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flickeringart · 3 years ago

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Short natal chart reading

You asked specifically about your communication style, so I’ll cut to the chase.

Mercury is in Scorpio, which makes your quite impactful, purposeful and potent – you are likely very observant and able to read between the lines. You know the value of information and the impact it can have if revealed at the wrong time or presented in the wrong context or in the wrong way. You’re likely to want to keep your thoughts to yourself and only reveal selected parts to selected people – even if you do reveal yourself it is never the whole picture. You enjoy ambiguity to an extent, although there’s unease relative to what people might keep from you. You reserve your rights to be suspicious at all times - nothing is what it seems. The common stereotype for having Mercury in Scorpio is the “detective”. You might not want to leave any stone left unturned in your thinking process – which can take you into quite complex and intricate trains of thought on a daily basis. Since Mercury is conjunct the Sun, you derive a sense of self from your thinking – which can be both good and bad. Good because you feel that you are standing behind every word and thought that occupy your mind, bad because you might have a hard time differentiating yourself from your thinking. You might feel that your way of communicating is very much a reflection of who you are. This is not the case for everyone. Your Sun and Mercury are in the 1st house of Self, which means that you show up as your authentic self – people see you in your outward projected persona and what you think is a big part of who you are.

Your Sun-Mercury conjunction forms a strong square to Jupiter in the 11th. It might be that you find yourself blocked from accessing the freedom and optimism that you crave because it seems to contradict your way of communicating – even your sense of self. It would seem that, you have to spread yourself thin in order to socialize and be involved with a lot of people and causes, it would seem that you have to exaggerate to the detriment of your own innate caution and need for privacy which is natural to Scorpio individuals. Perhaps you feel that in order to have some chance of luck when interacting with people, you can’t be yourself all the way. You can’t display your true self with your friends and your network because in that sphere, you would feel the need to be purely optimistic open to experience. In your life, there’s expectance of good things to come, perhaps to the point of it being unreasonable – you might exaggerate your optimism in order to compensate for your innate caution and awareness of the impermanence of life. You put your faith in collective aspirations and although you might reap the benefits on one level, on another level you might feel frustrated that you’ve lost yourself to the group – in other words, what you gain from associating with people and forming connections is not allowing you to be yourself and communicate your opinions and thoughts in the way you would want to. Chiron in your 3rd house emphasizes the fact that you have to take a philosophical approach to cope with non-redeemable difficulties in communicating. What these difficulties and issues are exactly is impossible for me to say, possibly it has to do with the ignorance and lack of awareness of people around you – too much discipline or lack thereof in school, too much strictness and demands on how to interact, behave and think. Chiron is in Capricorn, which suggests that you would’ve felt debilitated in your ability to apply yourself effectively in your studies, feeling judged and inferior because of regrettable yet inevitable circumstances.

Saturn is in Gemini in the 9th house. It is also the ruler of your 4thhouse. It would seem that education and knowledge were promoted in your home growing up, not necessarily for the purpose of your own interest and self-fulfillment, but for the purpose of succeeding in society and developing your intellect. Saturn is in retrograde, which usually means that the native is hard pressed to personally undertake challenges for the sake of growth because they might not come on their own – and if they do, they are rarely conducive to goal of being responsible and self-reliant. In other words, you would need to push yourself and put yourself in situations that require effort, consciously. Since your question was specifically about communication, I should say that Saturn in Gemini points to insecurity and a sense of lack in mental abilities that might lead you to put on a charade of wit in order to not reveal your struggles. This is not beneficial although it’s understandable that there’s a hesitant attitude to be open an accepting of one’s insufficiencies. It’s fine to hide behind a coping mechanism as long as one is working on developing oneself from the ground up at the same time. Be honest and real with yourself in your struggle. There’s no shame in admitting to where one’s at and working toward betterment. Getting over the fear of intellectual failure is hard, yet you should keep in mind that you’re only ever truly accountable to yourself despite external authority trying to instill feelings of guilt or shame. Humility is the best antidote to prideful concealment of lack.

Your Moon in the 4th house in Capricorn points to a home with an emphasis on discipline instead of softness. The natural ruler of the 4th house is the opposite sign of Cancer, which has to do with mutual dependence and emotional nurturing within the home. Capricorn as the 4th house ruler is tough because you probably had to work to get your needs met. With your Moon in this sign and in this house, you might’ve adopted the attitude that nothing is for free and that you had to put aside your feelings in order to have a chance of stability and security in the long run. In any case, your home environment growing up was certainly serious. Neptune also sits in this house, squaring your Sun-Mercury conjunction. Perhaps it’s not too presumptuous of me to suggest that you had to blend in to the detriment of your own sense of self and your own mental assessments and opinions. With Neptune in the 4th there’s usually intense idealization as well as sensitivity to the environment and a need to blur the edges in order to cope with the less refined aspects of reality. You seek and sought complete merging within your family home, yet your yearning probably made you feel frustrated with yourself because you could never quite attain the love (Neptune square Venus) or the recognition of yourself that you hoped for (Neptune square Sun-Mercury). Your Venus in Scorpio is also in retrograde which means that external socializing, displays of love and affection was “lost on you” since you have a hard time with real understanding of what underlies social interaction. You might struggle with general unhappiness because of this, but your task is to cultivate the inner experience of satisfaction rather than seeking it in the external. Since you’re a Libra Rising, Venus is your chart ruler and it’s in its detriment in the sign of Scorpio. Your idea of beauty is tainted with themes of passion and intensity; you might enjoy reveling in the darker undercurrents, the things that are shocking, a bit taboo and forbidden.

Your Mars in in Libra, conjunct your Ascendant on the 12th house side. Mars is in the sign of its detriment, quite diplomatic and socially accommodating. Your way of asserting yourself is always aimed at being reasonable in light of the social setting and circumstance you’re in. Since Mars is in the 12th, you assert the will based on universal emotional longings that are common to every human being. You might never fight or argue on behalf of selfish agenda, it’s always in favor of trying to restore equilibrium and an experience of being emotional fused. You probably feel that anger is abstract energy and available for use, but it’s not to be employed on behalf of your separate self. Planets in the 12th can sometimes point to passed down familial issues, in the case of Mars here, personal drive and anger is “stuck in the ether”, unconscious and/or given up to live its own life “back stage”. Aries, the sign ruled by Mars, is in the 7th house, pointing out that you probably encounter your “shadow” (disowned qualities) of anger, selfishness and self-motivated action in other people. In addition, Lilith sits right on the Descendant in Aries, which suggests that you find other people irrationally independent and overly attached to getting their own way. You might even find that you compulsively display these traits in interaction with other people because you feel that you are going to be deprived of your chance to do what you want. You’re likely to feel deprived of your individual potency with these placements and you might come off as obsessively independent in relationships with other people for this reason. The whole dynamic stems from a feeling having to sacrifice personal interest and it often backfires in radical self-absorption and self-motivated action.

Let’s take a look at Pluto, your Sun ruler. It’s in your 2nd house, trine Jupiter and sextile Mars. You’re likely to be quite possessive fearfully protective of your material resources, which includes money and finances. You might be quietly and covertly acquiring your material necessities, or avoiding it all together because of the constant paranoia and threat of the rug being pulled out from underneath you. You don’t trust that you’re going to have enough for yourself to be content, ever, so you might be quite powerful and persevering in your quest for value. Pluto and Scorpio have a lot to do with impermanence and expecting crises to envelop without a moments notice so you’re always “on your toes” internally, scanning for potential chaos to break lose, especially as it relates to loosing what you value on a purely material level. This is especially true since Scorpio rules your 2nd house and Pluto is placed here. The Pluto-Jupiter trine would denote a strong sense of faith and confidence in your ability to survive ordeals, perhaps due to your sense of being part of something larger than yourself (Jupiter in the 11th house). You might be concerned with how to regenerate faith and find value in seemingly “dead matter”, metaphorically or literally speaking. Your Part of Fortune is conjunct Jupiter, which pints to your prosperity coming through the broadening and expanding of your understanding of life through involvement in groups or causes. It’s quite possibly even linked to your career. You might take on the role of the inspiring and visionary teacher that transforms people’s lives (Pluto trine Jupiter). Or, put in other terms, your teaching and sharing of yourself will make you feel powerful and impactful in the world of ideas as well as that of form (Jupiter in 11th trine Pluto in the 2nd). Your South Node conjuncts your Pluto, so it’s easy for you to wield subtle power and take control. Pluto sextile Mars gives you a relentless will; you do fight dirty even if it’s below the surface and through quiet coercing and strategic manipulation that is barely noticed. Guilt seems to be a popular tool for Scorpio Mars in attempt to control matters, and the same could be said for Pluto-Mars aspects. Mars in the 12th easily lends itself to acting out the role of the martyr or victim of circumstances and when aspecting Pluto, this can be used strategically. You can probably be a little ambiguous and subtly threatening in your actions in order to get what you want.

Finally, let’s look at Uranus. It’s in its domicile in Aquarius in the 5thhouse, trine Saturn. The 5th house has to do with activities of self-expression and it would seem that you find an outlet for breaking out of the societal bars of convention within this sphere. You might have fun exploring new collective trends and ways of expressing yourself that challenges the status quo. It would seem that you incorporate your offbeat ways nicely with the necessity to conform and succeed within society, since Uranus trines Saturn. However, seeing as Saturn is in retrograde, you are not particularly in touch with the limits and boundaries of society – they don’t make sense to you. You might set high goals for yourself and work diligently to reach them, yet you don’t experience a correlation between your effort and the payoff. Looking to what is wrong with authority, rebelling against it and pushing new, more progressive thought systems might come easily to you for this reason. You might be inclined to hop on a collective thought trend and identify with it, embody it in your own unique way. You’re likely to express alternative ideas and conceptual framework through your creativity and spontaneity.

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If you’re interested a general chart reading similar to this one feel free to message me. I do a Basic Natal Chart Reading without the use of astrological language for 13.44 USD (6-7 pages), but if you want a more casual overview of your chart or have any specific question you would like me to go into, I charge 10 USD for about 4 pages.

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clockworkkwritesstuff · 4 years ago

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RÛNÊN Review

Once again, I firmly believe that Anne has outdone herself with her collection of stories, illustrations, and comics featured in RÛNÊN. I’ll begin by saying how struck I am by the composition of the book itself- It begins with the definition of the title, meaning ‘to whisper’, which strikes me as extremely fitting for these short stories as they are very much the whispered desires of our main heroes. Perhaps I’ve said this before, but Anne has a real knack for gripping readers with her titles, perfectly outlining the content of the book with one word or phrase. This one particularly reminded me very much of a song I love, ‘Undisclosed Desires’ by Muse, as that’s precisely what RÛNÊN is, a series of undisclosed desires. Following the beautifully chosen title, Anne provides a timeline of all the events in relation to the main story, which is a simple addition but an incredible enhancement to give a little more context to what you’re about to read. Thank you very much, Anne, for ensuring we are all kept up to speed with where exactly we are in the story. Having read other collections like this, getting a more exclusive ‘behind the scenes’ can be a little hard to follow when it’s left up to JUST context clues. This was very helpful and the placement of all these stories gives another crucial detail; Embry and Kuo were seriously just on their toes around each other for way too long.

What I also particularly love about these additional tales is the backstory and context it provides regarding the weird and wonderful world Anne has created as the setting. Gimma, like other fantasy settings I adore, is very built and developed, with its own traditions and festivals, its collection of laws and unique vibe to it. In fact, I’ve drawn similarities between the feel of Gimma and the vibes around where I currently live- for instance there’s a huge manor house that’s a few hundred years old, not far from that is a small bar that’s interior is decorated like an old tavern, and there’s at least one traditional event every month – the whole place is both diverse and close-knit, which is the same kind of strong feeling I get while reading about Gimma. Whether this was Anne’s intention or not, I do like it very much! Fantasy stories like Bound where the background and main setting it entirely up to the author partially rely on the context that can be given about said mystical setting – they need to match after all, otherwise we risk the worldbuilding being inconsistent. Let me just say how perfectly built Gimma is. I want to attend a Lenten Feast!!

Now, without giving too much away, I am living for these little pre-contract stories about Embry and Kuo. I am a sucker for awkward relationship stories, and these two are redefining exactly what that means. The line that separated them has been blurred for ages, perfectly shown in Anne’s storytelling by the way, but I also have a strange fascination with just how much Berrin was on thin ice! How has the ice not broken yet? Well somewhere along the line Embry had decided to hold him up (theoretically, of course) and things were so damn close to disaster for both of them that a line had to be drawn. Can anybody else say relatable? Have you seen a relationship like this before? I’m sure we all have, and yes, this period of their relationship paints Berrin as a little dick, we have to acknowledge that falling into this kind of toxicity is also just a human mistake. Even in relation to the main story, I am so curious about this character and how he’s holding up, seeing his interactions with our main duo and how he responds to seeing his old mage getting all heated over Mr.StealYourMan! Damn, Anne, really knows how to flip my feeling on its head when it comes to her characters! There’s plenty of focus on our main pair, but not so much that they have to carry the story alone, there are other people in this world that she’s created and clearly Anne is an expert at making every single one of them perfectly human (I’ve struggled with my own writing in the past. I am living for these character-building stories!)

There’s something so funny about the friendship between Kuo and Benji, they make me feel amused every time, not to mention Benji reminds me of one of my closest friends. Another character I love, please protect Benji!

I still adore Aik so damn much. Thanks, Anne, for the Aik content! Did I mention that RÛNÊN was R18? Yeah, THANK YOU FOR THE AIK CONTENT!!!!

So, here’s where I make a bit of a confession; cheesy romances where the main pairing is just naturally drawn together for no reason? That bothers me. It’s too convenient, unrealistic, overdone, nonsensical, AND YET Anne does it well. There IS a reason for Embry and Kuo to be drawn together, to have the strong connection that they do, and it is presented in a way that makes sense. This is a world where sparks literally seek one another out and try to connect with their mage or page counterpart, and in order for it to work out, they need to be evenly matched and evenly powerful. From the beginning, this has been clear and a well-flowing explanation as to why they always seem to find one another. It’s far easier to accept this idea when it’s justified, which is done through the background and the context of the story being in a world of magic, once again earning Anne more points for developing Gimma so well!

On another note, I love that Embry’s response to jealousy isn’t to lash out and attack someone like so many other cheesy romances… at least not that would actually hurt someone (I do pray for Aik’s tastebuds, sour milk is disgusting) and he remains a bit of a goof about it. More drunk mage content, please XD On this note, how can something like stitching the back of your drunk (boy)friend’s tunic be made so innocent and romantic at once?

I love how Kuo started off as (in Anne’s own words) an emotional cactus, but can also be a smug, mischievous, little tease. It’s his feisty nature breaking through wonderfully, trying to keep his distance but sometimes just being unable to resist being his old self. This, followed by the fumbling awkwardness of them both being dorks, just gives me so many more reasons to love Kuo as a character.

Anne doesn’t fall into the trap of the main couples’ personalities being purely reliant on one another. Kuo’s personality isn’t reduced to how much he likes Embry. Embry’s personality isn’t reduced to how much he liked Kuo. They’re very distinct characters that are perfectly capable of being interesting by themselves without falling flat on their faces. Oh how I adore these characters.

The way these two keep getting interrupted reminds me of living in my flat at university. Let’s not forget that Embry and Kuo live with many other pages and mages alike, and the constant cock-blocking just keeps giving them reasons to perform this same song and dance of trying to abstain. I am frustrated for them, but this all works in their favour because when things finally go how they want, it’s all the more satisfying for the reader (and the boys, no doubt about that).

So when it’s not a concern anymore and they’ve managed to get this far, on my god, we get to see more feisty Kuo, more dorky Embry, and what’s more, switchy boys, it’s a wonderful time we’re living in!

My final word is coming back to Anne’s art more than her writing, and I’ve deliberately put it off until now so that I could talk about it in its own segment. Holy hell, I would pay this woman to give me lessons if I had the money (if you ever get the chance to offer a course, hit me up, I’ll save my finds for years!). On one hand, the black and white pieces dotted around are beautiful in their own sense. All pieces have their own atmosphere, but with no colours to work with, you’re left with shadows, poses, and expressions. Every single one, from start to end, has it’s own strong feeling to it. There’s an eerie confusion, then there’s pure comfort, but also that beautiful, heated and flustered feeling too! Side note, I adore how Anne still makes the blushes pink and red when the rest of the image is black and white. Similar to how I like it when eyes are coloured in a black and white picture, it looks so lovely and adds to the original without stealing all the attention. And the coloured content? Anne uses one of the most gorgeous colour palettes I’ve ever seen. Naturally certain tones are used for ambiance to a coloured piece of work, but at the same time, the characters have such lovely diverse palettes that are so perfectly arranged so that, once again, there isn’t just one, glaring shade that steals the attention from the rest of the piece. I challenge anyone to find a piece of Anne’s art that you don’t think looks fantastic. Even the sketches included at the end of the book are wonderful to look at. This entire collection is delicious eye candy. I must say, there’s a piece included of Eva and Carla that is striking to me. I absolutely adore it.

Thank you for this book, Anne. Thank you for its content, for all your hard work in compiling it, and you have my support for the world of Bound. And to finish off… Thank you for the Aik content XP

#RÛNÊN #AnneDrawsStuff #Review #Writing review

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pacificwanderer · 5 years ago

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Hello. I just want to say that I'm eager for you to talk about the theory that maybe Ben also lost his connection with the Force after the events of TLJ. :)

Hey! Me too! I’m going to combine this with another ask that I’m putting below the cut because it gets long and ranty lol, but similar theme.

I saw a meltdown from someone who is now saying that "If Rey is weak and can't control the force properly without Kylo, SW and Disney is anti-feminist" and also said "This is probably a vendetta to keep Kylo alive because without him she would be useless. What is the point of making a force-user character like this? She is worthless. She has to rely on a man to gain excess to her power! I bet she'll have to ask permission like a obedient wife." What the actual F? This is not how the force works!

OKAY lol, so here’s the deal. Rant incoming, and not directed at you, Nonnie. Just general tone of rantiness:

Some people are just going to have to come to terms with the fact that Ben and Rey are are their strongest when they work together. Because, guess what? Kylo is having a hard time dealing with this shit too and, as we get more information during the lead up to the movies, I bet you he’s been having a hard time controlling his Force powers as well. As someone pointed out (maybe the following thread? i can’t find the damn comment), Kylo only fixes Hux’s collar after reaching towards him with what looks like a typical, Kylo going to Force choke you power, only for him to reach out and fix his collar instead. Yeah, of course it’s ship bait, but I also think that it’s more than that. I think he’s having the same struggles connecting with the Force as Rey.

The Force is fucking PISSED at these two. Here it brought them together, showed them how great they are as a team and how well they can protect/work together, and then they fucked it all up (because we’re at the midpoint in a three movie series and they had to). SO YEAH. If it’s not working for one, it’s not working for the other. Once they realize that they need to work together, like the Force has been showing them since TFA (hell, it even kept Rey and Kylo separated with the literal planet splitting between them so they couldn’t fight anymore), they will be unstoppable. They are literally each other’s equal in the Force.

“Darkness rises and Light to meet it.” WE KNOW THIS. The movie shows us this!

She’s conflicted and having a hard time centering her thoughts because she’s thinking about Ben and the burdens that are on her shoulders. She’s a GD symbol and that’s got to be hard to deal with without having a thing for the literal Supreme Leader of the galaxy. If she didn’t care about him (and if they didn’t have a fucking Force bond), this wouldn’t be an issue. But it is an issue because she cares about him. A lot! He disappointed her, and she disappointed him (not getting into the who’s right in that scenario because it’s irrelevant. Fact of the matter is, they both feel betrayed). Also, is she keeping that a secret? Who knows that she went to the Supremacy to save him? Aside from maybe Leia? Because that’s a pretty big fucking secret to have on your shoulders too.

She doesn’t need to ask his permission, she needs to understand that the conflict within her is coming as a result of her feelings for him and her own inabilty to reconcilate and accept her own dark side. Just like he needs to come to terms with and accept the light side in him. I really think that we’re going beyond good and evil with this. Might not be gray jedi (I know Pablo hates that term lol), but something new, something that is purely Force. OH and you know who agrees with me?

Luke fucking Skywalker:

“Using the Force is all about finding balance. And some Force users, particularly Force-sensitive children--known by the Jedi as younglings--are able to tap into its energy without an obvious alignment to either side. The Force simply flows through them in its purest form. Based on the constant struggles I’ve witnessed between the light and the dark sides of the Force, perhaps their innate neutrality can teach us all a valuable lesson.”

This is a Force issue, it’s a relationship issue, and it’s something they’re going to have to work through if they’re ever going to be able to resolve what’s between them. And think about it, when I’m upset with someone I care about, it impacts my ability to be able to do my work, absolutely it does.

Does that make it sexist? Fucking no. It means I care for them and I need to figure out how to solve the problem! I either need to talk to them and sort my shit out, or take a deep breath and find my center. Just like they need to find their center in the Force, but you know what helps? Having a friend or someone who understands there with you to help along the way. To help you understand the experiences you might have otherwise not understood.

The Force is there, it’s always there, and Rey’s had a hard time balancing herself for a while (remember the whole meditation thing with Luke). She needs help. She herself has said she needs help. There’s a power that inside her that she doesn’t understand and she needs to learn how to wield it. And guess who’s been set up to be her teacher (in one way or another) since TFA? Kylo fucking Ren. She goes to dark the same way he can’t keep himself from being attracted by the light.

THEY BALANCE EACH OTHER. And it’s okay! Her powers aren’t being taken from her, but her ability to access them is hampered by her own emotional state. Once she finds her center, her ability to use the Force properly will be just fine (because I think people forget that it takes a lot of mental control to be able to use the Force properly--hell, even Luke struggles with it on Hoth! Remember who helps him there? Obi-Wan’s Force ghost! Guess that’s sexist????).

Hell, I think she’s finding her center in the trailer when she backflips over Kylo’s TIE.

So much discourse comes from people’s headcanons not being validated and I certainly know that some of mine won’t be, but a lot of this angst is because people have been willfully ignoring what the story has been telling them all along.

Heteronormative? Sure, you could make a case for that, and this series as a whole needs to do better wrt representation across the board. Not feminist? How is saying that the only way a woman can be strong is if she only ever relies on herself any more feminist? I’m tired of this fucking narrative where women heroes aren’t allowed to have the same flaws, fuckups, weaknesses, you know, just generally be an interesting character, like their male counterparts. It’s bullshit. Women are multifaceted. They’re allowed to have flaws. They’re allowed to ask for help. They’re allowed to need other people. This shit carries over into IRL and I fucking hate it. Women do not have to be perfect. Not in life and certainly not in fucking fiction. YOU CAN BE A GREAT HERO AND STILL HAVE FLAWS. You can be a hero and not go it alone. You can be a hero and still fail.

The only reason some people have a problem with this is because they don’t like the character that’s clearly causing her conflict right now (but he’s not the only reason she’s feeling conflict!!!!). This all comes down to their fucking hate for Kylo Ren because if she was reliant on the character they shipped her with, there wouldn’t be a gd peep right now.

Anyways, I typed this all out, debated not posting it, but I’m gonna because it took a while.

People are going to believe what they want, I’m not going to change any opinions, but they have to take a moment to ask themselves why they are willing to invest so much time in energy in a series that apparently doing everything they hate all the time? Seems like a big waste of time to me.

Cheers!

#reylo #long post #text #tros speculation #force bonds #asks and answers #anonymous asks #ask pacificwanderer #antbee17

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dalekofchaos · 5 years ago

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Biggest wasted potential in Naruto

Killing off Zabuza and Haku. Like come on. Zabuza could’ve either went on to become a Jonin at Konoha and fought against Kisame, or if Haku were alive. Zabuza and Haku would’ve eventually become powerful enough to pull a successful coup and otherthrow Obito’s puppet and Zabuza would become Mizukage with Haku by his side. Naruto could’ve inspired to turn the Hidden Mist into being better, Naruto did get to Zabuza’s heart so it is possible, it worked for Gaara and it damn well could’ve worked with Zabuza. And we could have Zabuza and Haku taking on the entire Swordsmen of the hidden Mist. We could’ve also gotten Haku finding out more about his clan and becoming more powerful in his abilities. We could’ve seen feats in his powers far more powerful than the demon ice mirrors.

The Hyuga Clan. Building up the Hyuga Clan as one of the strongest clans in the first half and barely using them to the point where they are underdeveloped and barely acknowledge the Byakugan. Remember when the Byakugan was supposed to be more powerful than the sharingan (and the sharingan was originally derived from the byakugan)? Such a powerful blood trait that the main branch of the clan would enslave the side branches to keep it safe? Yeah that went out the window pretty quickly.

The White Fang. Kakashi's father who is even more famous and powerfull than Kakashi. Who is at least famous as The Sannin. The White Fang of Konoha. There are no games, no Gaiden, movie or anything about him. We could’ve seen The White Fang brought back to fight against Kakashi and Kakashi could’ve been brought closure. It’s a damn shame.

Shino. Shino Aburame was the strongest Genin and he was the most myterious one and one the coolest among all Genins. He was as smart as Shikimaru, skilled as Sasuke and resilient as Neji. He is from one of the noble clans of Konohagakure and Clan Leader's son. After shippuden he completely ignored and only seeing in filler episodes. Even Akamaru and Tonton has more screen time than Shino. And making Shino a Chunnin as Class Teacher at the end? Shino should be a wanderer, a researcher, a S-Class Jonin as sensor or a duty at central intelligence.

The fact that we never learn anything about Konohamaru’s parents. Could they have just been Jonin or Anbu or Ninjas who died in the Kyuubi attack? We will never know.

Kurenai. Youngest of the 4 Leader Jonin of Konoha. Even at her young age she is stated as roughly equal to other senseis’ such as Gai, Kakashi and Asuma. Her genjutsu was so powerful, she was good enough to stunt instantly a guy like Kisame with her fundamental genjutsu and also she was good at breaking Itachi's genjutsu by her own. Where would this go from here? Who from the Akatsuki will she face? What role will she play in the war? And she’s reduced to Asuma’s love interest and made pregnant for the rest of the series. We don’t even see if she was replaced and see if Team 8 even got a new Sensei. We don’t even see Kurenai interact with Hinata, Kiba or Shino. Literally no interaction between any of her students. Kurenai deserved so much better.

Tenten. Tenten was the only one not interested in boys. Tenten is the only girl who has a big ideal goal. And that is "Becoming a great kunoichi just like her role model Great Sannin Tsunade" Compared to Sakura, Ino, Temari and Karin, Tenten was the only Kunoichi who got the least amount of screen time. And why is that? Kishimoto didn't wanna write any self-reliant teenage girl.

Uzumaki Clan. Not having Naruto use his clan’s powerful sealing abilities in the war. Hell, we REALLY could’ve learned more about the Uzumaki Clan from Karin. Karin would have been a great opportunity to be the one who lets us know what the clan was really like. This could’ve made Sasukarin work cause both clans being restored really would’ve worked. Like we have both Nagato and Karin and we never learn anything about the Clan from either of them. How do you not use your main character’s clan??? Hell, Naruto could’ve used what he inherited from Kushina to seal away Madara before Madara could possess Obito to bring him back.

Hinata. If there was a picture in front of the definition of wasted—Hinata would be there. Hinata started to become one of my favorites during her fight with Neji. Kishimoto never really utilized Hinata Hyuga in any real manner. The only times she stood out was when the plot needed advancement. Usually, during a high intense, emotional situation. Hinata outside of extreme life or death moments…is static and seemingly inconsequential. Her existance never affected anything, whether she was living or dead…it wouldn’t of changed a thing. Hinata’s popularity rose, because of her love and obsession w/ the main character. She became a “underdog” in theory, because here’s this shy girl, disowned by her clan, and basically kicked to the curb like yesterdays garbage. The cousin that was raised to protect her—HATED—her and she was cute, pathetic, and terribly shy. Quite a few fans gravitated towards this character, because of these events. The terrible tragedy that was Hinata Hyuga evoked pity, the fulfillment of her dreams, and fans who in some cases sympathized or viewed shades of themselves in this shy gal. Unfortunately, as a by-product…most fans simultaneously used the tragic backdrop and her position of birth right in order to create this image of a “Tragic Princess”. Hinata was elevated not because of merit or depth, but for representing a figure that could be shaped into something that resembled very little of her original form. Hinata lost any potential real development or sovereignty to become one half of a pair, a princess, and a damsal in distress. She became a caricature. It’s rare to see fan art portraying her as the Hyuga head, a keen leader in her own right or as a mature woman, NOT infantilized or glorified for being somebodies or Naruto’s waifu. Most of this characters identity is tied and overshadowed by her love interest. Hinata is a dreamy character that looses tremendous glamour when gazed at objectively. To be truthful, Hinata never really had an identity, nor was she allowed to naturally build up one on her own. Kishimoto undercut her severely in that department. Hinata could’ve been something fantastic! She could’ve grown to be discarded by her clan and viewed as the lesser child, to growing to improving herself and become equals with Neji and grow to move past her crush/obsession with Naruto to both Neji and Hinata becoming the heads of their respective branches and changing the Hyuga Clan together. Hinata, in my opinion was never a strong character physically. Sure she could fight to defend herself, and she had the Byakugan. Yet despite that…she’s just one of many Hyuga. Hinata isn’t nor was she ever a spectacular fighter in her own right. Quite often she was overwhelmed and fatigued easily. In battle she failed, but if given a real voice. She could’ve been influential and endearing in a completely different way. This girl is the odd one out in her family, weak and soft, but despite all of that….Hinata has heart. The traits she expressed, while rarely separated from “N-Naruto-kun” is that of hesitancy, shyness, ineptitude, a rare softness that could easily be kind, but also bloom into complete indifference, selfishness and a one track mind. Hinata is caring until she goes cold. Specific traits like her indifference, selfishness, and complete apathy to another’s situation seem to stem from general Hyuga decorum and behavior. To be apart of such a clan…these traits would be needed to endure the cruelty, tragedies, and fear that hide behind the poshly royal exterior. The Hyuga are about saving face and Hinata is a pro at hiding her own. I think, Kishimoto could’ve shown Hinata at war w/ herself, her clan and the life expected of her in general. She’d be someone w/ an active inner life, but pretty much a dead fish on the outside. The fans would’ve seen a shy female stalking a boy in order to relieve herself of her woes and worries. To forget for a while. Naruto w/o ever knowing it could’ve been a catalyst for a far stronger transformation w/ future implications. We should’ve seen her gradually change shyness into reserve, hesitancy into patience, unprotected softness into emotional strength, and her indifference into engagement. This character could’ve been a nice counter-balance to the constant might makes right scenarios. Hinata shown doing anything other than stalking, obsessing, and worrying over Naruto would’ve been amazing. I’d rather see her slowly, but surely altering the views of the clan by maturely engaging w/ them in a holistic way. By showing having a heart and being aware of others in a intimate nature was not weakness. She’d develop tenacity, a spine and voice her concerns gradually. Linking and working w/ Neji who serves as a teacher in more ways than one, but who also becomes a student, because Hinata in her peculiar way teaches him a thing or two. To see them both mingle and wind themselves through the complexities of the Hyuga clan. Working to attempt change. To simply see Hinata become a better sister. One who shows Hanabi through self sacrifice and unconditional love a different way. Hanabi may detest Hinata’s weakness, because she’s been brought up the traditional Hyuga way. Or even flashbacks of Hinata’s mother…who I feel she’d miss dearly and would’ve had a closer relationship to. Someone which whom she truly felt safe and cherished by. To portray generational cycles through a feminine scope. One of submission, bondage and freedom. “The Hyuga women are like water…we take the shape of whatever container we’re put into.” —Quote from Lady Hyuga, Hinata’s mother Lastly, in fanfiction, Hinata is actually portrayed in ways she should’ve been. For those writers who truly cared for THE CHARACTER and not the waifu…I give props. They present a slow to smile, pearly-lilac eyed women who’s reserved, a wallflower and damn impressive. Hinata always seems to carry a hint of bittersweetness. People ruined all of her wonderful possibilities by keeping her static and a princess. Hinata thrives in difficult times. She blooms when rough roads are ahead and she’s sacrificial….even to her own detriment. In order for her to move on…to become something golden…Hinata has to give up on certain things. This is often true in well written stories concerning her. The obsession for Naruto is only meant to last to a point. Just enough to begin to reveal who Hinata Hyuga really is. To stay pass it’s welcome—means she’ll be forgotten once again…even if the dream unfolded and she got her wish…as canon portrays. Little Hinata Hyuga will be ignored, unknown, and relegated to washing dishes and dusting shelves; as someone else lives out their dreams at her expense.

Lee and Neji being shafted and Neji being killed to justify a ship. The fact we never got to see Sasuke and Neji fight in either the Chunin Exams or in Shippuden is downright insulting. Rock Lee is one of the greatest characters in Naruto, period. He has a great origin story, great setting, very emotional and passionate bonds with others. He had the best fights against Gaara and Kimmimaru and kicked Sasuke’s sorry ass. Then, Kishimoto decided not to develop anyone who didn’t have a Sharingan, not on Team 7 or Formation Ino–Shika–Chō. We never able to see Rock Lee's development his rough journey to fullfil his ninja way. We don’t even get to see a friendly match between Lee and Neji to show that Lee has FINALLY surpassed his rival or even show Lee fight Sasuke. Such a shame that a fan favorite was wasted. And, no I am not done bitching about Neji. Neji was a perfect candidate for who is gonna build up new Konoha Village and Shibobi System with Naruto as the head of Hyuga Clan. Cuz this is the deal between that promised by 'em long way ago. Neji is the only prodigy type character who died so easily. He has a great history and origin story and has a great bond with Naruto. Naruto once said "when ım gonna become hokage ım gonna chance Hyuga and ım gonna get rid off from family branches and you will be the leader of hyuga" That was the promise of the series. Neji stated even better prodigy than Sasuke. Neji was the most potentially skilled person and Neji had a real bond and story with protagonist. And we never able to saw his development. He never faced with Akatsuki....seriously? His dad came back, but didn’t have any scene with his son???? We could’ve even had Neji and Lee teaming up against Sasuke. Lee and Neji deserved so much better.

Dosu. He was so damn cool and it was such a waste that he was killed off so soon. He could’ve been by Orochimaru and Kabuto’s side. You could’ve even had Dosu become so damn powerful enough that Dosu replaces Kimmimaru as part of the Sound 5. Hell, just keep Team Dosu alive. Dosu, Zaku and Kin should have lived and become apart of Team Hebi/Taka with Sasuke, Karin, and Jugo(in the case of Zabuza living, Suigetsu is not needed) Zaku could’ve gotten past his ego and learn to use his abilities better. Kin could have been developed more and improve her abilities and Dosu could’ve been an untapped powder keg. Team Dosu could’ve been Sasuke’s strongest allies.

Orochimaru. Orochimaru was built up as the big bad of the series. He betrayed his village and friends for knowledge of all jutsu and immortality. He killed Sarutobi and Gaara’s father and finally he had Sasuke. And Shippuden retconned him into a punching bag for Sasuke. He never reached to his potential or never able to show how much he developed in terms of jutsus and power after killing Sarutobi, I honestly would’ve preferred if Orochimaru was successful in taking Sasuke’s body. It could work. if Sasuke was not strong enough to over power the ritual. what would have happened is Orochimaru would've granted Sasuke his one wish to kill Itachi and Sasuke's strong intentions and desires would have remained as part of Orochimaru's subconscious while he was in control of his body. Plus Sasuke was willing to do this if he was able to see Itachi die. Orochimaru already was a pretty powerful ninja and having the Sharingan definitely would have helped. To unlock Mangekyo he might have had to kill Kabuto which I don't have a problem with. And Kabuto would have no problem with since he wanted his master to succeed. Orochimaru would have mastered Sage Mode(snake sage mode would look awesome tbh), and probably unlocked the Rinnegan (he had enough DNA of the First Hokage to Edo Tensei him after all) The Akatsuki view this news very problematic. Orochimaru was already a problem but with confirmation that he succeeded makes him as much as priority as capturing the tailed beasts. Naruto would have asked Tsunade to order a team to hunt Orochimaru down for him to pay for pretty much killing Sasuke and knowing Jiriya wanting to keep a close eye on Orochimaru and wanting to stop him, he would put investigating Pein on hold and join Naruto. Eventually I think Naruto and Itachi would form an alliance and together fight Orochimaru. I believe Itachi knows that if he could get Orochimaru's chakara low enough, he could force his brother out and use Susano to seal Orochimaru. Then Sasuke would kill his brother.

#Naruto #Momochi Zabuza #Yuki Haku #Hyuga Clan #Hyuga Neji #Hyuga Hinata #Rock Lee #Uzumaki Naruto #Uzumaki Clan #Tenten #Yuhi Kurenai #Konohamaru #Aburame Shino #Hatake Sakumo #Orochimaru #Kinuta Dosu #Dosu Kinuta

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mtcaz · 5 years ago

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Reflections from Ahran Lee

Ahran Lee was the artist-in-residence at Mt Caz during March of 2019. She was drawn to Mt Caz for the spaciousness and slowness it could offer her as she pondered questions about what sustainability looks like for an artist in today’s culture of go-go-go. The rainy wintery days of March were much needed for all of us. We are grateful that Ahran trusted us to hold space for her residency, and we are excited for the alchemy that occurred during our time together.

Here are some reflections in her own words, after the jump:

I came to Mt. Caz to reflect on my relationship to my process. Specifically, I wanted to examine how rest affects my creative spirit. Rest and reflection are vital elements to any creative process but sorely lacked in my own. What was it about rest that seemed elusive in my practice?

Since last May I’ve been struggling with a block. I wanted to make art but the muscle memory of how I used to work wouldn’t shake, and consequently, squashed my desire to make. I was so used to making art at the expense of my mental and physical health that it was more like an addiction than an art practice. Being hyper productive at all costs was my modus operandi. I would sit at my desk for hours, back hunched over, taking little to no breaks. What drove this pattern of behavior? On an ego level, I craved a self defined identity (detached from roles of daughter, wife, and other monikers I didn’t choose but were given to me) and being an artist felt the most freeing and an accessible entry point into self-assuredness. I also wanted to belong to a community of other artists. And it seemed like nonstop production was the currency to gain access into these communities. So I worked obsessively to put my artwork on social media platforms. It promised opportunities and exposure so it seemed like a natural place to grow my artist legs. I quickly learned that social media never stops. So I didn’t want to either. It didn’t seem like my artist peers were hindered by it or let alone questioning social media’s toxic affects on art. Resting felt wrong, even detrimental to my harder-better-faster-stronger practice I was cultivating. Unsurprisingly, I became reliant on social media. The likes and hashtags became cat nip for my insecure artist self. I let social media dictate how much to produce, when to produce, and what strategic messages to inject into my work to drive traffic to my tiny virtual corners on the internet. My practice was entirely governed by social media. My work no longer felt true to me and I started to lose the joy of creating. The dread of making art was so alarming that I couldn’t confront it initially. Art making became so precious to me that I relied on the rigid ways of thinking, making, and sharing my art. No rest, just make. No quiet, constant uploading. My body was screaming for rest yet my mind registered that as “that’s weakness talking, just push through the pain.” It felt like I was on a high speed train that wouldn’t stop unless it crashed into something. And, indeed, the metaphor became reality and I suffered a back injury from sitting too much at my desk. I was forced out of commission by my own body. This down time became open season for my demons to wreak havoc. Self critical judgments took residence in my art heart, art brain.

I used to wonder what other artists meant when they’d say things like, “every piece I make has a little piece of me in it.” I believe your process and work reflects back to you exactly where you are mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Your process has a way of showing you what your demons are, and if you’re not observant of how those demons affect you, it affects the quality of your work and the relationship to your creativity. When I look at the work I made during my hyper productivity period, I see obsession, perfectionism, and desperation. I initially blamed social media as the main villain who robbed me of creative joy. With hindsight, I know now that was a scared me trying to deny the real work that was ahead of me. I had to dive into my inner world and have tea with my shadows to seek answers. When the mind is allowed to run amok, all it does is generate noise. No spaciousness, only anxiety. What exactly about social media is harming my relationship to creating and my process? How do I unlearn these habits?

When the demons got too loud, it became clear to me that I needed an escape from my familiar environment. So I came to Mt. Caz to seek quiet and rest. If my mind couldn’t figure it out, why not let my tired body lead the way? The initial reintroduction to quiet and rest was comical and awkward at times during my stay at Mt Caz. I celebrated seemingly trivial joys of the mundane such as jumping on my bed for shits and giggles and taking a nap. These felt like huge victories because it meant that my body was acclimating to the healing medicine of rest. In between these moments of celebrating, however, I also experienced guilt around needing and engaging in rest. I felt like I didn’t deserve it, my imposter syndrome was at a level 10, and I had trouble sleeping the first couple of nights in Terra Incognita. I even started to force myself into making art when it wasn’t satisfying. I thought I was wasting my time not making art at an artist residency. Even with Christina and Albert’s blessings that I didn’t need to justify my residency by creating something, I felt insecure about doing nothing. Am I still an artist when I’m not making anything? Where do I get my motivation to make if social media isn’t a dominant part of my practice? I gave up on the grandiose ideas of making new work at Mt Caz and forced myself to rest and sit with whatever demon came up to chat with me. The more I resisted the rest, the more anxious my mind got, and the self critical voice got louder.

Maybe it was the actual lack of noise pollution in Corvallis. Maybe it was the forces of the winter cold that made me more present minded and aware of the natural space I was occupying. Maybe it was the consistency of Albert’s work schedule and morning routines that grounded me in an otherwise structureless time-space. Maybe it was the sounds of Christina’s shuffling house slippers that felt soothing. Maybe it was the nightly dinner conversations between the three of us that invigorated my mind in a different way. Maybe it was learning how to play an ukulele and feeling musically vulnerable with Christina and Albert. Maybe it was just being in an unfamiliar space. Maybe it was meeting other creatives and talking about their creative struggles. Maybe it was the aimless walks I took in the Mt Caz neighborhood. Maybe it was Christina and Albert’s permission to not make that finally sunk in. Maybe it was playing to just play. It was the totality of the aforementioned that led me to just be. Doing anything and nothing, whenever, wherever, without judgement. The anxiety noise around not making subsided once I surrendered to rest. Eventually, my body started to guide my decision making, not my mind.

I dropped into my body and I could finally hear myself again. The message was loud and clear: when you surrender to rest, spaciousness manifests. And when the body experiences nourishing rest, the quality of your work and process gets revitalized. I jokingly called my AIR as rehab or a detoxing experience. It really did feel that way. The withdrawal, emotional and psychological angst, the frustration and impatience, the resistance to stillness and quiet, the self hating, and then the unexpected peace and clarity. I remembered what it was like to know what I want, separate from the illusory shoulds I create to justify aimless productivity.

The biggest takeaway from my Mt Caz AIR experience was that I returned to myself. I could hear myself without distractions. I cultivated a body conscious knowing. I read the introduction to Pema Chödrön’s “When Things Fall Apart” before coming to Mt Caz and wished so desperately that I too could surrender to rest. And I think I got a glimpse of what Pema was talking about:

“It was the most spiritually inspiring time of my life. Pretty much all I did was relax. I read and hiked and slept. I cooked and ate, meditated and wrote. I had no schedule, no agenda, and no ‘shoulds.’ A lot got digested during this completely open and uncharted time.”

~Ahran Lee

If you would like to hear more from Ahran, catch her on Episode 4 (”Don’t Forget the Joy”) and Episode 6 (”Finding Inspiration is a Practice”) of our podcast Dispatches from Mt Caz.

#mtcaz #artist residency #reflections

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rmjagonshi · 6 years ago

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Whole Again - Chapter 17

Whole Again on AO3

-Three Days Before Christmas-

What the hell was Stan Bill thinking? What the hell was that? Stanford could feel his pulse racing, rapid beat, a throb at his pulse points: the back of his crania, his neck, the center of his chest, his thumbs, his wrist…

Stanford took a steadying breath, willing his heart rate to return to normal. He clenched his hands tight to ease the shaking. He'd done it so many times before, willed himself to not feel fear, to not feel emotions. It was as familiar and as simple as falling asleep. Then why was it so hard to make himself calm down? What was Bill playing at? What the hell did he think he was going to accomplish with this charade?

Stanford was startled, scared. He'd been scared before and he'd learned to concentrate on his intellect and let the irrational emotions ebb from his mind. But the blood that beat a rough staccato at his pulse points wasn't cold, wasn't leaving him chilled and anxious to run. He was burning; his clothes, his very skin, feeling tight. He felt faint as the perspiration dripped from his brow and down his neck. He would burn up if he lost control; it was always fire in the end with Bill. And with Stan.

It was Stan Bill who looked like Stan. Bill who wore the same face as his twin. Bill who spoke with the same voice, who had the same mannerisms, the same memories, the same sense of humor that had Stanford rolling with laughter even forty years later. But Stan was gone now. Only Bill remained. And Bill looked like Stan, and despite that, Stanford was still affected by the daemon. His body still responded to the monster that manipulated him, that put his family in danger, that killed his brother. God, what kind of sick creature was he? To still be attracted to that thing? To...still...love Bill? He did, didn't he? He still loved Bill, and nothing that had happened between them, nothing Bill had done was enough to break that. To finally squash that damnable flutter he felt whenever Bill was near. He couldn't kill that burst of affection that warmed his chest when he thought of his muse. He couldn't sever the hold Bill had over him, and the worst part was, he wasn't sure if that was what he really wanted.

He wanted to want to leave Bill in his past, to move on and live his life, be with his family. But he had lived so much of his life obsessing over Bill. He’d spent what seemed like years working alongside him, calling him friend. Bill had been such a large part of his life, that a part of him didn't want to forget about Bill; still longed for the daemon’s touch, that it was a fight every waking moment to not give in and just let go. To just go to Bill and stay here with him, floating in the ocean, together. Just forget about everything. Forget about those waiting back home. It hurt to think that a part of him was so selfish as to separate himself from his family once again. And to what? What would Bill give him that he didn’t already have? What could Bill be for him that wasn’t already filled by the other people in his life.

And that was the sticking point; Bill had been the most important being in his life once. Bill encouraged him, engaged him, stretched his mind to the limits with concepts and theories and philosophy far beyond his own mortal understanding. They had been partners in every sense of the word. They worked and lived together, they talked about politics, advancements in mathematics and science. Bill would sit in the peripheries of his mindscape, even while Stanford was awake, and just be there. Just spend time while Stanford worked, humming strange and alien music, occasionally making images for Stanford’s amusement out of the clouds and dusty mist that existed in the gap in Stanford’s mindscape. The gap, more a link or an overlap between Stanford’s mind and Bill’s; not really one mind of the other, but a place where both existed at the same time, in the same place.

They had also been intimate, or as intimate as you can get with a being that only exists as a projection into the mental plain. It had only happened once, but once was enough to hook Stanford. Enough to drug him, hypnotize him, and drown him in his already unhealthy obsession. Once was enough to leave him shaking and tingly and thoroughly debauched, although his physical body had remained untouched. It was difficult now to tell if it had been a dream built on years of sexual repression and culminating in a subconscious manifestation of his affection for Bill, or something Bill had actually projected into his mind as a way of keeping Stanford both focused on the project and completely emotionally reliant on Bill. It was a memory that, despite all attempts to repress it, had remained resolute and vibrant. And it still affected him.

*~*

Stanford had been distracted for two full days, unable to make any real advancements in the project while his mind kept wandering, while his trousers felt tight in all the wrong ways. He had been long past his formative teenage years where puberty and hormones controlled him like some base animal, but nothing he did could alleviate the low thrum of ‘want’. Everything even remotely attributed to sex flitted through his mind and disrupted his calculations, flinging numbers and variables this way and that as the flirty cashier from the corner market stripped for him, or Cathey Crenshaw from high school pulling down the top of her strapless dress to expose her (Stanford had been reluctant to admit he’d noticed) rather perky and sizable breasts, or the muscular boxer with a fuzzy face, large hands and a mouth Stanford was sure tasted of Pitt Cola and toffee, or the young undergrad that had grappled for his attention in grad school who had hidden beneath his desk one night to surprise him. Stanford had sent the boy home, but his hormone drugged mind filled in what would have happened if he hadn’t; a hot mouth and slick swipes of a tongue along his cock, a willing body on their knees, face pillowed between his thighs. The fantasy wasn’t constant (it never was); the undergrad’s short black hair grew long and faded to red, the moans coming from the boy’s throat increased in pitch until Stanford could feel Cathy trailing her perfectly manicured nails along his hips, then changed again, taking on a much rougher pitch, like gravel in a rock tumbler, making his cock throb and the hair darkened to a chocolate brown, boxing gloves thrown over the young man’s shoulder. He would knit his gingers into that mop of hair and thrust, and the subsequent groan would change yet again, becoming more smooth and sultry.

Stanford had been well in to the fantasy, palm pressed against the front of his trousers and hunched over the basement desk, when Bill had popped into his mind, pulling Stanford fully into the mindscape. The fantasy had dematerialized in an instant, Stanford dropping out of the now non-existent chair to float with his trousers around his knees and cock painfully erect, red, and throbbing, still slick with the imagined saliva from his fluctuating, illusory partner. A tense moment passed between them, Stanford’s mind still hazy from his exasperating distraction.

“Heya there, Smart Guy. Need some help?” Bill’s voice had taken on the same chipper tone it always had, only this time, there was a slight veneer of curiosity. Stanford had instinctively made to cover himself, make himself decent in the face of his muse, but six ribbon-like tentacles erupted from Bill’s form and wrapped around each of his legs, his wrists, his waist, and his erection.

“Bill, what…?” But the question died on his lips as Bill lifted him closer; he could feel the tentacles writhing, twisting, and kneading against his exposed skin, his clothes having vanished without his noticing.

“No sweat Sixer, just let me handle this. You humans were always so weird with your physical needs. I never understood how you ever get anything done.” The tentacles started moving with purpose, tracing the line where his buttocks and thighs met, and coiling and uncoiling around his erection. One tentacle left his right arm loose and snaked over his chest to ghost over his nipples. Rubbing circles around the areola lightly before flicking the hardened bud. Stanford swallowed a squeak. He could feel something pool in his intestines. It was tingly, and warm…no, hot. Heat. It felt like his blood was rushing to his groin. His head felt light, his mind filled with random and unorganized thoughts. The tentacle wrapped loosely around his cock doubled up on itself; the lower girth still stroking his erection up and down while the probing tip inched its way back to his perineum, pausing to tease his testicles and tug gently as the pubic hair.

“Ooooohh.” Stanford couldn’t hold back the groan even if he had the mental focus enough to try. His hips jerked of their own accord. His mind blurred with questions, the words materializing and whizzing in the ether around them: What, Bill? Why are you doing this? Holy Moses, that feels amazing! Why do this for me? Are you curious? Nnnhhhhh! God, I’d let you watch. I have before, right? You wanted to know what it felt like. But why participate now? What are you getting out of it? He felt a four-fingered hand cup his cheek and he tiled his head up, blinking through a lusty haze to gaze into the eyes, er, eye of his muse.

“Hey there, Sixer. You still with me?” Bill was amused. While the triangle had no mouth (or rather, his eye was both his eye and mouth), Stanford could tell Bill was smirking. The set of his eyelids were nearly as expressive as a pair of lips on humans. What would they taste like? Would they be soft? Would the lashes ringed around Bill’s eye feel ticklish as they inevitably fluttered across his face? He nipped at his lower lip, imagining the taste of Bill’s lips on his. He found himself wrapping the tentacles around his limbs further in an attempt to pull himself closer to Bill. The black appendages looping tighter around his arms and legs, the bulk of his weight held by the one wrapped around his waist and hips and gently prodding at his navel. His hips were still bucking into Bill’s touch, the constant shift in weight in this gravity-less void pushing him closer to the triangle until he heard Bill sigh and felt the tentacles draw him in. Stanford let out a soft groan when his body finally came into contact with Bill.

Bill’s surface was warm and surprisingly soft, just as he remembered. Stanford pressed himself as close to Bill’s form as he could, his twelve fingers splayed and drawing patterns on Bill’s form. Bill had kept to a mostly human size, maybe slightly larger. Stanford’s arms, tugged loose from the tentacles, wrapped around the upper part of Bill’s form, holding the triangle tight against his body. He felt like he was on fire, and the cool temperature of Bill’s form did nothing to abate the heat. He hadn’t noticed that he had started mouthing and licking at Bill’s surface until his lust fueled brain registered that he was tasting what might be described as a spiked energy drink, something vaguely metallic, and something bitter that reminded him of sulfur or quinine. It was a flavor that was very quickly proving to be addicting.

“God, I…” Stanford couldn’t even pause in his ministrations long enough to speak. Instead, he just panted and moaned, feeling the sounds bubble up from his chest. It may have been wishful thinking, but he swore he felt Bill shudder. With every movement, his erection brushed against Bill’s warm surface. Here he was, Stanford Pines, so desperate and needy he was grinding against Bill, his muse, his friend, his teacher. Using the omnipotent deity for his own inferior carnal pleasure. His hips snapping with every thrust, erection bobbing between them, smearing precum and leaving slick trails over the triangle; the bowtie was quickly becoming damp. He couldn’t help it; Bill’s touch was electric. He needed it. God, but he needed it. But it wasn't enough. His lips worked their way to Bill’s eye, kissing and gently nipping at its perimeter. His fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises on Bill’s back if it was possible. The tentacle around his cock squeezed, and Stanford took the risk, bringing his lips to Bill’s eyelids in some semblance of a kiss.

Bill’s lips, really eyelids, were soft and supple, and the eyelashes didn’t get in the way as much as he expected. Stanford licked at Bill's lips, tracing the plush ridges, and nipping the bottom lip, holding it between his teeth. He wished Bill had a proper mouth, or a tongue, or something. He felt Bill pull away and couldn’t hold back a whimper at the loss.

“Whoa, slow down there IQ. Knew you were inta weird stuff, but I didn’t think you were this depraved.” Bill punctuated his statement with a long slow stroke to Stanford’s cock with one of his actual hands. Stanford whined, throwing his head back and gasping as Bill pressed at the spot below the head, sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine. He heard Bill hum and repeat the action. Through his haze, Stanford desperately tried to claw his way back to Bill; his fingertips just barely making contact with Bill’s face.

“Please…I want…” Stanford didn’t really know what he was asking for, not really. Maybe he just wanted to touch Bill, maybe he wanted to make Bill feel as good as the daemon was making him feel. Bill’s chuckle filled his ears the same moment his hands felt the plush warmth of Bill’s face, and he felt the tip of the tentacle massaging into his perineum creep further to brush over his entrance. Soft, and barely there, feather-like touch. Bill’s hand on his cock continued jerking, thumb swiping at the tip and smearing the beading precum.

A litany of whimpers and panted exclamations of need passed his lips as his fingertips dug into Bill’s surface. “Ah, Ah, Ah, AH!” He was so close, but it was all so wrong. Here Bill was, giving him exactly what his body and mind needed, what his soul needed, an act of intimacy with the being he loved most, and Bill was getting nothing in return. He wanted to do something, something that would make Bill feel as good. If that was even possible. What if Bill’s kind didn’t do anything like this? What if there wasn’t any way for Stanford to reciprocate? Was Bill just helping him and getting nothing in return? The questions spiraled in his mind and clumped together like a heavy stone in his gut. A chill whipped through his blood stream and he felt is erection soften.

“Hey, what’s the matter? You’re overthinking this aren’t you?” The subtly glow accompanying Bill’s words made Stanford’s heart flutter. It made Bill look ever more like the divine being that Stanford believed him to be; it made Bill’s attentions to him, both academic and physical, all the more special because here was this perfect and omniscient being that actually went out of his way to spend time with Stanford.

Bill had spoken of creating a better world, one where the atrocities and injustices of the current world didn’t exist. One where every person was able to get by on their own merit rather than some lucky draw of the genetic or financial lottery. One where diversity and deformities like Stanford’s were celebrated, rather than ridiculed. One where he could…

Stanford felt a bizarre mix of longing, revulsion and fear itching at the back of his crania. It was strange. Something he wanted, something he couldn’t have and felt ashamed for wanting. He wanted Bill, and without the portal, he couldn’t ever really be with his muse. Some may think less of him for seeking such a relationship with something so dissimilar from humanity, but he felt no shame in desiring Bill; perhaps this shame stemmed from the fact that his desires were physical and not purely mental. He was weak to his baser emotions and physical needs just like any other human. But even still, Bill sought out him, Stanford Pines, to share his infinite knowledge with. And Bill seemed to be enjoying this in some way, so there should be no shame felt. And there wasn’t really, other than he felt he should do something to reciprocate. It was absurd that these feelings were for anyone expect Bill; Bill was his whole world. Fiddleford was a friend, sure, but Bill was his friend, confidant, muse, and dare he say, now lover. Bill was everything, so, naturally, his emotional conflictions would stem from Bill…right?

“Hey, it’s gone soft again. Did you finish? Wasn’t there supposed to be some sorta fructose-dihydrotestosterone-enzyme acid mix that went with it? Human bodily functions are weird, I never really understood them. But I’m guessing you just got lost in that maze of a mind ya got there.” Bill waved at the words and questions floating around them, dispersing Stanford’s insecurities. Stanford felt his throat tighten. How to explain it? Could he?

“Or is it that I’m not doing it right? It that it?”

“What? No, no it was, God, it was great! I just…” Stanford took a steadying breath, “I want to do something for you. Something like…” Stanford, being uncharacteristically bold, lunged forward to capture Bill’s lips/lids in another kiss. He peppered Bill’s mouth with short, rough kisses, trying (and again wishing that Bill had one) to lap at his tongue. Bill could read his mind, right? He knew what Stanford wanted, but maybe he didn’t understand it? Or maybe he didn’t want to do this? Maybe he was just humoring the stupid little human? Maybe…

“Alright, I gottcha. I can’t exactly get that same thing out of this, but I can probably do something.” The tentacles, all at once, particlized and dropped out of existence. Instead, Bill grew several sizes and Stanford was being supported by three of Bill’s hands; one supporting his back, one gripping his slowly hardening cock, and one cupping his hips under his buttocks. One eager finger softly probing his entrance, this time with some slick residue.

Something large and black, with intimidating girth, smacked Stanford on the cheek, rubbing the same slick substance over his face. He nuzzled at it without thinking, before opening his eyes to stare at Bill questioningly.

“There. I tried to make something with the same nervous system and electrical feedback loop you humans have. Go ahead, give it a whirl.” Stanford stared at the...well, it was supposed to be a penis, wasn't it? It looked far more like a fat tentacle that tapered slightly with a bulbus tip. Stanford could feel his mouth water. He'd never even thought of performing fellatio before – he'd never had the opportunity to entertain the idea – but he eagerly lapped at the head and shaft, letting his saliva drip down his chin. The pressed his tongue into the gap that was supposed to resemble the urethral opening and grinned when Bill moaned.

“Whoa…..whoooooookay. So, so that's why you humans are obsessed with this, huh?” Bill shuddered and Stanford felt the newly formed shaft throb against his lips. But it was still more tentacle and prehensile than a human organ, and the surrealness and alien sensation sent a pulse of raw heat to his groin and Stanford bucked into Bill’s hand.

The tentacle pressed against his lips, wedging itself into his mouth and running over his tongue. It thickened gradually, open his jaw wide and forcing Stanford to swallow around it. He both heard and felt Bill moan. He could see a light shade of red pigment begin forming at Bill’s edges. His eye was closed and he was shaking. Stanford felt electric. To be able to pull a reaction like that out of Bill, to be the one, possibly the first, to make Bill feel this way. He swallowed hard, taking the tentacle as deep as he could, careful to not scrape his teeth. He swiped at the head with his tongue and heard Bill groan. “Oh man, I gotta get me a real body! This is great! Oh yeah! Laer rof siht yrt attog I. Siht ot desu teg dluoc I kniht. Tep taerg a ekam duoy. Uoy peek annog mi, snepo latrop taht nehw.” Bill eased a fingertip passed the ring of muscle, easing the way with the makeshift lube.

Stanford was too far gone to understand what Bill had said. Far too gone to understand much of anything besides the white heat in his veins. He whined. Hips still bucking into Bill’s hand and lips working their way up and down the shaft Bill created. Stanford came with a muffled scream around Bill’s cock. But Bill hadn't yet.

Bill had been rough, and the power dynamic fluctuated back and forth between them. He would have had bruises, scratch marks, curved indents of teeth had they both been physically present. Bill had made himself a vulva, and Stanford had plunged in without hesitation. Bill had pushed into him while he simultaneously fucked Bill; the differing sensations, differing perspectives had been too much. His mind whited and he woke sweating and hunched over his desk, pants damn near dripping and papers stuck to his face with drying perspiration. The ink was smudged beyond all recovery, but Stanford could not bring himself to care. He never mentioned it to Bill, he didn't know what to say, how to approach the subject. He finally decided that if Bill wanted that again, they would do it, if he didn’t, then...well, Stanford would simply handle himself. He had plenty of fantasy material to work with.

***

Stanford shook his head free of the memory. He was sitting on his bunk below deck, he'd left Bill upstairs in the cabin. Stanford thought it must have been a dream now, because Bill had been too out of character with the being he knew. One bad thing about having an Eidetic memory, was that he remembered every detail, every touch, and it affected him just the same. Stanford shifted, feeling the tightness in his trousers. God, he was in his sixties, he was too old to be getting randy over memories of fantasies.

The worst part? He missed Bill. Missed being with the daemon. Missed talking to him, discussing the world, discussing life and the worlds and universes beyond this one. They would talk, about everything and nothing for hours, sometimes days. They would play interdimensional chess and D, D and MD for days. They would just sit in silence, Bill playing with the elements between space and Stanford working on expanding his notes, or working out his hypotheses for the strange things going on in Gravity Falls. He enjoyed Bill's company. He enjoyed being around the daemon, despite all the slightly off or disturbing things Bill was into.

Bill had told Stanford of his family, his life before being ousted from his original dimension. Yes, Stanford knew that Bill was not a native to the Nightmare Realm, knew that Bill’s life in the gap between dimensions was wildly different and infinitely more fun than the boring life he lead as a merchant. And Stanford had told Bill about his family, his parents his older brother, Sherman, and…and Stan. Stanley. His twin brother. His best friend for the first eighteen years of his life. The one person he thought he would spend the rest of his life with. The one person who loved Stanford for who he was, who never treated him like a freak. The one who's love and devotion nearly suffocated Stanford. The one Stanford had tried to protect, because Stanford wasn't...he wasn't safe. He wasn't safe to be around. He was…wrong, weird…a freak. And it wasn't just because of his hands.

Bill had understood. Bill had helped him redirect and harness these blasphemous feelings. Stanford never understood why, but he'd always wanted to...do...something…with Stan. To Stan. Something he most definitely shouldn't. But it was so nebulous. So intangible, that he was never able to pin down and define what exactly he'd wanted from his twin. He terrified him when he was younger. He got jealous when Stan tried to make other friends, he got possessive over Stan’s time, always wanting to keep Stan with him, doing the things that he wanted. It got better as they got older; Stanford had been able to be content with Stan continuing boxing lessons, had been begrudgingly fine with Stan dating Carla. But he was never able to isolate why he felt like that. He wanted companionship, a friend, a confidant. Someone who could keep up with him, who had the same thirst for adventure and knowledge he did.

He had wanted to go to college both to expand his knowledge and opportunities for discovery, but also because, while Stan’s devotion to Stanford was suffocating, his own tenuous feelings about Stanley were driving him to asphyxiation. He never thought he would get over it, but then, miracle of miracles, Stanford had found Gravity Falls…and Bill Cipher. Bill had fit that need for companionship so much better than Stan ever could. And he felt safe around Bill, like he wasn't taking advantage, wasn't moments from doing something unforgivable and irreversible to harm Stanley. Like his wretched mind had finally calmed down and he could think clearly for the first time in nearly two decades. Bill had set him free from a nameless demon and gave him exactly what he wanted, what he needed. Now, Bill looked like Stan. And Stan was gone, and even after forty years, he still didn't know what it was he felt for Stanley, only that his demons had never been banished. He had never been freed. They had simply lied in wait, biding time. Ready to rear its head back from the repressive portion of his mind.

His feelings for both Bill and Stanley clashed in his chest, in his mind. Beating against the walls of his crania and kicking at his ribcage until he swore he felt bruises. These feelings wared with one another, so similar and so different. In a perfect world, both would exist, and both would be safe, and his relationship with them would be definable. No, in a perfect world you would have gone to West Coast Tech, Stan would have never been homeless and you would have never even heard of Bill Cipher or Gravity Falls and never had the audacity to think you could change the world by building an interdimensional portal to an unstable universe. Stanford felt his jaw ache from pressure, gritting his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn’t shatter. Then he would have to get dentures or an implant. He shuddered. Nope, not even in self-deprecating fantasy would he stoop that low. He licked at his teeth as if to sooth away the potential damage. Stanford’s posture sagged and he flopped sideways on to the bunk. His feelings for both men (could Bill be referred to by masculine terms?) warred because now, it seemed, that Stan had been absorbed by Bill, possessed by Bill. Now…now they were the same.

No, they weren’t. Stanley may be the embodiment of every negative quality that grated on Stanford’s nerves, but Stan was NOT that same as Bill. Never. Bill was a monster, and sure, his brother was sketchy on the best of days, but the man wore his golden heart on his sleeve and was a hopeless romantic. He was tender-hearted and kind, almost to a fault. And Stanford loved his brother. Wanted to be more like Stan, more open, trusting; his nameless feelings for Stan be damned. He could never be like Bill. Ever.

But that didn’t matter now. His feelings didn’t matter anymore, for Stan, or for Bill. And it didn't matter that Bill wore Stan's face, that had been clearly evident by his reaction earlier. It didn't matter that Bill acted so much like his brother in an attempt to break him. It didn't matter that looking at Bill brought more than just a little pain to his chest.

But it could. It could matter. Stanford could fight it. He could control his feelings and pretend nothing affected him, that Bill no longer had any effect on him. He could suppress this. He had to. He had to be strong in the face of adversity. He was just surprised at Bill's actions, he wasn't expecting it. He had his guard down, a mistake he wouldn't be risking again. Whether Bill was Stanford's captor or his prisoner, it didn't matter. They were here, for as long as it took to fix this, to save his brother, if it was even still possible. They were here until he could bring Stan back, or they were here forever. If Bill ever tried to leave, to get back to shore, Ford would sink the boat. He would mix a chemical explosive and blow it up. Kill them both. Maybe. Maybe then he would give in, when it didn't matter. In the last few moments. Maybe he would go to Bill and give himself to the monster, let himself be taken by the beast, let himself give in to this godforsaken need. But not yet. And maybe not ever. But if…

Stanford had to be ok with if.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Stan found himself standing on deck, leaning over the railing, and staring into the inky black water below. He'd really gone and done it this time, hadn't he? He just had to lose control of himself at the worst possible time. He wanted Sixer to trust him, to be his brother again, to see him as as something other than a monster. Instead, Stan thought he’d seen the thin wisp of arousal in Ford – had inanely thought that something would come out of it and that Ford would be receptive – and acted on it. And now Stanford was downstairs hating Stan-Bill and himself all the more.

It hurt to see Sixer like this. It hurt to know that Sixer still loved him, but loved the part of him that Stan hated. It hurt that he, as both Bill and Stan, loved Ford, but he couldn't act on anything without turning their already unhealthy relationship into an even more twisted impression of what it was supposed to be. He could feel Sixer’s agony, his desire. His memories. (God, he remembered that night with wicked clarity, feeling only approximate sensations while in Sixer’s mindscape.) Ford wanted to act on it. Wanted to fall into Stan’s embrace and throw caution and all sense to the wind. But only if Stan was Bill. Only if it was Bill that fanned the icy blue flames that threatened to consume him. Stan wasn't Bill. And if it was the last selfish thing he ever did, he never would be again. Even for Ford.

Stan had to block his mind off from Stanford's, think of something else, something stronger than the thoughts whirling in his brother's head. He tried to just let Stanford's thoughts drone on as background noise, white fuzz. But it wasn't always easy, he couldn't always drown out Sixer's fears. Or his desires.

That was how he’d ended up like this, wasn't it? Because he just couldn’t say no? He just had to be curious, just had to play with his new puppet and drown in it. He remembered the first time he’d become curious. IQ was so unusual compared to other humans, but even he was subject to life’s baser needs. What would the mind of someone like Stanford Pines be like when all defenses were lowered? What would feeling it, experiencing it first hand, be like? Sixer had let him. Stan pressed his forehead into the cold metal of the railing, the memory as clear as it was decades (or was it now months with the folded timeline) ago.

*~*

IQ had made the deal and had granted Bill permission to inhabit his mind and control his body. The first few moments, the first rush of adrenaline and he couldn’t help the gleeful delight that bubbled up inside Sixer’s body. He’d laughed. Sixer had laughed. It had been momentous and wonderful and horrible all at the same time. Sixer had given him full permissions. Not that he needed it (he’d planned on taking over IQ’s body whenever he needed to), but it was still nice to have. The truth was, physical form, the kind that organic life takes, was kinda awkward. He had inhabited a human body before, but never long enough to require taking care of its needs. Breathing was strange, the rush of air coming into this gaping hole in this body to fill two large and fleshy sacks, the exchange of gasses and then pushing the majority of the air back out again. It was horridly disgusting and inefficient and unnecessary. There were creatures in this dimension that could absorb the required gases from the air through their skin, why couldn’t humans do that? Blinking was fine, a bit strange that it was partly involuntary, but relatively normal. Digestion was creepy. In a good way, but still, the feeling of Sixer’s insides churning and moving and wriggling had him stop writing and just sit. The feeling was so unique and novel that he just sat there, wrapping Sixer’s arms around his gut and just…feeling this body function. He was tempted to try and cut himself open and start prodding at the stuff inside, but he didn’t have the same abilities he had in his own dimension while possessing something. And he liked IQ. He’d have a chance to play with his puppet when the portal was completed. Then, he could explore human functions all he wanted, with no limits. In the meantime, Bill had just experienced things through Ford. It was all so disgustingly exciting. The thrill of discovery of new feelings.

His foray into human waste processes was also disturbingly fascinating. He had nagged at Sixer to let him experience it. To, as soon as Ford had felt the urge to pass waste, let Bill take over and just learn how it felt. Human experiences, while simple enough to understand, were still fascinating because as a being of Flatland, human functions were something he couldn’t do, could never experience. So, he had begged, and Ford had finally relented and let Bill used the toilet.

He instantly regretted it. It felt so so wrong and uncomfortable and the smell was,…just, nope. Nope he was NEVER doing that again. Sixer had woken to find himself naked and wet, laying on his bed when Bill had given control back. Not having the necessary coordination to properly clean himself, Bill had decided to bathe Sixer (the man needed it if Bill’s new sense of smell told him anything) and clean up any and all of that nasty human waste. Ford had, embarrassingly, guessed what happened, and had laughed at him. Laughed!

But, despite the rather horrid experience, and the embarrassment, Bill still wanted to experience what humans were like. And so had spied on Sixer while he worked, catalogued his actions, his movements, his functions based on which ones intrigued him the most. Urination was out – too close to that other one – eating and drinking were on the table, but only if Bill got to choose what to try. Running was something Bill hadn’t gotten the hang of yet, walking was hard enough. Sitting and writing were easy, and sleeping was not something he could really do as the human body’s way of dealing with the mind while unconscious, forcefully ejected Bill. He really wanted to try falling, but he might have to wait until he got another willing puppet; falling tended to be fatal. Burning alive too, and drowning. He could try stabbing himself, but it would have to be something small, like a needle or a pen, so as not to harm Sixer too much, or to scare the man off. It was so much better having a willing puppet than a non-consenting one.

But the one thing he wanted to try and wrap his mind around, what the reason humans (males, anyway) yanked at that organ between their legs so often. Even his Sixer did it (though not often) so there must be something to it. He’s made up his mind to knock that off his list first. He didn’t have to wait too long, maybe a week or two.

He’d found his puppet sprawled out on the sofa, head cradled by the decorative pillows. Sixer’s clothes were split open down the middle; his coat and shirt unbuttoned and pushed to the sides, his tie loosened and draped over one shoulder. He could probably tug at the tie and cut off Sixer’s airflow, but the sounds his pet was making were making his insides wriggle again. Sixer’s pants were split too, and pushed down around his knees. The thing that passed waste water was bright red and swollen and Sixer’s six fingers were tightly wrapped around it, rubbing in mayonnaise, no wait, it smelled like flowers, so lotion. Unless mayonnaise smelled like flowers. No, it was definitely lotion, in this dimension at least. He sat down on the bunch of Sixer’s pants to really get a good look. He wasn’t really there, just a projection – one that took far too much energy which is why he used the representations of himself in the third dimension more often than not – but he still could move around and see things. In order to feel things though, he needed to possess something. He was content to just watch, for now.

Two of Sixer’s fingers were slipping in and out of his mouth, pressed together to make one. He was sucking on them, caressing the sides and tips of his fingers with his tongue, nipping delicately at the skin with his teeth. Sixer’s teeth were healthy, as far as human teeth went. He brushed and cleaned and flossed and gargled that weak antiseptic to keep his mouth clean and free of foreign bacteria. It was fascinating to watch the man who would frequently forget to shower and eat, spend so damn long making sure his mouth was devoid of any debris.

Sixer had a pathological fear of losing his teeth. The nightmare he’d had as a child had burned its image into Sixer’s psyche, so much so that Ford had developed a complex about his teeth. He had given IQ a dream where he’d gone through a completely normal and boring day, starting with drinking coffee, eating breakfast, reading an article on thermoplastic properties of a new joint implant, going to his lab, and performing absolutely dull and mind-numbing calculations, pausing for lunch and dinner, reading a self-indulgent bodice ripper novel while drinking tea before going to bed and taking out his dentures. Sixer’s scream was heard for a literal mile! Oh, that had been fun. Although the next day, Sixer had brushed and flossed his teeth until they bled and Bill had forcibly possessed his body to get him to stop.

With all the effort he put in, Sixer had perfect teeth. Canines a slight point, molars perfectly formed and cusps all in the right places. His bite was impeccable, perfectly even and practically reflected light when he smiled. Those teeth were now being used to bite and scrape along his fingers while he ran his hand over that organ most human males have. What was it called…a pancreas? Yeah, that was it. Sixer had a big one, too. He moved down off his perch to sit in the divot of Sixer’s hip. Sixer should really get out in the sun more, he was super pale. Red was a better look on him; like his cheeks. Sixer’s cheeks were beautifully red like fire, and the color was creeping up to his ears

Sixer didn’t do this often. He had watched enough humans to know that they did things like this a lot, way more than was necessary. It was bizarre; their bodies didn’t require them to do this, not like breathing and digesting, but humans seemed to engage in this kind of activity as though it kept them alive. Some even resorted to violence to get it; which was absolutely ridiculous, but there you have it. Humans were ridiculous, and bizarre and unnecessary. But his Sixer didn’t seem to have the same problems as other humans. His Sixer didn’t engage in this activity like other humans did, and certainly he didn’t seek out other humans to engage with. It was…intriguing. If even his pet was bound to this practice, then what was it like? What drew humans to do this so frequently as to develop whole parts of their culture around it? He was pulled out of his musings by the startled sounds coming from his puppet.

Sixer gasped, gripping his teeth together and following the motion of his hand with a jerk of his hips. The two fingers he had been sucking on now danced across his chest and started pinching at those vestigial nubs. Ford let out a particularly vocal sigh as his back arched and he followed through with a hip roll. It was enough for Bill, he wanted to see what was so great about prodding at oneself, and now was the perfect opportunity.

Bill entered Sixer’s mind, not possessing his body, just lingering on the edges of his consciousness, just present enough that if Ford stopped to pay any attention, he would notice. But it was unlikely that old Fordsy was going to notice anything right now. Not with the burly boxer hogging all his attention. Oh, Bill knew who it was, even if Sixer didn’t. Even if the face was blurry and the body was a bit slimmer than reality, and Sixer refused to call out a name. In Sixer's mind, The Boxer, (because that's what old Fordsy had taken to calling him) was over top of him, braced with one hand on the couch cushions and the other wrapped around Ford's pancreas. Was that right? Bill was sure before, but now it sounded wrong. Either way, The Boxer had taken one of Ford's chest lesions into his mouth and was licking it, mimicking Ford's actions in the physical world. In his mind, Ford had pulled their hips together by snaking one six fingered hand down The Boxer's shorts. Ford rolled his hips again and Bill heard The Boxer chuckle, voice like gravel and strangely muffled. Man, Sixer was really repressed, wasn't he? Bill could feel the lingering sense of intangible wrongness dance in the void around them, even as he continued to imagine tasting Pitt Cola on the man's lips. The lingering doubt was causing Ford to lose focus; The Boxer was flickering in and out and Ford's movements slowed.

Maybe he should gain IQ’s attention? He eased his way slowly into Ford's consciousness, sitting atop the faceless man's head and staring Ford dead in the eye. Or, would be, if Sixer would open those baby blues of his. The image was still flickering as Stanford again questioned why this fantasy felt so wrong. Bill sprawled out on The Boxer's brown hair and reached out a hand beeped Sixer's nose. Stanford's blue eyes snapped open, vision clearing for just a moment as the features of illusionary man above him came into focus. Bill couldn’t have that. He yanked on Sixer’s hair, bringing the human’s attention back to him, and blurring The Boxer’s face once again.

“Bill…?” The whisper boomed in the ether. With no eyebrow to speak of, Bill quirked his eyelid and gave Sixer an obvious apprising look before meeting the human’s gaze again. “Hey there, Smart Guy. Mind if I watch?” Though he posed it as a question, Bill made it very clear he was not asking permission as he made himself comfortable in the chocolate brown fluff on The Boxer’s head.

However, his perch flickered and vanished a moment later, sending him down to bounce on Sixer’s exposed torso, sitting between his…pectorals? – he really needed to brush up on his human anatomy, or humans in this dimension anyway – with his legs sprawled. He felt a vibration pass through him as Sixer chuckled.

“Still curious? I can give you a proper run down of all the biochemical reactions that are happening if you want.” Sixer had let go of himself, hands coming up to scoop up the tiny triangle and lift him back to a floating position above his left shoulder. Bill, with an indignant huff, squirmed out of Sixer’s grasp and plopped back down on on the bunch of Ford’s trousers.

“I’ll watch from here.”

“Uhhh, sure. Well, um, right now my body is reacting to mental stimulus and my parasympathetic nervous system is increasing my heart rate to increase blood flow to, erm…my…groin area, and the nerve endings are sending signals back to my brain to increase signal conduits in the area. It also is sending feedback on external stimulus, namely my hand, and the result is the release of nitric oxide into the blood stream around….the, uh…penis.” Yeah, yeah, he knew all that alre…wait, penis?

“I thought it was called a pancreas.” Wasn’t it?

“Umm, no,” Stanford seemed confused that Bill could get that wrong, “that’s the organ that sits below the liver and produces both digestive and cellular metabolism hormones.”

“Oh. Well how was I supposed to know what you humans call your parts. I don’t have any of that.” And possessing humans to get what he wanted didn’t count.

“Hence the lesson. Now where was I…oh, right, nitric oxide in the blood stream causes the spongy tissue…”

Bill tuned him out. He really did know all of this already. Theoretically, anyway. So, he was confused as to what organs belonged to which names; there were an infinite number of universes out there with an infinite number of organ combinations. He couldn’t keep track of everything. Sixer had trailed off in his scientific explanation, instead opting for biting back gasps as he picked up where he’d originally left off.

He could hell that Sixer was trying his best not to bring any fantasies to mind; smacking them away as quickly as they came into focus. It was adorable how much Sixer was trying to be scientific about this for him. But that wasn't why he was here. He knew what happened chemically, hormonally, and physically. He was here to try and experience what it felt like, why humans engaged in this activity so often as to prevent real scientific advancement. Why humans had purposefully stalled in the advancement of civilization because they couldn’t last a few days without finding a mate or spending an hour or four touching their bodies. Why Sixer was, dolefully, no exception. Did he expect Sixer to be an exception? No, not really, but he couldn’t deny that he had hoped. He held Stanford in high regards; no other puppet had been as intelligent, had kept his attention, had been as fun to be with as Stanford Pines. So, what did Sixer get out of this?

“And….ahhh, as the process continues, the heart rate and blood p-pressure continue to-to rise…and…”

“Hey, IQ. Why don’t you cut it with the commentary? I think some firsthand experience would work better.”

“Huh?” It was clear that Stanford had been reciting the process out of a memorized textbook and had not actually been focused on a proper explanation. “Oh, um, sure. Just…ahhhhhh, just take over when you think you want to. I’ll…ohhhhhhh….” But he didn’t finish, instead letting out a long sigh and rolling his hips, flinging Bill into the air. Stanford was close to the big finish Bill had seen in so many humans before. Now was the time.

In the final few moments before Stanford’s body arched, and his abdominal muscles tightened sending wave after wave of euphoria through his body and protein rich enzymes to coat his navel, Bill took control of Sixer’s body to ride out the orgasm. His control hadn’t lasted long, Sixer’s body passed out shortly after it begin to relax, ejecting Bill from the mind and back into the room as an astral projection. Even without a physical form, he still felt tingly, and light, and just overall like he imagined what coming through the portal would feel like. Okay, so maybe there was something to this mating thing after all.

It was less than a month later that they had their, ‘encounter’ in the mindscape, and Bill put his knowledge to good use. Stanford had been ecstatic.

*~*

Stan groaned in misery when he felt the heat in his jeans. Damnit. Well, guess pills aren’t gonna be a problem anytime soon. He did his best to adjust the position of his traitorous erection when he caught a whiff of tension wafting off of Ford and snaking like a genital caress into his mind. He slammed that window closed and kept his hands gripped to the very cold, very real, and very grounding metal railing until it hurt.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be like this. He could almost forgive his desire for Sixer as Bill - Sixer was his obsession and was so unique and fascinating, the one being who outsmarted him - but his human desires, while Sixer was his own flesh and blood? He couldn't forgive that. No one could. He couldn't tell you when it started, when he began to think of Stanford as something more than a brother. He does know that it went from hypothetical thoughts and fading dreams to continuous and agenizing need that plagued his every moment with thoughts so vivid and loud he was sure that Stanford would know he was obsessing over that fucking kiss.

What had Sixer been thinking? What had he been thinking? Sure, Sixer had offered, but Stan had said yes. Stan hadn't stopped it. Had been so God Damn ready to keep going when Ma had caught them. They had both been thinking about that couple they saw on the beach and trying to parse out what it might mean for them, but Stan couldn't let it go. And then Sixer had been so accommodating, so damned supportive, wanting to help Stan experience something in a safe place. Stan had lost himself that night. Lost every chance he may have had to get over his brother, lost himself in shame and guilt that swallowed him like quicksand. And he suffocated in it. Sixer had once called Stan suffocating; if he was, then Sixer was cutting off Stan’s air with twelve beautiful fingers. Because Stan’s feelings for Ford were crushing his throat, his chest, with their weight, with their revolting and biting claws like needles.

No, that wasn't true. Not exactly. Yes, Stan’s feelings were suffocating, but he had never really felt revulsion at them. Stan wanted to be repulsed by them, because maybe then there might be some hope of salvation. There might be some dignity, some humanity left clicking away in his ancient ticker. That maybe he was really human now, and finally deserving of redemption for everything he had done in a past life. But he didn’t. He wasn’t. He used to be. Back when he had been just a teen and had no fucking clue how the world actually worked and he’d been so scared of losing his best friend. He used to care, used to feel shame. But thirty years of living with these feelings, thirty years of loving someone – then to realize it’s been a hell of a lot longer – the bite of shame fades until even the dull ache is hardly noticeable. After thirty years of living in his brother’s house, reading his brother’s notes, and clinging to that last shred of hope that he might get his brother back from that hell, shame just hadn’t been a top priority. He’d put his qualms and apprehensions on the proverbial back burner, and the flames had just died with time.

It was only now that Stan knew that Stanford had his own misgivings about him. Bill had seen into Sixer's dreams, his twisted desires, those hidden from his conscious mind. Ford had…been possessive of Stan. Had fought with himself over how much he wanted to play into Stan’s loyalty. Not consciously, no, Sixer was sharp as a Carbon-18 Obsidian blade form Caladon 4, but the man was dumb as a post when it came to some simple observations. Sixer had wanted him. Wanted Stan, but was so immersed in the culture in the early 60’s that he hadn’t even recognized it. Instead, he had tried to escape Glass Shard, and thought Stan hadn’t known it at the time, had probably saved them both. Stan had been such a bad influence on his brother, always egging him on, encouraging them to get into trouble. It was no wonder that Stan’s feelings had, in a way, rubbed off on Sixer. He just didn't know how much it had bothered his brother until now. How much Sixer had been frightened by his indeterminant feelings. How much he ended up hating himself over it when he pushed Stan away.

They grew more and more distant after the night Ma caught them. Spending less time together, working less on the Stan 'O War, spending more time away from home, away from their room, away from Stan. When the science fair was announced and the seniors were asked to submit project ideas at the beginning of the year, Ford had thrown himself into it. Working endlessly in the library, the school shop and digging through discarded electrical components that Pops had decided were too far gone to even sell as salvage. Ford didn't even ask Stan to help welding the perpetual motion machine together even though Ford sucked at welding and machining was that only class Stan was passing. Stan should have known then that something was wrong, but he was too wrapped up in his own guilt and trying to squash his own feelings to see that his brother was pulling away from him.

Stanford's decision to distance himself from Stan had probably been the smartest thing he had ever done. Because Stan knows himself. Hates, detests, and loathes himself, every part of himself. But he does know himself. And he knows that he wouldn't be able to let Sixer go. Even if he wanted to try. Stan was weak, no sense of self control. He would have kept Stanford from the moment Sixer let him. Brother, or puppet, it didn't matter when, Stan and Bill would have kept Stanford for himself, forever. He was selfish, no amount of time or life changed that. He was selfish and had no self-discipline.

It took everything he had to sit himself down every night for thirty years and learn physics and mathematics to fix the portal. To learn how it worked. To build and program that damn bio-scanner. He's still not sure how he did that one; a whirlwind of freaky gnome herb inspired madness and he woke up with the plans and codes scribbled out on sheets of paper, cardboard, whatever he had handy. A few times while inputting the damn program code, he even had flashes of memories writing it. He once thought that he had been given help from some divine being, later thought to have been the same one that contacted his brother. The thought was so horribly laughable now.

It was so trippy, being segmented like this. Being, in a way, two people in one. There weren't two minds in his head, not two personalities, but the different set of memories that until recently had been separated, were clashing. Bill knew things about Stan and Sixer that Stan didn't, and having two different perspectives of the same events make his eyes twitch and he felt his eyes shift again. He'd given up trying to stop it from happening. There wasn't much of a point anymore; it used to bother Sixer, but like all things weird and anomalous, Stanford had just grown used to it.

Sixer had even stopped having nightmares. His subconscious mind was calm, his sleep uninterrupted. Stan had stopped meddling in Sixer’s dreams weeks ago. His brother slept soundly, still fell asleep watching Stan across the room. Stan still woke every morning looking into his brother’s eyes. Despite whatever happened during the day, the twilight hours before sleep and just after waking were calm, almost intimate between them. Stanford was almost like a different person then, treated Stan like Stan was different. Stan had woken one morning to Ford brushing the hair out of his eyes, Ford’s six fingers trailing over his brow and down his cheek. His fingertips felt electric on Stan’s skin. They had laid there, just watching one another until Stan had been overcome with the urge to pee and had gotten up, breaking the spell, and ruining the moment. Ford was in the main cabin when Stan was done. These quite moments between them, it was almost as if Ford still loved him. But Sixer didn't see Stan when he looked at him. No. Sixer saw Bill.

And Sixer loved him. Had loved Bill, still did. But Stan wasn't Bill anymore. He wasn't sure if he could be again, but even so, he didn't want to be. He didn't want to be that monster again. Remembering all the atrocities he committed, all the lives he had taken just because he was bored, it was all he could do to keep himself from falling apart.

Yes, Ford had wanted Stan, once upon a time. But he hadn’t recognized it for what it was, and instead had attributed it to feelings of possession and control, and had let the guilt and shame wash over him and then repressed it. Buried it in his subconscious waiting for Bill to find it. And as repressed as Ford was, part of him still thought about his brother and the possibility of what would have happened that night if they hadn’t been interrupted. A small part of him wanted Stan. But Sixer, despite everything, wanted Bill more. Stan wanted to be what his brother wanted, was willing to change if only Ford would love him, romantically, platonically, he didn't care. But this, becoming that beast again just to please his brother…he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. No force in heaven or Earth could make him be that monster again. Not even Stanford. Not even…

Stan was weak and selfish and undisciplined. He would break, it was only a matter of time.

But now was not the time to be worried about this. He had something special planned for Christmas for the twins and Poindexter. He had been practicing for days now, if he could pull this off, well, he hoped that maybe it would be enough to convince the kids that he was still himself. That he still loved them. That he still loved all of them. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night so as not to bother them on Christmas Eve. He should probably get some sleep if he could. Tomorrow night was going to wipe him out, but it was all going to be worth it.

Chapter 1

#whole again #Stanley Pines #stancest #stanowar #stanford pines #billford #bill cipher #stanisbill #billisstan #sea grunks

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ultradoggyblog · 5 years ago

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8 Definite Signs Your Dog Is Spoiled

You might be thinking, “I guess my dog is spoiled rotten”. We get it! Our dogs are incredibly cute and are our fur babies. We love and treasure them like our youngsters . You definitely want the simplest for your canine friend, but if any of the subsequent is true, then your dog could be spoiled. Signs Your Dog is just too Spoiled So how does one know if your dog is spoiled? And what’s the simplest thanks to spoil your dog without taking it too far? Here are eight signs your pet is just too spoiled and what you'll do about it:

1. Your Dog Is Overweight or Obese

Most dog breeds are food driven, and lots of training methods recommend rewarding your dog with treats for his or her good behavior. Unfortunately, some pet parents tend to overdo it. they're going to sometimes give their petfood treats when an easy praise word is enough. they could also offer too many treats at the incorrect time or directly . Some dog owners can also be tempted to feed table scraps to their dogs. This might affect them physically and mentally also . Physically, your dog finishes up becoming overweight or obese, which makes them susceptible to a number of health problems, including joint issues, diabetes and cancer. Mentally, your dog senses that he's in complete control. This mentality makes life extremely difficult for you and your pet. Spoiled Beagle Dog

2. Your Dog Constantly Misbehaves

Another sign that your dog may be a spoiled brat is constant misbehavior. A spoiled pet already knows that he can do anything he sets his mind to. Dog misdemeanors are often taught and reinforced by their owners who simply don’t correct them at an early enough stage. Pet parents should teach themselves to mention no. This mentality leads to poor dog behaviors, like pulling on leash, and not obeying basic commands. This puts your dog in danger because you never skills he will react in several situations. Such dogs often escape from their owners and might refuse to return back when called. If such a thing happens during a busy street or once they encounter a wierd dog, then your dog might be in peril .

3. Your Dog Is Aggressive Or Overprotective

While some breeds are naturally protective of their family or territory, many dogs that are overprotective are just spoiled little brats. We all know those sorts of dogs who will bark at everyone and everything that gets within their area. Some will even bite or nip if someone, even their owners, tries to urge something faraway from that area. This bad behavior may be a results of poor socialization and bad behavior reinforced over time. ALSO READ: 13 Common Training Mistakes and the way to repair Them

4. Your Pet Sleeps in Your Bed. Your Partner Doesn’t

Studies have shown that owners are spending more on their dogs than ever before. This is because they're not just pets; they're a part of our families, so more and more people are opting to share an equivalent bed with their pets. However, once you want to share the bed with somebody else , they begin barking and growling like there's an intrusion. this is often a sure-fire thanks to tell that your pup is spoiled. Our dogs should recognize their place within the house. they ought to also sleep in their own dog beds, not yours. Dogs are naturally wired to be protective of their territory, so it's going to negatively affect your sexual love if he doesn’t want your spouse to share the bed with him. dog sleeping comfortably

5. You Spend far more Money on Your Dog Than on Yourself

If all of your focus is simply on your dog, it'd not work. Let’s be clear here. It’s commendable that you simply spend tons of cash on your pet, especially if you've got a special needs pet that needs special care and a spotlight , food and regular vet checkups. However, If you’re spending an obscene amount of cash on numerous accessories, outfits and other random pointless stuff on your pet, it's going to be time to prevent taking it too far. Does your dog actually require all those items a day of the week? Obviously not! If you’re spending extra money on your dog than on your own self or your kids, then you would like to try to to some serious reflection.

6. Your Dog Loves Only You

Another indication that your pet is perhaps spoiled is that he only behaves properly when he's near you. Does your pooch growl, snap, bite and lunge towards people whenever you're taking him out, but he's overly friendly to you? This could be a personality trait, but in most cases, it's because the pet wasn't properly socialized from a young age. By socializing your dog, he will learn to urge along side people and animals. If your pet is just too reliant on you, he could develop issues like separation anxiety due to inability to function properly without you. Sale

7. You Spend Way an excessive amount of Time together with your Pet

Do you cancel dates to travel hang around together with your pet? does one feel guilty whenever you allow home without your dog? Is your dog your closest friend? does one have a photograph of your dog as your screensaver? does one hold long, serious conversations together with your pet because you think that he clearly understands you? Yes, pets are great companions and sometimes, they will even be better companions than humans because they're always loyal and don't judge you. However, you owe it to yourself to talk to people . Spending time together with your dog is reassuring , but they also need some space. ALSO READ: the way to Train A Stubborn Dog (12 Easy Tips)

8. You Give Your Dog Everything on a Silver Platter

Once again, we get it. It feels so good to spoil our pets. We always want to offer our dogs the simplest . But there's a difference between providing our dogs with the simplest toys, food, accessories and other amenities, and giving them everything on a silver platter. that's why some issues arise. That’s when your pet has no boundaries and doesn't respect people . He tends to try to to whatever he wants whenever he wants. this is often really common and both small and tiny dogs get spoiled. Pet owners do make some major mistakes when trying to spoil their dogs. they only make it very easy for his or her dogs to misbehave. However, you would like to prevent overdoing it because which will actually do more harm than good to your dog. Lack of clear rules or boundaries can cause insecurity and anxiety during a pet. Without a firm leader present, your dog can assume the responsibility of being on top of things . this will even cause aggression. And most dogs don’t need this responsibility. Dogs feel much happier with a firm leader guiding them. which leader should be you. girl hugging an outsized dog

How do you have to Spoil Your Dog? (8 Tips)

Maybe you’re thinking “my dog is spoiled. So what? i really like my dog such a lot . What’s the large deal?” A lot of pet parents actually think this manner . However, what you'll consider ‘loving or spoiling your dog’ might not necessarily be what your dog may consider ‘loving’. it's going to be an equivalent as smothering your dog. Our dogs aren't citizenry . they need different feelings, instincts and behaviors. So, how are you able to show your dog you're keen on him without taking it too far? Here are some ways to point out your dog you're keen on him and care about him that won’t have a negative impact on his health and life. In fact, they will improve it. 1 – Give out treats sparingly Your dog are going to be even as happy to receive a bite-size food treat as a bigger biscuit. Giving out bigger treats too freely can actually make training harder that it should be. Also, avoid giving out treats for no reason in the least . this might also make your dog fat and unhealthy. 2 – Give your canine friend a frozen treat on those hot summer days. 3 – Get some interactive dog toys and spend a while every day twiddling with your furry friend. 4 – Provide soft and cozy beds for your dog. 5 – Provide your dog with top quality petfood and fresh beverage every day . 6 – Give your pet a massage, especially if he likes to be cuddled. this may help him relax and relieve any sore muscles. 7 – Take your Dog for walks, hikes or for romps at the dog park. 8 – Bake your own dog treats. There are many recipe ideas for straightforward and healthy homemade dog treats available online to assist get your creative juices flowing. Total Words: 1442 Check Plagiar

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surrendertotherush · 7 years ago

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》 Tristan’s death

Fear always crawled up and down his spine when the alarm rang in the station. Men, soldiers of every place where human race adapted to, ran to change their clothes into their uniform suits, the Bridge went on high alert, techs and medical officers prepared for the worst; the alarm and red lights reminded them and everyone else of the cold reality: they were in war.

Keep your mind cool. The voice at the back of his head spoke. You've done this many times before. Reassurance came from his confidence in his skills and on the trust he placed over his partner rather than from any perspective of actually coming back. We can do it.

Isolde and Tristan had been together for far longer than most of the other duos would ever begin to think of being. They were a highly improbably match of navigator and fighter, the complete opposites and the same at the same time, bickering was a constant when they were out in combat. Looking from outside one could swear they'd kill each other in the first chance they got -- even some commanders dared to ask if either was in for a reassignment, only to be answered with a solid negative response. Two highly trained soldiers of completely different natures, paired together and still working out. They were the elite, capable to put their differences aside whenever duty called, just to go all the way back later. And still, a secret lingered beneath the surface: Isolde and Tristan were lovers. They were the secret weapon of the Alliance, the only ones with a bond so strong the Colteron technology answered to them.

With his uniform changed into his Starfighter suit, Isolde made his way to start the navi-system and engines of their ship.

"Where are you, Tristan?" He whispered under his breath as the ships moved to their formation and the fighter didn't show any signal of coming around. "C'mon, man" This is no time to be fooling around!"

One could only come to imagine how relieved the navigator was when he heard the clutter at the fighter's side of the spaceship opened and a man slid in, fully dressed up and having the helmet of the suit on and covering his face.

"You're late, silly." Isolde teased once he saw they were all set to go and aligned them with the rest of the squadron; for some reason, however, a shiver ran down his spine.

The lack of a retort to the taunt threw Isolde into an uncomfortable zone, Tristan never was that quiet; he wouldn't apologize, ever, not for being late like that, but he did respond and snorted, even teased back. However, there was nothing thrown back at him, no word or laughter, it was silence. Cold and distant silence.

Perhaps things didn't go well at his side? Maybe something happened and Tristan's good mood went away.

"Uhm... Tristan, are you alright?" He attempted to reach out for his partner with a much more soothing voice. "Did something happen?"

Still no answer.

A cold sensation spread over Isolde's body and made his stomach sink in, a sensation that made him think he'd puke on the navigation panel.

Still, the defense formation launched and soon enough the Reliant was engaged in battle... Just to have the worst performance ever.

"Tristan, for fucks sake, man! Shoot those bitches down!" Yelled him after the sixth time the Starfighter lined up with a Colteron ship and the fighter missed his target. "What're you trying to do?"

The bad feeling in him sank deeper once his eyes had a glance over the vital readings of the colonist's body. Numbers far too different from the normal readings showed there. Tristan, his fighter and lover, would never have status like that, he trusted his navigator with all of his body, he'd be excited, there should be a completely different reading there, not the one Isolde read on at the corner of his screen.

After aligning the Reliant more two times and the fighter only hitting their target once, Isolde swallowed dry and pulled the ship to the back line for a moment.

"State your task name, cadet." He finally asked as he watched the compatibility logs drop drastically within each second that passed by.

A timid answer came through the speakers and Isolde felt his head to be too heavy to be over his neck. That wasn't his partner's voice, it was far younger than any of them, insecure of his skills and clearly afraid of dying out there. It probably was his first time in an open combat.

"Please, tell me your navigator isn't that newbie that always freezes when left alone in a fight." Another question as he, in the condition of being an elite navigator had authorization to see the records of the new recruits when they updated their V.R. simulations; he bore in his mind the list of those that could work good but needed some extra training and those who were far from being qualified to fly and still got pushed in the heat of battles in order to make numbers and be decoys so the more experienced flighters could keep their killing scores.

The response to his question, as expected, wasn't one Isolde wanted to hear. Tristan wouldn't last long with a coy navigator like that one, they'd be killed if left to their luck and -- for sure -- he knew, they'd be left unattended.

As panic rushed through his veins amidst his survival instincts and wish to protect not only this new fighter, that for some reason was shoved there with him, but his own partner as well, Isolde did his best to navigate the Reliant through the sea of laser cannons and explosions in front of them, playing the decoy for the rest of the squadron and attracting some of the Colteron ships to themselves.

The intercom was a mess of voices ordering him to stop and others asking if he, finally, went crazy. All were tones he recognized from the command bridge to the Alliance ships around his, but none from the one man he hoped to hear from.

"Task name Tristan, answer me!" He finally ordered and a two second silence made itself present in the intercom before all the noise came back again.

Someone tampered at the bridge so his communication with the ship where his official fighter was, wouldn't be possible. To such realization, Isolde's panic became anger.

How could he ever understand what any of the commanders wanted to prove by separating them? Tristan and Isolde were like the dream team for the Alliance, two highly trained soldiers with extreme levels of compatibility and that could activate the jump drive piece installed on their ship. What else could the men ordering them around want? What did they have to prove by separating them? Was there any accomplishment to come of that?

Questions and more questions emerged in his mind as Isolde navigated and, desperately, tried to find the other spaceship where his partner should be. If they could be around, even if in different Starfighters, he knew they could find their way out of whatever mess their superiors placed them into.

"Hey! Try to relax, man." The elite navigator directed his words to the fighter with him. "I won't let you get hurt."

Right after those words, the younger man showed some changes in his reading and Isolde smiled. They both were feeling out of place and somewhat lost.

"Shoot them." He instructed while hiding his preocupied tone under a serene one. "I'm not used to you, but I know this ship; the Reliant responds to me. So trust in my skills like I do to yours. We can make it out of this if you can trust in me."

Trust was what based Isolde's and Tristan's relationship and powered up their love, consequently driving them to want to protect each other. A feeling and relationship that ran way down and into their bones, thicker than any fling either ever had.

Yes, Isolde couldn't fake his feeling of desorientation once he wasn't paired with the man that was his match for a little more than five years at that point, but he still wanted to protect whoever sat on the head of the spaceship and all those soldiers he traveled with.

Hopefully it will be enough. His thoughts went on as he saw the jump drive would be necessary if he intended to make the way back to the station -- the jump drive or one hell of a big luck.

The Reliant responded to the bond forged between it's fighter and navigator due to the Colteron technology in it. One small piece that asnwered to the thrust one placed on the other and how both wanted more than anything else to protect their counterpart. Feelings that would hardly ever be present in a just started pairing who didn't know a thing about each other.

Isolde was puzzled by all of that, however, there was nothing he could do and try to contact the bridge or his superiors through the intercon would be just reckless and far from professional. Still, the elite navigator made a mental note to bring the topic up to the navigator's commander at the first chance he had.

And as they went on around the battlefield, suddenly, all of Isolde's thoughts halted. In the intercon another ship warned of one of them being hit, but they couldn't see how bad the damage was nor if the fighter or navigator were hurt.

With their own battle going on, the elite navigator couldn't turn around and go rescue the other ship nor it was possible to request support to them as the fleet had their hands quite full with at least six or seven Colteron ships to deal with on their own.

He dreaded the circumstances in hand, sill, at least the recruit with him lost part of his insecurity and shooted to kill the enemies -- that was a good start to ensure their way back to safety, not perfect, but better than nothing.

"Aim for their engines if you can't take a clear shot of the cabin. The thrusters are a good option too." Instructions he didn't think were necessary, but a friendly reminder would never kill, even more for a man who was clearly still getting the hold of the situation. "Hey! You're doing great!" A complementing cumpliment for the effort he could see the other did even in front of the adversity in hands. "We'll make out of this alive."

He believed they could survive and certainly would do all to ensure it. A confidence that, apparently, contagiated the younger fighter as he respondede with a loud 'hell yeah!' and put even more effort on his aim to don't lose more targets. The guy, certainly, wasn't half-bad once he felt secure in his position, no elite level, but promising for a newcoming recruit, he could grow to be one of the best in his squad if given the proper time and training -- and maybe some minor scolding when he took wrong decisions.

Concentrate, Isolde! The Elite navigator yelled to himself once the spaceship passed through a cloud formed by the explosion of a Colteron ship and navigated all the way to pull a maneuver to line up the Reliant with the enemy that was behind them.

"Hold on there, dude! We're going for a minor stunt!" That was all he had time to say before turning the ship around in a hundred and eighty degrees curve upwards. "Take down their thrusters!"

The fighter hesitated for a moment as he wasn't used to that way of navigation; that was exclusive to more experienced navigators and, for the most, only elite navigators with the same time in service as Isolde. However, after that moment, he snapped out completely and went on with a full attack more open on the Colteron spaceship.

"Can you keep up with this pace?"

A question to which the fighter gave a positive answer and soon enough there was nothing standing on their way as both finally found a middle ground with how they'd do things from there on.

Isolde could never put in words how relieved he felt to be when the number of Colterons diminished and the command tower came into the intercom to order part of them to retreat -- among the many ships names, the Reliant and the one of his impromptu fighter were called back.

Some hope crossed his chest when the thought that they were called back because someone noticed the swapped fighter and navigator in the ships came to his mind. A last trace of hope for him as goosebumps took over most of his system with each and every variable he thought that could be a reason to mismatch them.

The Alliance didn't have real motives to have Isolde and Tristan change partners. No reasons aside from one: they were lovers.

My communication was blocked for the whole time though. Oh he wanted to believe it was an accident, some sort of malfunction or maybe an inexperienced new navigator was taking care of that but... nothing could quiet that little voice echoing at the back of his mind. Isolde was way too experienced to believe in accidents like that. At the very least someone received an order to cut and and all communication between the Reliant and the other ships of the fleet. Nothing in all of that was an accident.

Alas, when the ship stopped in its station, Isolde didn't lose a second to open the clutter and leave the Reliant behind to go look for his partner.

The sense of dread only grew in him by the time he saw the ship where Tristan should be had burnt parts near the main engine and one of the thrusters was in bad shape. However, what really set him off was when his lilac eyes saw the navigator be removed from there by two medics and there was no signal of the elite fighter.

Some seconds more and all of his hopes were gone once his eyes stopped on the broken windows on the head of the spaceship. The cabin was exposed and destroyed by the damage caused by an explosion.

Panic lavished over him as Isolde climbed up the ship and manually opened the clutter from outside.

"Tristan..." He called among pants and had no answer from the man he found inside.

The man's body was flat on the seat, his hands that held firmly on the triggers laid by his side, head dropped for being too heavy for his neck to hold up in place. Blood covered the panels, glass pierced his limbs and no reactions were shown.

The elite navigator knew well what that meant, deep down he understood, but there was a part of him which refused to accept and that brought his hands to embrace the body. His face hid on the neck of the man, inhaling the scent he acknowledged as one of his favorites and feeling the skin still lukewarm and soft.

He called again... One more time... Repeatedly he spoke the name of his partner, both the birthname and task name to no answer. And so he broke and cried, strangled calls still slipping out of his lips in low tones as he clinged to the responseless man.

Hope turned to bitterness. Joy into sadness. He cursed the day the two of them were introduced, for now all those days and moments of happiness would be a weight for him to carry alone, together with his anger, pain and dellusion.

And finally his living body was taken away from the one in the cabin and dragged all the way to the commander's office. He cried as truth settled down. Isolde slowly started to accept he'd never be the same again. Part of him died with Tristan.

#》headcanons #//sorry for no read more xnx #//tumblr isn't allowing me to put it under read more for some unknown reason xnx

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igsy-blog · 8 years ago

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reTHG: The Hunger Games - Chapters Five and Six: Cinnabar and Sulfur

I’m going to start talking about John Granger again, now, and I’m not sure how much I want to preface all this with his literary alchemy theory, which is extensive and interesting and extensive. To be honest, he puts in a lot of work - a lot that was useful for my personal understanding and enjoyment - to come up with a fairly pedestrian conclusion: The Hunger Games is a series about the hero’s transformation through a variety of trials and separations. For my taste, he dives too deeply into a religious reading in order to accomplish this; but his history - he’s strongly associated with Harry Potter criticism - is to fit contemporary popular YA fiction into The Canon, and all its traditionalist rules. Which on the one hand, is helpful - The Canon is a consistent, if troubled, repository of literary thought and philosophy - and on the other hand can be frustrating.

In fact, much as I cite his work, I tend to disagree with his conclusions.

I particularly disagree with his vague conclusions about the political storyline of THG (I think he’s arguing it’s a libertarian work, essentially); and criticism of the secular and the postmodern. For me, the breaking-down of the heroine is the beginning AND the ending of the trilogy - the promise of “transformation” ultimately is the false ending of the game, a pat, old-fashioned ending that Collins avoids when she burns off Katniss’ “wings” and refuses to let her grow new ones. In particular, I think Granger deliberately overlooks one important (and feminist) element in our hero’s journey that happens nearly every time she reaches a transformative moment: they are marked by a new point in her sexual awakening. And these are not moments of moral stumbling, temptation to be overcome or even a necessary evil. They are free of the judgement of Eden (they are not entirely free of the judgements of the boys, both Gale and Peeta, but Katniss dismisses their right to judge her).

But I do enjoy the bricks and mortar of Granger’s literary alchemy theory, and I’m going to use it to both agree with and depart from his conclusions.

To simplify it way down - you can understand a number of fictional works, in particular the hero’s journey, through the author’s use (deliberate, he argues, but I would imagine it could also be subconscious) of The Great Work, the Magnum Opus of alchemy, as a metaphorical roadmap (to this he seems to owe a great deal to Jung). The end result of the Magnum Opus is the Philosopher’s stone, the substance that creates the elixir of life and transforms base metals into gold. A work of fiction using the Magnum Opus as an outline would see its hero transformed through a variety of trials and processes - marked by symbols, in particular color-coded symbols, reflecting the alchemical stages - to emerge a transformed being on the other side.

The alchemical stages used by Granger are:

nigredo, a blackening or melanosis (through decomposition or putrefaction, breaking down the initial ingredient down to its base material - a spiritual death)

albedo, a whitening or leucosis (purification of the base material; separation of it into two opposing elements in preparation for coagulation in the final stage)

rubedo, a reddening, purpling, or iosis (unification of opposites into the final form, the Philosopher’s stone)

Granger leaves out the sometimes-cited third stage, between albedo and rubedo:

citrinitas, a yellowing or xanthosis (It was one of the four major stages of the alchemical magnum opus, and literally referred to "transmutation of silver into gold" or "yellowing of the lunar consciousness."In alchemical philosophy, citrinitas stood for the dawning of the "solar light" inherent in one's being, and that the reflective "lunar or soul light" was no longer necessary.)

I find this unused stage very interesting and will return to this much, much later. But for the sake of the trilogy, Granger uses the nigredo, albedo and rubedo stages - that not only does each book contain each of these stages in it (sometimes several times); each of the three books represents one of the three stages itself. (This tripled-triplets thing is also a big deal in alchemy, and Granger takes the trilogy’s structure as another clue as to its alchemical inspiration.)

The Hunger Games represents the first, the nigredo phase, in this reading. Granger makes the argument that the prevailing color of the work is black, as represented by the coal of District 12, the base material from which Katniss (and Peeta) are to be transformed. In Chapter 6, Effie unconsciously makes this connection - and prophecy - herself:

“Everyone has their reservations, naturally. You being from the coal district …. ‘Well, if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns to pearls!”

By being Reaped - symbolically killed - Katniss has entered the breaking-down phase. She is “remade” to “Beauty Base Zero,” (as she’ll describe it later), and meets Cinna naked, except for the dressing of her hair - her distinctive braid that Cinna orders left intact. Granger points out that Cinna recalls cinnabar, the red form of mercury, a key element in all phases of the opus, particularly the putrefaction and purification phases. Mercury is a mysterious and all-pervasive actor in this process:

“Given that Mercury was the only known substance which demonstrated an inherent talent for solve et coagula (meaning to dissolve and coagulate, or separate and join together) by amalgamating other metals, it came to be seen as the rebis or hermaphrodite, as well as symbol for alchemy in its entirety.

“Mercury’s numinous and animating spirit was protean; it couldn’t be seen or touched, yet it pervaded elementary processes which unravelled through a twofold struggle between philosophical sulphur and argent vive. On one hand it was the vitriol, the poison or the vinegar that killed the plant, mineral or metal in the alembic and reduced it to a putrefying mass, and on the other it was the water that washed over the dead residue or ashes and resurrected it anew.”

Paul Kirtisis “The Magnum Opus”

Mercury combines with sulphur (Haymitch, in Granger’s reading) to move the base material through it’s phases (which includes being broken down to the prima materia of mercury, sulfur and salt).

“Cinna is not a ‘Minor Character‘ of the series .... He is, as alchemical mercury, the agent of Katniss’ transformation in conjunction with Haymitch Abernathy, the story’s sulfuric transparency.

“This isn’t just an argument based on the association of Cinna and Cinnabar-mercury, though, like Romeo and Juliet’s Mercutio and Harry Potter’s Hermione, that sort of name marker is hard to overlook. Mercury in the alchemical work represents the feminine and intellectual pole of aspect in opposition and coordination with the more masculine and passionate or willful pole.”

-John Granger, “Cinna the Mysterious”

The alchemical process is a series of these breaking-down and recombining stages, so one reading the work through this lens should expect this to be reflected in the main character going through many phases of personal deconstruction and reconstruction … in this case, you can measure it more literally by the constant falling-apart and joining of Katniss and Peeta throughout the text: which is interesting. Peeta’s a lot more than a love interest and slightly more than a sidekick in this series. He’s essentially of the same base material as Katniss and ultimately has to be rejoined to her - and during the times of their separation, he goes through his own transformative journey (though in the end, it is again by being completely broken down). His journey is reliant on and in service to hers, but it is also distinct and his own. It starts with his timidity (expressed again at the end of the tribute parade) and leads through his early understanding of the nature of the self in the games to his decision to sacrifice himself, his journey with the Careers and his negotiation of the romance in the cave.

Katniss and Peeta undergo the entire alchemical process right away, in miniature: from being joined by the reaping, separated by suspicion on the train and sent separately to purification in the Remake center, to being rejoined in the fire of the tribute parade, by the end of which two minor transformations take place. First, Peeta finally opens his mouth on his feelings for the girl and dares to compliment her to her face. Then, Katniss passes through the first of her transformative phases, her body responding to this compliment with a rush of warmth - only the first time this feeling, marking a change, or transformation, in her relationship with him will occur.

Since, simultaneously, she has determined that her popularity with the crowd gives her a chance to win the game, she immediately rejects this feeling and resists Peeta’s implicit invitation to join him, reminding herself that he is her enemy - and then she one-ups him. Because she thinks he is a deceiver, his compliments meant as lies to weaken her, she becomes the deceiver in turn, kissing him coyly on his bruise, as if to accept his compliment. (This action is more remarkable the more you think about it, considering Katniss’ previous very private and guarded persona. Behind the layers of confusion caused by her inability or unwillingness to read Peeta’s sincerity, there must be a desire to do this thing: translate her first experience of a physical reaction to a boy’s compliment into her first kiss of said boy.)

So, it is not surprising that Peeta, whose words were sincere, interprets that she has accepted his invitation and continues to treat her as his ally. He bails her out of the trouble she steps into by addressing the Avox, then takes her to the roof - where the wind chimes mysteriously promote a sense of privacy - to ask her the real story. While the roof encounter has the trappings of the end of a date - there’s a bit of corrosion at work in this new joining of the pair into false allies. Again, Katniss frames her decision to confide in Peeta on the premise that she can deceive him into believing her his friend. And Peeta’s questioning includes a testing of the water, a roundabout way to figure out her relationship with Gale.** In the background of all this deception, Katniss feels herself to be judged by the girl with red hair, who knows a truth about Katniss of which she is deeply ashamed; who forces her to acknowledge the self-deception she has been practicing about her complicity in the girl’s capture and her brother’s death.

**While Chapter 2 gives us most of what we need to know about Peeta via his backstory, I consider Chapter 6 very important in understanding him in general. First, he’s incredibly observant - at least as far as Katniss is concerned - and quick-witted in a crisis. Second, his sensitivity to Gale’s place in Katniss’ life is very keen and has involved a bit of wilful self-deception on his part - his hope that Gale is, in fact, her cousin. The act of putting his jacket on her, though certainly a manifestation of politeness, is also a tentative act of claiming her, a thing he is not ever going to be able to do, except in the deception of the star-crossed lovers strategy.

Notes/References:

I first ran into John Granger’s work via the HP for Grownups Yahoo group, which was a vast and impressive fandom of speculators, engaging in a kind of freewheeling and fun literary criticism I had never seen before. It had a crazy-amazing RP element, wherein various “ships” would engage in battle on Theory Bay; and you could not swing a cat in that group without hitting some remarkable, Rowlingesque acronyms for various pet theories : L.O.L.L.I.P.O.P.S. forever! (I don’t recall if Granger posted there or was just cited extensively.)

“The philosopher's stone is created by the alchemical method known as The Magnum Opus or The Great Work. Often expressed as a series of color changes or chemical processes, the instructions for creating the philosopher's stone are varied. When expressed in colors, the work may pass through phases of nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, and rubedo. When expressed as a series of chemical processes it often includes seven or twelve stages concluding in multiplication, and projection.”

Wikipedia “The Philosopher’s Stone”

“The Great Work (Latin: Magnum opus) is an alchemical term for the process of working with the prima materia to create the philosopher's stone. It has been used to describe personal and spiritual transmutation in the Hermetic tradition, attached to laboratory processes and chemical color changes, used as a model for the individuation process, and as a device in art and literature. The magnum opus has been carried forward in New Age and neo-Hermetic movements which sometimes attached new symbolism and significance to the processes. It originally had four stages:[1][2]

nigredo, a blackening or melanosis

albedo, a whitening or leucosis

citrinitas, a yellowing or xanthosis

rubedo, a reddening, purpling, or iosis

Wikipedia. “Magnum Opus”

Further information: Alchemy in art and entertainment

Sometimes an artist's magnum opus is modeled around the alchemical magnum opus. More than simple mention of alchemy within the story, novels like Finnegans Wake[11] follow the process of transmutation, weaving their entire narrative with alchemical symbolism.[12] The scholarly journal Cauda Pavonis, which had been published out of various universities since 1980, explored these connections in art and literature. Recently, John Granger has used the phrase literary alchemy to describe these trends in popular fiction, such as the Harry Potter series.[13]

#rethg #side-stroll through obscure literary criticism

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nemesis-nexus · 8 years ago

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Full Snow Bone Hunger Moon Sermon Hail Marduk, Interstellar Guardian of this Plane and Father to us all, hear us! There are many things that are set to occur tonight but the thing that is happening already is a serious violation of your creation and I don't mean just the Earth itself, I mean your children are suffering at the hands of those who have grown so corrupt that they are blinded by pure greed and indifference to life! It would be easy enough to blast all the guilty parties but what I want to focus on is building the collective energy of all those who stand for the Earth, this cosmic island which we rely on to survive as individuals but also as a species and even more importantly as a part of the Great Web of Life! When the Earth was nearing completion, the war between the Ancient Ones Tiamat and Apsu, their armies and the New Gods Enki and Marduk and their armies was raging. The one thing that threatened not only the Earth but existence itself was Tiamat, the Chaos Snake-Dragon! As much as Enki knew that magic would not defeat her and Marduk knew brute force would not kill her, they still rose up and did battle with her in the name of PROTECTING THE SACRED! When they were engaged in combat with her they knew there was a possibility that they might not survive but they also knew that if they stood by and did NOTHING that not only would they not survive but that nothing and no one else would either! Even more to the point they knew that they themselves would be responsible for not doing everything in their power to stop it because when all is said and done the destruction caused by the Snake-Dragon would eliminate ALL life that she came into contact with! Knowing what they did they did, did they throw their hands up and say that all hope was lost? Did they bow down to the idea that she was the Creatrix and therefore reserved the right to do as she pleased? Did they tell everyone else in their armies to attack anyone who resisted Tiamat's rage? NO! Why? Because they ALSO knew that being the Creatrix did not entitle her to annihilate everything and everyone JUST because ONE person betrayed her! They would not bow down because to do so was to accept death without opposition, they would not cast down their swords nor throw up their hands in defeat because they knew that the outcome of the battle was NOT just about THEM but ALL ELSE as well! Enki did what he could with his great and powerful Magick and when he realized that his part was over Marduk stepped forth and continued to fight back and dismantled Tiamat's army! When Marduk had successfully subdued Tiamat he knew he could not kill her, she IS a Goddess after all therefore she is immortal, so he did the next best thing, he split her into one and two halves. What I mean but that is that when he fired Enki's magic arrow down her throat and "severed her heart in twain" what he really did was separated her Spirit from her Flesh sending her Spirit back into the Cosmos while he severed her body in half, sending the tail end to wrap around what we now call the Milky Way and the head was cast down to complete the Earth itself. I have stated this before but if you look at the word Earth, you will notice that it is actually an anagram for Heart - in other words the Earth is where the Heart of the Dragon lays "Dead But Dreaming" - and since we all know Death is NOT just a physical thing, we know that Tiamat is for all intents and purposes still alive! Marduk was exalted to the level of Supreme Being because of his heroic actions defeating Tiamat and stopping her blind slaughter in its tracks and was later known as the Adversary who rose in opposition to the Creator AKA Satan. Satan is no more guilty of Inciting A Riot than ANY of the Water Protectors and had he been treated by Anu or even Enki the way that the Water Protectors are being treated - being told to stand down rather than rising up - by the current authorities, not only would the outcome of the battle been a WHOLE LOT DIFFERENT, but nothing would have remained except possibly the Snake! Tonight is the night of the Full Snow Bone Hunger Moon and we are in a very similar situation with a snake that stands to be equally as destructive if it is not stopped! We all have the choice to stand by and just let it happen OR to be inspired by Marduk's actions and rise to the occasion to resist the selfish and arrogant egos that are once again threatening the Earth as well as everyone and everything on it! We have the choice to say there is nothing we can do because the enemy is too powerful or too strong or has too many tin soldiers who are all too willing to shoot people in the back among other things and we have no way to combat them when we KNOW this is not true! We have the TRUTH! We have the WILL! We have the POWER! We have the SPIRIT! They can NOT match us because they can't even rise up to meet us! They are hoping that they will drag us down to their level and the more we RESIST, the more frustrated and pissed off they get! THIS is our power, our strength and our defiance! This is us coming together NOW just as Marduk, Enki and the rest came together THEN to fight back against another Snake! Our Power does not lay in senseless violence, this is why SO many people the world over have joined in solidarity and have been voicing their support QUITE LOUDLY, because they too are sick of the violence that is engulfing the whole planet and for what? BLACK SNAKES! Just because the Snake may not be slithering around your neck of the woods DOES NOT mean that it WILL NOT affect you when it BITES! Even if the water it contaminates is nowhere near you DOES NOT mean that something you purchase WON'T be poisoned, remember the state of the Gulf Coast after the Deepwater Horizon disaster! The marine life was toxic and could not be sold, as a result the economy of places such as Louisiana and Mississippi, as well as Florida suffered! The destruction was even more severe to the WATER and the EARTH as well as all other life forms that came into contact with the oil! This is why it is necessary for all of us to come together in defense of the Water and Earth, to show our Father who could have just as easily given up and let the Snake of HIS time get their way, that we will NEVER back down no matter what because like him, WE will emerge triumphant! Our Power is in our deep Spiritual Connection to the Elements; Earth, Air, Fire and Water as well as our Connection to the Unseen and the Multiversal Qi! Our Power is in knowing that what you SEE is NOT what you get, that there is more going on than our physical eyes can see, ears can hear or hands can touch! Our Power is knowing the value of life and death in equal measure and in not allowing ourselves to be corrupted by greed or materialism! This does not mean we can't want or acquire material things, it simply means we don't LIVE to acquire them and we certainly will not KILL people or animals or DESTROY the environment in pursuit of them! We know that both Light and Dark MUST be kept in Balance or else EVERYTHING dissolves into chaos in which NOTHING can survive! If anyone thinks they can live in a state of CONSTANT chaos, please attempt to reside in your nearest active volcano crater and let us know how it worked out for you! Our Power is being better than out enemy who thinks that we are nothing, they are not only wrong but they will realize that there is more than one way to skin a cat! That just because we won't come charging over the hill with guns blazing DOESN'T mean that something ISN'T coming their way that is not only going to disrupt things, but is ultimately going to knock them on their asses! True power comes from within because that power is perpetual and everlasting whereas power that comes from without eventually dries up and becomes nonexistent, this is because that type of power is reliant on other people's money to purchase physical weaponry, armor, vehicles etc... If you rely on solely on that kind of power then when you no longer possess it you will be completely powerless, however, if you build up your personal power and spiritual prowess then you will ALWAYS have the upper hand because NO ONE can take that away from you no matter how many rubber bullets then shoot you in the back with or how much poison they rain down on you or how much they soak you in subfreezing temperatures! As much as they like to think they are in control and how much sick pleasure they might take in the cruelty they treat people with, they are going to find out they are no match for our collective will, our collective strength, our collective ability to make things happen that they can't explain and can't counter because they don't possess the kind of power that really matters! They also do not have Father on their side because Father does not care for those who not only brutalize those who are protecting his Creation, he does not care for those who have become SO corrupt that they value INANIMATE OBJECTS over LIVING BEINGS! It is THIS level of corruption that caused the Anunnaki to bring down the flood the first time, the difference is that those of us who have not been corrupted are doing everything that we can, some even going so far as to literally put themselves in harm's way, to prevent the destruction of the water supply "Reality Check Can you hear them in the distance? The Dragons are roaring alerting the Clans! Can you see the shadows stretching across the frozen tundra? The hunters are on the move and the Moon is their only light! Can you feel them all around you? They are sniffing the air and catching your scent! Can you understand what is happening? The ones you called out to have answered and are responding! Can you run fast enough? Your lies and deceit are about to catch up with you! Can you cover your tracks? No matter where you run your footprints in the snow will reveal your direction! Can you withstand the thought of all you disrespected descending upon you? One good turn deserves another and you are about to be turned out! Can you stomach the idea of being subjected to the same cruelty you treated others with? Karmas a bitch and we are her messengers! Can you explain to our Father to HIS satisfaction what makes you more important than Water? Water is Life, YOU are DEATH, our Father is the Judge, Jury and if need be, the Executioner! Can you handle the concept that Death is NOT just a physical thing? YOUR Death will include Dishonor, Distrust and Banishment from the minds of your former peers! Can you deal with the fact that you are writing your own story and plotting your own demise? THE WHOLE WORLD IS WATCHING and we simply can NOT wait for you to tear out your own last page! We will go on without you just fine because we don't need your dirty, bloody money! We will go on without you because Life wants to live and it can't do that if Death is running rampant! We will go on because as long as we have Spiritual Connections and Father in our Hearts we will never want for anything! We will go on just fine because so long as we have Earth, Air, Fire and Water, we have it all!" ZI ANA KANPA! ZI KIA KANPA! MAY THE DEAD RISE AND SMELL THE INCENSE! Etiamsi MULTA Et Nos UNUM Sumus Nos Sto Validus Ut Nos Sto Una! Semper Veritas, Semper Fideles, In Diabolus Nomen Nos Fides! AVE SATANÍ! (We Are ONE Even Though We Are MANY And We Stand STRONGEST When We Stand TOGETHER! Always TRUTHFUL, Always FAITHFUL, In Satan's Name We Trust! HAIL SATAN!) Ave URURU! Ave EA! Ave DIMUZI! Ave ININNI! Ave GILGAMESH! Ave ENKIDU! Ave TIAMAT! Ave ABSU! Ave MARDUK! Ave SARPANITUM! Ave SATANÍ! HAIL SATAN! HPS Meg "Nemesis Nexus" Prentiss

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