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desertfangs · 1 year ago

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Strange Happenings

I was listening to a podcast about Cattle Mutilations and then this happened. It's Armand/Daniel, circa 1975, a little more than 1000 words. I will put this in my short fic document on AO3 later.

Daniel’s blood went cold when he read the newspaper headline. He scoured the article and then checked that yes, this was the Denver paper, not some tabloid. He enjoyed a good tabloid story—and since learning that vampires were real, he suspected that some of the stranger things reported on in those rags were not entirely fiction—but this was a mainstream paper: cattle mutilations.

He looked at the grisly photo of a cow with its guts hanging out, parts of it surgically removed. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed a swig of beer to wash it back down. Ash fell from his cigarette onto the paper and he wiped it away, ashing the cigarette in the ashtray on the small round bar table.

He poured over the article several times. The article said some people were suggesting it was prank, while others had more out-there theories. The article did not go into the specifics of what these strange theories entailed but something unnatural was definitely implied. Daniel wondered what that meant. According to the article, incidents like these had been happening for months in different areas around the state.

He was so absorbed in his reading that the movement of the chair across the table startled him and he jumped.

Armand laughed.

Bastard.

The vampire had sat, looking pleased with himself at how easily he’d managed to sneak up on Daniel. As if he didn’t do it all the damn time. Daniel glanced out the window. He hadn’t even realized it had gotten dark.

“What are you reading?” Armand asked, grabbing the newspaper and sliding it across the table before Daniel could answer.

Armand scanned the page and frowned. Daniel studied him, waiting for his reaction. It didn’t take long. Armand didn’t have to read like a mortal. He could just look at something and absorb the information. He had once insisted to Daniel that he was reading, just faster than a mortal brain could ever manage.

“Well? Is that your kind’s doing?”

Armand laughed again. “You think vampires would bother with such elaborate and silly games?”

You seem to enjoy games, Daniel thought before catching himself, remembering how easily the vampire could hear his thoughts.

“I have no interest in the blood of cows,” Armand said. “Nor do I desire to hack pieces off large animals.”

“No? Seems like it would be a fun weeknight activity for someone like you,” Daniel said, tone droll. He stubbed the butt of his cigarette against the ashtray and pulled the paper back in front of him. “Do you know what’s doing it?”

“Bored children, probably,” Armand said.

Daniel laughed. He couldn’t help it. What an absurd response! “You think kids are going out and hacking up farm animals?”

Armand shrugged. “The article suggests as much.”

It did say local teens were suspected in at least one of the incidents, a copycat prank. He tapped his fingers against the table. “So you don’t know of a creature that might do something like this?”

Armand’s expression shifted, darkening almost imperceptibly. He titled his head and examined Daniel for a long moment while Daniel tried not to squirm uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Then he said, “I’ve never heard of such a creature and I cannot fathom what form they would take.”

Daniel sighed. He folded the newspaper up. “What about Bigfoot?”

Armand blinked. “Are you asking if I believe a giant ape man is carving up cattle?”

Daniel shrugged.

“I’ve told you before, Daniel, I have no knowledge of such things existing. I am immortal, I am not all knowing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Daniel waved his hand and lit another cigarette. “Do you kill animals often?”

Armand actually looked surprised for a moment, which made Daniel smile. It took a lot to throw Armand off kilter and Daniel took great pleasure in doing so.

Armand reached across the table and snatched the cigarette from Daniel’s mouth at a speed that made it look as if the cigarette had flown into his hand of its own accord. Daniel’s heart raced but he tried not to show the jolt of primal fear that ran through him.

Armand held the cigarette between his fingers the way Daniel did, mimicking his motions. “Humans are animals,” he said idly.

“You know that’s not what I mean. Louis said he survived on rats—"

Armand’s head shot up and there was danger in his amber eyes. Daniel swallowed uneasily and reached for his glass. “Do not think speaking to one of us at length makes you an expert. And even he told you that was not normal behavior.”

Daniel took a swig of his beer. “I’m not an expert, that’s why I’m asking you.”

Armand put the cigarette to his lips. He inhaled, and then pulled it from his mouth, staring at it like it had offended him somehow. “We survive on animal blood when there is no other alternative. It’s your blood—the blood of mortals—that truly sustains us. Nothing else is sufficient.”

Armand stared meaningfully at Daniel’s neck as he spoke and Daniel’s hand went automatically to the spot where Louis had bitten him. It had been two years but he could still feel the ghost of the wound and he often wondered how it would feel to have Armand’s fangs in his neck.

Armand’s hand jutted forward, offering Daniel back his cigarette. He took it, fingers brushing Armand’s cool fingers. He wanted to grab his hand suddenly and hold it in his, to see if it would warm up in his grasp. But Armand had already stood, pushing his chair back.

“Where are you going?” Daniel demanded, without really thinking. He should be relieved the vampire was going. He was ice cold and probably hadn’t fed, and here Daniel was, stupidly asking him all about blood. That was a recipe for getting himself on the menu.

And yet he didn’t hate the idea. Vampires could drink without killing.

Armand leaned over the table and brushed a stray hair out of Daniel’s face. “Indeed we can, but it’s not satisfying. When I drink, I ride the heart until it stops and all the life has bled out.”

Daniel’s pulse raced, ice traveling down his spine. And then Armand was gone, almost as if he’d vanished into smoke. Daniel opened the newspaper again and tried to find something to distract himself, waving to the bartender for another beer. He sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to his hotel room alone until the sun was high in the sky and it was safe to do so.

#armand/daniel #short fic #armand x daniel #armand #daniel molloy #the chase years #devils minion #the devil's minion #devil's minion #vc fic #vc fanfic #short fic sunday #is that a thing #it should be a thing #daniel molloy vs cryptids #vc #vampire chronicles #tvc #armandaniel

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moonlitneurosis · 1 month ago

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For anyone struggling with anxiety and overthinking.

( its a bit long read )

Sometimes we all crumble and cry and feel broken , tortured by our own thoughts and our anxieties , maybe not just "sometimes" but rather all the time. My own life has become something unbearable as of now ( won't do much randirona but it's quite bad) - and I feel like a lot of other people experience the same anguish too with their own issues and circumstances - the agony of their brain constantly overthinking and ruminating, the pain of being occupied by anxiety constantly - abt everyone and everything, and the feeling of helplessness in being unable to deal with them .

Maybe the perspectives that helped me could help u too - even if no person does ..( for most of us there is no saviour ) .

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when u might have tried to share and seek support you could've got a lame ass sentence in reply like "people have much worse situations than u but they don't act depressed or feel sad " - as if your pain your suffering is invalid - because someone else suffered/suffers more than you .

They don't realise that there isn't any objective standard for suffering, because suffering in itself is such a subjective phenomenon. Can there ever be any object judgement for something like suffering or anxiety ? In the end you can only experience ur own pain , ur own despair , ur own helplessness - irrespective of what someone else is feeling .

You experience sometimes such a huge amount of despair after a tragic event that it feels unbearable , you get this feeling that the world is utterly removed from ur fears, hopes, desires, peace and happiness and loves. That indifference is terrifying.

Adding to this feeling of an universal indifference the fact that you r a mortal human being, one possessed of imperfect knowledge, of incomplete and unrealized abilities. Ur not omniscient, therefore r anxious because u do not know what may come u way; ur not omnipotent, therefore ur anxious because u know u cannot and will not withstand all the insults, physical and mental, the world sends ur way; ur not omnibenevolent, so ur made anxious, for u know and sense that ur capable of wrongdoing, of malevolence, of doing harm even to those u love and care for. Ur reminded by ur incapacities, too, that u might be victim to other humans’ failures of benevolence and knowledge.

You are possessed by deep anxiety over the life yet to be lived, whether u would live it “correctly”;

What r u living for? Whom are u living for?

The trauma of ur past events in life acting as a reminder that talk of certainty is laughable and that there r no truths more vital than love; that all you wanted was companionship and spiritual solace, and peace .

Your anxious because ur awareness is tainted and soiled by the knowledge that ur happiness depends on an unstable, dynamic, ever-becoming world that does not lie within ur control; u are aware, whether consciously or not, that happiness is fleeting, that all possessions, tangible or otherwise, are threatened by loss.

The unknown, the formless, and the unknowable conspire to render ur present contentment hollow, you thus live in a state of awareness at various levels of the fragility of existence, of uncertainty over whether our happiness will be taken away, of the fates of our loved ones, and all we hold dear; this knowledge is acutely painful.it hurts, it really hurts . Ignorance is indeed a bliss and to be very conscious a curse.

What do we do abt it all ? How do we live with it and not being overwhelmed, and flourish in our life despite of it ? And manage to build a peaceful life - so peaceful that it's haunting .

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Ur life is the record of ur attempts to construct urself by my decisions and choices; u find out who u r as u go along, making urself up.

U living ur life and making choices is not a discovery of a preexistent script

“existence precedes essence”: u are not born with a predetermined imperative or knowledge as to what exactly u have to do at what moment of ur life ; rather, u exist, come into being first, and then make urself.

We find ourselves “thrown” into a particular place and time, not of our choosing, but in which we must act and choose to make it distinctively ours. We awaken to find ourselves in this world; our place in it, the meaning of it all, will be determined by us; we are compelled to do so.

What am I to do next? What should I do? What will happen? We do not know; we cannot be sure.

AND WE CAN NEVER BE SURE - but we can still choose to make our life whatever we choose in that moment .

Isn't it liberating to know that there is no right or wrong way to live ? That however u have lived ur life or will live ahead - there's no wrong way - or a predetermined standard , that you life will be what u will make of it , and the this very choice - is just another part of the anxiety we experience. For we will always face choices , and always be anxious.

Perhaps our spiritual illness, our anxiety, is a function of us failing to find someone else’s “life solution” a viable one for us ?

Maybe the way to go is to develop our own solution to our issues , and to accept that it's okay to do so .

For Nietzsche, anxiety was either our reaction to the burden of the world’s normative pressures, for creating a sense of guilt and moral failure, or a reaction to their absence, for without them we were lost and disoriented; in either case, anxiety was our resultant state. This absurdity suggested the liberated man was the one who did not need those values, and was not oppressed by their presence or absence, for he made his own, delivering himself to his own demands, and living his own life

“ YOU ”— whatever or whoever u r — is made, decided, invented, and constructed, not discovered, or found with a predetermined essence and life plan.

Thus anxiety is an indispensable part of our understanding of ourselves as free beings, devoid of some predetermined and established essence, and left responsible for our self-creation; to be free is to experience anxiety because we must reckon with making choices that determine the contours of our lives and our fates; the uncertainty of a freely acting and choosing being and its associated anxiety becomes constitutive of human existence and consciousness

As we move onward on our paths of self-creation, actualizing some of our possibilities, our psychic, moral, and intellectual growth involves defiance of, and resistance to, established norms and procedures (these may be familial, social, or religious); our self is unique and must find a unique realization, chosen by us. The trusted path is secure; the path of perpetual creation is not. Societal and familial conflict and crises confront us in our developmental trajectories as we find ourselves threatened by spiritual and social isolation; selfhood is gained by confronting the anxiety—and guilt— inherent in taking a stand against one’s environment.

Looking at the people and society around us , the unsatisfactory life and relationships people have , to not have our own life turn like that , we need to face our anxiety and guilt , and only by doing so we can find our happiness and peace . Perhaps it's not an impediment in our journey, but rather a "road not taken" - a road we don't have a map of - but this very road would make all the difference.

Those who create do not shy away from anxiety and guilt, rather they navigate it and move through it. We understand “moving through” by analogy to swimming: We do not swim against the current; we do not try to swim to shore; we move ahead with the flow, sustaining the terrifying feeling of turbulence, of a loss of control, of no solid bottom for our feet, which must continue to kick. We cannot proceed anyway else; the tug of the current is terrifying, but if we fight it, or do not take any action at all, we will drown

Kierkegaard suggested that mankind’s greatest “blessing,” our freedom of willing and choosing, came with a terrible burden: encounters with anxiety. This burden, Kierkegaard claimed, was one we should happily bear; it is our cross, and we will find ourselves by our willingness to go forth with it, along the paths of our choosing, as we live with the unease of the unrealized universe of our lives.

In moments of quiet self-reflection and intense attention paid to the terrible possibilities of our choices, our confrontations with anxiety hold the possibilities of innovative self-discovery: what are we capable of; what may we do; will we have the strength to bear up to the consequences, intended or otherwise, of our actions? To move on with our lives, constructing ourselves despite the discomfort of these encounters, is, for Kierkegaard, the basis of selfhood, our life’s telos. It is only in these reckonings and confrontations that we find a way to be uniquely ourselves .

Anxiety, then, is the normal state of the innocent person where “innocent” means “before acting.” Stripped of its theological frills, this language means that we are always anxious before acting, as we contemplate both the possible action and our ability and desire to commit it, tempered by a fear of the uncertain consequences of so acting.

As human beings, with our lack of divine omniscience, we do not know; we cannot know. Yet, despite this lack of knowledge, we must press on, into the domain of action and fearful consequence; we must investigate the formless future, which reminds us of our inability to construct and define its contours with precision. We may realize that without divine, inhuman, omniscience, there is no relief from anxiety

Kierkegaard also asserts, “Anxiety is actually nothing but impatience.”We are straining at the bit, but afraid to find out what waits for us. We want to live but are afraid of experiencing life; we want life but are afraid of living. This is the tension that Kierkegaard finds in anxiety; it is present in the movement from possibility to actuality, from the present to the future, from ambiguous desire to concrete, committing, action.

Anxiety, is what we experience as we move from innocence to knowledge; it is a premonition of the task that awaits us, an intimation in our lives of our inner selves, and a beckoning toward what we might be. Much as a mountaineer feels a tremor of anticipatory fear as she confronts an icy, steep traverse across a chasm, but presses on, knowing that turning back is not an option, that stern, rewarding, indispensable self-examination awaits ahead, we must, too, take that first step and move on. Anxiety becomes the road we must travel on from a state of anticipation to realization; those who turn back from it, who forgo the journey, remain static and neurotically confined.

. Our freedom is possibility itself, the spiritual, nonmaterial, and non-empirical aspect of man that is unrealized and awaits completion.

Anxiety is how freedom is made actual by indicating to us that possibility in our lives is possible: we are those creatures who are seduced, entranced, and finally galvanized into action by an awareness of possibility, a state suffused with anxiety.

The most significant aspect of Kierkegaard’s suggestion that we pay attention to anxiety is that by our noticing it, talking about it, and acknowledging it, not as pathology, but as an informative part of ourselves, it becomes not something to be expelled, but to be welcomed as a message from ourselves. To stay with anxiety, to stop and respond to its challenge, is to accept a form of secular communion with ourselves. There is thus a Nietzschean note in Kierkegaard’s injunctions: we must display amor fati, a love of fate; we must own our anxiety as part of us, integrated and deployed to make our lives what we wish them to be. Kierkegaard, then, urges us to not withdraw from experiencing our anxiety, for what if we live our lives around not wanting to experience anxiety? We would then experience true despair according to Kierkegaard; we would have been in anxiety, but we would not have listened to it, not tried to understand it—and therefore not understood ourselves or who we could be. We would have had our only chance to be ourselves and yet have disdained it. For Kierkegaard, to regard anxiety as a pathology leads to regarding ourselves as pathology, to understanding our lives as problems, not opportunities; it is “a prosaic stupidity” that would “think of it as a disorder".

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For the Buddha, the anxious person was ignorant and deluded, clinging on to, grasping at, a quicksilver, ever-morphing reality, holding on for dear life to transient, ever-becoming possessions belonging to a nonexistent being.

The anxiety we suffer in the Buddhist view is entirely explicable: we are always fearful of loss, of the possibility of all the insults the world can send our way, by the transience of all that we possess and hold dear. Looking ahead, we can foresee our own painful disease, decrepitude, and decay— each associated with a particular self, the “I,” the ego, me, given a particular name by my parents. Our resultant existential thirst, arising out of ignorance of our state of no-self, grasps at, desires, forms desperate, doomed attachments to “sense-pleasures, wealth, and power … ideas and ideals, views, opinions, theories, conceptions and beliefs.”

While none of us are enlightened enough ( or will be ) to be completely ego-less and desire-less as it is talked in wether be it dhammapada (Buddhism) or bhagvat geeta or the Upanishads or tao te Ching ; While we may never reach the terminus of deliverance and salvation, we must accept, and live with, anxiety. We do not turn back from encounters with anxiety; we face up to it. Spiritual teachers therefore repeatedly emphasize living with our anxiety; they insist on mastering anxiety, not by avoiding it, but rather by accepting the inevitability of uncertainty, by having faith in our historically oft-tested ability to navigate the expected by-products of a dynamic, always-becoming world.

As the Buddhist nun Pema Chodron puts it in many elegant ways:

We explore the reality and unpredictability of insecurity and pain, and we try not to push it away.

* A warrior accepts that we can never know what will happen to us next.… The truth is that we can never avoid uncertainty. This not-knowing is part of the adventure. It’s also what makes us afraid.

* The central question … is not how we avoid uncertainty and fear but how we relate to discomfort.

* With practice … we learn to stay with … with a nameless fear.

* We fear losing our illusion of security—that’s what makes us anxious.

* We fear being confused and not knowing which way to turn.

Egolessness is … our capacity to relax with not knowing, not figuring everything out, with not being at all sure about who we are, or who anyone else is, either.

The Buddha considered the supposed eternal, immortal, unchanging self to be a dynamic bundle of ever-changing perceptions and thoughts and images; we are, too, a bundle of anxieties. By examining them—to see what vexes us, makes us anxious—we come to know who we are. Anxiety is a reminder that our selves are more diffuse and disorderly than we might imagine, that there are more bits to be seized as they swirl about and inside us. If our world “cannot be understood independently of the emotional reaction through which the world’s nature is revealed,” then the world we live in is shaded by our anxiety; to learn to live with it is to change the nature of the world we inhabit.

Anxiety then is an informant of who we are, of what kind of being we are, of the kind of self we can have if we choose to. Our existential conscience, rather than functioning as the hectoring moralizer of conventional ethics, urges us to confront and work through our anxiety, to assume responsibility for our lives, free of guilt and fear of disapproval.

This existential conscience, the voice of anxiety, is heard as an alien voice in our everyday existence; it is a call to investigate our true nature, to listen, to notice who we are and what we can become.

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it is only when we travel through the anxiety of possibility that we find the courage to encounter the fear of actuality. Such a journey of edification requires accepting our human condition, “that absolutely nothing can be demanded of life, and that horror, perdition, and annihilation, live next door to every human being”

To do so is to realize that life’s possibilities are not bounded, save by logic and conceptual imagination. Monsters lurk here, as do angels (afterall , life isn't just negative only )

This existential anxiety is not amenable to medication; so long as we are aware of the nature of our existence, we are made anxious .anxiety is not a concrete, tangible fear, but a chill that runs through my being as it becomes aware of itself, its nature. To not be so anxious, we would have to be unconscious or dead.

What makes our anxiety intractable is that it has no identifiable object and indeed cannot; anxiety is a fear of that unknown that is unknowable. This “naked anxiety” about nonbeing is unbearable in its horror; it is a nauseating, terrifying experience, rendering gibbering fools of the bravest.

Anxieties and its moods introduce a new unconventional mode of thinking; within it, the familiarity of the world vanishes, and we are confronted with the sheer contingency of the man-made world.This abnormal world is more revealing than the normal: here, anxiety brings us, our fundamental being, our naked existence, before its own potential, what it is, and what it could be. In our daily lives, we live in an inauthentic mode, awaiting deliverance and salvation from elsewhere; we accept the world as it is constructed (by those before us, complete with their self-serving, power-propagating values and norms), thus abdicating our existential responsibility in furthering it. This kind of existence is superficial; we exist on its surface without a deeper realization of its nature. Here, we are tranquilized and sated; we are not curious; we are not concerned with the nature of existence, our role in it, or our possibilities; we notice the disjuncture of the external world with the internal feeling of our being but pay no heed. Here, we are oblivious to our uniqueness, our peculiarity, and our possibilities; there is a frightening chance we might be born, live, and die without having realized what “this” was all about. But existence leaks through as anxiety “rescues” us. It delivers us not to a mode of existence in which we are merely passively impacted by the world as things or objects are, but rather to one in which we make it by choosing and acting. We start this process by being brought to face existence through a special, distinctive mood that reveals it to us: anxiety.

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The gist of it all ?

we are those creatures whose becoming is crucially dependent on our encounters with, and resolutions of, anxiety .

Anxiety could be understood, simultaneously, as an ontological feature of human existence— if you were born, you were anxious—and as a contingent feature of our biological, psychological, and cultural responses to this world , for anxiety (thanks to its persistent companion, guilt) is a response to its imposed strictures and demanding morals and standards.

Stripped to its fundamentals, in the psychoanalytic view, anxiety is our fearful response to a world destined to not satisfy our deepest needs; its analysis reflects a tragic view of existence.

Our ability to not expect an imagined, painfully remembered security the world cannot ever again provide for us is the key to integrating our anxieties into our evolving selves.

Anxiety shows us life is a (finite) cascade of fearful situations: we are cast adrift in a sea, in a raging storm, but are pulled into a boat, which must make it to land, where we find the terrors of hostile animals, which may be mastered, only to find a hostile galleon filled with bloodthirsty pirates bearing down on us. We are fearful and threatened; we find relief and are assured of new fears; this is our station in life, with anxiety our invariant, inescapable companion. This realized, we are partway toward living with anxiety: we must go toward it. This is a critical point of resonance with the foundations of cognitive behavioral therapy and acceptance-commitment therapy, modern psychotherapeutic techniques that emphasize sustained, continual exposure to our worst fears as the preferred path to learning to live with anxiety.

To understand we will always be anxiety ridden is to allow, too, for compassion and empathy for our fellow humans; we should especially find compassion in the face of anxieties impervious to life’s circumstances .

In acknowledging and accepting as inevitable, and living with, anxiety, we step a little closer to understanding who and what we are. If we are willing to sit with our anxiety, we may find it reflects our life’s most important decisions, our most personal and deeply held commitments and values . Anxiety can't be avoided , and it's only by facing it, embracing it , utilising it , that we can find peace in our lives .

I hope it offered a perspective to anyone who had enough attention and desire to read such a long ass essay 🙌.feel free to share ur views ( or correct me ) . I happen to have bg in psychology - maybe someday I'll write on it from that pov too .

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#overwhelmed #overthinking #mental health #mental illness #life #copium #anxitey #fear

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realitycheckin · 3 months ago

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Tahajjud Tangent: Trust, Patience, and the Diseases of the Heart (inspired by Mihed Asma's podcast, "Wherever you're at" ep 17)

Clarity only comes from Allah. Truth is only from Allah.

We have a tough choice to make daily: follow the truth or be easily deluded. Sometimes, we may be tested on this matter, how easily deluded we are. How easily do we fall into a certain conclusive belief about a matter? How many angles do we view it from? Do we simply believe what we are told, and only what we perceive?

Well, Allah perceives, and we perceive not.

It's challenging, don't get me wrong. It's hard. But it's dangerous as well. Limiting hope, giving up quickly, this is common in all of us these days.

“I know for sure.” “I’ve already figured this out.”

Su' al-dhann (having a bad opinion), kibr (arrogance), and ujb (self-admiration or self-reliance), these are diseases of the heart, and we carry them so ignorantly these days. These diseases may block the blessings of Allah from reaching us.

These diseases of the heart are indeed from Shaytan. They stem from his whispers and attempts to lead people astray by sowing seeds of pride, negativity, and a lack of humility.

Shaytan loves to exploit broken hearts. He takes advantage of moments of weakness, sorrow, or distress to sow confusion, despair, and negative thoughts. He whispers doubts and pushes people further away from Allah by making them feel isolated, unworthy, or lost. Shaytan wants to keep us in that state of despair because it makes us vulnerable to his influence.

However, Allah is close to the broken-hearted, and He is the one who heals and brings comfort to those who are in pain. There’s a beautiful Hadith in which the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) says that Allah is near to His servants, especially those in distress. Allah Himself promises to be close to those who turn to Him with a sincere heart, especially when they are feeling broken or vulnerable.

The Prophet ﷺ said, “Having bad assumptions is the most false of speech,” and in a Hadith Qudsi, Allah ﷻ says, “I am as My servant thinks of Me.”

So, فبأي آلاء ربكما تكذبان؟

This especially is seen nowadays: the more individualistic and narcissistic our society becomes, the more arrogance we build around our knowledge. The lack of humility, because now everything is labeled as “being a pick-me.”

The world has reached a drunken state. Consciousness has been poisoned by the toxic waste of brain rot.

And I will not claim to exaggerate, nothing good, except a dopamine rush, has been cultivated from all this.

We cannot process feelings or information. We do not empathize. We take everything as a joke.

I’ve seen how pride and insensitivity can creep in, even in serious conversations. Sometimes, people (and myself included) fail to hold space for the emotional weight others carry, brushing it off with “everyone goes through things.” But hardships are personal, and they’re assigned by Allah with wisdom. Dismissing them shows not knowledge, but a lack of humility. لَا حَوْلَ وَلَا قُوَّةَ إِلَّا بِاللَّهِ.

Wallahi, we must be patient with our brothers and sisters, but also seek those who are better than you.

And those of you who are sought because you are better, look to help better them. Do not shun them away.

For there is a goodness in you which they wish to attain. So seek to help them attain it, through your words and actions.

And the best of you are those who are patient.

We have cures for these diseases: Tawakkul (reliance on Allah) and Husn al-dhann (having a good opinion of Allah).

So often, I have come across a matter where one feels and thinks well of their Lord, and then fellow Muslims call them delusional.

Is Allah not رَبُّ ٱلْمَشْرِقَيْنِ وَرَبُّ ٱلْمَغْرِبَيْنِ?

To know the names and attributes of Allah also helps remove that arrogance and ignorance from the heart. For verily, the one who interprets his knowledge as realistic to this dunya(in the sense of there being nothing outside of it), he has known nothing.

(13:28) "Verily, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest."

"أَلَا بِذِكْرِ اللَّهِ تَطْمَئِنُّ الْقُلُوبُ"

#deenislam #critical thinking #deenoverdunya #literacy #deen #allah #poetry #convert to islam #muslim #islam #islam help #welcome to islam #islamic #revert islam #islamdaily #islampost

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ichorblossoms · 6 months ago

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*slithers in* i was thinking about your guys as you do and i was wondering how does Yarrow feel about crime and violence? in the sense that, i know you've said Yarrow is the one to spur the both of them into retribution once their lives are threatened later on in the story and i've been wondering how is Yarrow's relationship to something like that. in terms of like does he have any history with that kind of life before Grimm? did anyone ever teach him to shoot, or fight or is that something Grimm has to impart? does he take it to it well, and as a doctor does he have any conflicting feelings about it? WOO sorry a lot of questions but if you feel like talking abt any of it id be very curious :>

HIIIII THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME A CHANCE TO TALK ABOUT THIS HEHEEEEEEEE i'm excited rubs my hands together yarrow my favorite guy yarrow who has problems

this is also a lot of fun bc it's something i DO in fact think about often heheeheheehohohooho

also this turned into. A Lot so it's mostly under the cut BUT for the thesis of this: yarrow prefers not to fight, but if driven to do so, has no qualms about it, especially if violence is the only answer. he’s always kinda wanted a reason to beat the shit out of someone real good but never had that reason until now. yarrow can have little a bloodshed. as a treat <3

also i didn't draw anything new for this but i'm putting in relevant images so there are pictures and not all words

SO yarrow's relationship with violence is so much fun for me to turn around in my brain because, although he's a doctor, he's not inherently opposed to violence. he's a sweetheart and genuinely cares about the well-being of people, but deep down he also wants to know so badly what it would feel like to full-throttle beat the shit out of someone. to know what it's like to break instead of fix and give it to someone who deserves a beating. and he knows this about himself—yarrow’s deal is suppression, not repression. that being said, he doesn't love violence, or rather, the aftermath; his job would be a hell of a lot easier if it wasn't so prevalent. so for him, physical violence is a final resort. something he would need to be pushed to do when left no other choice.

i’ve mentioned before his pervasive sort of ”give and take” mentality—that mostly applies to himself before anything else, and ofc that attitude extends to violence as well. pretty simply an “i don’t wanna get punched so i’m not gonna punch people” thing. he wants to be a bitch sometimes. he will not let himself be a bitch. p3 frees him from his shackles because he now has reasons to be a bitch

at his core, yarrow wants to help people, to make the world a less shitty place with their actions, and ideally inspire that compassion in others—this and an interest in the (mostly) human body is why they’re a doctor. p3 of honeybee sees them removed from their practice entirely and—to their knowledge—possibly unable to go back, so they go: “what is the most helpful thing i can do right now not just for grimm and i, but other people? commit violence against the people who harmed not only me, but my lover and countless others because they have not faced consequences for their actions”

the world of honeybee is ofc course like ours where those in power inflict violence that they don't consider violence and, like a lot of characters, yarrow sees that imbalance. most people cannot meaningfully disrupt the machine slowly devouring them without risking their lives, loved ones, livelihoods, etc. and grimm and yarrow are in a particularly unique position to actually retaliate: neither of them are in any debt, they have each other, and their home/loved ones are far away enough as to not be directly threatened (* as of right now), so this, combined with grimm’s expertise and the knowledge that the two of them are being pursued anyways, creates a mindset of essentially “let’s try to turn them into the hunted instead of the hunter because there’s going to be violence either way and just maybe we’ll be enough of a threat for them to back off” they’re both humod, diplomacy is a laughable pipe dream

also generally the more wealthy and powerful someone is, the less yarrow cares about hurting them—especially because he believes it's the duty of anyone with power to wield it for the benefit of all and witnessing the constant misuse of it at the cost of other's lives/well-beings kind of galvanizes him more because it’s punching up

up until they ran off with grimm in p1, yarrow had basically no experience engaging in or even really being on the periphery of crime (with the exception of dealing with the physical consequences on/in people's bodies), they stayed in their lane, didn't wanna get killed or hurt by any outlaws or organized crime things happening where they grew up, which is also easier to do in the larger cities due to more wealth/security/etc/etc. grimm introduced them to more overtly breaking laws early in p1 by breaking into a motel their first night in rappock, and yarrow got really nervous not only about being caught, but about how they're indirectly harming someone, unlike grimm (who is concerned with its own survival first and foremost), yarrow considers how it affects people outside themself

i'd say this hang-up with doing illegal things mmmostly applies to himself though, as he recognizes that circumstances and desperation will bring people to do things they normally wouldn’t and tries to extend that forgiveness. grimm’s work as an outlaw in p1 is one example, where he knows it’s not a job it takes to gleefully but out of necessity, so he doesn't have too much of a conundrum about its work. if anything, he’s more off-put by grimm’s ability to kill him if it wanted to, but also in a way, grimm not killing him in cold blood helps yarrow come to the conclusion that grimm won’t harm people more than necessary...? (grimm’s own thought process is more self-centered than that but. close enough)

also! yarrow's views on violence are not static throughout the story! i’ve been mostly talking about p3 yarrow, who has much less to lose, less face to save, and more life experience, but in p1 especially he’s naive to a lot of what goes on and gets hand wring-y about some stuff. for instance, he does take issue with grimm being contracted to kill the hayden mining exec by their random client at the end,.even if he does benefit from it immensely (grimm talks about using the cash to maybe settle down and yarrow’s included), is it really worth the life of another person? In p2 though? yeah kill that guy, sure. yarrow’s been in union meetings, he knows the bullshit hayden gets up to. if some third party also wants him out of the way and will pay for it? great. he won’t say any of that out loud but. not a huge loss to him

going back to yarrow committing violence himself though, he won't do it without solid justification. violence is for people that deserve it, not everyday people. i have this p3 scene half-written where he and grimm rob two random people at gunpoint and he's shaking and apologizing the entire time despite knowing this is the quickest way the two of them could get enough cash to not have to like...fully survive out in the desert. it's necessary but these people didn't do anything to him so he has a hard time with it! and it eats at him! and he knows he’s not unjustified with it but he doesn’t want to do something like that again if he can help it

but when they do have that real justification? there is a reason yarrow's weapon of choice is a shotgun.

they still want a bit of an excuse to be really bloodthirsty, and when it falls into their lap, when no one, including themself, could really blame them for what he did, if they have to resort to physical violence? they are going to make it hurt. they are not aiming to kill, they are aiming to maim. if someone dies? serves them right. if they live? give them scars to remember not to fuck with him again. and if pushed to this point, they won't have many moral hangups about it—yarrow is the guy with the whole worthiness complex and sometimes it applies outside himself

and also to that point, there’s very much a sense of justice and defense to it too. shoot at grimm in the middle of his clinic's lobby? get a shotgun slug to the chest. a girl too young to be a mother comes into his clinic pregnant? if the man who did it comes in bleeding out, yarrow might just let it happen. couldn't save him in time, so sorry. he’s no saint, but if he has the power to balance the scales, he might take it. and to be clear though this is more about like. yarrow shedding inhibitions rather than enjoying partaking in violence. at the end of the day he’s not having fun with this (but i am :3c) and knows the weight of what he does and what it may cost him, even when he doesn’t regret it.

all that being said though, yarrow doesn’t get into fights like. ever while in rappock until the end of p2. medical neutrality protects his ass from the worst of it and if it’s not a huge deal, he’ll put on an intimidating face. i don’t have specifics in mind but he’s probably been on the periphery of some shit going on in town, but no one’s ever seen him get real scary or anything. something for me to chew on later prolly idk. i have so many other thoughts rn

(there is a slight exception to what i’m saying here between p2 and p3 when he’s undergoing his modification because at that point he’s just. kicking and screaming because well. he was kidnapped and his body is being altered against his will so of course he’s gonna fight back animal-brain style. this is all a sort of blur to him though bc he was essentially put in a goo-tube coma for most of his modification because he kept fighting people and they didn’t know what else to do with him)

okay now. how he learns to fight

he doesn’t know shit until grimm comes along. he’s maybe done some ~self defense~ type stuff while in school or some work-sponsored bullshit they did instead of paying him more, but never any formal training. being able to defend yourself is a good skill in the wider world that yarrow more or less ran off into with grimm and he needs to learn if he literally wants to survive. grimm’s the first one to teach him and begins with teaching him how to shoot their revolver and fight a bit as part of an exchange in p1 for yarrow teaching them some first aid skills. after p1, yarrow asks some of the more rough miner types in rappock to teach him some stuff, which is where he learns to use his shotgun and that he likes how it feels better than a revolver (yes the hurting thing but also it is more comfortable for him). then grimm teaches him some more once they come back bc he does want to learn (if only to have somewhat of an outlet lol) he’s not great at fighting by virtue of being busy with other things and not having consistent time to learn, but with both the weight and muscle he’s put on, he can pack a punch and doesn’t go down easy

shotguns don’t require much in the way of accuracy so he doesn’t have to be as good of a shot. the extra eyes throw off his aim for awhile too so he's all over the place for a chunk of p3. when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, i would describe him as a brawler; he’s more reckless than grimm (much to their distress), but at the same time does use his medical knowledge to target weak spots and get things over with quickly. grimm’s the more elegant of the two by virtue of being trained, but neither of them are fighting clean. Then again no one else really is either dhgkfhldk

it’s also fun comparing and contrasting them bc when it comes to physical violence in a fighting situation, yarrow prioritizes disabling the assailant without killing them (injury/breaking things is not off the table), where grimm prioritizes their and yarrow's survival, and will more readily use dirty tricks or kill people to ensure its own survival. because grimm so easily outclasses yarrow in fighting ability and it’s guard dog nature, it’s much more keen to jump into violent situations in yarrow’s stead. not out of recklessness either, just a trust in its own abilities and in yarrow to help if it needs. while it still makes them nervous, yarrow pretty effortlessly falls into more of a support role in a lot of situations, hanging back or being a lookout

yarrow does struggle with the loss of life at times, especially if he causes it, but grimm’s got a sort of kill-people-for-free pass in yarrow’s mind, so over time it sort of shifts into this “if grimm kills people, i don’t have to feel bad about it” thing that yarrow tries really hard not to slip too far down into because also grimm is really eager to serve ease any discomfort of yarrow’s and he still like, has his morals mostly intact. he knows grimm is so happy to be his guard dog, he can’t let it destroy itself like that, he has goals that he can’t accomplish without grimm, grimm wants to be wielded like a knife, grimm is a person not an object, he cannot ask that of grimm, and he’s so, so sorry for all of this

so his conflict with violence doesn’t arise from the violence itself, but with how far he’s willing to let grimm go on his behalf. there’s also some “i can’t ask you to do that if i’m not willing to myself” stuff mixed in. it’s a whole mess but that’s also why i have SO much fun with the two of them and their dynamic. i’m desperately trying to plot out what the fuck it is they actually do in p3 so i can figure out actual situations that demonstrate all this bc it’s driving me bonkers to just!! have this in my head and no concrete actions really but! i’m hoping to really beef up the first draft this year and i’ve made a few strides towards Figuring Things Out lately so i am. Getting Somewhere yeehaw

#AUDIBLY EXHALES #I WAS NOT LYING. WHEN I SAID THIS WAS AN ESSAY. IT IS OVER 2K WORDS OF ME TALKING MOSTLY JUST ABOUT YARROW #ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING THIS I HAD A LOT OF FUN AND WAS VERY INDULGENT HEE HOO #i rotate these fuckers around in my head all the time. separately and together. the comparing.....the contrasts.........#the complexities and the contradictions #also i hope this is coherent. on god.#also. always a little baffled when ppl say they think abt my guys. like what do you mean they're not just in MY head.....augh <3 #asks #confusedlucifer #yarrow #honeybee

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batsplat · 8 months ago

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#and i don't really ever like to touch this unless i absolutely have to but... early 2012 cannot have been an easy time in his life#cf his profile pic at the time

Just technical curiosity since i haven't seen the original, what was valentino's profile pic at the time?

Also, I don't know if you have talked about it or if you would like to talk about it, but I wanted to hear from you about Sic and his riding style. And if you have any opinion on grief and how it affected Vale. Of course its sensitive and if you have any qualms talking about it please feel no pressure!

and... idk man, idt I have anything particularly insightful to say about him either as a bloke or his riding style. obviously some tragic irony to the general opinion that he'd calmed down a fair bit by the time of his death... but I don't know what I could meaningfully say about him that isn't common knowledge anyway. when people say he was the highlight of the 2011 season - both in generating talking points but also just in terms of racing - they are right... just another element that makes the 2011 season not particularly enjoyable to me, for all my love for its champion

about the impact his death had on valentino, sure, I have my thoughts. I think valentino has tried to strike a delicate balance between honouring his dead friend and running away from that grief as best he can. I think riders have to become very good at compartmentalising those feelings. racing in welkom in 2003 a few days after daijiro kaito had passed, a bloke valentino had known for years and had gotten drunk at honda events - the work done after that to establish the safety commission. tragedy outside of racing, like the suicide of valentino's stepfather the day before the race where valentino quasi-sealed his last title at phillip island 2009 - a death he was asked to comment on after saturday practise. misano 2010 and standing in silence on the podium with jorge and dani in front of the jubilant crowd celebrating his podium, having just been told of the death of moto2 rider shoya tomizawa in parc fermé. valentino obviously wanted a good race at valencia 2011, but instead he was taken out in a multi-rider pile-up in the first corner - one that must have been particularly scary at the time. not long after he was involved in the accident that killed his friend. I think it won't have been easy during a period when he was struggling anyway, and I think it's telling how much the persistent rumours about his retirement after sic's death clearly bothered him. I think he tried to remove himself from the loss as much as possible, and I wouldn't be surprised if the stories of him keeping his distance from sic's father in the aftermath were true. I think that the experience of losing sic did hit him hard, did probably change some things permanently for him, will have continued to affect him going forwards. I think it will have made his relationship to fear, which he believes to be a non-negotiable element of his profession, no less complicated. I think it's very like valentino to integrate it into the story of forming the academy: a positive way of paying tribute to sic, a way of sharing his emotions in only the most restrained and narratively neat way - he missed sic, he'd been searching for meaning, this had given him something, sic was the first student of the academy - and I think it probably did help him process for himself what he had gone through

but above all I think that it is none of my business how he dealt with it. obviously, when I read this stuff, it's not like I can shut off my brain - and I do have my suspicions about the effects it had going forward. which is all well and good, but it's also where I personally draw the line. I don't want to do my usual process of playing cluedo and reading the tea leaves over two throwaway interview lines over the response to the death of a real human being. similarly to how I don't want to speculate about parental relations beyond what riders themselves have willingly told us, at the end of the day I am going to limit myself to what valentino has actually said on the matter. it was a painful loss, he wants to honour sic, it did not make him want to retire. valentino clearly doesn't want to pour out his soul to the public on this matter, and honestly I think that's probably the correct choice. he is entitled to dealing with his grief in his own way, he is entitled to the privacy of his emotions. this is one subject where I have no wish to pry

#i feel like some kind of content warning would be good with this but... no clue #i don't usually tag rider names but i'll do it here in case anyone has the tag muted #marco simoncelli #//#brr brr #batsplat responds #btw to anon. just in case the tone of the post comes off wrong - idm being sent the ask at all + i did kinda open myself up to it #i also don't think anyone is committing any massive moral faux pas's (?) for speculating how it affected valentino #even though personally i've seen some things that have made me uncomfortable. does this really NEED to be integrated into your rpf thesis #idk i do think there are some boundaries. but also maybe i'm too sensitive... hate how valentino's parental relationships get discussed too #//brr brr

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ahhvernin · 7 months ago

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Oh I know and I was responding in a playful manner. My advice still stands, because there is a danger in it. Especially for people who are stepping out into nature trails for the first time. The apps are incredibly helpful, they're also fun.

Safety is important. ESPECIALLY if your mental health is low and stress levels are high and you need a place to cool down. Don't just drive to a trail you've never been on. Nature may be healing, but nature is still wild and full of unexpected things, and you need to allocate some of your brain and senses to it even when you want to shut down.

Checking weather, checking maps, downloading maps, learning how to read a map, taking a guided hike with a professional can teach you how to hike safely or direct you to easy and frequently populated trails so in the case you are a novice and you do get lost, you'll be easier to find, stay on trail. People wander off, because something cool/ interesting and they get lost, because they didn't have the knowledge to keep track of where they're going, many people panic. That's where whistles come in, they are for anyone and everyone, easier to call for help and saves energy. And that's why telling someone where you're going makes it easier if you don't come back at a reasonable time.

Straight routes and loop routes are pretty easy to do especially if well marked, and can be done back and forth or even multiple times, you can shut your brain a little more with some safety, because the path is already designed to bring you back to where you started. 2miles is just shy of an 60 minutes of peace and quiet. It takes about 20 minutes to calm down from fight or flight response, and then you'll have another 20 min give or take to take in nature and soothe your senses and mind. And usually you're not that tired by the end of 2 miles. And in my personal opinion, 2 mile trails usually are more removed from the sounds of cars and modern life so you are away but not too far, which might be what your brain needs.

Developed trails, ie ones that are designed for interpretative education, groups, or your average visitor/ families are usually around the 0.25-5 mile mark. These trails generally are more frequented and maintained, and have much clearer markers, either by the type of ground they lay down or markers. AKA easier to navigate and not get loss, especially if your mind is buzzing with everything or nothing. Typically found in near nature centers and nature preserves with educational programs. Sometimes your brain and body needs to wander, but wander safely.

My whole bit is, yes its a joke. It was funny. I laughed. But many people are turning to nature trails as an affordable way to decompress and sooth and calm down. But you still gotta be prepared. I've gone on trails when I'm spiraling and I've met people who normally don't walk a trail while being very stressed and mentally frazzled. Its easy to lose track, so its safe to pick trails you like that aren't too long and are well marked, and leave the more adventure frolic in the woods for when your mind is clear.

My message is, if trail walking is something you want to add to your self care for your mental and physical health, go on a trail when your mind is clear, or you have some space to actually stay focus and scout it out. Visit several, some short, some long and determine which ones are safe wandering trails that you can shut your brain off, and the trails that you can go on when you want to be more deliberate to remove yourself from modern living for an hour or two or three or a whole day. And also don't eat random plants without a positive ID. Seriously. I use to work as an interpretive guide and I cannot tell you how many fucking times someone in the back goes "CAN YOU EAT THIS?" and when you tell them no, THEY STILL WANT TRY TO EAT IT. Or someone goes "This is strawberry!" And its fucking poison ivy. Or when people go "Oh this is a cool seed pod" And its like no, don't touch that, that's Jimson weed, its poisonous, I will tell you a fun historical fact if you step away from it. If you feel like you're gonna disassociate and you think you need grass and trees to ground yourself, at the very least pick somewhere safe and do it safely. Getting more lost while disassociating is bad. I'd rather find someone who is sitting on a log on a straight path or loop, ask if they are doing okay, ask if they need help, if not, that I'll be going up ahead and I'll circle back to check on them and have a more direct path to go emergency services if needed. Or even more, invite them to join me in my walk. Short enough to have company. Short enough to not have any social obligations. Maybe make a new walking buddy.

google search why am i sad

google search how to not be sad

google search does going outside help with depression

google search nature parks near me

google search bus routes

google search hiking shoes

google search ergonomic hiking shoes

google search ergonomic hiking shoes excludesite: amazon.com

google search best water bottle

google search best water bottle outdoors

google search weather forecast

google search plant identification

google search plant identification with photos

google search tree with hand-shaped leaves

google search plant veins

google search plant veins pulsing

google search common wildlife

google search whitetail deer

google search how big is a whitetail deer

google search big deer

google search do deer have sharp teeth

google search can deer walk on two legs

google search deer talking

google search deer speaking english

google search are there plants that make you hallucinate

google search are there plants that make you hallucinate by inhaling

google search screaming woods

google search bird calls screaming

google search bird calls that sound like human screaming

google search nature park map

google search nature park parking lot directions

google search how to tell which way is north

google search what to do if you’re lost in the forest

google search how to outru

google search cjSi g m3wh Ts oudp

google search kfhwblp up mpsmFg

google search .

google search h

google search howtiapparhumN

google search hpwto ehuman

google search wgTdohunMnCtlije

google search how ti apear humN

google search how to appear human

#unreality #silly story #hiking #safety #mental health #silly yes #but brings up an important safety issue #Silliness and fiction has an ounce of reality within it #psa #within a funny joke #because some people still dont know

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theeyoungalabastoralt · 4 months ago

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unabashedly-faulty · 7 months ago

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After the bus stop I went for a walk at the park. Finally brought my headphones with me this time. I need my background music. It felt good. 3 laps and theny muscles started getting stiff in my legs and I felt groggy. The knee started the thing. I wanted to do another lap because it felt so good but the body spoke and after starting the next lap to try and push myself I did a u turn and left. Love that for me. Listening to my body. My new year started today. I want to walk more. By myself. Be with myself.

Chris came out.

Chrissy came out.

I think we’re beginning a fusion. It feels like the more I am able to be with myself in the world the more we’re synching up. But there’s a long way to go. I just know something has started. I wonder if this is what kids feel before their psyche molds their identity together.

This would technically be year 3 of sensing time passing and recalling a before. I remember when we felt the concept of time solidify. What stage does that happen when kids realize time passed. My psyche is growing and developing for the first time and I know it’s going to benefit my joy and happiness. There’s no other way to go.

I went on this walk even though my back was hurting. Yoga in a few. It’s sitting yoga for chronic pain. That should help.

Life is looking up. Even when it feels bad.

As I walked I was thinking about how love literally makes us stronger. Also recognizing it’s not the same for everyone. Being in a safe environment allows your body to heal. Having kindness and acts of service and love gets absorbed by your body. Each day. Each moment. Each second. Is being stored in our brain. That’s wild. That’s mad second bro. Poor brain. But also nervous system. The more love the more you’re able to withstand lack of love. To combat it. To remove yourself. To love yourself when it is not present. I was thinking about my son at first and how we’re creating all the moments of love and support with one another. Laughing. Crying. Dancing. Being silly. Playing. Talking. Building.

The bad man is now called Booty Diarrhea per him. He asked me why the bad man won’t sign the divorce papers. Because he’s a loser. Losers are people that want to hurt people and disrupt their lives. We don’t hang with losers. Reminded him that the kid that pushed him was a loser too. Don’t care if he’s being bullied at home or harmed or seeing anyone else do it in his environment, my son’s gonna know that the behavior is that of losers. Awaiting responses from his teacher about this. I reminded her not to make him feel bad for not going to her, because then he won’t go. His last teacher ignored him and he got harmed three times. I’m more able to think about how to handle situations and less afraid that I’m surrounded by trump supporters. Idc whether white people are faking it or not when they’re kind. Keep that shit over there. Do your job or get held accountable for not doing so.

There was the Republican Party in the parade with a trump blow up suit worn by a person. Everyone was so quiet when that part of the parade came around. Good to hear the shame and the fear of publicly acknowledging the denial of others rights.

I’ve got this. I will continue to have this.

I also have a new mom friend. She’s from Madagascar. She was surprised when I said I was born in Guyana. She’s here in this country by herself. Her joy from being free from her abuser and seeing her growth is beautiful. We both break down and cry and then laugh and dance. It’s pretty nice. Now I can get hugs and encouragement. And so can Rico from her daughter. Only children. I’m glad to have company for him. I provide respite and she provides knowledge and teaching in a way I cannot. Sharing our strengths with one another. That’s love.

#journaling

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qsycomplainsalot · 2 years ago

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Re: Pervertin or how German Supersoldiers High on Crack travelled through Space and Time Buy my Book

I came across a post on the bird site yesterday calling into attention the use of pervitin, more or less adderall, among German troops during WW2. For context pervitin tablets were indeed issued to a lot of military personnel back in those days, specifically to aircraft pilot and sometimes tank crews on long missions. The drug as some of you may have heard keeps you awake and alert, along with a slew of side effects and a non negligible chance of addiction. In a discussion that brought to view just how willing people are to buy into Nazi propaganda in the year of our f*cking lord 2023, I pointed out a few things, uphill and having to indulge a lot of sidetracking. The use of pervitin has always been a little overstated ever since it came to the internet's attention, and I certainly would never call it a key component of the Blitzkrieg when, in the theaters of war where actual Blitzkrieg was employed, its success was more due to a combination of innovative doctrines, intact fuel supplies and a big fat helping of dumb luck. It was a bold move highly relying on capturing enemy fuel depots with fast, surprise deep strikes supported by a lot of armored and air forces, and it was only sustainable in neighboring, industrialized countries. One can argue if the USSR was industrialized at the time, but it stopped mattering when the Russians removed their entire industry from the West to beyond the Ural mountains. The Blitz stalled there.

"But if it didn't work, then why did the Nazis do it so often ?" Well the answer to that is twofold. The first, longer answer is that Nazis were a bunch of f*cking morons. Maybe not one by one, but as a government in charge of military procurement, they were one bunch of goofy motherf*ckers. Gaggle of functional shit-for-brains really. The Nazis gave every one of their tanks in the middle of the war two coats of anti-magnetic paint, which took almost a full day to cure, despite being the only major nation to use magnetic antitank mines. The Nazis kept using slave labor drawn from their prisoners of war, including in the manufacturing of their overengineered armored vehicles, resulting in poor quality products or, you know, a few rivets in your magnificent Tiger tank being replaced by a cigarette butt. The Nazis spent more than half the cost of a strategic bomber on every V2 rocket, not including design costs, for less than half the payload. It ended up killing more Germans and slave workers than British people in London, for literally no strategic or tactical result with 0.4 person killed per every rocket. The second, shorter answer is that pervitin was not used that much. A lot of the arguments trying to boost its importance come from a single book, "Blitzed" by Norman Ohler, now available in twenty languages apparently, where grand claims are made by a historian who was probably more than a little tired of seeing Buzzfeed rack in the big bucks instead of him.

End note; I was called out by a bird siter after the conversation that inspired this post for even beginning to fact-check this, which they considered, and I quote, "fangirling over nazi stats". I cannot stress this enough, learning the 'bad' parts of history does not make you bad person, it is how you interact with the resulting knowledge. Unlike what they implied, I had to look for those supporting evidence. I had a hunch that such a grabbing headline about super-drugs would be fake, I knew offhand that V2 rockets killed more blues than reds, but when I had to research all that jazz about Nazis and their superweapons it was to dunk on them, not make another History Channel documentary about a time-travelling bell. Stay critical, fascists can eat shit.

#history #ww2 #rambling #rant

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popopretty · 4 years ago

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BSD Chapter 97

“At the airport – Part 6”

We finally have a long chapter this time! And it is sooo good!!!! More on Aya’s backstory and of course, the long awaited duel between Dazai and Fyodor!

I don’t speak either English or Japanese as my first language and I typed this out feeling super hyped after reading the chapter so I may make some mistakes here and there. I may come back and fix some mistakes or change a few details later so please understand.

SPOILERS AHEAD

- Aya takes Bram with her and runs away. She wonders what she is even doing, when she herself is neither a detective or ability user. She has a flashback about her father hitting her and telling her to become a “normal perfect woman”. Fukuchi, meanwhile is searching for her. He orders his vampire subordinates to find and kill the one who stole Bram (at this point he still doesn’t know who did it, he just assumed that’s one of Jouno’s allies).

- Back to jail, Sigma is watching Gogol explain the rules of the escape game to Dazai and Fyodor, thinking to himself that he might be the only normal, decent person in the room. Basically, Fyodor and Dazai will have to inject themselves with a poison that will kill them within 30 minutes, and the first one who gets out of the jail they are in, will be the winner and will get the one and only antidote prepared by Gogol. It means that within 30 minutes, either of them will die. Gogol says he is sorry to Dazai because he actually only wants to kill Fyodor but he doesn’t do this, he would not be able to get Fyodor to inject the poison. Dazai says there is nothing he has to apologize for, because for Dazai it is such a good chance, like a gift of God. Fyodor says it is kind of lonely to think he would lose a chest mate within 30 minutes though. Both of them then inject the poison with smiling faces.

- Back to the airport, Fukuchi’s vampires are blocking the airport and checking everyone. Aya tells Bram to do something about them, but he refuses, asking her to return him to his coffin cuz he is sleepy. Aya gets pissed at Bram and tried to remove the sword from Bram’s body. Bram yelled at her saying that it hurts because it is pierced into his brain. Aya says that if they don’t do anything then world war will happen. Bram tells her how stupid she is to ask that from the Duke of darkness who will bring doom to human. Aya agrees with him, saying that she herself knows that it is stupid. She shows him her hands that have been shaking nonstop. She was born into a world with no violence and war. This is the first time she ever saw a real sword. She doesn’t have anything, be it knowledge or special ability, or physical strength. The only thing she has is the determination to “never ever run away when a crisis hits”. Bram asks her what she is fighting for, being at that age. Aya remembers how she was scold and beaten by her father for not being a “perfect woman” like her passed mother. And how his father called her “a failure of a woman”. She makes up her mind and tries to persuade Bram to help her because the people in this world needs help. She says she will give him anything he wants as thanks. Bram tells her to know her place and tells her that there is one thing that he wants but he believes she cannot grant. That is the rumored, legendary treasure, a mechanism that holds a whole orchestra in itself – the “wireless radio”. If Aya can grant it to him and he will happily devote himself to her. (He looks pretty confident here that Aya cannot have it btw xDD). Aya is surprised hearing that, telling Bram that she might have a radio that his father used in the past. Then she takes out her portable player and let Bram listen to it. Bram is shocked and asks her if she is a God. (XDDD)

- Back to the jail again. Gogol is explaining more about the rules of the game. First is their current position. The place they were in before is the infinity space where they keep the dangerous prisoners, at the deepest level. Now Gogol has taken them to the floor above it, which is 4 floors underground. However, to get to the ground where the exit is, they have to go past all the world-class guards. At each of the floor there are a lot of partition walls that can only be opened by entering the right passcode, which is changed every six hours. If they enter it wrong just once, the door will never open again. Each door is 120cm in thickness and is made from counter-ability material so it cannot be destroyed. Once they get through that, they will have to hop on an elevator, that requires palm print, voiceprint, retina, and genetic authentication to move. All the information will be sent to the central operation room where the operator confirms the people inside the elevator before letting it move. On top of that, in every floor there are heavily armed guards waiting, who will shoot without warning. Their weapons are also activated by genetic authentication, so its impossible to steal it from them.

- Gogol then proceeds to the “worst news”. Every time a suspect is detected, the partitions will immediately be locked and water will be poured in after 10 seconds. That is not normal water, but “heavy water”. When drown inside it, one will not be able to swim, and it is also harmful to the body, so if one drinks too much of it, they will die. In other words, if they are found out by the guards, they will be locked up, and filled with a kind of water that even fishes will drown, then die in agony and regrets. After explaining everything, Gogol ask them if they feel like crying yet. But both Dazai and Fyodor actually look so very excited instead. Even Sigma can tell that they are making those faces while imagining their opponent die in such a painful way.

- Lastly, Gogol offers them a “present”. He has prepared 4 special items to help them escape. But they can only choose 1 of them. The 4 items include: a radio communication device that can keep them informed of the movement of the guards, a card with manager level authorization that can open the only door to the heliport, the bomb coins that Gogol first used when he infiltrated in the beginning, and finally, a satellite phone that can help them connect and call for help from outside once they reach the first level. Whichever item they choose, that might decide the outcome of the match. Gogol lets Fyodor choose first, cuz he is his friend XDD, and Fyodor chooses the card. When it comes to Dazai’s turn, he points to Sigma, which shocked everyone, including Sigma himself. The chapter ends with Sigma wondering what in the world Dazai is even thinking.

And… that’s everything for this month’s chapter!! I can’t believe I typed 1200 words lollll but the chapter is so good omg. I haven’t been this excited for a while. Can’t wait for the next chapter that will come out on January 4th, with BSD on the cover (!!!) and a beautiful bookmark set as magazine bonus! Thank you for reading till the end and I’m sorry for all the mistakes and typos I might have made XDD

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #spoilers #bsd spoilers #summary #not even a summary anymore lol #dazai osamu #fyodor dostoevsky #nikolai gogol #sigma #aya koda #bram stoker

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xlbrh · 4 years ago

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Genshin Impact - Small things they do to show their love

notes : so i’ve been trying to think of an idea for a long story to write for one of the characters, but i’ve been having a little bit of trouble :( if anyone has any suggestions i’d love to hear them! hopefully i’ll be able to come out with an introduction or something soon

in the meantime i wrote this up, so i hope that you guys enjoy!

Genshin Masterlist

warnings : none

format : bulleted, headcanons. fluff

pairings : diluc, kaeya, childe, zhongli, xiao, albedo, aether x gn! reader

word count : 1426

everything under the cut-

Diluc:

during your nightly walks around mondstadt, he notices how chills can rack your body, especially when the wind blows

he’ll remove his jacket and drape it around your form, no matter how much you may protest

sometimes his arms will circle around your waist, drawing you towards him in an effort toto keep you warm until you get home

if you’ve been out adventuring close to the dawn winery, he’d invite you to the manor to share a meal or drink, whichever you’d like

whatever you desire, he’ll see to it that you receive it – most of the time he wouldn’t even ask you due to how well he can read you and your actions

when you try to refuse his offers, he’ll tell you ‘just let me look after you, my love’

when you come to visit him in the angel’s share, he always has a seat ready just for you

he’ll keep a blanket and some books under the bar, since he knows how you like to curl up in the corner, engrossed in your reading

if you’d like he’ll come and sit with you for a short while, bringing a drink of your choice over while you tell each other about your day

Kaeya:

kaeya is the kind of man to call you every pet name under the sun

whether it be sweetheart, darling, love etc. he loves to use these types of names for you frequently, as a form of affection

he loves your reactions to them, especially when your cheeks flare up and you turn away out of shyness – he finds it extremely endearing

he would offer to train you in swordsmanship, regardless of whether you can already wield a sword or not

he likes to not only see your strength grow, but also offer you a way to protect yourself since he cannot be with you at all times

kaeya takes pride in the training sessions you have, after all they give him another reason to spend even more time with you

he loves for you guys to have matching things, no matter how small they may be

for example, he’ll buy you a bracelet to wear, one that matches with one on his own wrist as well

jokingly he once bought you an eyepatch to match his, but he finds it sweet but hilarious when you’ll wear it around him sometimes

Childe:

since this man is a literal walking wallet, he has no problem with spoiling you with gifts

whether that be a necklace you’ve had your eye on, a new shirt because you ripped yours in battle, or a book he knows is the next in the series you enjoy

when asking him why he leaves you so many small gifts, his response is just ‘well, because i love you, of course!’

if you ever get hurt during a battle, he’ll be the first to help you

whether that be taking down the enemies if you haven’t already, or tending to the wounds you’ve received

he’d work with utmost caution, wrapping each wound gently and finishing them off with a kiss on top

when strolling the streets of liyue together, childe ensures that your body is connected to his one way or another at all times

whether that be intertwining your hands together, an arm loosely wrapped around your waist, or stopping to give you a brief peck on the forehead

he has no qualms in showing the public that you’re his – something he makes you well aware of

Zhongli:

he knows you love when he tells you stories of his past and the history of liyue, and he enjoys telling you about them

he finds the childlike wonder in your eyes adorable as he tells you tales of adepti and archons alike

zhongli will try his best to make them as entertaining as possible for you – drawing you in with every word he uttered

he likes to play with your hair, and for you to do the same to him

if you have longer hair you can guarantee he’d be braiding and styling your hair in all different ways, adorning it with hairpins he’d purchase for you

if your hair is on the shorter side then he’d love to run his fingers through, stroking your hair and massaging your scalp until you fall asleep with your head against his chest

if there is anything in particular that you take a big interest in, zhongli will try his best to research around it – even though he probably has the knowledge anyways

he wants to be able to talk to you about things you’re interested in, as well as share in the enjoyment that you get from it

he would leave small notes to you when he can’t always be around you, sometimes with small facts he learned of

Xiao:

he would for sure watch over you if you ever go on a long adventure, no matter what other duties he may have to attend to

expect to see a good few hilichurl and treasure hoarder camps abandoned thanks to his interference

‘anything to ensure your safety’, he thinks

some nights, when his duties have been fulfilled early, he’ll try his hand at preparing a meal for you to share

of course nothing especially fancy! After all he doesn’t have to eat himself – its all for your enjoyment

if he struggles he’d probably reach out to verr goldet some help

just imagine him setting a small picnic up on the wangshu inn rooftop iM WEAK

once xiao finally becomes accustomed to physical contact, he’d make an effort to hold your hand a lot more often

lightly squeezing it or tracing shapes with his thumb every now and again

if you’re lucky he way even take his gloves off – just to feel that warmth from his hand can be very comforting indeed

Albedo:

you’re literally the only person he will listen to when he is engrossed in his experiments

as we know he tends to block out the rest of the world when he is deep in though

but as soon as he hears your voice of concern asking if he’ll take a break to eat, you wanna bet he’ll be leaving his office in an instant to join you for lunch

he does the exact same for you when you’re hard at work, so he appreciates the way you always look after him

when out looking for more specimens to analyse, he stumbles across his fair share of flowers

of course he knows which are your favourites – he knows everything about you, after all – so he’ll be sure to pick some to bring home to you

when giving them to you, he mentions ‘well, they reminded me of you, so i thought you’d like them’

if you ever get ill for some reason, albedo becomes your personal doctor

he’ll spend hours preparing serums and medicines for you to alleviate your pain – but will never let you out of his sight while doing so

he’ll ask noelle if she can fix up some food for you in the meantime, since at every free opportunity he’s sat at your bedside, hand in yours as he whispers words of comfort to you

Aether:

aether is always ready to make you something to eat whenever you’d like!

he for sure has a small section of his brain dedicated to learning of recipes that he knows you enjoy, no matter how simple or complicated they may be

will make sure that you always have some lunch ready to take with you wherever you go, even if it means he had to wake up early and travel halfway across teyvat to bring it to you

he will bring you back numerous treasures from his travels

sometimes he’ll ask the locals in whichever area he’s in if they can craft the raw materials into something that you can treasure

there would be a shelf in your room specifically for aether’s gifts, where he’ll occasionally point to each one and tell you the story of how it made it’s way back to you

he makes sure to let you know how grateful he is to have you by his side

every time you do something for him, no matter how small it may be, he’ll thank you and let you know how much you mean to him

when on his travels he makes sure to write letters and send them home to you – just because he’s far away doesn’t mean he’s not still thinking about you

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casuallivi · 3 years ago

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TTYLTOYD chapter 5

Words: 5178

Enjoy. Comments are welcome and cherished :)

Part 5: Of Friends, Bonfires and Night Creatures

The Vallaghen residence housed a single person, Mrs. Vallaghen.

Mrs. Vallaghen was a short, brown skin elder, with mud-green hair and light green eyes, who Elain liked very much. They first met when Elain helped her to organize and donate her late son belongings, who had perished in battle just like Elain’s father. At the time, the two women worked in silence for a week, hands busy sorting items, grieving the loss of different loved ones. When the job was done, Mrs. Vallaghen invited Elain for tea.

Tea became lunch.

Lunch became dinner.

Mrs. Vallaghen talked.

Elain listened.

Alicia Vallaghen’s eyes were sad as she talked about war, but they wrinkled with a wistful smile as she recalled cherished memories of the gone. The woman spoke dearly of her son, Danall, an adored only child conceived after 276 years of loving marriage, who grow into a fire-spirited warrior. Strong enough to serve in the Second Fae Battalion, following the footsteps of his father. The woman spoke dearly of her husband, Elden, an ex-swordsmith, who became a soldier during a rebellion against the former High Lord. Elain learned that said rebellion was suppressed quickly, but Elden developed a taste for the job, ending up fighting alongside Rhysand in the war that culminate in the construction of the wall.

Both men never returned from the battlefield.

“We cannot bring back those who left us, dear. We can only keep their memory alive, pass their story forward. Whenever we are ready.” she added the last part with a knowing look, as if she knew that Elain had a heart as heavy as hers. Elain only nodded, her wound still fresh to be touched.

Alicia and Elain continue to meet every other week to share a meal, company or knowledge, a precious friendship blooming between them.

Elain taught Alicia how grow a garden, how to tend to chrysanthemum and carnations, how to mix the correct leaves and brew them to eliminate the ache in her lower back, how to bake a light banana tart that allowed an enjoyable afternoon nap, how to keep bottled vegetables preserved for longer. In return, Alicia taught Elain Prythian’s history. Precious pieces of information learned along centuries of careful study.

Much like Nesta, Alicia was a bookworm. She loved them enough to start working as a Reparateur – a person responsible for reconstructing old books. Elain always smiled noticing how much she loved her job, how fascinated she was by the things she learned. Alicia talked passionately about the meticulous work of transcribing knowledge that have been around for a millennium, the different kinds of damage an archive could suffer, the intricate spells used to reveal spent ink, remove hard smudges and revert burn marks.

A delicate job where one could perpetuate of destroy legacies.

Today, as they enjoyed a calm afternoon chatting over tea and biscuits, Alicia made a comment that jolted Elain.

“My friends call me the forgotten librarian for working in the innermost part of one,” she smiled, fond of the nickname, then her eyes grew distant, heavy. “But I’m more than that. I’m an everlasting open door to the future, I know everything that can happen for the rest of my immortal life – a time portal, if you may.”

Elain tensed in her rocket chair, tea freezing inside her mug. The crackling fire roared slightly, watching, waiting. “Are you,” she cleared her throat, careful to lower her voice, “are you a seer?” Her mind was racing, full of expectation, question buzzing in her brain.

Are you like me?

Are you my companion?

Are you my teacher?

“A seer?” Alicia repeated, surprised by the question. “By the cauldron, no, I’m not a seer. There are no seers alive since the fall of the eight court, darling. The only thing I can see is the past, for I read about it.” She finished emphasizing the words ‘see’ and ‘read’, her green eyes lit with wisdom.

Unnoticed by the elder, the fire diminished to its original form as Elain slouched in her chair, feeling her hope extinguishing as the small flames licking the stone.

Alicia continued. “What I’m trying to tell you, is that the past contains a trace of every possible future. All that we know, all that we learn, is to be used as inspiration or as a warning sign, because time is like a clock coming in full circle to start again where it once was. Know your past and future is unpredictable no more. Have I told you about king Havien, the conqueror? He was a male who took pride in his understanding of time, using the failures of his predecessors to fuel his success. He was the only king of Hybern to–”

Elain tuned out, listening to her words half-heartedly, a single sentence looping in her mind.

There are no seers alive.

Elain left the elder’s house with a heavy heart, loneliness creping in. A loneliness that Elain worked hard to keep at bay. She shook her head, doing her best to not let the bad thoughts take over. After her love life went downhill –again– Elain kept busy, doing her best to move on. She worked to control and understand her dreams and visions, helped in the gardens around town, taught the children at the orphanage, worked in Mellinda’s bakery, she studied natural medicine, history, new languages. But no matter how much she worked, nothing felt quite right as before. Elain felt numb. Void of something that she couldn’t quite place her head around. The hollow in her chest was a constant companion. No matter what she did, it did not go away.

The wind blew cold and heartless, gloom as her mood, tugging her hair in different directions. She was still living with Feyre when Cerridwen found her in front of a mirror with half of her hair mangled, wrestling with a pair of scissors. "Let it go." The Seer growled chopping the strands, Elain snarling and trying to control her hands, watching herself working the scissor on the outside world as if she was trapped inside the mirror. A memory played in her mind. A maid parting her hair, combing each side a hundred times while her mother smile proudly on the side. “A woman’s beauty lies in her hair. You’ll understand it when you are older.” If her mother could see her now, she would faint. Cerridwen had kindly offer to fix the cut, Elain ending up with a bob, her waves curling above her shoulders without the extra length weighting them down. Since then the hair had grown a little, enough that she could tie it back without the elastic falling down.

Elain stopped and stared at the familiar white gates, surprised to found herself in front of the Townhouse. She wondered how the garden was faring here. It had been months since she last took care of it, and just because no one was occupying the place now, it didn’t mean the house would seat empty for long. She pushed the gate and walked in. Her boots were off the second she stepped into the porch, enjoying the wood temperature swiping through her socks. She turned the doorknob and padded her way through the hallway.

To her surprise, Cerridwen and Nuala were on the floor of the siting room, a mess of papers, parchments, waxes and stamps scattered between them.

“Good evening!” she beamed, happy to see her friends.

Their heads snapped up.

“Good evening, my soft feet friend.” Nuala grinned.

“How did you get in?” Cerridwen questioned.

“The door was open.” Elain answered casually, draping her coat on the back of the sofa. Her eyes fell on the book at the center table. Her book. Valoar Heafther, The Forgotten Tongue Volume 1. She had brought the book here the day the girls went on their mission, thinking the quiet house would be a better place to focus on the new language. Once here, all she could think about were moments shared in the dead of night, the book forgotten in the same page for the rest of the day. “I thought you wouldn’t be back for another month.”

“So did I.” Nuala grumbled. “Nothing but smoke and mirrors, I tell you. Now we’re stuck with a shitload of paper again. Just my luck.”

“Every part of the job is important.” Cerridwen reprimanded her sister.

“But not every part is fun. Pity we hit a dead end.” Nuala stretched, bracing herself on her palms, a mischievous glint taking over her black eyes. “You know, there were two Peregryns near where I was stationed. They trained every day as the sun came up, fully armed and everything. Those magnificent wings of white feathers, chests covered with a golden armor, gleaming under the sunlight, the sword sequences making their veins pop out,” she sighed theatrically, her corporeal body solidifying further, exhibiting a dreamy expression. “There’s just something about winged males, don’t you think?”

Elain averted her eyes, trying to keep her face neutral, a traitorous flush giving her away. “You are evil.”

Nuala snickered, earning a slap from her sister. Elain hugged her friend as a thank you. “I simple jest, my better half, no need for violence.” The mischievous wraith tuned to Elain, knocking her down in a tight embrace, smacking her cheeks loudly. “Did you come to save me from boredom?” Elain laughed at the melodramatics.

The twins similarities ended in their appearance. Like Elain, Cerridwen was friendly in a reserved and contained manner, tending to observe and keeping her analysis to herself unless she was asked about it. Nuala, on the other hand, was a small hurricane of mischief, adept to interruptions, eager to share and propense to lots of physical contact. The girls had never hidden from her. Once Elain decided to learn how to lead her new life, Nuala and Cerridwen were nothing if not genuine and honest, never treating her like a broken doll, making her feel stupid for having questions, making her feel crazy for not understanding what was happening to herself. Their friendship changed her life in dimensions they could not imagine.

“Stop that.” The more Elain tried to wiggle away, the more kisses she won “Gods, you’re strong. I came for the garden, plants also like to receive attention and love.” She gave two affectionate slaps on Nuala’s bum, finishing with another frustrated attempt to be free. Invoking her best puppy eyes, she called for Cerridwen. “Help. Please.”

The other wraith tugged her sister away, who still tried to cling to Elain, panting, “bring me that pile before you leave!” frenetically pointing at the armchair

Elain placed the papers in front of Nuala, curiosity leading her to scan the chaos, trying to judge how classified it was before going outside. If they had no qualms about her touching stuff, those papers were not hidden information, but what she liked to think as in-your-face-information. The type one had to piece together in order to gain advantage. She opened the shed going straight to her gardening boots and the box of tools, still thinking back to the unsorted paperwork. She had spied piles from Day, Dawn and Spring. The faint mark of a black skull on a few paper corners. A map of the border with the continent. A pen engraved with diamonds. Coded letters. She wrinkled her nose smelling her fingertips. The pile from the armchair had faint scent of melted snow and anger washed by the rain.

She rummaged the soil plucking all the exceeding weed, trimmed bushes, cut twigs and fixed the sprinkles where a part of the hose had disconnected. When she was satisfied with her work, Elain cleaned the tools and put everything back to their original places, returning to the house. She took a quick glance at her friends on her way to the kitchen. The twins worked in synchrony, a strong sisterhood transcending to the work field, perfected by centuries of life. Elain admired them a lot. Her lips shaped in a sad smile.

Elain loved her sisters with her whole heart, and they loved her back. The problem was their bond was strained, disrupted by ugly cracks born during poverty, cracks that never fully healed. The Archerons had an implicit family motto: Be strong. No matter what you are going through, be strong. That’s how the sisters had operated since their father’s downfall, doing whatever was necessary to survive, never letting other see how broken you were on the inside, making them distance themselves from the world – and sometimes, from each other. That’s how they end up hurting each other again and again, waiting for a proper time to slowly come back together. Not to apologize and make peace, but to bury the hurtful things said and done, and pretend nothing happened.

Honestly, the dynamic made her tired to the bone.

Elain was over faking and playing pretend.

Her new goal was to be more honest.

Honest with herself and with the people around her.

Elain was searching the cabinets for provisions, planning on making a simple meal for the three of them when Nuala pushed through the double doors.

“What are you doing?”

“Dinner.”

“Where are you going after?”

“Home.” The wraith grinned. “What?”

It felt like someone had gathered a thousand fireflies and released them in the same place. The small colorful creatures zoomed in the air making it seem like she could touch stars, their presence illuminating scant path in the woods.

“Where are we going?” Elain breathed in awe.

Nuala and Cerridwen traded arms with her, guiding her through the sinuous trail.

“You’ll see.”

They walked in pleasant silence, the tranquil sounds of nature accompanying their steps. The twins were fully corporeal tonight, silky black hair flowing straight behind them, glowing dark skin contrasting beautifully with a combination of white. Mini white. The skirt ended along with the curve of their asses, and the blouse – if Elain could even call that piece of fabric a blouse – was a white spaghetti strap crop top completely embroidered with pearls, the look paired with silk golden sandals. Her friends were all toned arms, shaped legs and flat bellies in display. Elain looked down at her covered tummy.

They had dressed her in similar manner, except her skirt length went all the way to her calves, and her blouse had larger straps with just the hint of a V neckline. Still, when Elain saw the outfit, she tried to run from it, Nuala begging her to give it a try, promising she would give her a jacket if Elain felt too uncomfortable. Elain checked herself in the mirror turning to a tomato seeing so much skin exposed, pulling her skirt high enough cover her belly button, the evident contour of belly and hips making her nervous. At least her breasts were small, making them perfectly covered by white and pearls.

Her ears twitched, capturing the lazy sound of waves crashing.

They emerged on a beach.

“Welcome to Sehyr. Well, Sehyr’s beach.” Elain remembered seeing the name on a map. If memory served, Sehyr was a small city situated in the coast of Night Court.

The first thing Elain notice was the smell. It smelled delicious. A mix of roasted meat and spices mingling with burning fire wood, a whiff of rosemary and garlic butter making her stomach growl. As the scents filled her nose, music filled the air. Guitars, drums, flutes, singers, a mismatched combination that somehow went well together, coaxing the fae to dance and sing along. Long wood tables were set opposite to the water, foods and drinks from every shape and color covering the surfaces, dozens of bonfires extended along the beach, logs and colorful towels spread around them, males and females lazing in the cushion –eating, drinking, talking…making out.

Nuala took her to the food table before easing around one of the bonfires, sitting on a colorful pink towel and pressing their backs against a log. Her cheeks flushed when she spied a particular couple rolling on the sand, the male’s hand having disappeared under the female’s dress, Elain’s keen ears capturing her moans and the soft slap of flesh. She averted her eyes, looking up, finding sparkling little blue flags dangling from the sky.

"You'll crack your neck bending like that, my friend." Nuala sang, entertained by her attempt to gaze away.

“What are they celebrating?”

“We are celebrating Ayala.”

“Who is that?”

“A small goddess from The Forgotten,” Cerridwen answered appearing beside her holding a suspicious bottle of yellow liquid with a scorpion siting on the bottom.

“Why can’t you get us a normal drink?” her sister complained.

“There’s no fun in that.” Her attention returned to Elain. “Ayala is worshipped by the lesser fae as a river goddess, blesser of sailors, but also a patron of conception.”

“One of those things is not like the others,” Elain commented, interested in the story. “What sailing has to do with conception?” She took a bite of her meat, moaning. It was delicious.

“A Thousand of years ago Ayala fell in love with a fishermale, a simple lesser fae. She started to provide him with extraordinary skills. The fishermale, who had never caught a thing before, turned in to an amazing sailor and an even better fisher in the blink of an eye. He could fish anything, even creatures not native from our coast. He thought he had discovered magic.”

“The kind of magic only they High Fae possess,” Nuala took the lead. “His ego blown. He boasted everywhere he went, calling faes from the whole court to watch him. The tides were never violent if he was on the water. One day, a lord from another court took interest in him, setting the male to marry his daughter, thinking he would be able to bread the power into his family. When Ayala realized he married another, she cried for seven days and seven nights, stopping only because the full mon appeared. The goddess saw her reflection on the moon, and as revenge for the pain he had cause, she decided to give him pain. From that day on the seas turned so turbulent no fishermale was able to go inside, the city started to starve, and when the people begged for mercy, she sent a storm to destroy his village.”

Elain gasped in shock.

“The fishermale, who had been away for years, discovered what happened to his home and returned. There he kneeled in front of the sea, asked what he had to do to calm the waters that still ragged. Ayala appeared to him, said he should deliver his first born in her hands or else no one would ever know peace outside dry land. The problem was the male’s wife could not get pregnant. “Then bring me your wife.” The goddess demanded. When the wife got there, Ayala braided a crown with seaweed, told her to use it before laying with her husband.”

“Did she?” Elain asked curious. Her friend nodded.

“Ayla forbid them from leaving until they payed, so the fishermale built a cabin near the beach, and the goddess watched them live. The thing is, while watching the couple, the goddess fell in love with the female too. When the child was born, the female cried for mercy, and Ayala, now in love, let her keep the child, promising to bless him with protection from water creatures as long as they stayed in cabin. The couple stay, more people came, a village was born, then a city and Ayala never sent another deadly storm. Now they celebrate a festival in her name during the seventh full moon of the year, and lovers come from everywhere to be blessed by her, especially those who are trying for children.”

Elain was to immersed in the tale to stop the wraith from stealing food from her plate. She thought about how fickle the fae were. A jealous goddess tried to steal a child and now she was a symbol of fertility and bless to newborns. What a joke.

“Don’t make that face, you’ll like it. There’s food and dancing all night long, and when the couples feel her presence, they fuck on the spot, where everybody can witness their love being blessed."

Nuala wicked grin was erased by Cerridwen slap.

"Don't scare her."

"It's true!"

"We don't have to stay for the coupling ritual El, don't worry. We can just participate in the offering and drink our sorrows away."

That caught Elain’s attention again.

"What are you sorrowful about?" she asked curiously.

"Danna dumped her." Her sister meddled.

"No!" Elain cried.

“She didn’t dump me, we had a fight.”

Elain didn’t know exactly how the two lovers met, but she knew Cerridwen and Danna had an on and off relationship because the other was soldier from Day and Cerridwen may or may not have been responsible for her brother, a Third General in Command, being dismissed from the force. She hugged her friend. “Don’t worry Cece, you will work it out.”

“She will drink it out. Come on ladies, the night awaits.”

As the hours slipped past then, Elain relaxed more and more. The three of them happily shared a variety of roasted meat, bread, jam and fruit, laughing and clapping at the musician who found himself too inebriated to sing the right rhymes, slurring his lines and constantly slapping the tambourine player. Elain was relaxed, feeling looser from the alcohol, laughter coming in easier. She grabbed the glass beside Cerridwen, who tracked the movement without lifting her eyes from two females kissing.

“That’s mine.”

“Sharing is caring.”

She chugged the whole thing at once, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. Mother above, why create a drink this bitter? She wondered. Elain liked red wine much better. Cerridwen filled the glass again, Elain politely refusing the offer to share.

“I want to dance!” Nuala screeched already pulling Elain to her feet.

The full moon illuminated the dancing bodies, the music evolving to a happy crescendo. They twisted and twirled to the rhythm, and for the first time in months Elain felt light. Happy. Her sandals were gone. She smiled and laughed, imitating goofy steps, her feet tangling on the complicated ones. Nuala tried to pull her skirt down to her waist, claiming “beauty should not be covered,” and Elain tried to give her a head lock, like Cassian so often did on every who stand near his big arms. The wraith turned to mist on the last second, Elain falling down as result. She laughed louder, sand clinging to her sweaty skin. That’s when she saw it. A glimpse in the woods. A pair of eyes.

Elain was back in woods. She had no memory of leaving her friends, leaving the beach, but as she looked around, she could not see or hear the festival. Her body move, feet dragging her to… Where? Where was she going? Her breath quickened, her heart speed up. She tried to stop, to turn back. It was no use. Elain walked until her apparent destination, casually kicking rocks along the way, black night-jasmine blooming around her feet. She stopped, crouched and waited. The wind hollowed, the air crackling with a tense energy, the metallic tang of old powerful magic in the tip of her tongue. A thunder split the sky in two. That’s when he appeared.

A fat white cat sauntered in her direction, the oddest pair of blue eyes fixed on her, the air sizzling in his awake. The weight of his presence pressed down on her, invisible nails scratching her skull from the inside, trying to dissect her. He felt like laughing at his cute attempt, pushing his presence away with the flick of a hand. Her eyes were no longer hers. They had turned white. Her lips where no longer hers. They began to move own their own.

"Hello," she greeted with a knowing smile. "I've been waiting for you."

The cat regarded her with the hostility of an enemy sizing his opponent, pacing from one side to the other, inpatient pawns scratching the earth leaving violent gashes.

"What is your name?" he meowed, striking blue eyes glinting with challenge, pristine white fur scintillating under the moonlight. “You won’t tell me…or you can’t?” she challenged back. “What’s the matter? The cat got your tongue?”

The cat hissed. Now she laughed at him. Although she should not meddle with the Present, the Seer often tip-toed the line of indiscipline, her competitive vein leading the peculiar creature to be prone to defiance. She gave Elain constant headaches. The Seer cleaned fake tears from her eyes.

"It doesn’t matter. You shouldn't be here, you know.” Not yet. “Go back."

Her relaxed demeaner disappeared with the order. She lifted her index –hand covered in a shimmering white aura, making it look like Elain was wearing tulle gloves –and touched the cat’s forehead, power sizzling from her to the animal who found himself sucked into a void. A flock of crows took flight into the night, the humming displaced energy being extinguished, the clogging presence gone. Crickets chirped unaware of what had just visited the forest.

Elain panted feeling exhausted, looking around, not understanding where she was. She blinked the fog away slowly, searching the beach where she had been seconds before, no sign of music or faes or bonfires.

What was she doing here?

Why was she alone?

“Why are you alone?”

Elain yelp covering her head as a reflex, her drumming pulse loud in her ears, making her slow to recognize the voice. The voice… She knew that voice. Elain peeked between her hands, Azriel’s strong body looming over her, enormous onyx wings raised and curved as a crescent moon, his shadow swallowing her shape completely. She breathed in relief, the rich and familiar scent of mist and cedar calming her anxiety.

“You scared me! Why do you move like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like, like,” she stammered trying to think of a word. “Like a wraith!”

Azriel chuckled.

“A wraith?”

“…lurking in the dark without making a noise,” she mumbled dusting of the sand from her arms, trying to fix the skirt which was now covered in natural whatnots, the hem splattered with mud. “Scaring the nightlights out of people…”

Elain stopped moving abruptly, freezing like a deer in the aim of a hunter.

Azriel was here!

Her belly was out, she was barefoot, she was dirty, sweaty, and mildly disorientated, and Azriel was here! She making a fool of herself in front of Azriel. Her eyes lifted quick as a lighting. A shivered ran down her arms when his glorious wings retracted, spreading to their full length before he tucked them tight behind his back. He was really here. No sign of his uniform tonight, no. Azriel was clad in black pants and a white shirt, the fabric strained over his chiseled body, delineating his muscles with the precision of a painting. She had never seen him wearing white before. The color fit him perfectly –not that Elain was a reliable judge, she thought he looked perfect in everything– the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows exposing a trail of tattoos she once dreamed of touching –with her lips– his hair perfectly combed back, not one curl out of place, the blue stones atop of his hand sitting there quietly.

Her heart drummed for a different reason now, loud as if it was trying to compete with the musicians down the beach. Thump, thump, thump.

Stop it! Stop that!

It didn’t. Elain sighed. She was done with her body not listening to her for the day.

“I can help you.”

“I can help her.” He said to her sisters in a lifetime ago.

She gave him an inquisitive look, watching him jerk his chin to her clothes, her hands still clenched to the dirty skirt. Azriel offered her a hand and Elain stared at it as if it was a mirage, one of her messy visions, except she couldn’t see the two of them. Only once she saw Azriel and herself, a moment of delightful pleasure where they shared a passionate kiss in the dead of the longest night of the year. A kiss that never came to happened. She swallowed nervously an accepted the offer, Azriel lifting her in a swift move, dropping her hand as quick as he took it.

Elain did not even had time to feel offended because shadows instantly surrounded her like bees coming to the hive.

“Mother’s tits,” Elain gasped in shock when the shadows woven themselves over her attire, the former white giving place to a deep black skirt. She ran a hand over it, the skirt smooth as a simple piece of fabric when in reality it was anything but. Elain laughed in delight, twirling to see if they would accompany the movement, feeling excited as a child watching a magic trick when they did.

“Thank you.” Azriel simple smiled, ducking his head. What do you say to the man who broke your heart? “Are you here for the celebration?” He nodded. Elain pushed a rebel curl behind her ear, a small pearl earring catching the moonlight. “Go on then.” She pointed to a vague direction waiting for him to start walking so she could follow, not wanting to say she had lost her way. His eyes dipped to her feet.

“Do you want me to fly you?”

“No.” She wheezed quickly. Gods, was she drunk? She couldn’t be drunk. Elain cleared her throat to sound normal. “No, thank you. I can walk.”

She pointed again, Azriel walking on the opposite direction. She followed. While trailing behind, Elain watched his boots, impressed that he was just as silent in the wild as he was on top of a carpet. She stepped on a pointy rock and winced, Azriel stopping abruptly.

“Let me fly you.” He requested with a worried tone. She twisted her hands nervously. No way she was flying with him. No way. That would be too much of him touching too much of her. “You wandered quite far.” He gave her a look she could not identify. “Outside the city.”

Elain looked around again, not recognizing a thing. There were no colorful fireflies in this part of the woods. She didn’t even know where she was, let alone how to get back to her friends or Velaris.

“Can’t we shadow-walk?” she asked, hopeful.

“We can.”

Again, Azriel offered Elain a hand.

And this time when she took it, he promptly intertwined his fingers with hers. His eyes burning with a longing so intense one would think she was the one who left him behind, not the opposite. His thumb slide against her skin once, a gesture he used to do so often her body ached with the familiarity of him. Hazel and brown were still lost on each other when they disappeared in shadows.

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gunterfan1992 · 4 years ago

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Episode Review: ‘Wizard City’ (Distant Lands, Ep. 4)

Airdate: September 2, 2021

Story by: Adam Muto, Jack Pendarvis, Kate Tsang, Hanna K. Nyström, & Charley Feldman

Storyboarded by: Maya Petersen, Hanna K. Nyström, Anna Syvertsson, & Aleks Sennwald, & Haewon Lee

Directed by: Miki Brewster & Jeff Liu (supervising), Sandra Lee (art)

An episode focusing on Peppermint Butler’s dark side is something that the fandom has craved ever since the little guy demanded Finn and Jake’s flesh in season two’s “Death in Bloom.” While installments like season five’s “The Suitor” and season six’s “Nemesis” did much to scratch that itch, the story of the Dark One remained mostly unknown…

And after “Wizard City,” it still remains largely unknown. But that’s OK, because instead of focusing on the character’s history, this special focuses on Peps’ quest to relearn magic at a magic school. Put most simply, this special is largely a fun excuse for the show to riff on Harry Potter and The Owl House-style “magic school hijinks,” and it mostly all works.

The special follows Peps quest to go to WizArts (a definite play on CalArts, the school that Pen Ward and Adam Muto, among many others, went to) so that he can relearn magic and once again become one of the greatest dark wizards of his time. Initially, Peps tries to make friends with cool kid Spader and his posse, but once they learn that Peps is not as talented at magic as they had initially thought, they kick him to the curb. It is at this point that Cadebra, Abracadaniel’s adorkable niece who is fascinated with stage magic, enters the picture. Cadebra tries everything in her power to befriend Peps, but Peps pushes back, since she’s not “cool.” It does not matter, though, because both Peps and Cadebra are sorted into the same “house”—the “Skink House—and are forced to work together.

While Peps and his cohort begin learning more and more complex magic, a secret cult of school professors, led by the otherwise caring Dr. Caledonius, are scheming to resurrect Coconteppi, a powerful dark wizard whose putrid heart has been discovered underneath the school excreting a very powerful ichor. The school cult kidnaps Spader and gives him some of the ichor to drink; they hope that because of his talent, he will be able to house the spirit of Coconteppi. This does not go as planned, and Spader is graphically killed (albeit off screen). (In a more humorous moment, Bufo, the scam wizard from season one’s “Wizard,” also ingests some of the ichor, believing himself powerful enough to handle it, but it kills him.)

Eventually Peps and Cadebra learn what is going on. Dr. Caledonius welcomes Peps, believing that he is strong enough to handle the ichor. When Cadebra’s life is put in danger, Peps reluctantly gives the putrid fluid a swig, which infuses him with the power of Coconteppi. Coconteppi-Peps then kills all the cult members before Cadebra manages to remove the ichor from Peps body. For uncovering a heinous plot, Peps is promoted to the highest house, “Salamander,” but he decides to remain a Skink and learn magic “the hard way” with Cadebra as his friend.

As I mentioned near the start of this review, “Wizard City” spends most of its time riffing on the “magic boarding school” trope, with much of the episode feeling like a light-hearted parody of Harry Potter: The characters, after all, are “sorted” into “houses,” they learn various types of magic from skilled “professors,” and they bunk in different parts of a large castle-like campus. Of course, Harry Potter didn’t invent the idea of a boarding school, but when setting your story in a school for magic, it is very hard not to lean at least somewhat into the Hogwarts relation. And this really is a double-edged sword, for while Harry Potter references can be fun here and there, they can also make the overall story feel like a fanfic parody. This special does a good job focusing more so on the characters rather than the setting, but I won’t lie, at times it did feel as if they show was really trying to make you realize it was making a Harry Potter joke.

Of all the characters introduced in the special, the breakout star is easily Cadebra, voiced by Chloe Coleman. Radiating a sort of Mabel Pines energy, Cadebra is the beam of optimism who shines brightly in an otherwise macabre special. There is something about her plucky personality and sense of wacky individualism that charms the viewer. I appreciate how the show compared and contrasted her with her uncle, the one and only Abracadaniel: like her uncle, Cadebra is a good person who wants to help others, but unlike Abracadaniel, she has a sense of courage and fortitude that results in her taking on a Coconteppi-possessed Peps at the episode’s climax. (Say what you will, Abracadaniel stans, but our favorite custodian would never have done that!) Thanks to her bravery and dedication to Peps, Cadebra is easily the heart of the special.

The episode throws an interesting little curveball into the mix by having the ‘ghost’ of Past Peppermint Butler constantly haunt Peps in the here-and-now. Past Peppermint, it seems, was so determined to become a great wizard, he cursed himself, so that if anything were to go awry, his Past self could materialize and set him straight. It’s confusing, but I do think that mixing the “overbearing parent” trope with a curse is a clever idea; it gives the whole special some dramatic heft. The whole setup is made even funnier by the special’s conclusion: After Future Peppermint Butler is ‘defeated’ and the day is saved, Peps reveals to Cadebra that he still wants to be a great and powerful dark wizard… but he wants to earn that power through hard work and determination. (Peppermint Butler might commune with demons, but he would never sell his soul to one for power; Glob helps those who help themselves, ya know?)

One of the special’s strongest points is its background art. Adventure Time always had some beautiful set pieces, and this special goes above and beyond to give WizArts an ancient sense of grandeur and mystery. Ghostshrimp, a freelance artist who was the show’s lead background designer during seasons 1-4, return for this special as a “visual developer”—basically, he mocked up a bunch of rough designs for the locales, and then the episode’s background artists worked up the final pieces in his style. On his podcast, Ghostshrimp mentioned how hectic he found Adventure Time to be, because he was used to taking his time on pieces. As such, the decision to bring him on for just development was smart, as it allowed him to still come up with iconic background designs while also playing fast and loose with everything. Hopefully the show will continue this approach with the Fionna and Cake miniseries that is coming up. After all, Ghosthsrimp’s style is the look of Adventure Time.

Another strong point for the episode is its voice acting. For one thing, you have your regulars like Tom Kenny and Dana Snyder, and Duncan Trussell, who all give a solid performance. But to voice many of the special’s new characters, the show brought on a bevy of fun actors: Saturday Night Live’s Bill Hader, for instance, is now voicing Bufo, and he does a solid job hamming up his role as the old fogey. And then there’s Toks Olagundoye, whose British accent gives Dr. Caledonius a sense of knowledge and expertise. To my delight and surprise, SungWon Cho, an internet personality and voice actor perhaps better known as ProZD, was tapped to voice Brain Wizard, and he does an excellent job. And finally, Anthony Stewart Head, a very talented actor who I know best as Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, voices Con Wizard, and is even given a fun little ditty to sing. I can safely say that the voice acting in this special is likely the best of the bunch, and it’s obvious that the actors were all having a great time playing their parts.

What drags the whole thing down, in my opinion is the excessive murder. (I joked on Twitter that during the climax of “Wizard City,” it felt like I was watching an Adventure Time-ified version of Invincible!) Infused with the power of Coconteppi, Peps goes on a brutal killing spree, boiling Potable Wizard into steam, zapping Dimension Wizard into another plane of existence, smashing Berdzerd, and—perhaps most graphically—excerebrates (had to look that word up!) Brain Wiz. On Twitter, @sometipsygnostalgic argued that while, yes, the scene is startling, it does wonders to transmute “a poor Summer Camp Island knockoff [into] Adventure Time chaos.” The more I think about it, the more I think that’s a fair point; after all, this is hardly the first dark thing that has happened in Adventure Time. But the part that I cannot really stomach is the fact that Spader was murdered for no real reason, and the special ends without anyone really expressing their horror at the situation. Sure, Spader was a schoolyard bully, but he was also a child. And killing a child—either for the drama or the lulz—feels decidedly out of place in an Adventure Time episode. It’s hard to express, but it just felt unnecessarily nihilistic and mean-spirited.

All things considered, I think this was a fun episode, but it was somewhat underwhelming for a ‘finale.’ Much of this is because it had to air after the perfection that was the back-to-back “Obsidian”/”Together Again” wombo combo. But I can’t help but feel like this special just felt a little... off. A little too meanspirited, and it leaned a bit too much on standard tropes. Still, it was a fun spin, and I know that I’ll rewatch it.

Mushroom War Evidence: As Peps rides the bus to school, he passes a bunch of abandoned houses, some of which are buried in the ground. There is an unexploded bomb above the fossilized elephant in the school. Cadebra has a dream that takes place in the ruins of a city.

Final Grade: B+

#adventure time #atimers #atdl #distant lands #adventure time distant lands #wizard city #peps #peppermint butler #abracadaniel #Cadebra #Ghostshrimp #Adam Muto #Hanna K #ProZD

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