#i am endlessly proud of him and what he's become and endured

[hyunebear]

i see > alien > human

[silvergreenseraphim]

Hmm, I am looking through endless Ultimania translations to find a bit of information on a Crisis Core scene that will help me finish a post but as usual I became distracted.

(From the Crisis Core guide).

I was thinking about this fusion pod that Hojo lets Zack enter. Hojo can also apparently use it to physically enhance subjects?

Somehow Zack is infused to become stronger and then….

Hmmm.

Too much enhancement leads to degradation for SOLDIERs.

Alas, they all have their limits.

Well. Except one…

“You do not have the ability to copy unto others. Your DNA cannot be spread. Thus your body cannot deteriorate.”

Sephiroth’s cells have no limitations. How proud Hojo must have been, to discover that his first-rate science experiment, could not degrade or reach the limit of his cells.

He could enhance Sephiroth endlessly, making him stronger and stronger. Always superior to Hollander’s experiments. Never reaching a limit to what Project S could endure.

There was no threshold, was there?

[moonlightflower21]

LIA! Can we have more mom turtle please? 🥺

aw of course. i love momma turtles. but this time, she's a mutant turtle like the boys. and she already know about the mafia business and stuff.

rushed and unedited as always. but your ask was so cute.

"do you have to go so soon? this isn't fair" mikey's voice was small, exactly how she recalled it the night she was taken. she could feel her tears brewing but she couldn't show them her sadness, no she was lucky to even have seen her sons again let alone create memories that in her heart that she would undoubtedly cherish forever.

"hey honey...." she comes close and wipes the tears away with her fingers, kissing his forehead. mikey always felt things much more than the rest of his brothers and sometimes it was a good thing. but in situations like this, oh it was a curse. 

she always knew he responded better to actions than words, and it killed her utterly when she realised that she had to leave him again. though she loved the boys equally, a small soft spot clenched in her heart for mikey. perhaps it was because he was the youngest or because he was so young when she left, she didn't know.

"i'm always going to be with you, sweetheart. no matter how far you roam, i'll always be here. with you" her finger drift towards his chest, right under his heart and he bit his lip hard, trying to stop the dam of tears threatening to burst. he felt beyond pathetic for crying but this was so difficult. mikey wasn't ready to let go.

the harsh reality of not having a mother played on his mind again and he didn't know if he was strong enough to go through the pain again. 

"m'gonna miss you so much, mom" he never through he could even say that sentence out loud. hell he didn't think he could ever have a mom. but life worked in funny and awful ways

"me too, baby. me too" her warm hands holds his face gently as she presses a soft kiss to his forehead. and she steps back, with a soft sigh.

"there's my big boy" a chuckle leaves her lips, walking to leonardo whose heart throbs sadly at the little nickname. his lips are pursed in a small pout, something he used to do as a child when he never got his way. and it made her laugh endlessly at his small face. only now his small pout made her want to cry because she knew she'll never be able to see it again.

"remember to take care of yourself leo. taking care of your family can be draining and tiring. and i'm so sorry i wasn't here, this wasn't your responsibility to take on... but i need you to promise me that you'll take care of your health too. okay?" she holds his hands and even the leader can't help shed a few tears.

"i will mom. i promise you" he whispers hoarsely, trying to hold back his tears but it's an impossible feat. she smiles, a proud smile as if to say she knows he'll do well. again, she kisses his cheek very softly giving him a well needed hug.

"my sweet smartie..." the next turtle is the the purple cladded turtle whose gaze is fixated on the ground, convincing himself that he won't cry. her hands reaching for his. he slowly holds hers, already trying to remember this moment even though it didn't even happen yet.

'fuck....' he looked down tearfully, cursing at the world for being incredibly selfish and horrible. just as he found a shred of happiness in this horrible world, it just had to come and ruin it.

"i always knew you'd be the tallest. you were already to my thighs at two" she laughs fondly and donnie lets out a small snort, smiling painfully at the words. he was such a happy boy back then, bright eyed and curious.

but 15 years later and each of them are broken, damaged beyond repair.

"you were always such a curious turtle, experimenting your surroundings. i loved all your findings, all your powerpoints on the different animals and bacteria. i could never forget your happiness at finding out something new" the elderly woman inhales a sharp breath, memories of their childhood always made her cry in a happy way. but she remembered how much she lost. and how much she will lose after today.

"a little birdy has been telling me you don't sleep much anymore. and i know you've always had insomnia as a child, that's why i've made those medicines you used to eat as a child and placed them on your desk. you slept like a baby after taking those" her hands reaches towards donnie's face, her thumb gently rubbing comforting circles on his cheeks.

"please take them, sleep is so important my dear. rest your eyes. i know it's difficult and tough, but promise me you'll take care of your health. i don't want your brothers to lose you" she holds his hand and he places his warm one over hers, nodding sincerely.

"i will mom. i am trying to" the lump in his throat is too big to talk and he hates how vulnerable he has become. "i know you are. and i'm proud of you, my love" she comes close and her lips touch his temple, reassuring him of her love. donnie feels his hot tears leak out from his eyes, every emotion he could possibly hold in his body flooding his soul

she walked to raph, a sad smile at him. only hours before he had despised her presence. but now, he didn't want to let go.

"my little bear" she hums under her breath, her hand coming up to cradle his jaw. he touches her arm sadly, leaning against her touch. his eyes close as she strokes his tear stained cheek, forever remembering this moment in his head.

"not so little anymore" she chuckles softly, remembering how he was only the size of her calf. how small and delicate he was.

"i'm so sorry i wasn't part of your childhood. and i'm so sorry you had to endure all that abuse. but let me tell you one thing, i'm so proud of you. of who you are and what you have become. no matter what anyone says, you remember who you are. you are a soldier, my son" she murmurs, eyes sparkling with unshed tears while raph trembled in his place. it had been so long since someone told him that they were proud of him. even after knowing his truth, she didn't look at him any different.

she steps back and looks at the four terrapins, a proud smile on her lips. truly she couldn't have asked for someone better. a small grunt falls from her lips, wobbling in her step.

"mom!" the boys reach out, holding her before she could touch the floor.

"lay her down gently" the leader orders and the rest follow by, holding her hand and her body.

"i love you all, my sons. whatever the world throws at you, i know deep down in my heart that you'll overcome it with strength and courage as you always have done. as long as you have each other... you are always home" she gasps a little and the mutagen is already beginning to wear away. a light green hue surrounds her person and the boys could already see her vanishing.

"no, please..." leo cradles her head so softly as though she'll shatter in a million pieces in his hands. raph and donnie hold her body close, tears soaking their masks and necks.

"mama...." mikey trembles, clutching her hand tight but she was gone. somewhere where they may never be able to see her again.

and just like that, the hamato brothers were orphans once more. 

[yandere-sins]

Jealousy

Yantober List! Feel free to participate at any point :3

There are so many things one could be jealous of, so this was a real good prompt! All the more I am sure I will struggle with the next one, but for now, please enjoy :3

»»————————————  ♡ ————————————«« 

When Rhys took you out for the first time in months, you felt like a newborn deer, wondering if you could walk even.

The sun was bright, the neighborhood quiet, but filled with serenity. Instinctively, you grabbed his arm and held on tightly to it, letting him lead you around the block, never getting away further than your arm length allowed. It was weird, yet beautiful, yet really strange to be outside again. Almost as if the last couple of months never happened. As if you hadn’t been his unwilling prisoner of love. 

Before this time, you would have protested if Rhys did the kinds of preparations he put you through leading to this day. Never would you have let him chosen your outfit, watching him curiously as he put it together. When he asked you if you had anywhere you wanted to go for your first time out, you couldn’t even remember where things were, but you felt the bubbly anticipation as he told you about all the places you could visit with him.

Life actually wasn’t that bad anymore.

Your mind deliberately locked away the memories of the first months. The times of great tumult and pain, you didn’t want to remember them anymore. It was just so much easier to do as Rhys wanted to, and despite you sometimes still getting a lingering feeling of anxiety whenever he proposed something to you, it had gotten more comfortable to ignore it. After all, it meant that you slowly but surely regained your ‘freedom’.

Even if being free meant to be controlled by him, you were allowed to roam the apartment. He even bought you games and consoles to play, without the internet, but at least you weren’t as bored anymore. After a while, he wouldn’t stand watch while you went to the toilet, and you still remembered the first time he didn’t get up as you announced your toilet break, confusion on your face as you asked him if he was coming. Rhys just smiled and told you that you could do it on your own, and at that moment, you felt almost proud of yourself.

Admittedly, you had come far. Far on the ‘losing your sanity and pride’ but also far in your training. Though he bought you a collar, neatly tugged under your turtleneck with the leash going under your clothes and right to his hand, you did nothing that would urge him to use it. You were ecstatic, shivering from excitement, and so, so adamant about clinging to him. None of you bothered with what other people could think. You were happy and astonished over the world you weren’t seeing for the first time - even if it felt like it - and Rhys was endlessly pleased with your behavior and how well you were doing. 

Soon, he wouldn’t need the collar anymore at all.

But for now, Rhys wanted to push the boundaries. He wanted to know what you’d do in especially stressful situations. So your day journey began.

Stopping at your favorite clothing store, one of the store clerks remembered you, even after all this time. She kept talking to you, and you grew unsure of what to do, so you looked up at Rhys, asking for his permission to speak. He grinned as he nodded, and you hesitated at first before wondering if your voice could even bring forth the words you wanted to say. But oh, was he proud of you telling the clerk that you lived overseas for a while for your college studies. Both of you were happy as you chatted with the clerk before she left you alone. It was the first time in months you got to chose something you wanted to wear by yourself, pay it with your own money, and hold the item without Rhys even raising a brow. 

Next was your favorite restaurant, and you waited so patiently for the food to arrive, only to wait longer, staring at Rhys eating and wanting him to tell you to eat too. When he held out his fork, you leaned over the table, eating it without hesitation, and he stroke you under your chin with a pleased hum. Eating something that wasn’t convenient store-bought was like a blessing, and you felt strength and desire coming back to you, one you hadn’t had for a long time on the topic of food. Telling him exactly what you were tasting and liked, Rhys watched you in satisfaction while you ate, ordering you a dessert that you could barely cram into your stomach, but luckily you shared with him.

However, all good things had to come to an end, and for you, that was when Rhys nudged you as you walked back home, demanding your attention. Nodding his head to your left, he asked you to look, and when you followed his gaze, you almost dropped your shopping bag, stomach turning, and twisting. 

Oh, your college. 

For the first time that day, you let go of him, your grip simply loosening as he took another step forward. Rhys didn’t usher you on or anything. He just stood there and watched, curious to see your reaction. Clearly, this place struck a nerve that you wouldn’t have thought it could. From the building to the benches, to the green grass all around it, memories came floating back. Memories of you hanging out with your friend, joking around in classes, and living a life that wasn’t centered around Rhys.

The doors to the college building opened, people leaving it while chatting, laughing. You wanted to be them, wanted to do it like them. Who’d know you’d one day come to yearn for a chance to study? In reality, you were feeling envious about those who could do what you couldn’t. There was no way you could go back to this life and take it as easily as they did, even if Rhys wasn’t there to remind you of his hold on you. Jealousy began to collect in your stomach, pure, rotten jealousy that they were so careless while you had to suffer so much for no one’s sake. Lowering your gaze, you were caught in your thoughts, unable to discern your situation from others.

Yet, instinctively, you reached for Rhys’s arm. Why your body acted the way it did, you had no clue. Was it the idea of comfort? The urging on your side to move on? Perhaps, the feeling of not having to think about it anymore, if you gave the helm back to someone else? He patted your hand, that clawed into his arm, tenderly taking a step slowly and pulling you into a movement that you wouldn’t have managed on your own. 

Even with your eyes on the path, your thoughts could not stop circling around your college, the ideas of where you would have been now, and what you would have learned. The people you would have been talking to and the home you’d look forward to go back to. How unfair that all of it was taken from you, that you had to endure all this humiliation and torture when everyone else was so carefree and living the life you should have had.

“Let’s not go out anymore…” you mumbled, and Rhys hummed thoughtfully.

“That’s no good. You need to get fresh air.”

“Okay…” 

He looked at you, your pitiful, jealous form, close to tears again, which you wiped on his sleeve. Rhys had always loved you, but with the way you were now, he loved you even more. You were his, and his alone, and you knew it, always doing what he said. He had broken and built you anew, and where others would not be able to recognize you anymore, you’ve become even more lovely than you always had been. 

It was so nice, knowing he had no competition and no one else to be jealous of anymore.

Continue

[ruminativerabbi]

Rest In Peace, RBG

As I suspect it did all Americans, Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s death took me by surprise. I knew she wasn’t in good health, of course: that much was public knowledge. But I didn’t understand how close to the end she was; perhaps she herself also didn’t. But regardless of who knew what and when they knew it, her passing constitutes a major loss for the Court and for the nation. In many ways, she exemplified the Jewish ideal of a life devoted fully and wholly to the pursuit of justice. For Jewish Americans, therefore, her loss was, if not more consequential than for other citizens, then at least more personal.

I will say, however, that I was surprised by the announcement that Justice Ginsburg’s body would lie in state at not one but two locations: for two days at the Supreme Court itself and then for a third day at the U.S. Capitol (where she will become the first woman ever to be awarded that posthumous honor).

Obviously, these are both huge honors that not everybody gets. And that’s really to say the very least: since 1852, for example, when Senator Henry Clay’s body was put on display in the Capitol, the honor of lying in state in the Capitol Rotunda has only been accorded to thirty-six individuals, including twelve U.S. Presidents and four Unknown Soldiers. (The honor is automatically offered to deceased Presidents and former Presidents, but has to be accepted by the family of the deceased—which is why the bodies neither of Harry S. Truman nor of Richard Nixon lay in state in the Rotunda.) Otherwise, the honor is on offer solely by congressional resolution or, if that is not practically possible, then by unanimous approval by the congressional leadership. And then there is also the slightly lesser honor of “lying in honor,” as opposed to “lying in state,” a distinction with, as far as I can see, only two specific differences other than in name: the bodies of people who lie in state are guarded by an honor guard of five, each representing a specific branch of the U.S. Armed Forces, while the bodies of people who lie in honor are guarded by officers of the U.S. Capitol Police Force; and those who lie in state, like Justice Ginsburg, are laid out upon a catafalque originally constructed for the funeral of Abraham Lincoln, while those who lie in honor are set out on alternate biers. For the record, Justice Ginsburg will not be the first woman at all to have her body on display in the Capitol; that honor already went to Rosa Parks. But Rosa Parks lay in honor, while Ruth Bader Ginsburg will lie in state. In any event, Justice Ginsburg will certainly be the first Jewish American to lie in state at the Capitol. And she will only be the second Supreme Court Justice offered that posthumous tribute, the other being William Howard Taft who was also a former President when he died in 1930. (She will therefore be the only Supreme Court Justice who wasn’t also a former President to be awarded the honor.)

The whole idea of delaying burial by putting the body of a deceased individual (even inside a casket) on display for days and days could not run more counter to Jewish tradition, which calls for a speedy burial followed by a week of mourning. And how much the more so when Yom Kippur, which will end the shiva week no matter how much or little of it has happened, is only days away. When the actual burial will take place has not been made public, only that Justice Ginsburg will be interred “next week” at Arlington National Cemetery next to her husband Martin, an Army veteran. (She will thus become the fourteenth Supreme Court justice to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, joining, among others, Earl Warren, William Rehnquist, President Taft, and Warren Burger.)

That she personally chose not to be buried in a Jewish cemetery didn’t surprise me—that die was cast when Justice Ginsburg’s late husband was buried there in 2010—but also stirred up some strange feelings in me, which have now installed themselves next to my feelings about the whole “lying in state” thing. Of course, these matters are themselves screen-issues that serve merely as the outer face of the inner question they mask: the degree to which the Jews of the United States are essentially Jewish Americans (whose bodies lie in state if they earn the right and who should more than reasonably agree if they earn the great honor of burial at Arlington) or American Jews (whose funerals should be scheduled for as soon as possible after they die and who should then be laid to rest in Jewish cemeteries among the other men and women of the House of Israel).

Is there a level of public service at which the good individuals do somehow frees them from the obligation to bow to the traditions of their own people? Queen Esther agreed to spend her days—and all of them, not just the ones told about in the book that bears her name—she agreed to spend her life as the wife of a Persian emperor and we endlessly valorize her courage, her daring, and her decisive pluck in the face of a looming catastrophe that she herself could possibly have avoided entirely but which would have surely resulted in the annihilation of Persian Jewry. Surely, we’re not going to carp about whether or not she had a kosher kitchen stalled in the palace or a mikveh! But is the analogy truly apt? Justice Ginsburg was not, after all, set in place by kismet to rescue the Jews of America from some latter-day Haman! Still, she did find her remarkable way onto the nation’s highest court, where she devoted her entire career to the pursuit of justice, equity, and fairness. And she brought only renown to the Jewish community, who looked on her as an example of someone who rose to her position of great power not by hiding her Jewishness or dissembling in its regard, let alone by denying it, but by speaking openly and proudly of herself as a Jewish woman. She wasn’t exactly an American Esther, but in her own way she paved the path forward for American Jews—and particularly for American Jewish women—to think of no level of public service as beyond their station or beyond their grasp.

Back in 1988, I admired Joseph Lieberman intensely for his refusal to campaign on Shabbat when campaigning to represent Connecticut in the Senate. But when he himself moved away from that position in 2000 to become Al Gore’s running mate, I found myself unable to respect him less. Sometimes, you can control the moment and sometimes the moment controls you!

I suppose the expected response for a rabbi would be to decry the fact that Justice Ginsburg’s body will be put on public display for three long days until she is finally laid to rest in a place that is, at the same time, our nation’s most revered cemetery and a non-Jewish place of burial. And, at least on some level, I do feel that way and wish that Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s final appearance in this world had been in keeping with the very Jewish tradition regarding which she so often spoke warmly and, no doubt, wholly sincerely. But I am also—and I say this fully aware of the paradox in my feelings—I also feel enormously proud to think of her casket resting on the Lincoln catafalque in the most august setting America has on offer and, yes, to think of her finding her final resting place among the greatest political, juridical, and military leaders of our nation.

One of the prices we pay for maintaining the integrity of our beliefs is having to endure the discrepancy, illogic, and paradox that come from sincerely holding beliefs that do not fit at all well together. Are there people the various components of whose worldviews are so well integrated that they simply harbor no mutually-contradictory or -incompatible beliefs? I suppose there might be, but I myself am not among them. And so, at the same time I am repulsed by the whole notion of delaying a Jewish person’s burial so that his or her remains can be put on display for admirers to admire and for viewers to view, I am also filled with pride at the various posthumous honors paid to Justice Ginsburg and I find myself able to mourn her passing without any ambivalence at all. She was a giant of the law and, at the same time, a Jewish American who exemplified the finest American and Jewish values. May her memory be a blessing for us all. And may she rest in peace.

[anoverflowingsea]

Dawn that rises before sun is darker than anything Don’t ever forget that stars you long for only shine in the dark. Let’s go...

[soranokuma]

The Marks of Reunion

Day 6: Reunions | Dreams |Genderbend AU for @wangxianweek

Link: AO3 | FF

Warning: Angst

Characters: Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi

Relationships: Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian

Summary:  The mark on his chest no longer said: Get lost. Now, it said: I love you too.

A/N: This is part 2 of the Soulmate AU. Part 3 is coming soon for Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s wedding! Also, special thanks to @ineffableboyfriends and @nanthebread for giving the explanation of Lan Sizhui’s name! <3 

Part 1| Part 2

The world had lost its color the moment he opened his eyes. His world had become black and white like a book that was nearing the end of its life. It seemed like it was only yesterday when he heard the loud and colorful voice of his love, calling and teasing him endlessly until it fell quiet. The owner of that voice was no longer there.

The man that he loved was gone.

Everything became a deafening silent then. The sound of his guqin playing the same song over and over again for years became a routine for the Cloud Recesses to hear. For him, it was a song of hope that slowly faded over the year into nothingness. Yet, he kept on hoping, wishing for the soul of his loved one to return his inquiry… but there was nothing.

For years, Wei Ying’s soul never returned. His soul never returned to the land of the living to become a restless ghost. It was then when he knew that until his death, Wei Ying never held any grudges against those who killed him.

Against those who pushed him away after he helped them win the war.

If he could cling to Wei Ying’s soul, he would. He would hold the soul of his beloved one forever and never let go. He wanted to live with this person, but now all he wanted was to die with him. Lan Wangji wanted to die together with Wei Wuxian. And, he really thought that he would… He had nothing to live for when he couldn’t see the remains of him. But, how could the love of his life be so selfish, leaving behind a boy that no one wanted to take care of?

Leaving behind a boy when he knew that all Lan Wangji wanted was to die with him…

And, now he had to go on living. If it wasn’t for him, then it was for the boy — the son of Wei Ying and him. Even if his heart wanted to scream and rip apart everything, he had to live and hold on because now, someone needed him. The boy, A-Yuan needed him now more than ever after Wei Ying left him.

When A-Yuan didn’t remember the face of his father, it pained him. It hurt knowing that Wei Ying would never see his son, and A-Yuan would never remember his father ever again. Then, when his son started to question his parents, Lan Wangji had nothing to say to him.

“HanGuang-Jun, am I a bad kid? Is that why my parents left me?”

It broke his heart when he heard the small and trembling voice asking him. His son was on the verge of crying when he asked. But, all Lan Wangji could think of was how much Wei Ying must have loved him. Even adored his own son to the point of sacrificing himself to keep the small boy safe while hiding in the Burial Mounds.

“Lan Yuan, your father loves you so much that he sacrificed himself,” was the only sentence that could come out from his mouth. Anything more than that, he would probably cry together with his son.

“Lan Yuan,” he called his son’s name, calming and comforting, as he picked him up and held him. “You have to remember how much your father loves you. Just like I do to you.”

He cried, a few sheds of tears escaped his eyes as he held their son in his hands tight. It was hard for him to keep his feelings under. He wanted to break into pieces but how could he when his son was already doing that? How could he break when their son was missing his father?

He took a deep breath, trying the best he could to stay calm and collected as his son sobbed onto his clothes. Lan Wangji buried his nose onto his son’s hair while his hand caressing the boy’s back, calming him in a way he could.

And that night, they slept together. Lan Yuan didn’t want to sleep with anyone else but with his father, and Lan Wangji only hummed in approval.

As seasons turned to years, the sound of his guqin stayed the same. The soft and calming melody filled the air as he asked the same questions every single day. Wei Ying was the only name he could ask about, and every day the answer would be the same…

He had stopped crying. The pain in his heart numbed itself to the touch of others and his eyes had lost its life. It still hurt, but he could handle it. Some nights were bearable than others, and when it wasn’t, he couldn’t help but to look at the night sky and think of their memories together. He couldn’t help it. His tears, every single one of them, ended up flowing towards the person he loved. His tears, the pain in his heart, and the writing on his chest were all just reminding him of Wei Ying.

All he wanted to know was for how long did he have to endure this. How long until he could die for him to be together with the person he so loved?

But, he left the thoughts behind as his fingers stopped and rested on top of the strings. Lan Yuan, their son still needed him. He smiled imagining how Wei Ying reacted if he knew that their son had become a Lan disciple now. That his son had grown up to become something his father could be proud of if he ever returned.

His last tears dropped down to his clothes and he looked at the bright moon shining its light to his study room. All he could think of was him…The way Wei Ying smiled at him, teased him, and even fought with him on the rooftop of their school over a jar of alcohol.

Was this what it felt like to love someone?

Lan Wangji only smiled, a small and pathetic smile that only himself could see. He was tired, of course, he was since he had just returned from the night-hunt. He wasn’t expecting anything when he heard someone was practicing the dark arts to stir up some problems, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Wei Ying’s spirit or even possession. It was entirely something different, so he took care of it with the other learning disciples.

Oh, how he wished for it to be Wei Wuxian. How he wished to talk to him just one last time before he could let go of this love and live by himself.

But, it wasn’t him. In the end, nothing was him no matter how hard he looked…

With jars of sake hidden underneath the floor and the marks on his chest, he couldn't help but think of Wei Ying.「滚」was the word on his chest that never allowed him to forget of that time. When they were hidden in the cave after everything went down in the Nightless city. He knew how reckless he was to keep giving his own spiritual power when he was already so weak. But, he couldn’t help it. He wanted to know, make sure that there was a way to remove the damage in his beloved’s mind.

Yet, he was always too late. Lan Wangji himself was exhausted and without his spiritual power, it was impossible to both protect Wei Ying and reverse the damage caused by the dark arts.

It was then when his brother, Lan Xichen showed up along with his uncles. Thirty-three whips on his back to pay for his and Wei Ying’s sins. Yet, he failed to see who was in the wrong despite paying such a price.

He sighed as the bell rang and the night went past the Lan sect’s sleeping time. The jar of sake on the table and glass on his hand, it reminded him of Wei Ying. How much he loved drinking the Emperor’s Smile despite going against the rules. Now, Lan Wangji was sitting inside his study room and drinking the alcohol. It tasted bittersweet, just like his unreturned love.

“Wei Ying.”

A tear fell down his cheek. Just how cruel could their life be with the last word of their soulmate written on their chest, piercing his heart to no end and reminding him of his failure every day.

A soulmark was what the writing on his chest called. They didn’t know how this was caused or what was the reason for it to exist in the first place. All they knew was that everyone must have a soulmate in their life because of this. And, no one ever knew if the person they were in love with was their soulmate or not because the word only appeared right before one of them die. The word that was written was the last word said to them by their loved one. This was why he rushed to be by Wei Ying’s side when he realized the writing on his chest.

Yet, he still didn’t get to see him at all. And this time, it was his fault. It was all his fault for leaving the one he loved in there. He should’ve taken him back to Gusu. He should’ve pleaded before all of his uncles and brother to accept Wei Ying even if they had to live in seclusion forever.

He should have… but nothing changes the reality he lived now.

Nothing changed the fact that Wei Ying was gone, leaving him behind to mourn after all these years.

Lan Wangji had given up hope though the sound of his guqin still played the same song every day. His heart was no longer hoping for miracles that would never come. If he had to live like this, let it be it. He had accepted the fact that he wanted to live with no one but him, even after all these years went by.

Today marked the thirteen years since he had taken Lan Yuan to his new home. Today was also the day he wanted to give his son a proper courtesy name for others to call.

「蓝思追」Lan Sizhui was the name that he chose for his son.

Even though he tried to give up so many times, he couldn’t completely let go of the feeling in his heart. He continued to yearn for the one he couldn’t have. Thus, it was how his son’s name came from — “to yearn for” or “to pine for”. Maybe with such a name, Wei Ying would come back by his side.

Lan Sizhui’s father would come back just like the meaning in his name.

“HanGuang-Jun, thank you for choosing my courtesy name,” sad Sizhui as he bowed before him in gratitude.

He didn’t say anything, only smiled and caressed his son’s hair. Lan Sizhui had truly grown up since the time he took him back. Wei Ying’s smile was the only thing he could imagine if he could see his son this big.

“Lan Yuan,” he called the name. Sizhui was looking at him now.

“Thank you,” was the last word he said before taking his hand off and walking away.

Sizhui smiled and returned the word with a respectful bow before returning to his friends.

That thank you was for a lot of things. Most of all, that thank you was for keeping Lan Wangji alive after all these years that he spent in tears.

After all these years he spent mourning for his love to come back.

The mark on his chest hurt when he rushed towards the Dafan Mountain after hearing the loud crash. He tried to keep calm as he mounted his sword towards the commotion.

Lan Yuan. Lan Jingyi… were the only names he could think of as he and Sect Leader Jiang flew in.

“HanGuang-Jun!”

Lan Sizhui called in surprise as the man dropped by behind him.

“What’s happening?”

Lan Sizhui immediately recapped everything that happened. From how Jin Ling wished for the dancing goddess to appear before him, the Ghost General Wen Ning came up from the ashes to save them, and to how he was able to get the arm inside the bag. But now, the people were after the Ghost General even though he just saved them.

Lan Wangji frowned because he knew who the Ghost General was. The Ghost General was the Yiling Patriarch's right hand and arguably, the most fierce corpse among others. It was almost impossible to summon him without the power and authority that Wei Ying had.

He started to doubt himself but then he heard it and his soulmark began to ache again. This time it wasn’t painful, it was cold. A soothing kind of cold that he had never experienced.

Lan Wangji mounted his sword again to find the source of the melody. He knew this song. He was the one who made this song for him. There was no mistake when he heard it. It was the song he had played for Wei Ying when they were trapped in the cave after killing the giant turtle.

“He’s here. Wei Ying,” was the only thing he could think of as he rushed to find him.

And, there he was. His Wei Ying, playing the song he composed only for him. Lan Wangji didn’t make a mistake about the person in front of him despite his different looks.

When they collided, Lan Wangji grabbed the man’s wrist and looked at him. The man in front of him hesitated for a second before forcing himself to keep playing the flute despite the strong grip on his wrist. The melody was desperate now, almost like scolding or lecturing the Ghost General before he finally fled from those after him.

Lan Wangji tightened his grip and made Wei Ying dropped his flute. Wei Ying immediately grabbed his wrist and said: “Don’t chase after him.”

He smiled when he heard the familiar tone again. Only Wei Ying would think that Lan Wangji would follow the corpse. After all, why would he when the person he was looking for all these years was in front of him?

“Wei Ying,” the name finally came out again after all these years.

The man in front of him was shocked then a flash of purple lightning came for him. Lan Wangji swiftly stood in front of Wei Ying with his guqin striking the purple light with the blue and calm tone.

“Well, you’re back, aren’t you?” the sound was mocking. “Wei Wuxian!”

Lan Wangji frowned and shielded Wei Ying from the sight of Jiang Wanyin. He held Wei Ying’s wrist steadily as the man hide behind him.

Wei Ying panicked when he was found out. It wasn’t his intention to get found out this easily after all he wanted to escape from both Lan and Jiang sect. He knew they still had bad blood with him, and he wished not to die so quickly this time. Yet, he couldn’t escape, not when his hand was gripped by the HanGuang-Jun.

“Come off it, Wei Wuxian! Stop hiding behind Lan Wangji and face me right now!”

Sect Leader Jiang roared like usual. Wei Ying was used to it but the sound that he made just now, it sounded like he was gonna get whipped by zidian even if he had come off voluntarily.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” a voice came out. Wei Ying looked at where the voice came from and it was Lan Sizhui.

He wanted to whisper to the Lan’s disciples to stop talking before the whip shut him, but he couldn’t. The grip on his hand tightened, and he really thought that it could almost cut off his circulation if it were to get anywhere tighten than this.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying called. He was trying to get his hand off from Lan Wangji’s grip and ran towards his donkey, but it seemed impossible now.

The moment he was able to slip past Lan Wangji’s grip was when there were loud noises in the woods. He grabbed the opportunity and ran towards his donkey only to be whipped by the lightning zidian and fell on the Lill Apple’s back.

Shock was an understatement to describe Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin’s expression.

“You can really do anything when you come from a powerful sect, can’t you?”

It was then when Lan Wangji walked towards Wei Ying trying to ride his donkey after being whipped by zidian. It was almost ridiculous when he kept falling off his donkey when he tried to ride it. His lower back just didn’t agree with him and the pain still shocked his back. So, all he could do was sitting on the ground while holding the rein of his donkey.

“Wei Ying, come back to Gusu with me.”

Jiang Wanyin couldn’t hear what Lan Wangji said as he commanded his people to take Wei Wuxian to his sect. Wei Ying heard it too and he immediately said:

“Take me to Gusu, Lan Zhan! I want to go back with you to Gusu,” as he clung to the white robe as he heard Jiang Cheng’s men coming closer for him.

The man smiled and said: “Mark your words.”

Then Lan Wangji pulled him off the ground and held Wei Ying in his arms. Wei Ying could only hide his embarrassed face with his hands as he allowed Lan Wangji to carry him wherever he needs to.

“This person, I will be taking back to the Lan Sect.”

With that, Lan Wangji walked away and left behind the Jiang sect to deal with their own confusion. But, he didn’t care. He didn’t care as long as Wei Ying came back to him.

As long as Wei Ying returned to him in Gusu and never leave him again. He would make sure that his Wei Ying never leaves without telling him or without him by his side.

This time for sure, he would keep Wei Ying by his side and protect him.

“I love you, Wei Ying…”

He said as the man fell fast asleep, exhausted from everything that happened. But, little did he know the soulmark on his chest had been changed into 「我也爱你」

I love you too.

[matrixaffiliate]

Like the Storybooks

From the dynamic duo that brought you Glimpsing Happiness, PJ and I are proud to bring you another Blackinnon AU! Please enjoy, Like the Storybooks!

Marlene is the next in line to the throne, until her cousin James provides the kingdom with an heir. Being an eligible heiress attracts loathsome suitors. King James’s right hand man, Sir Sirius, could help her fend them off, but the knight of mysterious origins seems intent on becoming the next Sir Galahad.

We’ll update two chapters every Saturday, but you get four chapters today because I’m MIA next week. We’ll pick up again on Dec. 1st. <3 

Co-written with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon

FFN and AO3

Chapter 1

It was unnerving, how quickly one's life could change. Half a year ago, Marlene had been far enough down the line of succession to be able to live her life more or less the way she wanted. Then the storm began. First, her Uncle and Aunt, Their Majesties King Fleamont and Queen Euphemia were taken by the plague, leaving her cousin James and his new wife Lily to reign over the kingdom of Phoenixordo, earlier than anyone had prepared for. Then, out of nowhere, her parents succumbed to the plague as well. Like the thunder after a strike of lightning, the newly anointed King James sent orders that Marlene was to live at the capital castle. As heiress presumptive to the throne, she needed protection. James’s letter, written to his cousin in his own hand stated, ‘I already have a Kingdom to manage, thus, I needn’t expend my energy fretting endlessly over my only family being kidnapped or murdered because she's too far away for me to keep an eye on her.’

Marlene resented the comment, but she had to admit, she had a bit of a reputation. Her father and mother had doted on her endlessly. She was their only child, and she was as bright as she was beautiful. Marlene was exactly what fairytales wrote about when they described princesses. Her blonde hair fell in gentle waves. The spark behind the vibrant blue of her eyes hinted at her spirited nature. She moved with such a grace that she’d become something of a distraction for the stable hands and serving boys. Her father had insisted that she was the most beautiful princess in the kingdom from the time she was 10. Her mother had constantly fussed over her, her hair, her clothes, and her posture. They'd given her the absolute best tutors and she'd excelled in her studies and was as sharp as a whip. Marlene was everything the world had expected of her. But after the course of the last month, the Princess was also very much alone.

At least with her cousin, King James, she might have some reprieve from feeling the constant weight of the loss of her parents. It hurt, and Marlene couldn't seem to move past the pain that ached in her chest. The thought that someone would use her as bargaining was troubling enough on its own, but added with everything else made her breathing labored. She welcomed the feeling of safety that came with living in the same fortress as his Majesty. It helped her to feel more secure than she had managed those few nights in her father's castle - her castle, she remembered - after James’ letter and guarded escort had arrived. She hadn't brought much, well, except her entire collection of dresses - which now included her mother's wardrobe - but those were essentials. At some point, she'd be able to put on her colorful dresses again without feeling a sense of wrongness within herself. Someday she wouldn't see her mother in every damned mirror. Someday.

Marlene had hated carriage rides since she was a child. They gave her headaches and made her spine rattle. She would have preferred to ride the whole way there on the back of her chestnut mare, Truda, but James’ guards advised her that it was completely out of the question. She missed the feeling of being a few very important places further down the line of succession. As a girl, and even as a maiden princess to some extent, she’d been permitted to do as she pleased; now she felt like someone’s gold chess piece.

Her ill temper was only increased by one of the courtiers of His Majesty's Court who decided his presence was necessary for her arrival. She stepped out of the carriage and tried to ignore the pounding in her very bones as the man stepped up to her. His features were not in and of themselves hideous. But it was somewhat disconcerting that it looked like he'd seen a portrait of her and then taken it upon him to recreate her image on himself. The way he styled and presented himself though was astoundingly garish. He wore an all lavender outfit, which he strutted about in with such flagrant pride that the color must have been intentional choice, rather than some aging tailor’s error. It made him resemble a decorative baked sweet. His curly blond hair was a bit of puffed cream topping and his blue eyes were some sort of garnish. That sort of thing never even tastes any good, in Marlene’s opinion. The overall image was hideous, and it would have perhaps been something to laugh to herself about later if it were not for the idiot believing that he was permitted to speak.

“Your Grace,” the man bowed and Marlene's upbringing and training kicked in and she nodded politely to acknowledge him before continuing to follow the escort to His Majesty’s office.

“I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Marquess of Occamy, heir to the Duchy of Oblivium, It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.” He followed after her and Marlene bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at him. He had no right to trouble her with his loathsome voice, let alone trail along after her like a spaniel.

“How lovely for you, my Lord.” She picked up the pace of her steps, in hopes of getting the point across.

“Not as lovely as you, dear Princess. You are everything that was rumored and more.”

“Yes, well,” Marlene focused on being a princess and controlling her tongue, “kind of you to listen to Court gossip about me and all but I have an appointment with his Majesty.”

“By all means, but do allow me the honor of escorting you to the door.” He moved to take her arm but she sidestepped him.

Marlene pursed her lips and let out a slow and even breath to steady her will. She knew there was no polite way to get rid of this clown, so she’d need to endure him for another hundred paces or so. She would just have to survive the pain of swallowing her more brazen insults.

“If you must.” She chose a lofty tone to try and push the issue that she was anything but interested in his company.

“I must. And I must confess that I have been longing to meet you since I saw your portrait. Never in my life have I seen a noble lady who looked quite so like myself. If we were to wed, our heirs would be so beautifully golden that the sun itself would look dull by comparison.”

Was this dunce truly out of his mind? Marlene smiled as her destination came into sight. “Right well… Best not give the sun any cause for anger. Good day, Lord Gilderoy.” With that, she let the door slam in Lockhart's face, taking pleasure in the moment of silence before she heard James chuckle.

“Little Marly is still slamming doors I see. Welcome to your new home, Cousin.” He stood and embraced her and Marlene took a moment to just be glad to be with family again, the last few months had been incredibly lonely. She and James had been great friends as young children, but it became dangerous to travel about a year before James started as a squire, Marlene’s parents put her visits to a halt. They kept her at home to protect her, and consequently, the cousin pair drifted apart. She took note of the small changes in what was Uncle Monty’s office while she was a child, with her only cousin's arms around her shoulders. Her only family now, she reminded herself. Whatever differences there were, the warm welcome of her cousin was a relief. She could finally start to fill in some of the emptiness that dwelt within her since they'd buried her parents.

“I only slam doors when someone has made themselves a pest.” She stepped out from his embrace and smirked up at him. He had gotten impossibly taller in the years she hadn't seen him.

“Who could possibly be pestering you?” James laughed and pulled a soft chair out for her. Marlene fell into it gladly.

“Some Lord Lockhart seems to be under the impression that I'd be his perfect bride,” Marlene drawled as James handed her a drink.

“Ah, that unfortunately,” James took a seat across from her and threw his feet onto the desk, “will be a problem in the foreseeable future. You’re my heiress presumptive. Even imbeciles like Lockhart know that marrying you is the best chance any other family has to ending up on the throne.”

“James, the absolute last thing I want is to end up on the throne. So would you mind doing your heiress presumptive a favor? Presume to go get an heir upon your wife! I’d be forever in your debt if you’d bestow upon me a little nephew or niece to dote on... and push all this ridiculous responsibility on to. Immediately would be preferable, but I’ll be kind and wait 9 moons.”

Marlene nearly jumped when a woman with beautiful red hair and piercing green eyes walked in laughing, accompanied by a tall man with jet black hair and pale skin. He could easily be the best looking man she'd ever seen, but Marlene reminded herself that after dealing with Lord Lockhart for five minutes she may very well have found something deeply appealing in anyone who was not him.

“Ah, my love,” James stood and the tall man smirked.

“Really your Majesty, not in front of the Queen! You’ll make her jealous.”

Marlene laughed, this man was dry, but there was something about the way he held himself that made Marlene feel like he was carrying a weight far greater than his humor could maintain.

James rolled his eyes and pulled the woman into his arms. “Lily this is the Princess Marlene, my cousin, and as she reminded me, the next in line until we produce an heir. She seems to think we ought to be putting more effort into that endeavor.” He nuzzled her neck and Queen Lily laughed.

Marlene curtsied low, with practiced elegance, “Your Majesty, it's so wonderful to meet you.”

Lily bowed her head, “Your Grace, I hope you'll find our castle to be a home to you now.”

Marlene chuckled, “Is that enough formality?”

“Heavens, yes!” Lily laughed and embraced Marlene. “I've heard so much about you from James and I've been so excited to get to meet you! He tells me you're quite the scholar. None of the Ladies here were properly educated and if I have to spend one more afternoon discussing the most popular color for fabrics this season, I'm going to scream.”

“Well, just respond to every comment on fabric colors with something philosophical or ask them about the fabric dye that most represents their mortal soul.” Marlene grinned wickedly and Lily laughed.

“I'm going to abscond with her,” she turned to James.

“Ah good,” the tall man drawled, “now my dearest King and I can profess our undying love and escape away unhindered.”

Lily rolled her eyes, “Marlene this is Sir Sirius. He's our cousin on his Majesty’s mother's side and his dearest friend. He’s let his reputation as the bravest knight in the kingdom go straight to his head. He thinks he can command an army and the heart of my own loving husband… the nerve” Lily smiled at her jest.

“One simply does one's best. Your Grace,” he nodded to her.

Marlene nodded politely and noted that he didn't immediately propose marriage, or really bother with her at all. That was what she wanted with these new courtiers, to be left alone.

“I regret that we must bid you farewell until dinner, dear Ladies.” James kissed Lily's hand and stared at her for a moment like a lovesick puppy before sighing and pulling away. “Sir Sirius and I have some work to hammer out.”

Lily linked her arm with Marlene's and pulled her through a different door that thankfully didn't have Lord Gilderoy Lockhart standing on the other side.

[fredenglish]

Well, here we are on another #FeatureFriday! Today we talk to Professor Dan Lendzian about his career as a professional actor, the most rewarding parts of teaching theatre, and SUNY Fredonia’s upcoming production of Antigone! He is an alumni of SUNY Fredonia, and graduated with concurrent degrees in English and Acting.   1. What do you think the most rewarding part of your time as a professor at SUNY Fredonia has been?

I would say that all of it has been rewarding. I think, when I was a working actor in New York, it always felt like a part of my work was missing. And when I started teaching, I found that for me to really find joy there has to be a connection between practice of the art form and teaching. And so, I feel like being here has been incredibly rewarding, working with passionate, motivated students and also being able to take advantage of the amazing things that this campus has to offer. I’ve been lucky enough since I’ve been back to audit Dr McVicker’s Bloomsbury Modernism class, and one of Dr. McRae’s classes, learn from those master teachers again.  

For me, I often identify as an “actor-teacher-teaching artist,” and being here at Fredonia has really allowed me to dive headfirst into that. Performing, teaching, connecting with students, learning from them. It has been an incredibly enriching experience, and I’m so thankful for it.

2. Which of the courses that you have taught do you think students have connected the most with? Which do you think you connect the most with?

That’s like asking “which of your children do you like the best!” [Laughs]

I think… all of them? The experience that I bring in has allowed me to create a lot of amazing work with students. I come from a background that’s…. I did classical theatre for a while, I did Shakespeare, and then I also got really invested in generating theatre, postmodern concepts like “devising.” And so I think that I bring this interesting education of a very classically-trained, Shakespearean background mixed with a very postmodern way of putting things together. And so, in all of my classes, the things that always get me really excited are the times when students can take concepts and generate work from them. I think about [the course] Acting for Non-Majors: there’s a section where people create a silent scene, and it always thrills me to see what they’ve created. In Intro to the Performing Arts, I have these assignments called “making experiences,” where students will learn a series of concepts and then they utilize those concepts and create some kind of artistic expression.

I also think that anything that’s ensemble-based can be really interesting. In my last Shakespeare performance class, we did the first two acts of Julius Caesar and people were just swinging in and out, and that was our final. So, somebody might be playing Brutus for 60 lines, and then they would get tapped them on the shoulder and someone else would swing in. And that kind of thing can be really, really compelling, and that’s what I’m most proud of. The fact that students can feel empowered in my classes to create their own artistic expressions.

3. What advice do you have for prospective and/or current English students?

There’s always a pressure to specialize. And while I think that in some ways that’s great, I think in other ways — especially in undergraduate education — we can look at things and say, “that’s not exactly what I need, so I am not going to take it as seriously.” Like, for example, a foundations class, you might say, “oh, I just need to get this done.”

Whereas, I have found that in everything that I do, the more vocabulary that I have across the board — if I can connect something to a concept from science, or a concept from theatre, or a concept from math — it both deepens my practice, and allows my thinking and my teaching to become more accessible to the students that are in the room.

So, I think that I was very lucky, unknowingly, when I went to Fredonia in that I double-majored and got a minor. And all of that has completely fueled my professional career as an actor and theatre creator, in addition to my work as a teacher. So, I think that really taking advantage of this experience and committing yourself wholly to opportunities that are presented to you, even if some of them don’t necessarily seem like they’re going to serve you in the moment. Because they might serve you four or five years down the line.

4. You were a double major at Fredonia in English and Theatre. How do you think that English background affected your work with the theatre?

My experience in English here opened up so many doors, because I fell in love with language. And with the use of language, and how language works, and how stories are put together, and how narrative is constructed. So, when I left, I wasn’t afraid to step into and work on heavy-language plays. Being an English major made me fall in love with and be prepared to do something like King Lear, and completely empowered me to move forward and audition for those things. I think that it allowed me to have really close reading skills, which really served for both creating text and working with existing text, and I think it just completely strengthened me and allowed me to become a better citizen of the world, which leads to a better artist.

5. What are some advantages that you think live theatre brings as a medium, and what drew you to it?

I was four years old when I saw a musical, and I thought: “that’s what I need to do.” I also come from a line of artists. My grandmother was an incredible artist, an occupational therapist and social worker, and seeing her intersect art and work and life was incredibly inspirational for me. And my father is also an artist! My father was making training videos for the New York City Police Department when I was growing up, and so I grew up thinking that he ran a movie studio. So I kind of come from that line, and I see myself in that intersection between community service and art-making and the creation of enacting of literature. I think that biographically, it’s always been a part of me.

I also think that one of the amazing things about the theatre is that it can encompass everything. It’s a big enough container to say: “We’re going to do a play that’s entirely in poetry.” It can provide a different experience, and a concurrent experience, to just reading something.

It can encompass prose. I think that one of the amazing things about the theatre — and one of the reasons that I love language plays — is because when you go in to see a language play, the language literally creates the world, and invites you to be in that new world. Like this production of Antigone that we’re working on has this beautiful, challenging, heightened language that really takes you to a different world. And how we use that to create the world around us I find to be endlessly fascinating and incredibly powerful. And that’s what I’ve dedicated my life to.

6. Speaking of Antigone, you’re about to put on a production of it. Can you give some background about the show, and talk about why you think it’s still a relevant story to tell?

Any time that someone stands up in the face of opposition and says what they believe to be right, that is an Antigone story.

I think women throughout history have done this, and we can consistently see it. You can open up the news any day of the week and find the story of Antigone being played out in front of you. Every day. And it’s a tragic story, but I think that one of the reasons that we continue to tell this story is to find the hope in resistance. This particular version of the play, the Jean Anouilh version, was written in 1944 in France, during the Nazi occupation of Paris. And it was, kind of, a veiled challenge of the Vichy government. (And our dramaturge, Shawn Sprankle, has done an amazing job of providing historical context for the actors, if I can give him a shout-out!)

So, what’s really interesting about this production is that it’s a contemporary translation of a modern adaptation. There is no greek chorus. There’s a prologue figure that leads us through the world of the play, and I think that — while the language is heightened — it’s very accessible for audiences.

One of my goals is to have people think and consider argument. The show says, at one point, that “to argue is noble,” and what it means for me in this play is the argument between Creon and Antigone. And I think one of the goals of all theatre is to raise questions. I believe this play does. [Pause] I believe this play will hopefully have the viewer leaving with some kind of internal introspection. About what they believe is right. About what family means. What’s the relationship between our public selves and our private selves. What happens when they don’t meet up. Or they do! Could events that happen to Antigone could have been avoided? All of these are the questions that this play is asking, and I think that great art raises questions rather than giving us prescriptions.

7. Finally: what would you say is the most important lesson that theatre can teach us?

Compassion and empathy. My primary discipline as an actor. Being an actor, you’re asked to step into someone else’s shoes. And you have to approach that with incredible compassion and empathy, or else you can’t do it. So, I think that when we see a play, it can open up new ideas by presenting to us different viewpoints that will — perhaps — have the ability to change us. Or, in any way, deepen our empathy and understanding for other people in the world. Antigone, by Jean Anouilh, is an adaptation of a Greek tragedy by master playwright Sophocles. It tells the story of a young Greek woman fighting the tyrannical rule of her uncle Creon; and endures to this day by raising questions of grief, the power of choice, and the nature of leadership. SUNY Fredonia’s production is a contemporary adaptation that stars two actresses (Aterahme Lawrence and Julia Kerr) in the role of Antigone. Antigone will be performed in Rockefeller Art Center’s Bartlett Theatre from February 22nd - March 2nd, 2019. Tickets are $25.00 for the General Public,$12.00 for SUNY Students, and $19.00 for Non-SUNY Students/Children. More scheduling information can be found at this address.

[alterumxlestrange-blog]

the history of the second son of lestrange

CHARACTER’S FULL NAME : Rabastan Lestrange

CHARACTER’S AGE / BIRTHDAY : 22 / April 14, 1957

OCCUPATION : Unspeakable.  Rabastan was recruited to the Ministry just after leaving school and the idea of such a job appealed to him on many levels.  It was prestigious, it was respected, and the secrets at his disposal were like none he could find anywhere else.

WAND DESCRIPTION : 13¾ inches, walnut, phoenix feather core.  

WHY THIS CHARACTER? : I think I can have a lot of fun with Rabastan.  He walks this kind of line between being outwardly crazy (a la Walden or Barty) and being that refined type of diabolical that you see in the “Sacred 28” Pureblood men (Lucius, Rodolphus, Atticus, etc.)  He has that arrogance of youth about him, as a second son he doesn’t have the weight of the Lestrange name on his shoulders, and the passion to want to prove himself.  There’s almost a sense of invincibility about him.  Which is not to say that he is invincible.  He’s not.  He’s just twenty two and stupid and thinks he’ll never die.  He is unapologetic and fierce which allows for so many fun options.  I mean, this is the guy who tortured the Longbottom’s with such intensity that they lost their minds.  That — is not normal levels of evil.  That is something else.  He, along with his brother and his sister in law, were also the only Death Eaters to search for the Dark Lord after his downfall.  His conviction and his loyalty are unerring, there is little he wouldn’t do to achieve his goals.

AFFILIATION : Rabastan is a Death Eater and a proud one.  It is the one thing he’s done the same as his brother and father before him.  There was a time when the part of him that longed to be anything other than “the youngest lestrange” rebelled at the idea of joining the Death Eaters just because his brother and father had but in the end, he did it because he wanted to.  Because he believed in what they stood for.  And if it meant being in his brother’s shadow again, well everyone had to make sacrifices.  It didn’t mean he had to make them gracefully.  

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT THE WAR? : Rabastan is young, the idea of war excites him.  Sure he believes in the outcome he is fighting for but he also enjoys the fight himself.  He is firm in his beliefs that some are better than others and he would more easily kill a mudblood child than harm his prized horse.  He is the sort of man who volunteers for missions and will often do the things others are too hesitant to do.  Even if it means enduring lectures on cautiousness and refinement from his older brother.

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S GREATEST AMBITION? : He’d like to say his greatest ambition is to rid the wizarding world of those not worthy to be a part of it but Rabastan is not so noble.  His greatest ambition is the feeling of power.  He likes to feel like he’s in control and, in the event he cannot be in control, he wants no one to be.

HEADCANONS : 1. Rabastan doesn’t suffer from “the spare” syndrome, which is to say, he doesn’t feel insignificant or slighted or jealous of Rodolphus’ place.  It takes some of the weight off of him and it allows Rabastan to feel in control of his own life.  If someone were to ask him if he’d trade places with his brother, he’d laugh in their face.   2. He hates to fly.  When he was a kid he never liked the feeling of being suspended the air supported by nothing more than a plank of wood and it’s not something he’s ever really gotten over.  He didn’t play Quidditch in school, not even pick up games, and to this day prefers literally any kind of travel over brooms. 3. Rabastan is bad at emotion.  It’s not that he doesn’t feel them, he just has a very hard time processing them and the deeper the emotion, the harder it is to connect to it.  He has become very good at mimicking emotion because of this.  He knows how he is supposed to act and behave from watching others.  When he does manage to make sense of an emotion, though, it rocks him. 4. Tinkering with spells is a hobby of his.  He likes to manipulate them, to adjust them, to improve them.  He considered a career in spell making but he’d rather keep his creations to himself.  He doesn’t crave the notoriety of creating new spells, he prefers the advantage having unique spells gives him. 5. Rabastan is what some would call “a fucking asshole.” That’s the clinical term.  He’s cocky and egotistical and very much enjoys using his name to justify all of his actions.  He’s not particularly kind to those he doesn’t deem worthy.  Unless, of course, there is something he wants from them.   6. Authority and Rabastan are not the best of friends.  Rabastan values his independence and he bristles at nearly anyone who has the audacity to tell him what to do.  The only person whose orders he follows without argument is the Dark Lord — and even that just means he doesn’t argue to his face.   7. When thinking of sons of pureblood families, many conjure the image of a cool and collected man, refined, judgemental, and snide.  Rabastan is only some of these things.  Snide, of course, and judgemental, but the similarities end there.  Rabastan is loud.  He talks too loud and says too much, he is too rough around the edges, he laughs to abruptly and too often.    

EXTRA INFORMATION : Star Sign — Rabastan is an Aries, the first sign of the zodiac.  Aries is known to signal the beginning of something energetic and turbulent, both words that could describe Rabastan.  Aries are known for striving to be the best, for being active, for sometimes acting even before they speak.  

“Hand me your hand, let me look in your eyes as my last chance to feel human begins to vaporize.  Maybe it's the heat in here, maybe it's the pressure; you ought to head for the exits, the sooner the better.  I am this great, unstable mass of blood and foam and no one in her right mind would make my home her home.  My heart's an autoclave.  When I try to open up to you, I get completely lost.  Houses swallowed by the earth, windows thick with frost.  And I reach deep down within but the pathways twist and turn and there's no light anymore and nothing left to burn.”  — Autoclave by The Mountain Goats

BIOGRAPHY

Two to three children was a typical number among the families of the Sacred 28.  Though the modern times trudged on, tradition was harder to shake among the wizarding world and even more so among those families of the purest blood and largest bank accounts.  The old saying, an heir and a spare, wasn’t a rule persay but it was always good practice in families with huge inheritances and far too many branches to keep track of.  On the morning of April 14, 1957, Rodolphus Lestrange Senior and his wife, Valeria Travers gave birth to their second and final son, following tradition and ending for them what was only ever a marriage of convenience.  Oh they certainly played the part of esteemed husband and wife but they were rarely more than friendly with one another.  Theirs had been a marriage of politics, not of love.  The best that could be said for them is that neither was particularly miserable.  

This was the home Rabastan was raised in.  A home devoid of that warm and comforting feeling that one begins to associate with “home” as they grow.  Rabastan’s house always felt more like a museum than a place of refuge.  However, knowing nothing else, this didn’t phase the youngest Lestrange.  He simply grew without a need for attachments like sacred spaces and childish hideaways.  One wouldn’t think to look at Rabastan but he was someone who had an overly developed imagination and his childhood was to blame.  Without the frippery most children had in the form of playrooms and yards and games, Rabastan found amusement in his own mind.  He read often, though he didn’t particularly enjoy it or not, but he thought endlessly.  There was a time when his parents thought it was possible that he would end up in Ravenclaw what for all the questions he asked.  

But Rabastan’s destiny always pointed towards Slytherin.  His thirst for knowledge was not for knowledge’s sake alone but in order to best understand how to get what he wanted in the way he wanted.  Even from a young age there was something Rabastan always knew and it was what he wanted.  What he had to learn as he grew was what to do when what he wanted was something he could not have.  Luckily, being a Lestrange, that list was small and it didn’t happen often that he had to choose duty over desire.  

When Rabastan got to Hogwarts, it was no surprise to anyone when the hat placed him beside his older brother at the Slytherin table.  Rabastan flourished in Slytherin house, his ambition was well matched and he was surrounded by his own kind.  Children from the Sacred 28 whom he’d known since birth, other purebloods who perhaps didn’t make the list of high society but were still cut from a similar cloth.  Rabastan fed off of these influences, shaping and molding the man he would be as he interacted with all different kinds.  He developed a small circle of close friends and it was only the closest of those that grew to knew Rabastan at his most natural and comfortable.  

Rabastan came on the heels of his brother to school and felt the need to make it clear to everyone that the Lestrange men were not two of a kind.  Where his brother was more refined and cautious, the perfect model of the Sacred 28, Rabastan was unpredictable and hedonistic.  He reveled in all he was and all that his name guaranteed him.  He excelled at school when he put his mind to it, showcasing a brilliance in the things that interested him and a complete lack of care when things did not.  In his later years at school, he was the organizer of more than a fair share of common room parties and developed a reputation for the skill with which he not only avoided detention but caused a fair few to do his time for him.

He was examining possible career choices in his seventh year when the Ministry approached him about a career as an Unspeakable.  The idea appealed to him for many reasons.  It was something completely shrouded in mystery and the chance to be one of the few wizards in the world with such access was something Rabastan couldn’t pass up.  Unspeakables were also among the highest respected members of the Ministry, thanks to the mysterious fog in which they carried out their careers.  It did not take much wooing from the Ministry to win Rabastan and after graduation he began his career in the Thought Chamber.  

Also following graduation, Rabastan followed his father and brother into the ranks of the former Knights of Walpurgis, by that time called Death Eaters.  It wasn’t an easy decision for him, though.  Rabastan recoiled anytime he was faced with the idea of doing something merely because it was expected of him.  Rodolphus was the perfect son, Rabastan had the distinction of being what his mother called a “wild spirit.”  That wild spirit, though, found itself at odds when it came to the Death Eaters.  Yes it was something expected of him, something his father and brother had already done, but it was also something he wanted for himself.  Rabastan agreed with all the things the Death Eaters stood for, blood purity and a distaste for those of dirty and tainted blood, the belief that only those of the oldest bloodlines should maintain power, the idea that witches and wizards had lived in secrecy for too long, cowering for fear of mere muggles.  With the exuberance of youth, Rabastan poured himself into work for the Dark Lord.  A Ministry official and an Unspeakable, he was a font of information for the powerful wizard to whom he pledged his allegiance and he struggled to rise quickly through the ranks.

Firmly in his place among the Dark Lord’s followers, successful in his job at the ministry, all that was left for Rabastan was to leave behind childish romance and fulfill the one obligation his family actually expected of him.  Marrying someone they deemed appropriate.  His betrothal to Lavinia Rowle was worked out quickly and announced with pomp and circumstance.  To say Rabastan was pleased with the arrangement was a complicated statement.  Of possible choices, Rabastan didn’t mind Lavinia.  He’d even go so far as to say he enjoyed her company.  But it was the one thing he was being asked to do simply because he was a Lestrange and it was expected of him and that was something he disliked.  He hemmed and hawed at the match, going so far as to inform his potential betrothed of his displeasure.  But for all his complaining, it was on of the few things he was unable to talk himself out of.  So he resigned himself to it and entered into it as his parents had before him, looking for a partner and perhaps a friend but not expecting more.  When he got more, it shook him to the core.  And then, before he knew it, it was gone.  She had left him with the first scandal he didn’t know how to talk himself out of, a heart he hadn’t known could break, and far more questions about himself than he felt entirely comfortable with.    

PARA SAMPLE

It had been Bellatrix who told him Lavinia had been in the bank.  She hadn’t been the one to mark his fiancée — if she had been not even her marriage to his brother could have protected her from Rabastan’s rage — but she had been in charge of the group that had.  He didn’t have the time to fight with her about who it had been, he could deal with that later.  What he had to deal with now was the fact that his fiancée bore the word TRAITOR on her arm and he had to deal with all that that implied.  For one, she was meant to be his wife.  His parents had chosen her for her family, her purity, her perfection and now she was marked as a traitor.  It was a fire he would have to put out.  He could hear his father already, calling for the arrangement to be annulled and for a new wife to be found.  When they’d first been betrothed, Rabastan would have been of the same opinion.  But now?  

It would take every argument and ounce of finesse he had to keep Lavinia in his life.  

Second and exponentially more dangerous, the Dark Lord had chosen those to be marked himself.  The invitations had been sent out with his approval.  He had chosen Lavinia for that Mark.  Defying his parents Rabastan could do, but the Dark Lord?  The younger Lestrange was unfamiliar with the feeling called fear but he thought that perhaps that cold wave of nausea in the pit of his stomach when he thought of that defiance was what people referred to when they said they were scared.  He pushed it down, indulging it would do no good.  If he was to find a way out of this, it was through logic and not emotion.

He stormed through the streets on the way to St. Mungo’s, cloak billowing behind him.  He was still fuming from his discussion with Bellatrix, a discussion that nearly ended up in curses flying as she informed him with a smile of his fiancée’s fate.  Only because his brother stood physically between them did Rabastan restrain himself from taking his anger out on the wild haired witch.  Inside the lobby, the smell of terror assaulted him and he had to fight to keep himself from sneering.  Around him, those who had been marked filled the halls.  He spent a moment watching not the victims but their family members, seeing the relief and worry on their faces.  Some stood at the information desk with panic alive on their features.  He twisted his features into a similar expression and joined them at the desk.  

“My fiancée.  I’m looking for my fiancée.  She’s here, they said she was here.”  He faked the tone of concern with disturbing accuracy and the witch behind the desk fixed him with a sympathetic look.  

“Her name?”  

“Lavinia.  Lavinia Rowle.”  He was directed to her room and he hurried there through the throngs of people.  Only when he had reached her room and found that she shared it with no one did he let the expression drop.  

Except it didn’t, not entirely.  Because beneath all of it was the third third.  He loved her — and now she was lying in a bed in St. Mungo’s face pale and drawn.  

“Are you alright?”

[beautiful-liu]

Chapter 25 - Remember me - Kryber

Title: Remember me

Pairing: Kryber [Amber Liu x Krystal Jung] Fandom: f(x) Genre: Drama, romance

Summary: The bad ass androgynous girl Amber Josephine Liu with a sex, drugs and rock-‘n-roll attitude whom everybody seemed to fear and admire at the same time, with the flash of a smug smile on her handsome face, and a sigaret or lolly pop in her mouth, depending on her mood. A leather jacket always hugging her shoulders, ripped jeans and a loose tank top that displayed just a tiny bit of her sports bra when she lifted her tattoo-filled arms. Everyone was weak for Amber Liu. Krystal simply didn’t see it. Until that one night she accidentally met her, and met a whole other person than the stories she had been made to believe. Word count: 1900 Rating: T A/N: Excuse the grammar mistakes. This is my first time writing a multi chaptered fic. Hope y'all enjoy the progress!

Read it on: AO3 & asianfanfics

Moodboard: x

In the following days, Krystal mentally prepared herself for the battle that was about to come. That basically meant, walking in circles in her apartment, muttering the text she was going to say, scrapping or adding a few lines and doing it all over again until she was so exhausted all she could do was bark at her girlfriend. Despite being the Vice-President, she had trouble giving presentations. Talking in openly in general was hard for her, let alone in front of all the employees. Once she'd stand up there, she would be sure she'd have the impression they'd all hate her. It annoyed Amber endlessly. She had never experienced trouble when she had to give a presentation, unlike Krystal, and didn't understand what was troubling her so much. "You just gotta say to yourself 'I don't give a shit' and just do it! Then it doesn't matter if you forget your lines or make a mistake, because of your posture they won't notice it anyway!" she had told her. And in every other situation, she would have followed her advice. But this was probably the most important presentation of her life; she needed to get those lines right! She had chosen them carefully, so that her audience would feel at least some sympathy towards her. And she would need that, if she was going to overthrow her father. Krystal drew up a document for Mr Evans in the days after their conversation. It wasn't much of a legal document — conspiracies like these never were quite legal — but at least it was written down black and white. She had already put her signature on the document. Later that day Evans came by to set his signature too and claim his copy. "I look foreward to a pleasant cooperation, Ms Jung," he added, before he left her office again. With a sigh, Krystal had ran with her hand through her hair. At the end of the week, Krystal held her meeting. It didn't happen often that the whole company and the press was invited; that only happened at very big occasions. But this was something big, and Krystal wanted everyone to know before she would begin her life as CEO of Jung Internationals. Better to get it right out in the open right away, right? Amber was with her back stage when she was preparing. Behind the curtains she could hear the ruffling of feet and chairs, the immense sound of a crowd talking, wondering why they were called towards the great meeting room once more. Last time it had been when her father appointed her as Vice-President, less than a year ago. Krystal was adjusting her ear piece as Amber patted her forehead with a tissue. "Yukkie, you're all sweaty," she commented. Krystal shot her a foul look. "Yes, thanks for accentuating that, Amber." The other woman chuckled. "You're going to do great. I'll be on the first row, if you don't know anymore, just look at me," she told her. "If you're going to make funny faces I swear I will step off that stage and kill you." Amber just chuckled and shrugged. She took Krystal's face in her hands and studied it elaborately before speaking. "Take a few deep breaths, drink some water and go up that stage and tell them what you want to tell them. I can assure you they will stand by your side, I promise." After that, she pressed a kiss on her lips. When they broke apart, she saw Amber's lips had gotten slightly redder of the stain that was left by her lipstick. "I love you, no matter what happens," she said. Krystal was surprised how strong her voice actually sounded and how sure she was. Because no matter what the concequences would be of her speech, she knew she and Amber would stay together. The other woman smiled, took her hand and pinched it reassuringly. "I love you too," she replied. "But I have to go. Your scedule says that your speech starts at exactly eleven o'clock so I'll have to claim my spot." They kissed good-bye and Amber left, leaving her with her thoughts and worries back stage. But her words had reassured her a little bit. That didn't take away the nerves but it did ease her mind. She had practised all night yesterday evening and she knew her lines by heart. Krystal closed her eyes to focus, concentrating on breathing slowly. Eventually, she was ticked upon her shoulder by the stage manager. "It's time, Ms Jung. The team is all ready," he told her. Krystal nodded and smiled weakly. "Thank you, Mr Andrews. Please, let them count down." The stage manager nodded and signaled towards the person who was controlling her ear piece. He would be the person who would help her if she forgot her lines — but she knew she would not — and counted down until the moment she was supposed to walk up on stage. When the rest of the crew heard the word 'go', they'd know to shine on Krystal with the spotlights and turn on her microphone. She heard the countdown in her ear piece and she stepped up on stage when she heard the 'go' and saw the signal. As soon as she set one foot on the stage, the crowd immediately grew silent. The spotlights were turned on and followed her to her stand. She turned towards the few hundred people watching her, placing her hands on the stand to support her body. For a moment, she adjusted her headset before speaking. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," As she said that, her eyes sought Amber in the crowd. It was hard to see anything but darkness when the lights shone in her face, but she managed to make up two thumbs up in the middle of the row. Two deep brown eyes watched her curiously, looking at her with a gaze of admiration. For a moment, their eyes met, and that gave her the courage to talk on. "You must have been surprised when you saw the invitation e-mail in your inbox a few days ago. Normally, big meetings like these only happen once every few years and this would be the second big meeting in this year already. The reason for this is because I have something important to tell you. As many of you might suspect, or hope, is that I am in a position to become the new CEO of Jung Internationals now CEO Jung's position is endangering his health. Being in such an important and stressful position will be too much for him any time soon. Whoever is going to be the next CEO won't be the concern to most of you. I am a candidate but there are others. As a possible candidate, I need to come clean to each and every one of you." Krystal took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she stared at Amber. "I have been advised not to chase after the position that could be mine because of who I am. Because I am a woman. Because I am.. in love with a woman, also. And for a long time, I was convinced that that was the best thing to do too; to just let it slide and be happy with the position I have now. And I am. I am not fighting to become the next CEO because I'm after the money, or the title. I do it because I am going to be true to myself for the first time in my life. I won't let anyone tell me off because of my gender or sexuality. Women, especially women who are not dating men, are discriminated against in this industry. Most of the audience is male and will probably not agree. For those who do not agree with me, I have a simple question: have you ever seen a woman in the position of CEO? Because I have not. And I am planning to break the glass ceiling for women and get that position. I'll be proud of my gender and of my girlfriend. As candidate I wanted to make you familiar with the possible next CEO. I want you to know and support someone who you at least know something of, someone who is true to herself. Nowadays my sexuality is moreover accepted but it happens daily in which people stare at me when I walk hand-in-hand. And that bothers me, but for every staring pair of eyes there's someone who comes up to me to tell me how brave I am. And that what's keep me going and makes me be proud of who I am. And if I am to become the CEO I want every one of you to be proud of me too. That's why I am asking for your support, no matter what will happen or who will become CEO. Thank you all for listening, and have a nice day." When Krystal was done, her face seemed to burn. Even though the thick layer of make-up would probably hide her red cheeks, she still felt like she was going to explode at any moment. Carefully she let out a shaky breath when the silence of the audience endured and endured. They just stared at her. Amber looked worriedly over her shoulder at the other employees and Krystal did the same. Did you clap at this sort of confessions? Did they agree with her or collectively decided that they were not going to support her. Krystal's nails digged into the stand in front of her and tears welled up. She was ready to run off of the stage when she saw someone stand up and she let her head fall in utter desperation. But then she heard a lonesome clapping sound and she jerked her head up. The person who had gotten up — an elderly woman that she recognized to take the morning shifts at the information desk every Monday through Wednesday — was clapping. Her face wasn't happy nor sad. She simply stared at Krystal with such an determination and power that she couldn't help to stare back at her, with her mouth slightly opened because she could not believe what was happening. There was a stir in the crowd, and suddenly a younger girl whom Krystal didn't know, stood up as well and started to clap along. She smiled at her. And soon, more women joined, with some of the men as well. Slowly but surely, the ammount of people who started clapping grew. Some even cheered or whistled. A lot of the men stayed down though, muttering and whispering with each other with frowns on their faces. But the ammount of people who stood up and clapped was bigger than the ammount of people who stayed seated. And she couldn't help to smile. Her eyes dartled off to Amber, who had gotten up and clapped too with an enormous proud grin on her face. Krystal smiled towards all of those women who supported her, thanked them another time and walked off the stage. When she stole one last glance of the crowd, she spotted her father stand in the back.

[dwestfieldblog]

DELUSIVE ENLIGHTENMENT MEGLOMANIA

2019...and a true two minutes to midnight on the doomsday clock. Now there's a king hell lead entrance eh? Annihilation and dystopia, coming soon to a planet near you...'One total catastrophe like this, is just the beginning' What did I learn last week? The name of the Egyptian god who created the universe by masturbating was Atum. Worth mentioning eh? Seeds of creation in atoms, his chosen warrior must have been Onan the Barbarian. And...Ethyl formate is in the centre of the galaxy, tastes like rum and smells of raspberries. Close your eyes and you are there. 'Meta programming the human bio computer' Dr John Lilly. 'Art and science have their meeting in method'. Bulwer Lytton. A long collage from the magician's hat......

Back in late January, the dubious blue shaded Bono of U2 was railing loud and hard against the evils of capitalism...surely I am not the only one to see the deep level of irony in this...A multi millionaire from writing songs with a number of offshore investments and minimal tax payments (well, only a few humans actually want to pay the tax demanded, but some of them can afford to pay it)...Without capitalism it is a touch unlikely he could have made so much money and kept it... only the corrupt in various regimes get to be so rich -  and precious few musicians get this much moolah...Some messianic front men should never be allowed to do anything other than sing and dance. Still haven't found what you are looking for?

Anyway, Jesus said 'When you give arms,do not let your left hand know what your right is doing, so that your arms may be given in secret'. Or maybe it was alms. Arf. Don't show your hand too early:-) Ace of spades high. Speaking of which...

White House Spokesperson Sarah Sanders mentioned on a religious TV network that God 'wanted' (Useful Idiot) Trump the gurning Golden Reptile 'to be the American President.' Perhaps that is true...maybe he will be the last moron leader that will make people truly aware and take more care over who they choose to elect in a democracy. Fnord. 'Well ah trust him cuz he aint a politician and he speaks his mind'. Duhh.What does he actually say when he speaks his mind? He has certainly been a gift (in more mysterious ways than one) to Presidents and populists in other dubious countries as proof of how useless free elections can be and how simple it is to affect them from afar and within. A standard bearer who carries his nation's flag so low he should be arrested under the U.S law for defamation. Germaphobes like walls, but a touch pointless when you have such filthy hands. A new world disorder....Love the title of the book 'Crippled America' by D. Trump with a scowling picture of the blonde psychopath on the cover. Says everything about the USA today. And love even more the idea of his Space Farce/Force... Flash Gordon meets Star Trek. Trump as Captain Kirk and Pence as Spock. Tired of being the policeman of the world, time to be the Warriors of the Universe and have laser space fights with China. (Wonder how their president chooses to interpret the I Ching? May he live in interesting times.)

'Sovereign' internet for Russia...(or 'the World Wide Web without the world', as the BBC World Service put it) a new law being prepared to control exactly what internet goes in to the Motherland and protect their people from freedom. Arf. Wouldn't want any false news or manipulated election results going on there eh? Or access to non Kremlin approved news. We shall see if this actually passes into legislation. What do the majority of Russian people actually think about this? Goddess bless Pussy Riot, Tatu and Vladimir Vysocki. Mr. Putin, remember Dostoevsky.  ( A week after writing that, 15,000 demonstrated in Moscow against the proposed new laws. There is already a law making it illegal to insult a member of government. Not much room for satire or polite criticism, but Russia has never pretended to be a democracy.)

World leaders in more and more countries following the old western lead in starting a war on the basis of an outright lie and receiving no punishment for it. (Perhaps at the gates of Saint Peter. ) Well, if the ones in 'Christian' democracies can get away with war crime atrocities under the pretence of righteousness and liberation, why not them? And let's not forget the ever useful catch all word 'terrorist', carte blanche to get away with murder and invasion on false pretexts. Terrorists are not shopkeepers, students, quiet religious folk or disaffected individuals without guns who disagree with their government and march/write songs in demonstration to protest apparent/ obvious wrongness. Terrorists use fear, manipulation and extreme violence to maintain, assert and spread their power. (and how many governments fit that description?) They don't make pop videos, they make snuff movies.  

Step by incremental naughty step Hungary and Poland becoming ever more damaged, Britain, Europe and America being gleefully and carefully encouraged to pull themselves apart. I have never (well, from the age of about seven, so that is almost never) been a believer of what America and Britain did to dominate the world in olden times Whatsoever. BUT, life under a Sino-Russian world government?? FECK that. All those wannabe socialists from western universities are going to have a screaming bloodily rude awakening in a red dawn. Or perhaps they have such a well built narrow reality tunnel that all will seem just fine and dandy when 'their' system wins and will thrill to the new accepted literature. Slightly depressing how this current apparent time stream appears to be developing.  

(Maybe a temporary control in the chaos is all most generations can wish for. Perhaps only a sidestep into the actual flow of the river which seems to be chaos is all that is needed to evolve into a deeper awareness. 'Sink or swim' appears to be false option perpetuated by alpha types. Flow, surrender control, and in the Being so, a (deep breath) an open hearted universal view...Makes astral sense to some of us.)

Totalitarianism is a foul bastard swine whatever side or form it takes, political or religious. Read interviews with those who survived life under the Nazis AND the Communists. Or those who escaped extremes of the main religions, those in new age mind warp sects, having their souls drained via manipulation and enforced delusion. Cowed into kowtowing, despising the manipulations but knowing how much it hurts to think and feel...and so choosing the easier path of submission. Some people are proud of endlessly suffering pain, but only very rarely does their endurance create a stronger person. Survive yourself. As the song says, 'The final conflict is within'. Stand, kneel, adopt the lotus, just don't bend over and expect anything positive to come your way. (Unless...yes you can guess the rest...)

And as for all the student snowflakes no-platforming dissimilar voices to harm their delicate ears and cluttering up the channels tweeting meaningless self righteous rubbish, shouting so loud there is no actual debate...where do you imagine your place will be in the new world scheme? Outsiders will be enslaved or executed by 'popular' demand. You are not Chinese dissidents in prison, however you might feel. You have the right to be heard, (even as you deny that to others) but not the right to deafen and attack. Did you ever wonder about the past mentality and spirituality of those who could stand and watch a heretic/ witch' being burned to death at the stake or these days, those who can sit in a small invited audience to watch a man be fried alive in a chair? Those men who could watch and take part in a gang rape? To coin an old comedic phrase; 'That's you, that is.' Dig into the dirt and get to the molten core of morality. Find yourself there, then choose the height of your evil, the depth of your Love without ego. Ethics. Arf. Thus spoke Westfieldthruster.  

'The black man motivates, the other man imitates'...Damn straight.

'But I'm confused between sexual, murder, magical and medical, is the difference metrical or imperial, septic, fertile, feral or sterile?' Health and deficiency. (J>B)

(Diary...There is no one in my life in any way for whom I do not have respect. Empathy and compassion I have, long term patience too but after my respect is gone then so are they. Deleted. This will very highly likely apply to myself. But I have never done anything with a woman that I wouldn't allow her to do to me, if she wished to. (So I am still a gentleman eh? ) Remember lonely boys, She might be a goddess but she's still human. Meanwhile again...Situation Normal, All Fecked Up...

After a certain age, recklessness ceases to be quite as attractive as once it did in youth, as 'Death becomes real'. (Dylan Moran) Illnesses and disabilities, permanent or otherwise increase in number with the procession of years and the long journey through suffering can make a human paranoid and fearful. Imagining the worst of declines can seem very logical. The 'unpleasant preliminaries' as Cohen said. Most of us have made up our minds (in a very literal sense) about what comes next or what doesn't and it is fairly easy, given how we adjust reasoning to fit with the least unpalatable truth to find a comfortable justification for our various behaviours. Self destructive types (which most of us seem to be in one way or another) use rationality to declare that if everyone dies including the thinker, then why not do what you enjoy the most for as long as you can. I do this and know of many others after the age of thirty who reached the same conclusion and followed through past sixty and beyond. Smoking, drinking, drugging, fighting can lead to some of the worst types of deaths. But even those who never did any of these things suffer strokes, dementia, heart attacks and chronic end of life pain. Just consistently negative thinking can make people ill, just in less obvious ways than smokers etc. So we/I seek to 'justify'.  

Reactions to stress matter. A lot, But how many working people with families have the time to sit under a Bo tree or read Eckhart Tolle etc? Most of us appear to attract some mental/physical cataclysm as a way of taking stock and making a 'brutal re-appraisal of the situation'. (HST) Very often this is the only way a human stops what they are doing and starts thinking about Being. We all do what we do to keep various feelings and thoughts at bay, but the brain (and thus the body. 'Where a thought goes, a chemical goes with it'; Deepak Chopra) are not fooled and store it all up until overload occurs. Getting old is not for cowards. Shame I seem to be one, such die many times before their deaths. Endless physical pain and mental fear can do that and it is very hard to see that as an Initiation sometimes. And these days, most of the time. Glad I have a gun. How many of us can hope to die 'peacefully in our sleep'? Tranquillisers? Not quite the Portal of Daath, more like the gateway to the abyss. Which as uncle Frederick said, stares right back into you when you look long.

For those with patience, it is easy to say that meditation might well be the best way to re-programme the mind into letting go the poisons. To un-wire and react to stress in a more positive way. Discipline. Old habits die hard. Older habits die very badly. Alpha theta delta waves and LSD therapy? Chinese Auryvedic Reki Tantric massage, more sex for the endorphins and oxytocins? Some people will read this as a very dull and obvious piece of writing. Others will know all about the idea of suicide as a 'problem focused strategy'. Get on with dealing with and solving the attacks from within and without...Want the truth? A truth. There have been thousands of days when the only thing that kept me going was the thought of unwinding my useless tension with whisky for a few hours every night. And it is that lazy thought which has been killing me for the last 22 years. A liver is a remarkable organ unless you flood it with alcohol, the power of her regeneration is astounding until the tipping point is reached. Milk thistle isn't going to solve this. Can you tell how I feel today?

What causes that 'tension' Dave? The usual. Overthinking, self hatred, anger, desperation, guilt, regret, doubt, all the classics. Most of us seem to have these in various combinations during our lives. A generalisation but seems to be a fair one eh? Some people deal with the negatives in highly positive and/or immoral ways... regular holidays, saunas, horse tranquillisers, painting, flagellation, righteous causes, deviant behaviour, local politics, role playing (well, we all do that one way or another), virtual reality games (also), teaching things we should know better before we set ourselves up as such, conning the gullible with vague promises of better things, healers as politicians and vice versa seeking money and power/sex, lying to ourselves on an hourly basis, doing anything to be 'happy' and sustain the illusion that we are somehow promoting our immune system and to bring meaning to our existence. Burning through the days, raging with light because it seems sexier than being peaceful, Attempting immortality (in physical form) through health supplements, work, sport and having offspring. Faking our 'realities' until they temporarily become real. Working on massive ideas because we are captivated by the energy within them and the possibilities of a better life, curing dis-ease via mental, physical, chemical and spiritual research, using ourselves as a laboratory, exploring exactly what Will-Power truly means. Further and deeper into realms of the without which is truly inner, the macrocosm which is the microcosm. '100 books you must read before you die', the first of which is your own. Your very own Book of the Dead. A lifetime preparing before the next step.  

Been there, done that. Next. (How arrogant.)

So, survive, evolve and move on...He writes with dead eyes and in daily pain. Normal is very overrated, whatever my foul mental weaknesses, I regret very little. Could always Do more. But Being is key. There is only a time limit on the flesh. 'Who will deliver me from this body of death?' What seems important to you? Really, truly? Define 'important' and instinctive reasons why. Or not...to hell with me, in hell I seem to be and to hell I go. Pathos and hubris simultaneously. Woo-hoo. Etc.

One more final 'time' for the universe...'God' is/was/probably possibly a telepathic scientist, architect of infinity, quantum physicist, astral engineer and a psychic musician. ALL. WE are tiny sparks and mirrors of 'God', parallel possibilities, all serving the purpose of existence, which is (so I seem to choose to believe) to Evolve and experience all that matter can. We do not all need to be Einstein, Da Vinci or Beethoven but we all are on various levels, perhaps less 'grand' (depending on perspective) but the Poet/ Creator is within us all every time we appreciate Nature, enjoy humour or a story well told, think of some connection for ourselves...Small things Matter:-) As the bishop said to the actress. Smaller things are Quarks. Arf.  

Stanislav Grof... COEX...(Condensed experience montage. ) Eg, 'You are re-experiencing the birth process, remembering pre birth inter uterine events, reliving ancestral or archaeological crises of people/animals from whom you are descended, seeing the  sub-atomic energy whorl from which Form appears, previsioning the Superhumanity of the future...all at once!'  (That was, apart from the LIGHT that smashed into me for five seconds in a garden in 2008, exactly what I experienced in the Reconnection. It went far higher the next time. I do regret I didn't practice.

1.Amniotic universe – the womb. The only world that life knows at this point. Blissful feeling of peace and joy in a healthy womb. 2. Cosmic engulfment – no exit – Equilibrium disturbed, contractions begin- unbearable feeling of being stuck in hell with no way of escaping. 3. Death verses rebirth struggle – second clinical stage of childbirth, intense struggle for survival.4. Death versus rebirth experience – the child is born. Intense ecstatic feelings of liberation and love. New world begins. ...

I found this scrawled by me on an old A4 scrap of paper, not sure who actually wrote it, perhaps E. Tolle. Along with 'Conscious Ego...Self Image/Persona/... Subconscious memories...Shadow/Denied psychic material... Anima/Animus/ Opposite sex qualities...Collective Unconscious/Universal+archetypal processes.  In a cycle learning and relaying...'Information received, decoded and transmitted by a structure'. (Definition of intelligence by R.A.W.).  

An infinite number of reality tunnels threading in a spiral of a labyrinth between matter and the non physical. The 'Akashic Record' to tap into and imprint our own levels of experience, the Eye recording Itself. Individually/collectively. Why do we think? Why remember? Why care? Why create? What is the chemical programme which sparks curiosity and fascination? The survival trip is a journey to.....

.....................................................................................................................

Back in Middle School...I knew before I started the run/essay etc, that it was mine. No pride or ego, just knew I had already won. A calmness descended, not grit and determination, just KNEW it. And so it was, every time. Another example from life of no planning, just Being, THEN doing it. My entire life was full of these. Thinking never worked out for me. Everything good which has happened has been spur of the moment choices, instinct, following what (or who) I Love. TRYING (or trying too much) usually ends in tears. Parallel to this is the absolute negativity of my/the mind. Agree to be optimistic as a behaviourally rewarding hobby...he almost giggles.

Reprogramming takes effort and how many of us can say we are not lazy? The most regular homework I give to students is to just to write diary type paragraphs about things they notice or feel on various random days. I have been given some wonderfully honest expressive stuff. What would we reach across/back and tell ourselves at younger ages? What would we attempt to avoid or undo? This exercise is pointless if we feel negative or sadness over it. So don't. Arf. Self forgiveness is a beautiful thing, valuable and worthy. So are we. Stay warm and in flow:-) Last famous words unknown. Happy rebirthing Easter day again. And again.

'Today I broke a personal best, successive days alive':-)

LOVE.

[almighty-god-saved-me-blog]

Seeing My True Colors Clearly | The Church of Almighty God

Seeing My True Colors Clearly | The Church of Almighty God

Xiaoxiao    Xuzhou City, Jiangsu Province

Due to the needs of the church’s work, I was reallocated to another place to fulfill my duty. At the time, the gospel work at that place was at a low ebb, and the situation of brothers and sisters was generally not good. But because I was touched by the Holy Spirit, I still took on everything that was entrusted with full confidence. After accepting the entrustment, I felt full of responsibility, full of enlightenment, and even thought I had quite a bit of resolve. I believed I was capable and could perform this job well. In reality, at the time I had no knowledge whatsoever of the work of the Holy Spirit or my own nature. I was living completely in self-satisfaction and self-admiration.

Right when I was brimming with self-pride, I met a brother at a host family who was in charge of the work. He asked me about the situation regarding my work, and I answered his questions one by one while thinking: He will surely admire my work abilities and my unique insights. But never did I expect that after listening to my responses, he not only did not nod in appreciation, he said that my work was inadequate, that personnel has not really been mobilized properly, that I haven’t achieved any results, and so forth. Watching his dissatisfied expression and listening to his assessment of my work, my heart suddenly felt cold. I thought: “He says my work is inadequate? If I haven’t achieved any results, then to what extent will I have to go for it to count as achieving results? It should be good enough that I haven’t resented this rotten task and was willing to take it on, and yet he says I haven’t done a good job.” I was very defiant in my heart and felt so wronged that tears nearly started falling. Those defiant, dissatisfied and rebellious things inside me shot straight to the surface: My caliber can only achieve this much; I’ve done my best anyway, so if I’m inadequate then they might as well find someone else…. My heart was feeling extremely uncomfortable and I was at a loss, unsure of what to make of it, and so I was unable to hear a word he said after that. In those few days, my situation went from brimming with self-pride to feeling depressed and disheartened, from being very pleased with myself to having a stomach full of grievances. A sense of loss engulfed me. … Amid the darkness, I remembered God’s words: “Peter sought to live out the image of one who loves God, to be someone who obeyed God, to be someone who accepted dealing and pruning …” (“Success or Failure Depends on the Path That Man Walks” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). What about me? All someone did was criticize me a little, say my work was not good enough, and I felt upset and wanted to quit my job. Is this a person who is willing to accept dealing and pruning? Is this seeking to love God like Peter? Isn’t what I have revealed what God resents? Not wanting others to say I didn’t do good enough and only wanting to receive the praise and recognition of others—isn’t that the basest of pursuits? In that moment, I had a ray of light in my heart, so I opened up The Word Appears in the Flesh and saw such a passage: “It would be best for you to devote more effort on the truth of knowing the self. Why have you not found favor with God? Why is your disposition abominable to Him? Why are your words loathsome to Him? You praise yourselves for your little loyalty and want reward for your small sacrifice; you look down upon others when you show a bit obedience, and become contemptuous of God upon performing some petty work. … A humanity such as yours is really offensive to speak of or hear. What is praiseworthy of your words and actions? … Do you not find this laughable? Surely you know that you believe in God, yet you cannot be compatible with God. Surely you know that you are unworthy, yet you remain boastful. Do you not feel that your sense has become such that you no longer have self-control? How can you with such sense be fit for association with God? Now are you not afraid for yourselves? Your disposition has already become such that you cannot be compatible with God. Is your faith not preposterous? Is your faith not absurd? How will you deal with your future? How will you choose the path to travel down?” (“Those Incompatible With Christ Are Surely Opponents of God” in The Word Appears in the Flesh). God’s words shot through my essence like a sharp sword, rendering me speechless. I was deeply ashamed and overcome with embarrassment. My reasons and my inner struggles vanished like smoke in thin air. In that instant, I experienced the power and authority of God’s word deep in my heart. Through the revelations of God’s word, I finally got to know myself: In the fulfillment of my duty I did not constantly strive for perfection to achieve the best results in order to satisfy God, but was instead content with the status quo and felt very pleased with myself. God says, “… man will ever be as infants before God.” Yet, I not only failed to recognize that my own situation would be resented by God, I even felt wronged when someone criticized me. I really was ignorant and unreasonable! I was always looking for praise for doing a little work, and as soon as it wasn’t received, all my energy would be gone; I sulked petulantly when my efforts were questioned instead of appreciated. At that moment, I saw my face of hypocrisy. I saw that the fulfillment of my duty came with demands and transactions and was full of impurities. It was not for satisfying God or repaying His love, but for ulterior motives.

In the past, when I saw God’s word expose the baseness of man’s humanity, it never used to shine through in my heart and I suspected that God’s word was exaggerating. It was only through God making it manifest that I had an awakening: To be able to fulfill my duty today is God’s great exaltation and His great love. Yet I did not cherish it or treasure it, and instead I pursued things that had no value and no meaning—being praised by people, celebrated by people, noticed by people, and to have standing in people’s hearts. What meaning do these things have? God says man lives not only by relying on food, but also the words expressed through Christ. But what was my life reliant on? I lived by relying on people’s attitude toward me and how they saw me, and I often worried about personal gains and losses because of such things. A few words of recognition or praise or a few words of comfort or consideration would make my energy multiply; a few words of criticism or a negative facial expression would make me disheartened and lose the power and direction of my pursuits. Then why do I ultimately believe in God? Could it be just for the sake of people’s approval? As God’s words revealed, what I cared about was not the truth, not the principles of being human, and not God’s painstaking work, but what my flesh loves, things that have absolutely no benefit to my life. Can another’s enthusiasm toward me prove that God praises me? If I cannot be compatible with God, then aren’t my pursuits still in vain? Thank God for enlightening me! From my own revelations I then thought of Christ’s being, of how Christ came to work on earth to save mankind. But what is mankind’s attitude toward God? He is holy and honorable, the glorious God Himself, but who really treasures God, who lets Him have a place in their hearts, and who truly gives glory to God? Apart from rebellion and resistance, all man presents is blasphemy and rejection, and yet Christ never makes a fuss with mankind or treats people in accordance with their transgressions. He silently endures their devastation and oppression, without ever resisting, but does anyone ever express praise from their heart for Christ’s humility, His kindness or His generosity? By comparison, I saw more and more of my own narrow-mindedness, how I fussed over things, how I always hoped to be praised by people or be valued by them, and other selfish, despicable and shameless behaviors. Even with such lowly character, I still saw myself to be as precious as gold. No wonder God says human sense has reached the point where it has become difficult for mankind to control. God’s words have utterly convinced me. At this time, a kind of longing and attachment for Christ—the Master of all things—generated spontaneously in the depths of my heart. I couldn’t help myself from praying to God: “Oh God! Your disposition, essence, and goodness makes me endlessly envious. Who can compare to You? What You have expressed and revealed among us and everything You have shown to us are all manifestations of Your beauty, Your virtuousness, Your righteousness and majesty. Oh God! You have opened up my heart and made me ashamed of myself, making me bow my face to the ground. You know deeply of my pride, my vanity. If not for Your wonderful orchestrations and arrangements, if not for the brother You sent to deal with me, I would have forgotten who I am long ago. Stealing Your glory yet feeling proud of myself—I really knew no shame! Oh God! Thanks to Your revelations and protection, I managed to see my true self clearly and discover Your loveliness. Oh God! I no longer want to be negative, and I no longer want to live for those lowly things. My only wish is, through Your chastisement and judgment, Your strikes and discipline, to know You, to seek You, and moreover through Your dealing and pruning to fulfill my duty so I can repay You!”

Recommendation: Where Does Eastern Lightning Come From?          Copyright © 2018 the Church of Almighty God All rights reserved

[ruminativerabbi]

R.I.P., RBG

As I suspect it did all Americans, Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s death took me by surprise. I knew she wasn’t in good health, of course: that much was public knowledge. But I didn’t understand how close to the end she was; perhaps she herself also didn’t. But regardless of who knew what and when they knew it, her passing constitutes a major loss for the Court and for the nation. In many ways, she exemplified the Jewish ideal of a life devoted fully and wholly to the pursuit of justice. For Jewish Americans, therefore, her loss was, if not more consequential than for other citizens, then at least more personal.

I will say, however, that I was surprised by the announcement that Justice Ginsburg’s body would lie in state at not one but two locations: for two days at the Supreme Court itself and then for a third day at the U.S. Capitol (where she will become the first woman ever to be awarded that posthumous honor).

Obviously, these are both huge honors that not everybody gets. And that’s really to say the very least: since 1852, for example, when Senator Henry Clay’s body was put on display in the Capitol, the honor of lying in state in the Capitol Rotunda has only been accorded to thirty-six individuals, including twelve U.S. Presidents and four Unknown Soldiers. (The honor is automatically offered to deceased Presidents and former Presidents, but has to be accepted by the family of the deceased—which is why the bodies neither of Harry S. Truman nor of Richard Nixon lay in state in the Rotunda.) Otherwise, the honor is on offer solely by congressional resolution or, if that is not practically possible, then by unanimous approval by the congressional leadership. And then there is also the slightly lesser honor of “lying in honor,” as opposed to “lying in state,” a distinction with, as far as I can see, only two specific differences other than in name: the bodies of people who lie in state are guarded by an honor guard of five, each representing a specific branch of the U.S. Armed Forces, while the bodies of people who lie in honor are guarded by officers of the U.S. Capitol Police Force; and those who lie in state, like Justice Ginsburg, are laid out upon a catafalque originally constructed for the funeral of Abraham Lincoln, while those who lie in honor are set out on alternate biers. For the record, Justice Ginsburg will not be the first woman at all to have her body on display in the Capitol; that honor already went to Rosa Parks. But Rosa Parks lay in honor, while Ruth Bader Ginsburg will lie in state. In any event, Justice Ginsburg will certainly be the first Jewish American to lie in state at the Capitol. And she will only be the second Supreme Court Justice offered that posthumous tribute, the other being William Howard Taft who was also a former President when he died in 1930. (She will therefore be the only Supreme Court Justice who wasn’t also a former President to be awarded the honor.)

The whole idea of delaying burial by putting the body of a deceased individual (even inside a casket) on display for days and days could not run more counter to Jewish tradition, which calls for a speedy burial followed by a week of mourning. And how much the more so when Yom Kippur, which will end the shiva week no matter how much or little of it has happened, is only days away. When the actual burial will take place has not been made public, only that Justice Ginsburg will be interred “next week” at Arlington National Cemetery next to her husband Martin, an Army veteran. (She will thus become the fourteenth Supreme Court justice to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, joining, among others, Earl Warren, William Rehnquist, President Taft, and Warren Burger.)

That she personally chose not to be buried in a Jewish cemetery didn’t surprise me—that die was cast when Justice Ginsburg’s late husband was buried there in 2010—but also stirred up some strange feelings in me, which have now installed themselves next to my feelings about the whole “lying in state” thing. Of course, these matters are themselves screen-issues that serve merely as the outer face of the inner question they mask: the degree to which the Jews of the United States are essentially Jewish Americans (whose bodies lie in state if they earn the right and who should more than reasonably agree if they earn the great honor of burial at Arlington) or American Jews (whose funerals should be scheduled for as soon as possible after they die and who should then be laid to rest in Jewish cemeteries among the other men and women of the House of Israel).

Is there a level of public service at which the good individuals do somehow frees them from the obligation to bow to the traditions of their own people? Queen Esther agreed to spend her days—and all of them, not just the ones told about in the book that bears her name—she agreed to spend her life as the wife of a Persian emperor and we endlessly valorize her courage, her daring, and her decisive pluck in the face of a looming catastrophe that she herself could possibly have avoided entirely but which would have surely resulted in the annihilation of Persian Jewry. Surely, we’re not going to carp about whether or not she had a kosher kitchen installed in the palace or a mikveh! But is the analogy truly apt? Justice Ginsburg was not, after all, set in place by kismet to rescue the Jews of America from some latter-day Haman! Still, she did find her remarkable way onto the nation’s highest court, where she devoted her entire career to the pursuit of justice, equity, and fairness. And she brought only renown to the Jewish community, who looked on her as an example of someone who rose to her position of great power not by hiding her Jewishness or dissembling in its regard, let alone by denying it, but by speaking openly and proudly of herself as a Jewish woman. She wasn’t exactly an American Esther, but in her own way she paved the path forward for American Jews—and particularly for American Jewish women—to think of no level of public service as beyond their station or beyond their grasp.

Back in 1988, I admired Joseph Lieberman intensely for his refusal to campaign on Shabbat when campaigning to represent Connecticut in the Senate. But when he himself moved away from that position in 2000 to become Al Gore’s running mate, I found myself unable to respect him less. Sometimes, you can control the moment and sometimes the moment controls you!

I suppose the expected response for a rabbi would be to decry the fact that Justice Ginsburg’s body will be put on public display for three long days until she is finally laid to rest in a place that is, at the same time, our nation’s most revered cemetery and a non-Jewish place of burial. And, at least on some level, I do feel that way and wish that Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s final appearance in this world had been in keeping with the very Jewish tradition regarding which she so often spoke warmly and, no doubt, wholly sincerely. But I am also—and I say this fully aware of the paradox in my feelings—I also feel enormously proud to think of her casket resting on the Lincoln catafalque in the most august setting America has on offer and, yes, to think of her finding her final resting place among the greatest political, juridical, and military leaders of our nation.

One of the prices we pay for maintaining the integrity of our beliefs is having to endure the discrepancy, illogic, and paradox that come from sincerely holding beliefs that do not fit at all well together. Are there people the various components of whose worldviews are so well integrated that they simply harbor no mutually-contradictory or -incompatible beliefs? I suppose there might be, but I myself am not among them. And so, at the same time I am repulsed by the whole notion of delaying a Jewish person’s burial so that his or her remains can be put on display for admirers to admire and for viewers to view, I am also filled with pride at the various posthumous honors paid to Justice Ginsburg and I find myself able to mourn her passing without any ambivalence at all. She was a giant of the law and, at the same time, a Jewish American who exemplified the finest American and Jewish values. May her memory be a blessing for us all. And may she rest in peace.

[aion-rsa]

INTERVIEW: Seeley & Norton Bring Their Undead Revival to a Close

Human beings have a natural antipathy towards death. It literally takes everything from us, so we often view it as something to be feared and defied instead of as a natural part of existence — which, if taken too far, can have dangerous and even apocalyptic consequences. In 2012, writer Tim Seeley and artist Mike Norton began examining some of those consequences in their creator-owned rural horror/noir Image Comic series “Revival,” set in a fictionalized version of Wausau, Wisconsin where one day all of the town’s recent dead mysteriously returned to life. These “Revivers” turned life upside down in Wausau, and now, almost five years later, the town is on the brink of destruction as Seeley and Norton bring “Revival” to a close with issue #47.

All hope is not lost in fictional Wausau, though. The town’s defenders, which include police officer Dana Cypress and her Reviver sister Martha, aka Em, have banded together with unlikely allies aging fitness guru Lester Majak to undo the mysterious and unnatural phenomenon plaguing their town. Ahead of the series’ final issue Seeley and Norton joined us for a discussion about the origins of these important characters, the larger themes of “Revival,” and what’s next for the two creators.

CBR: “Revival” debuted almost five years ago, and now we’re just days away from the release of the 47th and final issue. How does it feel to have this story come to a natural conclusion?

Mike Norton: Good. Sad. Weird. We’ve known this day would come since we started issue one, and I don’t think either of us knew what the end would feel like. We knew how the story would end, just not how we would feel at the end.

Tim Seeley: I’m relieved in a lot of ways, mostly that we got to the end without any major hiccups. Even more relieved that the story worked out really well. When you’re in the middle of it, it can be hard to tell if everything is going to line up.

At the same time, I feel kinda bummed out, which I didn’t expect.

“Revival” explored the relationships that made up an entire small town, but one of the biggest, and perhaps the driving dynamic, was the one between the two Cypress sisters, Dana and Em. Was that bond between sisters always going to be the central focus of the book? And what made you want to focus on that bond?

Norton: I don’t know if it was Tim’s intention from the very beginning, but from the first issue, we knew that’s what it would be. The Cypress family relationship is the story of “Revival.” I guess you could say that’s how we’re different from the rest of the “dead come back” stories.

Seeley: Right, yeah this wasn’t about surviving, which is what 99% of “zombie fiction” is about. It was about living with people. We wanted to explore that subject on a macro level with the town, but also on the micro level, in relationships most of us have experienced in our lives — the relationships with our families.

EXCLUSIVE: A look at Mike Norton and and colorist Mark Englert’s work in “Revival” #47

I picked “sister” as the central bond, mostly because I have two brothers, and the relationship I have with them is one of the most important things in my life. I made the characters women, mostly because I’m endlessly fascinated by them, but also because I’ve seen some really interesting dynamics between real life sisters that I wanted to play around with.

What went into the development and design of the Cypress sisters? Were Dana and Em always going to be and look like who they were in “Revival” #1?

Norton: I think Tim was pretty clear on Em from the beginning. He actually drew a picture of her before I even started. She’s not too different from another character he created when he was younger. Dana was my creation. She was originally going to be a guy.

Seeley: [Laughs] Yeah, Dana started the story as “Dane.” True story! I made up Em when I was 16, and she looks remarkably similar to my original design from 23 years ago, minus the terrible school girl skirt.

The central mystery that influenced much of the action in “Revival” suggests that one of the central themes of the book is the acceptance of death. Is that what you were aiming for?

Norton: That is definitely one of the main themes. Of all the hardships humans endure, the loss of a loved one’s life (or dealing with your own mortality) is one of the biggies. How we accept it makes us who we are.

Seeley: I’m sure my obsession with death is pretty obvious to anyone whose read any of my stuff, or seen my music collection. “Revival” is definitely about mortality — why we have to die, why it it has to hurt the people who love us, and how it inspires everything we do.

One character I felt best exemplified the idea of acceptance of death in “Revival” was Lester Majak and his attempts to defy aging. He was a character who on the surface seemed almost humorous, but was much more dangerous and dark when you delved into him. What inspired the creation and look of Lester?

Norton: Tim was the brains behind Lester. He’s sort of an evil Jack Lalane.

Seeley: Yeah, Lester was inspired by an interview I had read with Jack Lalane in the back of an airline magazine. It was a great interview, which began as a puffpiece, but sort of evolved into this observation about how Jack’s fight for fitness was really a denial of mortality. I combined that basic idea with this 80-year-old Lothario I met at a bar in San Francisco, who had lost a lot of his ability to speak from a stroke, but had lost none of his charm with the ladies.

Lester is, of course, just one of a handful of many characters that called your version of Wausau home. Looking back, who are some of your favorite characters?

Norton: Dana is my favorite overall, but Tim populated the town with lots of real people to like. Mrs. Vang, Cooper, Jeanie Gorski. I’d say the strength of the writing is shown in that I actually dislike the villainous characters we created. Like, I really hate them.

Seeley: [Laughs] I always love the villains, so I think that’s why Blaine Abel, the rather tragic exorcist and snowmobile repairman always stood out to me. I also love non-villain Wayne Cypress, based a bit on my own dad, and Weaver Fannie, the samurai Amish woman.

Mike, what always struck me about the visuals of “Revival” was the moments of action and excitement were great, but where you really shined was the character design, acting, and the tone, whether it was humorous, creepy, or horrific. Looking back, what was it like to bring this book to life on a month by month basis? What are some of the things you’ll miss about it? And what are some of the things you won’t miss?

EXCLUSIVE: A look at Mike Norton and and colorist Mark Englert’s work in “Revival” #47

Norton: The thing I won’t miss is that even with something you love, it becomes a grind after a while. Keeping up the constant schedule for five years was tougher than I thought it would be. Incredibly rewarding, but hard. I will miss the characters and setting. I love drawing characters acting. It’s by far my favorite thing to draw… well, besides rubble. And pugs. I’m really happy you thought it showed.

Seeley: The dude pulled that shit off every month for five years! How is Mike not artist of the year five years running?!

Let’s wrap up by teasing what fans can expect from “Revival” #47, the series’ finale. What are some hints you can offer about what people will see? And is this a series where you might revisit this world and it’s surviving characters later for some stories, like Tim did with “Hack/Slash?”

Norton: I really don’t see us revisiting, but as Tim showed me with the “Chew” crossover, I should never say never. The story is done, and it’s the one we wanted to tell. I don’t think there’s anything more we want to say.

Seeley: I think 47 pulls together all the threads we’ve been rolling out over the course of the series, and I think it does it in a pretty unpredictable way. I hope so, at least. I think it also shows that we really did have a plan, and that the idea of “threads” is actually very much a thematic device, almost like veins winding through this big, fleshy body we created.

I’m not sure if I’d revisit it — at least not in this form. It’s definitely a contained shape as it is. I can see some of the characters showing up — maybe I’ll do “Amish Samurai Atlee meets Cat & Dog Investigations.”

Norton: I’m so happy people read and continue to read it. I’m proud of what we did. I think it’s one of the best things Tim has ever written, and I feel lucky and honored to have been part of it.

Seeley: It was an honor for me, as well. Norton proved his place in the pantheon with this book. Thanks so much to our readers, to the few members of the comics press who kept talking about “Revival” (like you, Dave), and to our collaborators Jenny, Crank!, Juan and Mark. Also, many, many thanks to Image Comics, for existing, and for publishing our book. We owe Eric Stephenson and the production staff there many beers.

Tim is currently writing “Nightwing” and Mike, I believe you’re drawing the current “Archer & Armstrong” series for Valiant, but what’s next for you guys in terms of creator-owned books now that “Revival” has wrapped? Have you guys already begun to develop or think about potential projects?

Norton: I actually just wrapped up “Archer and Armstrong,” too! So hey, if anybody needs me to draw Spider-Man…

Seriously, though, I do have ideas for what I want to do, but I’m taking it a bit slower now for a few months. I have a story I’m writing and drawing for Dave Kellett’s webseries “Drive,” and I’m drawing an issue of Felicia Day’s “The Guild.” I have more plans for “Battlepug” and “The Answer!” and I am cooking up a creator-owned series with an old pal of mine. I’m excited!

Seeley: Whew. All I know for sure is that I’m pretty beat. I’m on “Nightwing” for the long haul, and I definitely want to do a creator-owned book to follow up “Revival,” but I’m a little hesitant to jump into another massive commitment like that. It’d be nice to write something, I dunno… dumb, after something so complex and involved. Like, just wall-to-wall sex and violence and fart jokes. [Laughs]

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