saying “God lives here.”  If the Psalmist had their way, I’d like to imagine that there would be signposts everywhere – wherever you are, wherever you go, in all times and places, even in dark and difficult times and places.  Because this is where God finds Jacob and where God finds us – sometimes whether we want to be found or not.

You see, God doesn’t need a “Find My Friends” app to find us.  In Jesus Christ, God has already found the whole of humanity.  And the Holy Spirit is always at work, drawing us ever closer to the Holy, whether we know it or not.  There are some who might need to be dragged kicking and screaming toward God, but I don’t think that God usually operates like that.  It has been my experience that encountering the grace of God is more of a loving invitation than it is a forceful demand.

I’ll close with this –

I know someone who really wanted to find God this past week.  Life was full and stressful – work, family, other commitments, the pandemic – my, how all of those things can weigh on us!  And, in a moment when the weight of it all became too much, it actually became hard to breathe.  Of all the things that could have happened in that moment – fearful thoughts rushing through their head - they suddenly started to sing, from some deep hidden place, a song that we have sung here before: 

Don’t be afraid, my love is stronger.  

My love is stronger than your fear.  

Don’t be afraid, my love is stronger, 

And I have promised, promised to be always near.”[7] 

They sang this over and over until their breathing returned to normal and the weight of it all lifted just a little bit.

God has promised always to be near – as high as heaven, in the depths of hell, as near as our very breath.  Friends, the God in whom we live and move and have our being[8] will find you wherever you are.  May this be a comfort to you, wherever you go.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

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

[1] See Psalm 139:1-4.

[2] See Genesis 25:25-26.

[3] See Genesis 25:27-28.

[4] Eugene Peterson, The Message – Numbered Edition (Colorado Springs:  NAV Press, 2002) 819.  Psalm 139:7-10.

[5] https://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/11/travel/thin-places-where-we-are-jolted-out-of-old-ways-of-seeing-the-world.html.

[6] The Late Show with Stephen Colbert – July 16, 2020.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3lHwTclY_E.

[7] John L. Bell.  Come All You People:  Shorter Songs for Worship (Chicago:  GIA Publications, 1994) 72.

[8] See Acts 17:28.

[deliciouscollectorsandwich-stuff]

"You have but two final destinies: Heaven and hell. Know that satan will try to remove the reality of the existence of his kingdom, hell, from you. He will deceive you so that you will sin and remove yourselves from the Spirit of light. And when you remove yourselves from the Spirit of light, you remove yourselves from eternal life in the Kingdom of your Father, the most high God in Heaven.  - Our Lady of the Roses The following explanation, of life in hell was found among the papers left by a nun who died in a convent in Germany. In my youth, I had a friend, Anne, who lived near my house. That is to say, we were mutually attached as companions and co-workers in the same office. After Anne married, I never saw her again. We never had what can be called a real friendship, but rather an amiable relationship. For this reason, when she married well and moved to a better neighborhood far from my home, I didn’t really miss her that much. In mid-September of 1937 I was vacationing at Lake Garda when my mother wrote me this bit of gossip: “Imagine, Anne N. died. She lost her life in an automobile accident. She was buried yesterday in M. cemetery.” I was shocked by the news. I knew that Anne had never been very religious. Was she prepared when God called her suddenly from this life? The next morning I assisted at Mass in the chapel of the convent boarding house where I was rooming. I prayed fervently for the eternal rest of her soul and offered my Holy Communion for that intention. Throughout the day I was unsettled, and that night I slept fitfully. Once, I awoke suddenly, hearing something that sounded like my door being opened. Startled, I turned on the light, noting that the time on the clock on my nightstand showed ten minutes after midnight. The house was quiet and I saw nothing unusual. The only sound was from the waves of Lake Garda breaking monotonously on the garden wall. There was no wind. Nonetheless, I thought I heard something else after the rattling of the door, a swooshing sound like something being dropped. It reminded me of when my former office manager was in a bad mood and dropped some problem papers on my desk for me to resolve. Should I get up and look around? I wondered. But since all remained quiet, it didn’t seem worthwhile. It was probably just my imagination, somewhat overwrought by the news of the death of my friend. I rolled over, prayed several Our Fathers for the Poor Souls in Purgatory, and returned to sleep. I then dreamed that I arose at six to go to morning Mass in the house chapel. Upon opening the door of my room, I stepped on a parcel containing the pages of a letter. I picked it up and recognized Anne’s handwriting. I cried out in fright. My fingers trembled, and my mind was so shaken I couldn’t even think to say an Our Father. I felt like I was suffocating, and needed open air to breathe. I hastily finished arranging myself, put the letter in my purse, and rushed from the house. Once outside, I followed a winding path up through the hills, past the olive and laurel trees and the neighboring farms, and then on beyond the famous Gardesana highway. The day was breaking with the brilliant light of the morning sun. On other days, I would stop every hundred steps or so to marvel at the magnificent view of the lake and beautiful Garda Island. The sparkling blue tones of the water delighted me, and like a child gazing with awe at her grandfather, I would gaze with admiration upon the ashen-colored Mount Baldo that rose some 7,200 feet above the opposite shore of the lake. On this morning, however, I was oblivious to everything around me. After walking a quarter of an hour, I sank mechanically to the ground on the riverbank between two cypress trees where only the day before I had been happily reading a novel, Lady Teresa. For the first time I looked at the cypress trees conscious of them as symbols of death, something I had taken no notice of before, since these trees are quite common here in the south. I took the letter from my purse. There was no signature, but it was, beyond any doubt, the handwriting of Anne. There was no mistaking the large, flowing S or the French T she made that used to irritate Mr. G. at the office. It was not, however, written in her usual style of speaking, which was so amiable and charming, like her, with those blue eyes and elegant nose. Only when we discussed religious topics did she become sarcastic and take on the rude tone and agitated cadence of the letter I now began to read. Here, word for word, is the Letter from Beyond of Anne V. as I read it in the dream. Letter from Beyond Claire! Do not pray for me. I am damned. Do not think that I am telling you this and certain circumstances and details about my condemnation as a sign of friendship. Here we no longer love anyone. I do it on the command of “that power that never desires Evil and always does Good.” In truth, I would like to see you here where I will remain forever. (1) (1) St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Suppl., Q. 98, art. 4:  "Therefore, they [the damned] will wish all the good were damned." Do not be surprised that I should say this. We all think the same way here. Our will is hardened in evil - in what you call “evil.” Even when we do something “good,” as I do now in opening your eyes about Hell, it is not with any good intention.(2) (2) In response to the Question whether every act of the will in the damned is evil, St. Thomas distinguishes the deliberate will and the natural will: “Their natural will is theirs not of themselves but of the Author of nature, Who gave nature this inclination which we call the natural will. Wherefore since nature remains in them, it follows that the natural will in them can be good. “But their deliberate will is theirs of themselves, inasmuch as it is in their power to be inclined by their affections to this or that. This will is in them always evil: and this because they are completely turned away from the last end of a right will, nor can a will be good except it be directed to that same end. Hence even though they will some good, they do not will it well so that one is not able to call their will good on that account.” Ibid., Q. 98, a. 1. Do you remember when we worked together for four years in M. You were 23 and had already worked in the office for a half year when I arrived. You helped me out many times, and frequently gave me good advice while you were training me. But what is meant by that term “good”? At the time I praised your “charity.” How ridiculous! You helped me to please your own vanity, as I suspected at the time. Here we don’t acknowledge good in anyone! You knew me in my youth, but I will fill in certain details. According to my parents’ plans, I never should have existed. The disgrace of my conception was due to their carelessness. When I was born, my two sisters were already 14 and 15 years of age. How I wish that I had never been born! I wish I could annihilate myself at this moment and escape these torments! There could be no pleasure greater than to be able to end my existence, to do away with myself like a piece of cloth reduced to ashes, leaving no remnant behind.(3) But I must exist. I must be as I have made myself, bearing the total blame for how I have ended. (3) Ibid., Q 98, a. 3, r. ib. Ad. 3:  "Although ‘not to be’ is very evil in so far as it removes being, it is very good in so far as it removes unhappiness, which is the greatest if evils, and thus it is preferred ‘not to be.’" Before my parents married, they had moved away from their country villages to the city and drifted away from the Church, making friends with others who had fallen away from the practice of the faith. They met at a dance, and six months later they were “obliged” to get married. During the wedding ceremony a few drops of holy water fell on them, just enough to draw my mother to Sunday Mass a few times a year. She never taught me to pray correctly. She wore herself out over material concerns, even when our situation was not difficult. It is only with deep repugnance and unspeakable disgust that I write words such as pray, Mass, holy water, and church. I profoundly detest those who go to church, along with everyone and everything in general. For us, everything is a torture. Everything we came to understand at death, every recollection of life and of what we knew, is like a burning flame that torments us. (4) (4) Ibid., Q 98, a. 7, r.: "Accordingly, in the damned there will be actual consideration of the things they knew heretofore as matters of sorrow, but not as a cause of pleasure. For they will consider both the evil they have done, and for which they were damned, and the delightful goods they have lost, and on both counts they will suffer torments." All of these memories only show us the horrible sight of the graces we rejected. How this tortures us now! We do not eat, we do not sleep, we do not walk with human legs as you know. Enchained in spirit, we reprobates stare with terror at our misspent lives, howling and gnashing our teeth, tormented and filled with hatred. Do you hear me? Here we drink hatred as if it were water. We all hate one another. (5) And more than anything else, we hate God. I will try to make you understand how this is. The blessed in Heaven must necessarily love Him, for they constantly behold Him in His awe-inspiring beauty. That makes them indescribably happy. We know this, and that knowledge fills us with fury. (6) (5) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 4, r.:  "Even as in the blessed in heaven there will be most perfect charity, so in the damned there will be the most perfect hate.” (6) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 9, r.:  “The damned, before the judgment day, will see the blessed in glory, in such a way as to know, not what that glory is like, but only that they are in a state of glory that surpasses all thought. This will trouble them, both because they will, through envy, grieve for their happiness, and because they have forfeited that glory." On earth, men know God through Creation and Revelation and are able to love Him, but they are not forced to do so. The believer – I say this seething with fury – who contemplates and meditates upon Christ extended on the Cross will love Him. But when God approaches as Avenger and Judge, the soul who rejected Him will hate Him, as we hate Him. (7) That soul hates Him with all the strength of its perverse will. It hates Him eternally, by virtue of its deliberate resolution to reject God with which it ended its earthly life. This perverse act of the will can never be revoked, nor would we ever want to do so. (7) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 8, sf 1, iba 5, r:  "The damned do not hate God except because He punishes and forbids what is agreeable to their evil will [the evil that they still desire to do]: and consequently they will think of Him only as punishing and forbidding." I am forced to add that even now God is still merciful to us. I say “forced” because even though I willingly write this letter, I cannot lie as I would like to. Much of what I put on this paper I write against my will. I also have to choke down the torrent of insults I would like to spew out against you and everything. God is merciful even to us here in that He did not allow us to do all the evil we wanted to do while on earth. Had He permitted us to do so, we would have added greatly to our guilt and chastisement. He allowed some of us to die early – as is my case – or permitted attenuating circumstances in others. Even now He shows us mercy, for He does not oblige us to draw near to Him. He placed us in this distant place of Hell, thus diminishing our torment.(8) Every step closer to God would increase my suffering more than every step you might take toward a fire. (8) Ibid., Part I, Q. 21, a. 4, ad. 1:  "Even in the damnation of the reprobate mercy is seen, which, though it does not totally remit, it somewhat alleviates, in punishing short of what is deserved." In another note, the holy Doctor of the Church says that this is the case above all with those who in this world were merciful to others (Q. 99, a. 5, ad. 1). You were astonished one day when I told you in passing what my father said to me some days prior to my First Communion. “Be sure you get a beautiful dress, little Anne,” he said. “The rest is all a sham.” I was almost ashamed then for having shocked you so much, but now I laugh about it. The best part of this sham was that Communion was only allowed at 12 years of age. By then, I had already tasted enough of the pleasures of the world, so I didn’t take Communion seriously. The new custom of allowing children to receive Holy Communion at seven years of age infuriates us. We strive in every possible way to frustrate this, to make people believe that a child is too young to properly comprehend what Communion is or to think that children must commit serious sins before they can receive. The “white” host [that is, the Sacred Host] will then be less damaging than if He were received with faith, hope, and love, the fruits of Baptism – I spit upon all this! – which are still alive in a heart of a child. Do you recall that I already had this same point of view on earth? I return now to my father. He fought a lot with my mother. I didn’t often speak of this to you because I was ashamed of it. But what is shame? Something ridiculous! It makes no difference to us here. After a while, my parents no longer slept in the same room. I slept with my mother, and my father slept in the adjoining room, which he would enter at all hours of the night. He drank heavily and spent everything we had. My sisters were employed but needed their money to live, or so they said. So my Mother went to work. In the last year of her bitter life, my father often beat her when she refused to give him money. With me, however, he was always very kind. I told you all about this one day and you were scandalized at my capricious attitude - but what was there about me that didn’t scandalize you? – such as when I returned new pairs of shoes twice in one day because the style of the heel wasn’t modern enough for me. On the night my father died from a stroke, something happened that I never told you because I didn’t want to hear your interpretation. Today, however, you ought to know it. The fact is memorable, for it is the first time that my true cruel spirit revealed itself. I was asleep in my mother’s bedroom. She was sleeping deeply, as I could tell from her regular breathing. Suddenly, I heard someone say my name. An unfamiliar voice murmured, “What would happen if your father were to die?” I no longer loved my father after he had begun to mistreat my mother. Properly speaking, I no longer loved anyone. I only had some attachments to certain persons who were kind to me. Love without a natural motive rarely exists except in souls that live in the state of grace, which I did not. “I’m sure he’s not dying,” I replied to the mysterious interlocutor. After a brief interval, I heard the same question. Without troubling myself as to its source, I sullenly replied, “It doesn’t matter. He’s not dying.” For the third time the question came: “What would happen were your father to die?” In a flash certain scenes passed quickly through my mind: my father coming home drunk, his scolding and fighting with my mother, how he often embarrassed us in front of our neighbors and acquaintances. I cried out obstinately: “All right, then, it’s what he deserves. Let him die!” Afterward, everything became still. The following morning, when my mother went upstairs to straighten father’s room, she found the door locked. Around noon they forced it open. Father was lying half-dressed on his bed – dead, a corpse. He probably took a chill while hunting for beer in the cellar. He had already been sick for a long time. [Could it be that God had depended upon the will of a child, to whom this man had shown some goodness, to grant him more time and an opportunity to convert?] Marta K. and you made me enroll in a sodality for young women. I never told you how absurd I found the instructions of the two directors, although the games were amusing enough. As you know, I quickly came to play a preponderant role in them, which flattered me. I also found the excursions pleasant. I even allowed myself at times to be taken to Confession and receive Holy Communion. I really had nothing to confess, for I never paid heed to answering for my thoughts and sentiments. And I was still not ready for worse things. One day you admonished me: “Anne, you will be lost if you don’t pray more.” In truth I prayed very little, and always reluctantly and with annoyance. You were indisputably right. All those who burn in Hell either did not pray or did not pray enough. Prayer is the first step toward God. It is always decisive, especially prayer to that one who is the Mother of God, whose name it is not licit to pronounce. Devotion to her draws innumerable souls away from the devil, souls who by their sins would otherwise have fallen into his hands. I continue, but with fury, being obliged to do so. Praying is the easiest thing one can do on earth. God rightly linked salvation to this simplest of actions. To those who persevere in prayer, God grants, little by little, so much light and strength that even a drowning sinner can be raised up and saved, even if he is immersed in mud up to his chest. In fact, in the last years of my life I no longer prayed at all, and thus deprived myself of the graces without which no one can be saved. Here we no longer receive any grace. Even if we were to receive it, we would reject it with disdain. All the vacillations of earthly life come to an end in the beyond. In earthly life, man can pass from a state of sin to the state of grace. From grace he can fall into sin. I often fell from weakness, rarely from malice. But with death, this fluctuating “yes” and “no,” this rising and falling, comes to an end. With death, every individual enters into his final state, fixed and unalterable. As one advances in age, the rises and falls become fewer. It is true that until death one can either convert or turn ones back upon God. In death, however, man makes his decision with the last tremors of his will, mechanically, the same way he did throughout his life. A good or bad habit becomes second nature, and this is what moves a person one way or another in his final moments. So it was with me. For years I had lived apart from God. Consequently, when I received that final call of grace, I decided against Him. It was fatal not because I had sinned so much, but rather because I had refused so often to amend my life. You repeatedly admonished me to listen to sermons and read pious books, but I always made excuses for myself, citing a lack of time. What more could I have done to increase my inner uncertainty? By the time I reached this critical point, which was shortly before I left the sodality for young women, it would have been difficult for me to follow any other path. I felt insecure and unhappy. I had erected a huge wall that stood in the way of my conversion, although you apparently didn’t realize it. You must have thought I could convert quite easily when you said to me once: “Anne, make a good confession and everything will be all right.” I suspected that what you said was true, but the world, the flesh, and the devil already had me securely in their clutches. I never believed in the action of the devil, but now I attest that the devil exercises a powerful influence over persons such as I was then.(9) Only many prayers on the part of others and myself, together with sacrifices and sufferings, would have managed to wrench me away from him. And then only slowly. (9) Devils and demons are the names given to the evil spirits that exercise this influence. For proof of their existence two texts from Holy Scriptures suffice: “Be sober and watch, because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, goes about seeking whom he may devour" (I Peter 5:8). "Put you on the armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the deceits of the devil. For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood; but against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places" (Ephes. 6:11-12). There are very few persons who are physically possessed by the devil, but many who are possessed interiorly. The devil cannot take the free will from those who give themselves over to his influence. Yet as a chastisement for one’s almost total apostasy from God, He permits that person to be dominated by “evil.” I hate the devil, and yet I like him because he and his helpers, the angels that fell with him at the beginning of time, strive to make you lose your souls. There are myriads of demons. Uncountable numbers of them wander through the world like swarms of flies, their presence not even suspected. Condemned souls like us are not the ones who tempt you; this is left to the fallen spirits. (10) Our torments increase every time they bring another soul to Hell, but we still want to see everyone condemned. Hatred is capable of anything! (11) (10) Summa Theologica, Suppl., Q. 98, a. 6, ad. 2:  "Men who are damned are not occupied in drawing others to damnation, as the demons are." (11) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 4, ad. 3:  “Although an increase in the number of the damned results in an increase of each one's punishment, so much the more will their hatred and envy increase that they will prefer to be more tormented with many, rather than less tormented alone." Even though I tried to avoid Him, God sought me out. I prepared the way for grace by the works of natural charity I often did, following the natural inclination of my nature. At times, too, God attracted me to a church. When I took care of my sick mother even after a hard day of work at the office, which was no small sacrifice for me, I strongly felt these attractions to the grace of God. Once, in the hospital chapel where you used to take me during our free time at mid-day, I was so moved that I found myself just one step away from conversion. I wept. The pleasures of the world, however, shortly swept me up in a torrent and drowned out this grace. The thorns choked out the wheat. Making the rationalization that religion is sentimentalism, the argument I heard at the office, I cast away this grace also, like so many others. Once you reprimanded me because instead of genuflecting in church, I made only a slight inclination of my head. You thought it was laziness, not suspecting that I already no longer believed in the presence of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. I believe it now, although only naturally, as one believes in a storm, by perceiving its signs and effects. In the meantime, I had found for myself a religion. The general opinion in the office, that after death a soul would return to this world as another being, with an endless succession of dying and returning again, pleased me. With this, I shut out the distressing problem of the hereafter to the point that I imagined it no longer troubled me. Why didn’t you remind me of the parable of the rich man and poor Lazarus, in which the narrator sent one to Hell and the other to Paradise after they died? But what good would this reminder have done? I would have just considered it just more of your pious advice. Little by little I arranged a god, one privileged enough to be called a god, and at the same time distant enough that I didn’t have to deal with him. I made him confusing enough to allow me to transform him, at will and without need to change religions, into a pantheistic god, or even to permit me to become a proud Deist. This “god” had neither a heaven to console me nor a hell to frighten me. I left him in peace. This is what my adoration of him consisted of. One easily believes in what one loves. With the passing of years, I became sufficiently convinced of my religion. I lived at ease with it, without its causing me any inconvenience. Only one thing would have been able to bring me to my senses: a profound and prolonged suffering. But this suffering never came. Do you now understand that saying, “Whom God loves, He chastises”? One summer day in July the sodality of young women organized an outing. Yes, I liked those outings, but not the pious beatas who went on them! I had recently placed an image very different from the one of Our Lady of Grace on the altar of my heart. It was that fine manly figure of Max N. from the nearby office. We had already conversed several times. On this occasion, he invited me out on the same Sunday that the sodality outing was planned. Another woman whom he had been dating was in the hospital. He had noticed, of course, that I had my eyes on him, but I had never thought of marrying him. He was wealthy, but too friendly with all the young ladies, in my opinion. Up until then I had wanted a man who would belong exclusively to me, and I would be his alone. Thus, I had always kept a certain distance between us. (This is true. There was something noble about Anne, notwithstanding her religious indifference. It astonishes me that “sincere” persons like her can also fall into Hell if they are insincere enough to flee from facing God.) Max began to shower me with attentions from the day of that outing. Our conversation, of course, was certainly different from that of your pious women. The next day in the office, you reprimanded me for not having gone with you. I then told you about my Sunday diversion. Your first question was: “Did you go to Mass?” How ridiculous! How could I have gone to Mass when we had agreed to leave at six in the morning? Do you remember that I heatedly added, “The good God is not so mean-spirited as your little priests!” Now I am forced to confess to you that, His infinite goodness notwithstanding, God takes everything much more seriously than any priest. After this first outing with Max, I only attended one more of your sodality meetings. I was attracted to some of the Christmas solemnities, but I had already dissociated myself from you interiorly. What interested me were movies, dances, and excursions. At times Max and I argued, but I knew how to keep him interested in me. After being released from the hospital, my rival was furious with me, and I found her quite disagreeable. Her anger worked in my favor, though, for my discreet calm impressed Max and ultimately led him to choose me over her. I knew just how to belittle her. I would speak calmly, seeming to be entirely objective, but spewing venom from within. Insinuations and actions like this can rapidly lead one to Hell. They are diabolical, in the true sense of the word. Why am I telling you this? To show you how I came to separate myself definitively from God. To remove myself so far, it was not even necessary to be entirely familiar with Max. I knew that if I lowered myself to that too soon, he would think less of me. So I restrained myself and refused. In truth, I was ready to do anything I thought useful to reach my aim. I would stop at nothing to win Max. Gradually we fell in love, for both of us possessed certain admirable qualities that we could mutually appreciate. I was talented and had become a good conversationalist, so I eventually had Max in my hands, secure that he belonged only to me, at least in those last months before our wedding. This is what constituted my apostasy from God: making a mere creature into my god. The way this can be more fully realized is between two persons of opposite sex, if they have only a material love. For this becomes the allure, the sting, and the venom. The “adoration” I rendered to Max became an ardent religion for me. At this stage of my life I would still at times hypocritically run off during the office lunch hour to go to church, to listen to the silly priests, to say the Rosary, and other such foolishness. You strove, with more or less intelligence, to encourage such practices, but apparently without suspecting that, in final analysis, I no longer believed in any of these things. I only sought to set my conscience at ease – I still needed that – in order to justify my apostasy. In the depth of my soul I lived in revolt against God. You did not perceive that. You always thought I was still Catholic. I wanted to be seen as such, and I even went so far as to make contributions to the church, thinking that a little “insurance” couldn’t hurt me. As sure as you were with your answers, they always bounced off me. I was sure that you could not be right. This strained our relationship, and when my marriage put some distance between us, the pain of our separation was slight. Before my wedding, I went to Confession and Holy Communion one more time, but it was a mere formality. My husband thought the same as I. We carried out that formality just like any other. You would call that “unworthy.” But after that “unworthy” Communion I had greater peace of mind. It was the last one of my life. Our married life was generally harmonious. We shared the same opinion on just about everything. That included our opinion regarding children: We didn’t want the burden. Deep down, my husband wanted one child, but naturally no more. I was able to remove even this notion from his head. I preferred fine clothing and furniture, tea with the ladies, automobile excursions, and other such amusements. And so a year of earthly pleasure passed from our wedding day until my sudden death. Every Sunday we went for a drive or visited my husband’s relatives - I was ashamed of my mother then. My husband’s relatives, like us, swam well on the surface of life. Inside, however, I never felt truly happy. Something always gnawed at my soul. I hoped that death, which was certainly far off in the future, would put an end to this. When I was a child, I once heard in a sermon that God rewards the good one does. If He does not reward one in the next life, He will do it on earth. Without my expecting it, I received an inheritance [from my Aunt L]. At the same time my husband received a considerable raise in his salary. With this, we were able to furnish our new house quite well. Any attachment to religion I might have had was almost gone, like the last glimmer of light on the far horizon. The bars and cafes of the city and the restaurants where we ate on our travels did not draw us any closer to God. Everyone who frequented them lived as we did, concerned about externals, and not matters of the soul. Once in our travels we visited a famous cathedral, but just to appreciate the artistic value of its masterpieces. I knew how to neutralize the religious air of the Middle Ages that it radiated, and I seized every opportunity for ridicule. I made fun of the lay brother who served as our guide; I criticized the pious monks for their business of making and selling liqueur; I disparaged the eternal pealing of the bells calling the people to the churches as solicitations only for money. Thus I rejected every grace that came knocking at my door. In particular, I let my sarcasm flow profusely at every depiction of Hell in the books, the cemeteries, and other places, where one could find devils roasting souls in red or yellow fires while their long-tailed associates kept arriving with more victims. Hell might be poorly drawn, Claire, but it can never be exaggerated. Above all, I always scoffed at the fire of Hell. Do you recall our conversation about the fire of Hell when I jokingly put a lit match under your nose and asked, “Does it smell like this?” You quickly blew out the match, but here no one extinguishes the fire. Let me tell you something else - the fire that the Bible speaks about is not just the torment of conscience. Fire means fire. That is just what He meant when he said, “Depart from Me, ye accursed, into the everlasting fire.” Quite literally. “How can the spirit be affected by material fire?” you ask. How, then, can your soul suffer on earth when you put your finger in the fire? Your soul itself does not burn, but what the man as a whole suffers! In like manner, here we are imprisoned in a fire in our being and our faculties. Our souls are deprived of their natural movements. We can neither think nor want what we used to desire.(12) Do not even try to comprehend a mystery that goes against the laws of material nature: the fire of Hell burns without consuming. Our greatest torment consists in knowing with certainty that we will never see God. How greatly we are tortured by that which we were indifferent to while on earth! When the knife lies on the table, it leaves you cold. You see its sharp edge, but you don’t feel it. But the moment it enters your flesh, you scream with pain. Before, we only saw the loss of God; now we feel it. (13) (12) Ibid., Suppl., Q. 70, a. 3, r.:  "Accordingly we must unite all the aforesaid modes together, in order to understand perfectly how the soul suffers from a corporeal fire: so as to say that the fire of its nature is able to have an incorporeal spirit united to it as a thing placed is united to a place; that as the instrument of Divine Justice it is enabled to detain it enchained as it were, and in this respect this fire is really hurtful to the spirit, and thus the soul seeing the fire as something hurtful to it is tormented by the fire." (13) St. Augustine said, “The separation from God is a torment as great as God." Cf. Houdry, Bibliotheca concionatorum (Venice, 1786), vol 2, “Infernus,” No. 4, p. 427. All the souls do not suffer equally. The more frivolous, malicious, and resolute one was in sin, the more the loss of God weighs upon the soul and the more tortured he feels for the abused creature. Catholics who are damned suffer more than those of other beliefs because, in general, they received more lights and graces without taking advantage of them. The ones who knew more suffer more than those who had less knowledge. Those who sinned out of malice suffer more than those who fell from weakness. No one, however, suffers more than he deserves. Would that this were not true, so that I might have more reason to hate! You once told me that no one goes to Hell without knowing it. This was revealed to some saint. I laughed at that, but the thought was entrenched in my mind. If this were the case, then there would be enough time for me to convert – that is how I thought in my heart. What you said was true. Before my sudden end, I had no idea of what Hell really is. No human being does. But I had no doubt about this: should I die, I would enter into eternity in a state of revolt against God, and I would suffer the consequences. As I already have told you, I did not change my course but continued along the same path, impelled by habit, just as people act with greater deliberation and regularity as they grow older. Now, I will tell you how my death occurred. One week ago – I speak to you in the terms by which you measure time, for judging by the pain I have endured, I could already have been burning in Hell for ten years. Therefore, on a Sunday one week ago, my husband and I went for a drive. It was the last one for me. The day was radiant and beautiful. I felt well and at ease, as I rarely did. An ominous presentiment, however, came over me as we drove. On the way home that evening my husband and I were unexpectedly blinded by the lights of a car rapidly approaching from the opposite direction. My husband lost control of our car. “Jesus!” I shouted, not as a prayer, but as a scream. I felt a crushing pain – a trifle in comparison with my present torment. Then I lost consciousness. How strange! On that very morning, the idea had come to me unexpectedly that I could, after all, go to Mass again. It entered my mind almost like a supplication. My “No!” – strong and determined – nipped the thought in the bud. I must finish with this once and for all, I thought, and I assumed all the consequences. And now I endure them. You know what happened after my death. The grief of my husband and my mother, my body laid out and the burial. You know all this down to the last detail, as do I through a natural intuition we have here. We have only a confused knowledge of what transpires in the world, but we know something of what concerned us. Thus I know also your whereabouts. (14) (14) S. Th. Suppl., Q. 98, a 7,:  “Accordingly, in the damned there will be actual consideration of the things they knew heretofore as matters of sorrow, but not as a cause of pleasure.” At the moment of my death I awoke from a darkness. I found myself suddenly enveloped by a blinding light. It was at the same place where my body lay. It seemed almost like a theater, when the lights suddenly go out, the curtain noisily opens, and a tragically illuminated scene appears: the scene of my life. I saw my soul as in a mirror. I saw the graces I had trampled underfoot from the time I was young until that final “No!” given to God. I felt like an assassin brought to trial before its inanimate victim. Repent? Never! (15) Did I feel shame for my actions? Not at all! (15) Ibid., Q. 98, a. 2, r.:  "Accordingly the wicked will not repent of their sins directly [that is, out of hatred of sin], because consent in the malice of sin will remain in them; but they will repent indirectly, inasmuch as they will suffer from the punishment inflicted on them for sin.” Notwithstanding, it was impossible for me to remain in the presence of the God I had denied and rejected. Only one thing remained for me: flight. Thus, just as Cain fled from the body of Abel, so my soul sought to flee far from this terrible sight. That was my private judgment. The invisible Judge spoke: “Depart from Me!” and my soul swiftly fell, like a sulfurous shadow, into the place of eternal torment! (16) (16) It is certain that Hell is a determined place. But where this place is situated, no one knows. That the punishment of Hell is eternal is a dogma, certainly the most terrible of all, rooted in Sacred Scripture: "Then he shall say to them also that shall be on his left hand: Depart from me, you cursed, into everlasting fire which was prepared for the devil and his angels…And these shall go into everlasting punishment; but the just, into life everlasting" (Matt. 25:41, 46). See also II Thess. 1:9, Jude 1:13; Apoc. 14:11, 20:10. All are irrefutable texts, in which the word “everlasting” cannot be misunderstood or interpreted as “a long time.” If it were inappropriate to illustrate this dogma, then Our Lord Himself would not have done so in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. He described Hell in the same way that it was done here – he showed that it existed and what one must do not to fall into it. The purpose of the parable was not to excite the senses, but the same one that occasioned this publication. The aim of this booklet finds expression in these words, “Let us think of Hell while we are still living, so that we will not fall into it after we die.” This counsel is but the paraphrasing of Psalm 54: “ Descendat in infernum viventes, videlicet, ne descendant morientes,” which is found in a statement (erroneously) attributed to St. Bernard (Migne, Patr. Lat., vol. 184, Col. 314 b). Some closing words from Claire Thus ended the letter from Anne about Hell. The last letters were so twisted as to be almost illegible. When I finished reading the last word, the entire letter turned to ashes. What was I hearing? After those harsh notes of the lines I imagined I was reading, what came to my ears was the sweet reality of bells ringing. I awoke suddenly to find myself still in bed. The early morning light was entering the room. From the parish Church came the sound of the bells ringing the Angelus. Had it only been a dream? I never felt such consolation in praying the Angelic Salutation as I did after this dream. I said the three Hail Marys. And as I prayed them, this thought came to me very clearly: One must always stay close to Our Lord’s Blessed Mother and venerate her filially if one does not want to suffer the same fate related to me here - albeit in a dream - by a soul that will never see God. Still frightened and shaking from that night’s revelation, I got up, dressed myself hastily, and rushed to the convent chapel. My heart was beating violently and unevenly. The houseguests kneeling closest to me looked at me with concern. Perhaps they thought that I was breathless and flushed from running down the stairs. A kindly lady from Budapest, frail as a child and nearsighted, suffering greatly but lofty of spirit and fervent in the service of God, spoke to me that afternoon in the garden. “My dear child,” she said, “Our Lord does not want to be served in such haste.” But then she perceived that it was something else that had excited me and made me so overwrought. She added kindly: “Let nothing distress you. You know the advice of Saint Teresa - let nothing alarm you. All things pass. He who possesses God lacks nothing. God alone suffices.” While she humbly consoled me with these words, without any sermonizing tone, she seemed to be reading my soul. “God alone suffices.” Yes, God must suffice for me – in this life and in the next. I want to possess Him there one day for all eternity however numerous may be the sacrifices I have to make here in order to triumph. I do not want to fall into Hell. “There is blindness much worse than loss of physical sight, the blindness of heart.  So many are heading for the flames blindly.  Man seeks to destroy the evidence of Hell, but he will learn the truth soon enough.  Hell exists and Heaven exists.  The sins of the flesh send more souls to hell." - Jesus

[pumpkinalchemist]

I was only trying to get some simplicity. A simple breath. A simple wink. Some simple laughs and simple tastes. How that seemed like I knew what life was. It seemed safe. What I got instead, my miss, was Y O U R simple smile (oh, gosh that smile), your simple bloodied shy and universal eyes (that impressively spit out fantasy trips) which keep me forever locked in and eternally high (on you). These were, yet had most surely not been anything "simple". I don't have any answer to your questions. Yet, you seem to unknowingly be the answer to all of mine. Why do I want to make a heaven out of your hell, that was this sadist-reality's doing? Why do I just want to always see you smiling until you gracefully die, with thundering laughter, echoing into the burning souls of all broken-hearted romantics who have ever met someone with your messy complexity? Why must I always reach for you when I know you are a lit-match, scented with hellishly allergic dog hair and 7 am chocolate cravings in that comforting tapestry heart cocoon, that electrically french kisses my gasoline-mind? And why am I so unbeatable in this game of Russian roulette, we lovingly play, when we both know the gun only shoots fucked daffodils. All I have is a sensitive gut that has been punched in itself by overflowing surprise, and a twenty five dollar bus ticket tugging the bottom wrinkles of my bleach-stained ripped jacket (With the patches over it's left breast. You know the one) forever reaching out their guidance to a ethereal tale of you. You give me constant rushing feeling, as the world you have created continues to hauntingly embrace and seduce ( - with those explosive kisses, you). And with my poetry-sledgehammer I have, here, your sensitive bottles will be viciously smashed in by my ugly (yet effective) technique. I will see it all, as the chaining glass escapes with such a pleasing velocity into the absurd space of absurd mortals in an absurd era. I can hear them screaming, within your quiet flush. The burning red sea that just cannot break through your nightmarish bottled skin. You need to trust that I will not run (away). Instead, please trust that I will maddeningly chase after the adventure - that we all know you are. You make me realize I can actually breathe. I finally have ground to stand on? Now, that is a comedy! You make me realize I actually crave for nothing, except you (and a few passing clouds). I miss you. I hope you realize and have quietly noticed how my strength increases as every day goes by. Every day I can't see you, that I can't hear or sinfully smell you, I am forced to not reach for you at all. When at late night 4 am writings, I have no utter dream than to be there. It's at this point every mile, every bus, and every fucking foot is tonight's enemy. I miss you. And it gets harder and harder and so much harder, every minute. I am created stronger because of this fight. And your random purple hearts that are received, I drink as my protein. Allow you to rebuild me. Give me power. Surround yourself with my soul and blood-soaked love letters, as they will wash up on the melancholic beach-like shore of your own story. Expect high tide. Let this become an epic-love story, full of fantasy and the urgent drive to patiently transform into reality. A reality that turns your world over; An intensely relatable-grenade who longs for it's once-attached pin, that is to now explode in all angles of Pollock-worshipping and world defying art! My dear, I want you to know - you need to know - you must know - that the second I walk any street, or open any door, or listen to any song, I am yours. Whisper to me, in the blue lit shadows, that you are mine. That I don't make it hard to love. That you can hear the music, too. Let's dance to it, quickly, before I go? Good night, my moon. I say this, for I fall in love with the idea that morning will come soon (and so will you). I miss you. Miss, I really do miss you.