#it's also a clear testament of them surviving for thousands of years

[reginrokkr]

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈. With the appearance of Ronova, her overall presence and the environment being all veiled in an ominous red, big reasons to think that she was the one present in Khaenri'ah during the era where the crimson moon was worshipped and thus the Crimson Moon Dynasty was the ruler appeared:

The dogmatic priests convinced the muddle-minded king upon the throne that the remnants of the Crimson Moon in the sky ruled all, For it is the color of the moonlight that flows beneath mortal flesh, and the darkness hidden within the bottom of the abyss shall too emerge from the Crimson Moon. This being so, the king of humanity should take upon himself the name of the Crimson Moon, and by the light and flame of two worlds judge fickle fate. Thus they yearned for transcendent individuals to build countless glorious towers, and prayed for the long-dead Crimson Moon to bring them salvation.

As per their convictions, one extended belief that reached the last of Khaenri'ah's days was that from the crimson moon they'd get the abyssal power they always craved for in order to topple the gods. Which is ironic thinking about the arguably dark vibes Ronova gave herself as possessing abyssal origins to some extent as well as the curse of immortality due to its similar symptoms and signs to abyssal exposure.

Moreover, moving to the Perinheri book collection:

Perhaps it was the fear brought on by the darkness combined with hunger and exhaustion, but Perinheri did indeed see an illusion. The crimson moon, hanging high in the pitch-dark night sky, suddenly turned around, revealing itself to be a titanic, horrified eye.

Besides the point that this may look like a vague description at most that can or cannot be an exaggeration for literal purposes of the book, there is one thing that connects deeply with the mystery behind the fall of the Crimson Moon Dynasty as a plausible reason why it happened in the first place:

Until the astrologists branded as heretics glimpsed in the inverted image of the false sky the origin of all the world's fate, Until the unquenchable flames of doubt and fury blazed across the dreamless realm like wildfire, finally burning to the moonlight-hued palace itself...

As it's customary of Khaenri'ah, there were those who learned the truth about the origin of all fate and as a result, they were branded as heretics due to the disbelief of the rest. Nevertheless, the entire society fell into an uproar that included the assassination of many of these people and the eventual fall of the Crimson Moon Dynasty, soon to be replaced by the Eclipse Dynasty after that. So let's put ourselves into perspective: we have a kingdom that was purposefully founded in a place where the gods' gaze doesn't reach, formed a belief that goes against the gods and worshipped the crimson moon only to find out that this same crimson moon was none other than a god— actually, one of the shades of the God King that started it all. It would understandingly cause an existential crisis and the people would seek to deviate into a different direction as fast as possible.

By the time of the blackened sun, the name of the Crimson Moon had long faded along with the crimson that had flowed. Only the epithet "Balemoon" remained to stain the lingering detritus. Whether the unclean who suffered from the curse, or those unblemished ones not yet tainted by fate, none would again consider themselves a follower of the moon's remnants. Few survived the utter destruction of their kind, hiding in the shadows where the sun did not shine, longing for the Crimson Moon to decree their desire for vengeance be repaid—

Neither those who continued in the kingdom under the newly-established Eclypse Dynasty nor those who survived and exiled themselves somewhere else continued to worship the crimson moon, and the name they're referred to is derogatory at best in the memory of foolishly worshipping a god. Furthermore, either this event in specific or something else caused the crimson moon's departure as well until the last moments of Khaenri'ah during the burst of the Cataclysm where the moon came back.

And not only that, it was confirmed that the author of the curse of immortality was Ronova herself, which further incentives the thought that she was present as the crimson moon in Khaenri'ah millennia ago. As punishment for weaponizing the Abyss (which it's now known that it's the fault that led to Khaenri'ah's ruin and punishment), Ronova came again. However, there is an interesting passage in Dain's introduction narrated by Vedrfolnir that insinuates her taking revenge on the Eclipse dynasty:

The original calamity had been overturned, yet the island in the sky set the earth to burn. Chalk pursues gold, in this time inopportune, [the eclipse is swallowed by the crimson moon / the crimson moon takes revenge on the eclipse].

Which could be either seen through by cursing all the Khaenri'ahns, no matter if they were to blame or not for using the abyssal power too (as per Thrain's words, most of the people didn't know about its exploitation by the Five Sinners and Dain's fond words for Khaenri'ah despite his evident distaste for what the Abyss Order (many of which are Khaenri'ahns that had transcended into abyssal creatures) seem to attest as much) or something entirely different that wasn't revealed yet.

Lastly, knowing all of this, it's understandable that the survivors of the Crimson Moon Dynasty would feel petty about those of the Eclipse Dynasty and wanted nothing to do with them, as what they said was true and even so they were annihilated and chased away of the kingdom only to... not do things any better than they used to.

[blueiscoool]

Extravagant Bead Necklace from Neolithic Child’s Grave Reassembled

An elaborate necklace of thousands of beads discovered in a child’s grave in the Neolithic village of Ba’ja, southern Jordan, has been reassembled bead by bead five years after it was unearthed. It is the most elaborate adornment ever found at a Neolithic site, and is a unique testament to the funerary practices of the elite in this prehistoric farming and livestock-raising community.

Located not far from the Nabatean rock-cut city of Petra, Ba’ja was occupied between around 7,400 and 6,800 B.C. It is densely packed with multi-layered stone dwellings that are believed to have been homes and stores for family units. While the deceased were usually buried elsewhere, some of the dead were buried in individual, double or collective graves underneath the structures.

In the summer of 2018, a stone-lined cist grave was found underneath the floor of a stone house. It contained the skeletal remains of a child about eight years old buried in fetal position. While the sex could not be conclusively determined, the shape of the chin suggests the child was female. The archaeological team named her Jamila (meaning “beautiful” in Arabic).

The skeleton was in a very poor state of preservation with bones missing and severely damaged by thousands of years and the heavy weight of the layers above the grave. Excavation revealed concentrations of beads of various materials and sizes mostly grouped around the child’s chest and neck. An astonishing 2,500 beads — flat beads, cylindrical beads, disc beads, tubular shell beads — were ultimately unearthed. Most of them were made of sandstone, but there were also turquoise, shell and amber beads from Lebanon that are the oldest ever discovered.

The bead concentrations were distributed between two large pendants: a mother-of-pearl ring carved from a large single pearl oyster shell with multiple perforations and a double-perforated oval hematite pendant. The mother-of-pearl is particularly spectacular, and cannot have been local. It was likely an import from the Red Sea more than 700 miles away.

Some of the beads were found still aligned in several rows on the left side (the child was positioned on her left side and gravity did the rest) but many were scattered. Repeated patterns and combinations of bead type and color in the surviving rows indicate the beads cannot have been scattered over the body, but it was not clear whether they were originally part of a necklace, a decorated garment, chest piece or something else entirely.

The grave was documented in painstaking detail, and the concentrations and surviving rows made it possible for researchers to reconstruct the original configuration. The entire assemblage was loaned to research laboratories in Germany and France for cleaning, consolidation, restoration and analysis.

The result of the reconstruction is nothing short of spectacular, 12 inches wide at the widest point and 12 inches long at its longest. The most plausible arrangement for all those beads and pendants turned out to be ten rows, seven connected to each side of the mother-of-pearl ring and 3 separated from it.

The reconstructed necklace (with black foam placeholders for the beads that are too fragile to be integrated) is now on display at the Museum of Petra.

[flavjourneys]

The Origin of Dogs and Cats: A Glimpse into Early History

The domestic companionship of dogs and cats with humans traces back thousands of years, with their origins deeply rooted in evolutionary history and human civilization. These two species, now integral to human society, have fascinating stories of domestication and adaptation that began long before written history.

The Origins of Dogs

Dogs are believed to have been the first domesticated animal, with their lineage tracing back to ancient wolves. Fossil evidence suggests that domestication began around 20,000 to 40,000 years ago during the Paleolithic era. Early hunter-gatherers likely formed mutually beneficial relationships with wolves, which provided protection and assistance in hunting in exchange for food and shelter.

Archaeological findings, such as those in Bonn-Oberkassel, Germany, reveal dog burials dating back at least 14,000 years, signifying their deep integration into human communities. Over time, selective breeding for traits such as loyalty, intelligence, and hunting prowess led to the vast diversity of dog breeds we see today.

Genetic studies have pinpointed regions in Central Asia, the Middle East, and Europe as possible centers of domestication, but the exact origin remains debated. What is clear is that the bond between humans and dogs has been a cornerstone of human progress, aiding in agriculture, security, and companionship.

The Origins of Cats

Cats took a different route to domestication, often described as "self-domestication." The earliest evidence of domestic cats dates back approximately 9,000 years to the Fertile Crescent, particularly in regions like ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt. Cats likely began living near human settlements to hunt rodents attracted to stored grains. Their hunting skills made them indispensable to early agricultural societies.

One of the most iconic chapters in feline history is their role in ancient Egypt, where cats were revered as sacred animals. They were associated with deities such as Bastet, the goddess of home, fertility, and protection. Mummified cats and artistic depictions further attest to their importance in Egyptian culture.

Unlike dogs, cats maintained a degree of independence even after domestication, retaining many behaviors of their wild ancestors. Their solitary nature and sharp predatory instincts are hallmarks of their origin as solitary hunters.

The Role of Dogs and Cats in Human Evolution

The domestication of dogs and cats reflects a co-evolutionary relationship with humans. Dogs played critical roles in herding livestock, guarding property, and assisting in hunting. Their social nature and trainability made them versatile companions.

Cats, on the other hand, served as pest controllers and symbols of mysticism and beauty. Their agility, stealth, and keen senses made them invaluable to early civilizations that relied on stored food supplies.

Conclusion

The origins of dogs and cats highlight the intertwined paths of human and animal evolution. From ancient wolves and wildcats to loyal companions and protectors, these animals have been partners in humanity’s journey through time. Their domestication not only reflects human ingenuity but also the enduring bond that connects us to the animal world.

The early history of dogs and cats is a testament to their adaptability and the shared story of survival and mutual benefit that continues to define our relationships with them today.

Thank you for reading.

[risingpakistan1947]

Exploring the Natural Wonders of the World

Imagine standing on the edge of a towering waterfall, feeling the mist caress your skin as you gaze out at the raw power of nature. Nature's wonders humble us, reminding us of our place in the grand scheme. From the vastness of the Grand Canyon to the delicate intricacies of a coral reef, each natural wonder holds its unique magic. Exploring these natural wonders of the world offers a glimpse into worlds that have been shaping for thousands or millions of years. The ever-changing landscapes constantly remind us that our planet is alive and evolving. We are mere spectators in this grand theater, witnessing phenomena larger than ourselves unfold before our eyes. Natural Wonders of the World The natural wonders of the world captivate the imagination with their awe-inspiring beauty and grandeur. From the vast expanse of the Grand Canyon's crimson-hued cliffs to the thunderous cascade of Victoria Falls, each marvels at the power and majesty of nature. The Amazon rainforest, teeming with biodiversity and lush greenery, stands as the lungs of our planet, a vibrant ecosystem essential for our survival. Towering above all, Mount Everest pierces the sky, challenging the human spirit with its daunting heights. And beneath the crystal-clear waters of the Great Barrier Reef lies a kaleidoscope of marine life, a living testament to the wonders of our oceans. These natural wonders remind us of the Earth's boundless beauty and the need to cherish and protect it for generations to come. The Grand Canyon: Ancient beauty carved by time As one of the most celebrated natural wonders of the world, the Grand Canyon is much more than a mere destination for tourists. Its sheer size and intricate geological formations serve as a reminder of the Earth's ancient history and its ever-evolving nature. The layers of rock that make up the canyon walls tell a story millions of years in the making, showcasing the immense power of erosion and tectonic forces at play. Visitors to this majestic site often find themselves in awe of its grandeur, as they stand on the edge peering into an abyss so vast it seems to stretch to infinity. The vibrant colors of reds, oranges, and yellows that adorn the canyon walls change hues throughout the day, making each moment a unique experience. Exploring its depths reveals hidden nooks and crannies where life thrives despite harsh conditions, highlighting nature's resilience in even the harshest environments.

Grand Canyan, United States The Great Barrier Reef: Underwater marvel of biodiversity The Great Barrier Reef, often dubbed the world's largest living structure, is a mesmerizing tapestry of biodiversity teeming beneath the crystal-clear waters. From vibrant corals to an array of marine life spanning over 1,400 miles off the coast of Australia, this underwater wonderland showcases nature's artistic prowess in its most intricate form. The reef’s sheer size not only astounds but also serves as a haven for countless species that call it home. Delving into the depths of the Great Barrier Reef unveils a staggering variety of ecosystems coexisting in harmony - from shallow coral gardens to deep-sea canyons harboring mysterious creatures. Each dive or snorkel adventure presents a unique encounter with sea turtles lazily gliding by and colorful fish darting among the intricate coral formations. It's no surprise that this undersea paradise is revered by scientists and enthusiasts alike for its enriching ecological significance and unparalleled beauty. As we immerse ourselves in this world beneath the waves, we are reminded of the importance of preserving such natural wonders of the world for future generations to marvel at and learn from them.

Amazing Great Barrier Reef Mount Everest: Majestic peak touching the sky Majestic and formidable, Mount Everest stands as the pinnacle of breathtaking beauty and untamed wilderness. Rising 29,032 feet above sea level, this mystical peak beckons adventurers and explorers from around the globe to test their limits against its treacherous slopes. As climbers brave the unforgiving conditions of the world's tallest mountain. The allure of Mount Everest lies not merely in its towering presence among the natural wonders of the world, but in the profound testament it offers to human resilience and determination. Despite the dangers and challenges faced by those who dare to ascend its heights, Mount Everest remains a symbol of human resilience and determination. The shimmering snow-covered slopes serve as a testament to mankind's unyielding spirit in the face of adversity. As each footfall echoes through the thin air at high altitudes, climbers are reminded of their fleeting existence in comparison to the eternal majesty of Everest's towering summit. In essence, Mount Everest stands not only as a majestic natural wonder but also as an emblematic representation of human tenacity in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

Mount Everest, Himalayas Aurora Borealis: Enchanting dance of lights in the sky As the sun sets and darkness cloaks the sky, a mesmerizing spectacle unfolds in the northern hemisphere - the Aurora Borealis, a celestial dance of light and color that captivates all who witness it. This elusive phenomenon is often considered one of the seven natural wonders of the world, its ethereal beauty unmatched by any human creation. As streaks and swirls of green, purple, and blue paint the night sky, observers are left in awe at nature's ability to create such breathtaking artistry. The science behind this dazzling display only adds to its mystique - charged particles from the sun colliding with Earth's atmosphere create luminescent ribbons that dance across horizons. Each flicker and wave of light is a reminder of our planet's interconnectedness with forces beyond our comprehension. The Northern Lights serve as a humbling reminder that amidst our modernity, there are still phenomena that remind us of nature’s raw power and beauty in its purest form.

Aurora Borealis Victoria Falls: Powerful force of nature's beauty Victoria Falls, also known as Mosi-oa-Tunya or The Smoke That Thunders, is a sight to behold. The sheer power and magnitude of the falls are mesmerizing, as millions of gallons of water plummet over the edge every minute. This natural wonder creates an awe-inspiring mist that can be seen from miles away, adding to its mystique and allure. Standing at the edge of Victoria Falls, one can't help but feel humbled by nature's raw beauty and force. The deafening roar of the cascading water evokes a sense of both fear and wonder, reminding us of our place in the grand scheme of things. It's not just a waterfall; it's a living, breathing entity that demands respect and admiration from all who witness its majesty.

Victoria Falls Amazon Rainforest: Lush green paradise teeming with life As one of the 7 natural wonders of the world, the Amazon Rainforest is a place where life flourishes in its purest form. The symphony of sounds created by diverse species of birds, insects, and animals reverberates through the dense green canopy, forming a mesmerizing harmony that captivates all who enter this majestic ecosystem. The intricate web of life sustains a delicate balance, where each organism plays a crucial role in maintaining the forest's vitality. Exploring the depths of the Amazon Rainforest reveals an astonishing array of plant and animal species that have evolved to thrive in this unique environment. From the vibrant feathers of exotic birds to the stealthy movements of elusive jaguars, every creature contributes to the tapestry of life that defines this unparalleled natural wonder. One cannot help but be awestruck by the sheer beauty and complexity woven into every aspect of this living, breathing ecosystem. The Seven Wonders of the World continue to captivate and inspire people from all corners of the globe. These extraordinary feats of architecture and engineering serve as testaments to human ingenuity, creativity, and perseverance throughout history. Visiting these iconic landmarks can offer a profound sense of wonder and appreciation for the world's cultural heritage. As we marvel at these wonders, it is essential to remember the importance of preserving and protecting them for future generations to cherish. Let us continue to explore, learn about, and marvel at these wonders that remind us of the remarkable achievements of humanity.

Amazon Rainforest Read the full article

[greywhalebaja]

Awe-Inspiring Journeys: Discovering the Magnificence of Grey Whale Watching in Baja California

most captivating migrations in the animal kingdom. Baja California, located in northwestern Mexico, is renowned for providing a front-row seat to this remarkable spectacle. In this article, we will delve into the wonders of grey whale watching and highlight the importance of preserving these magnificent marine mammals.

Every year, thousands of grey whales embark on an epic journey from their feeding grounds in the Arctic to the sheltered lagoons along Baja California's Pacific coast. This migration, spanning approximately 5,000 miles, takes place from late December to early April. The calm and warm waters of Baja become a haven for these majestic creatures as they seek refuge to give birth and nurture their calves.

One of the most popular destinations for grey whale watching in Baja is the San Ignacio Lagoon. This pristine sanctuary provides a unique opportunity to witness these gentle giants up close. As visitors embark on whale-watching tours, they are greeted by the awe-inspiring sight of immense grey whale mothers and their curious calves gracefully swimming through the water. The sheer size and beauty of these creatures leave an indelible impression on all who witness them.

What sets gray whale watching in Baja apart is the rare and intimate interactions between humans and these marine giants. The grey whales in Baja's lagoons display a remarkable level of trust and curiosity towards visitors. It is not uncommon for a mother whale to approach a boat, allowing passengers to stroke her barnacle-covered skin. This up-close encounter fosters a deep connection with nature, instilling a sense of wonder and respect for these incredible creatures.

While experiencing the magic of grey whale watching, it is crucial to adhere to strict guidelines that prioritize the safety and well-being of both whales and humans. Knowledgeable local guides accompany visitors on these tours, providing valuable insights into the behavior and biology of grey whales. They also educate visitors about the significance of conservation and the need to protect the delicate ecosystems that support the grey whale population.

Preservation efforts are vital for the long-term survival of grey whales. Climate change, pollution, and habitat destruction pose significant threats to these magnificent creatures. By participating in responsible whale watching tours, visitors contribute to the local economy while supporting conservation initiatives that aim to safeguard the future of grey whales in Baja.

Beyond the enchantment of grey whale watching, Baja offers a treasure trove of natural wonders. Pristine beaches, dramatic cliffs, and unique desert landscapes make it a paradise for nature enthusiasts. Exploring the region's diverse ecosystems, hiking through breathtaking canyons, or snorkeling in crystal-clear waters are just a few of the additional delights that await visitors in Baja.

In conclusion, grey whale watching in Baja is a once-in-a-lifetime experience that showcases the beauty and magnificence of nature. The annual migration of grey whales is a testament to the resilience and wonder of the natural world. By engaging in responsible tourism practices and supporting conservation efforts, we can ensure that future generations will continue to be captivated by the awe-inspiring sight of grey whales in Baja's pristine waters. Embark on an unforgettable journey to witness this marine marvel, and let the grace and majesty of grey whales leave an indelible imprint on your soul. https://www.greywhale.com/

[dameronology]

to all the pilots i've loved before {poe dameron} - 3/4

part three: better half of a whole

summary: you’re in love with poe dameron. it’s both the most complicated and most simple thing in the galaxy - and it’s all shoved into a shoe-box under your bed, in the form of a thousand love letters. here’s to hoping he never finds them. (series masterlist)

warnings: language, mentions of injury

i'm so sorry this took me so long to write!! i got writer's block and then i was horribly busy with a thousand others things and sadly, i cannot prioritise fan fiction over real life duties. and i would know, because i've tried

enjoy!!

- jazz

Poe didn't sleep for...well, it was probably days. Felt like years.

Dear trouble,

Every time he closed his eyes, your face would flash into his mind. The sound of your laugh echoing amongst the cries of war; the feel of your soft hands tracing the remains of battle scars and wounds. What if the hug you gave him before you left was the last? What if your slightly pained laughter at the shitty joke he'd made in the jungle the night before was all he had left? He cherished every memory he had of you but he loved you more.

I know you hate when I call you that, but it feels pretty accurate - because you do cause trouble, normally with me but more recently FOR me. Anyways, I never considered myself to be much of a letter writer, but then I saw yours and...fuck.

Love. What a funny fucking word, right? Said so easily, but meant so much. Something that felt so hard to find, but even more difficult to hold onto. His parents had found it and they'd kept it for so long, and he'd always wanted the same - nothing less, nothing more. Just the kind of unwavering, undying love that can survive a war and be happy with the domesticity that followed. The only difference between Poe and his parents was that they'd been fearless with every aspect of their lives, not withholding their ability to express feelings. Perhaps that's where he fell short. Shara had taught him a lot of things but she'd been lost before he taught her how to pull his head out his ass and just...say things how they were.

What am I even supposed to say? I love you too would be a start, because I obviously I do. I've always wanted to say it but I never wanted to risk what we had in case you secretly hated me, and now I'm going to live out the rest of my days regretting it.

The first that Poe managed to finally get some rest was four days after Leia had broken the news of your disappearance. He'd fallen asleep in his quarters, curled up into Finn's side and clutching a t-shirt of his that he'd left in your room - you'd borrowed it a few months ago, and it still smelt of you. It was a mixture of your everyday body fragrance and a little of engine oil. BB-8 was snoozing quietly in the corner and for the first time in days, Poe's jaw and shoulders weren't tense and clenched.

The little robot did stir, however, when he got a comms system message from Leia. He was awake immediately, cruising across the room and crashing straight into the nearest human he could find - and it was at that point that Finn regretted leaving his leg dangling off the side of the bed. He jumped awake, brown eyes finding the droid peering up at him.

You're not just my best friend. You're my partner in crime, my soulmate and you know that twin flame bullshit that Rey always go on about? You're probably that too because we're both flaming hot. You're the better half of this whole. You and me.

"Poe is sleeping, buddy," he quietly said.

"There's a message from the general," BB-8 beeped back.

Poe suddenly woke up at that - it could have been any message, and certainly not one about you, but something in his gut told him otherwise. If it hadn't have been, Leia would have left it til morning, or not even bothered him at all in his current state.

"What?" the pilot asked. "What is it?"

"They're back, in the med-"

Poe didn't give him a chance to say anything else, because he was already up and out the door - jacket unzipped, boots half unlaced, hair sticking up in a thousand different directions.

And even though he hadn't slept for days, he was running for his dear fucking life. The medical bay was right on the other side of the base and he didn't care. You were there - in what state, he didn't know - and that was all that mattered. He was just wanted to be with you, beside you, and he never planned on leaving.

If I see you again, I'm not gonna hide it anymore. I love you and you deserve to know that. I'm gonna give you the fucking world, I promise.

Poe skidded around the corner, stopping his tracks when he saw you across the room. You looked tired - far past it, in fact - and his entire body tensed when he saw the bruises on your arm and up your neck. Still, he took comfort in the fact that he knew you put up a good fight. You'd sparred together enough times and given him enough bruises to last a life time.

There was a slight oof as someone crashed into the back of Poe (Finn's subtle way of announcing his arrival). He placed a hand on his shoulder, shoving him forward slightly. It was clear that Poe was in a state of shock - at your loss, at your declaration, and even more at your return - because the last few days had changed everything.

Everything he'd ever wanted was about to come to fruition. No pressure.

"Go to them," Finn murmured.

With that, Poe took a few steps forward - you met him half away across the room, chests colliding with enough force to knock down an ATAT. He wound his arms you, pulling you towards him with one hand tangled in your hair and the other holding your back. He clung to you, tears in his eyes and entire body shaking, almost as though he was using the feeling of you to act as a reminder that this wasn't a dream. You were here. You were back. Perhaps a little worst for wear, but alive and standing all the same.

I don't know how I'll say it. Am I meant to just blurt it out? I've never said it to anyone before, so...what the fuck am I meant to do? Normally, I'd come to you for advice on this sort of this but that feels a bit counter intuitive.

"Hey, Poe," you gently murmured.

"Hey, trouble," he let out a shaky laugh, pulling back from the hug to clutch your face in his hands. "You're alive. You're here-"

"- yeah, I'm here," you grinned.

"What happened?" he pushed. "If I ever find those First Order bastards, I swear it's on site."

"They were trying to shoot us out the sky, so we had to lay low on a random moon for a few days, but the residents of said moon were not very friendly and - you know what? It doesn't matter," you leant into his touch, relishing the feeling of his hands against your skin. "I'm here and that's what's important."

"I was so scared," Poe admitted. "And they had me search your room for back up plans and-"

You froze.

"You...you searched my room?" you stuttered. "What did you find?"

The main thing is, I AM gonna tell you. I promise. Just...please come back.

Love, Poe

Poe's eyes widened - maybe now wasn't the best time to break the news. You were bleeding from your head and hadn't slept for days. To spring it on you before you were even cleaned up felt a bit unfair. His worst fears had been avoided, so he didn't mind waiting just a little longer.

"Nothing," he forced a smile. "C'mon, I'll clean you up."

Taking your hand in his, Poe lead you towards one of the beds. He was hardly a medical expert, but he'd been through enough cuts and scrapes to have a basic understanding of stitches. And luckily, your injuries didn't look too bad. It was more just the fact you had them in the first place that hurt him.

What if he'd gone on the mission with you? Or convinced you to stay? Fuck, he would have gone in your place if he knew what was going to happen. The last few days had been the worst of his life and he almost felt responsible for what had happened to you. Your pain was his pain, and he felt it in every fibre of his being.

But, of all things, at least he knew what love was now - and if you had never have gone MIA, he never would have gone looking in your room, and he never would have found those letters. It felt like a bit of a dick move to call them a blessing in disguise but his mother had always taught him the value of looking for silver linings. The last week had been one giant thunderstorm. There had been no breaks in the rain, or sun peaking through the clouds. It had just been darkness and thunder, but it was all beginning to clear now.

What was it that Shara had said when Poe was a kid? Things have a funny way of working out. This was all a testament to that, and also to the fact that she always seemed to be right.

Poe's hands moved gently as he stitched up the cut on your forehead. They were still steady as they moved, brown eyes occasionally moving down to meet yours. He always smiled when they did.

"There we go," he said. "That shouldn't scar, but if it does, it would make you look like a bad-ass, so..."

You chuckled slightly. "Thanks, Dameron."

"You don't have to thank me," he quietly murmured, running a thumb over your cheek. "I'm just glad you're back."

"Right," you grinned. "What did you do whilst I was gone?"

Cried. Read those letters. Cried some more. Wrote a letter myself, then cried on that too.

"I just...I caught up some on some reading," he forced a smile. "C'mon, let's go to my quarters. I have some bactaspray there for those bruises."

Poe took your hand in his again and helped you up off of the bed - you seemed okay to walk, but he didn't let go. He needed to feel you, to know that you were there. He was worried you might float away into the galaxy and disappear all over again if he didn't cling onto you.

And for you, the feeling of his warm hands against yours was a welcome relief after a long few days. You were trying to push the pain and the incoming nightmares to the back of your head, and it was much easier when Poe was beside you. You already knew that he was going to make you sleep beside him that night. Being on the same wavelength so often was a great feeling.

Poe hadn't thought about tidying his room - why would he? He'd been so preoccupied with you, and finding you, that he'd barely considered the idea. Besides, it wasn't like you were going to care about the shoes by his door, or the letters on his desk, or the unfolded laund-

- fuck.

The letters.

Your box of letters, which was sat on his desk, which was right by the door.

By the time he'd even registered that they were there, you were already half way into the room. In a somewhat half-arsed attempt to shove them back in the box and toss them to the side, Poe dove forward and knocked them into an open draw, slamming it shut.

When he turned around and saw your wide eyes, it was clear he was a little too late. You'd already seen them.

taglist: tags: @neverlandlibrarian @asphyzzz @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ubri812 @taina-eny @dessinemoiunehistoire @fangirl-316 @princessxkenobi @brandyllyn

[randomprose]

Shang Qinghua is, for lack of a better word, a pushover—a pathetic, cowering, pushover.

He doesn’t talk back, mostly because everyone around him is so much more OP than him and he lives in constant fear that any one of them would be the cause of his demise (accidentally and/or otherwise).

So, Shang Qinghua just lets things slide, like, a lot of things. For self-preservation purposes. So he gets taken advantage of for it, so what? As long as he’s useful, he at least doesn’t have to fear being unceremoniously eliminated.

Shang Qinghua lives his life like this—except during the bi-annual Peak Lords’ Conference.

The bi-annual Peak Lords’ Conference is where they discuss the sect’s general administrative matters and most important of all, the sect’s financial records. It’s the time all the peak lords are scrambling to complete their administrative reports and the busiest season for An Ding Peak—especially Shang Qinghua.

It’s also the only time of the year Shang Qinghua doesn’t think about the importance of not crossing anyone in the name of self-preservation.

A couple of years since the end of the original novel officially transpired, and after also officially being saddled with the Northern Desert’s palace account and affairs, Shang Qinghua has decided he has had enough and will no longer be pushed around into doing the other peaks’ paperwork for them!

Shang Qinghua gets mean and snappy at these meetings. He’s so sleep-deprived he doesn’t even have the energy to be guilty about it. That’s how exhausted he is. If someone comes for his throat during this meeting he wouldn’t even flinch. He’d probably be angrier if they somehow don’t finish the job. Put him out of his misery or don’t waste his fucking time.

If this made the other peak lords lowkey scared of him singling them out during these bi-annual meetings, that’s just a bonus.

A hush falls among the peak lords already present in Cang Qiong’s main conference hall when Shang Qinghua enters. His Head Disciple and inner disciples carrying each peak’s individual reports in tow, placing it down on Shang Qinghua’s table while the peak lord himself goes straight to the podium to load today’s presentation in the crystal mirror projector screens.

It’s times like these that Shang Qinghua is so thankful he thought about writing in projection screens in Proud Immortal Demon Way. Imagine having to write and present a whole sect’s financial report in scrolls! He’d sooner throw himself off of the top of Jue Di Gorge.

He sticks a rectangular slab of crystal to a port and activates it with a short burst of his qi. The crystal mirror lights up with the first page of Shang Qinghua’s presentation and he eyes it for a second before walking to his table.

Yes, it functions like a USB, and no he doesn’t care that ‘it goes completely against xianxia logic!’ because contrary to what Cucumber-bro says, this is actually another thing that Shang Qinghua is grateful he wrote in because it’s a fucking stroke of genius.

An An Ding disciple comes in just before the start of the conference, saying a messenger bird of a merchant lord just sent a missive labeled ‘important’.

“This is not important at all,” Shang Qinghua says before sitting down, grabbing a paper, and writing a reply anyway. He hands it to his disciple, “Here send it back. If they reply unfavorably, tell them—"

Just then Shen Qingqiu enters, flanked by Ming Fan and Luo Binghe, which startled the An Ding disciple to drop the note. Luo Binghe picks up the paper to hand it over to the startled disciple, who bowed in thanks before Shen Qingqiu snatches it and opens the note.

“'To Lord Mao," Shen Qingqiu reads. "'Is that a challenge? If so, this peak lord will engage with Lord Mao. This peak lord knows the law of this land and will gladly see Lord Mao in court. Note, this peak lord knows what happened five days after last year’s harvest moon and supposes that, too, is up for discussion. Signed Peak Lord Shang.’” Shen Qingqiu turns to Shang Qinghua as he folds the note again and hands it back to the disciple, who bows to all of them before taking his leave. “Lord Mao? The merchant that supplies some of Wan Jian Peak’s blacksmithing tools? What did this Lord Mao do five days after last year’s harvest moon?”

“Nothing and it’s none of your business,” Shang Qinghua mutters shortly as he re-arranges his scrolls while the rest of the peak lords start to file in.

It’s a testament to how exhausted Shang Qinghua is that he doesn’t even flinch when Luo Binghe levels him with a dark glare and a snarl of, “Don’t speak to Shizun like that.”

“Binghe, stand down. Shang-shidi is just under a lot of pressure. This is a busy time for An Ding Peak after all.”

“No, Luo Binghe is right,” Shang Qinghua sighs. “That was out of line, shixiong, even if what you said was true.” He bows slightly to Shen Qingqiu in apology before smiling tiredly. “Lord Mao did nothing I think. I just—”

“What is this I hear about Shang-shidi being at odds with a merchant?” Qi Qingqi pipes up clearly having heard their conversation. “Really, Shang-shixiong. What are you doing? It better not be something shady again.”

“Rest assured, Qi-shimei, this shixiong knows what he’s doing.”

“This one sure hopes you do,” Qi Qingqi says not without suspicion at the same time Shen Qingqiu asks, “Do you really?”

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” Shang Qinghua says, moving his hand in a dismissive wave. “Don’t worry about it.”

--

Later, while Shang Qinghua is in the middle of speedrunning through the peak’s expense reports, because his martial siblings have very short attention spans for such things and anything else that isn’t gossip or doesn’t directly involve them, the same An Ding disciple comes in. He slinks quietly to An Ding’s Head Disciple, who is taking notes dutifully, to inform her of the missive.

The Head Disciple gives him the go signal to report and raises her hand to get Shang Qinghua’s attention.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Shifu, but Lord Mao has responded.”

“Oh? And what did he say?”

An Ding’s Head Disciple nudges her martial sibling, who looks unsure and a little unnerved at all the eyes trained on him, to deliver the message.

“Lord Mao said—” he clears his throat. “Lord Mao said there is no need to make a big deal out of nothing and agreed to meet on the twelfth day of next month.”

Shang Qinghua looks to his Head Disciple, rapidly flipping through a small pocket notebook before looking up and shaking her head no to Shang Qinghua.

“This peak lord is not available on that date. Tell Lord Mao to move it on—Xiao Lian?”

“Shifu’s next available date is on the twenty-fifth of the month after next.”

“There. Tell Lord Mao to move the meeting to the twenty-fifth day of the month after next.”

“Hey, now,” Shen Qingqiu says because his husband has gone, Ming Fan is taking notes for him, so now he’s bored and this is the most interesting thing that’s happened since this whole meeting started. “Isn’t Shang-shidi pushing it?”

“It’s fine. This master knows what he’s doing,” Shang Qinghua says as he waves away his disciple and goes right back to drilling Liu Qingge about Bai Zhan Peak’s expense report.

--

Around the concluding hour of the meeting, Shang Qinghua’s messenger disciple returns yet again with a response.

“This disciple apologizes a thousand times for interrupting once again.”

“The meeting is about to end. Wait beside your shijie for a bit, yeah?”

“Yes, Shifu.”

But before the An Ding disciple could do as he’s told, Wei Qingwei speaks up.

“It’s fine. At this point, I think this peak lord speaks for all when he says we all want to know what Lord Mao has said.” Not in the least because they’re all bored out of their wits and this is a very welcome distraction. “He's one of Wan Jian Peak’s suppliers is he not? This peak lord has a vested interest in this exchange.”

“Alright then,” Shang Qinghua says, no longer caring and just wanting this whole meeting to end so he can go back home and catch up on some sleep for a day or three. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Lord Mao agreed to meet Shifu on the twenty-fifth of the month after next and offered to host Shifu on his manor.”

“Fat chance,” Shang Qinghua says. And what? Hand himself over for a potential assassination plot? Shang Qinghua did not last this long and survived everything that’s happened in the original storyline only for some canon fodder merchant lord to get the jump on him. He makes a mental note to look for a new supplier for Wan Jian Peak’s blacksmithing needs if Lord Mao doesn’t agree with the terms he’s laid out—ones that are very much in Cang Qiong’s favor 70-30 now that he’s pissed Shang Qinghua off. “Tell Lord Mao this peak lord will receive him in An Ding Peak at no later than Wu Shi.”

The disciple bows and leaves to send the message and Shang Qinghua turns back to conclude his presentation.

Then later, after the meeting is adjourned, Shen Qingqiu sidles up to him with an amused, “Well, that was something, Peak Lord Shang. The bi-annual Peak Lord’s Conference really brings out your backbone, huh?”

Shang Qinghua just regards his friend with an exhausted flat look at the obvious mocking use of his title before smirking, “I told you I know what I’m doing.”

“So what did Lord Mao do five days after last year’s harvest moon?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Shang Qinghua replies in earnest with a shrug and a confused frown. “I just thought of a random date and hoped for the best that it held some importance to him. Guess Lord Mao does shady things on the regular.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. Time to find Wei-shixiong a new supplier. I just hope he’s not partial to the ones that shady Lord Mao provides.”

ao3

[minervacasterly]

One of the greatest misconceptions of the Protestant Reformation is that Martin Luther, being the face of this movement, supported every Protestant movement across Christendom. Nothing can be further from the truth. In his book, Eric Metaxas, leaves it clear how Martin Luther’s intention was never to lead the flock astray from the Church that Saint Peter built but rather return it to its pre-Council of Nicea origins. He truly believed, as many have for nearly two thousand years, that he was the rock upon which his church will be built. This comes directly from scripture:

“Upon this rock, I will build my church.” (Matthew 16: 13-19)

Regardless of which translation you use, or to which Christian denomination you belong to, what Jesus says here to Peter is clear as day. However, some have argued that it is not meant to be taken literally. Like many things in the bible, it is open to interpretation.

With this being stated, where else did Luther differ from other Protestants? If I were to give you a full list, it would comprise a full book. Even doing a 101 would mean doing a VERY LONG post. So I will keep it short by giving the easiest (yet popularly unknown) example:

Anabaptists.

That is all you need to know. If you are still baffled as to why Luther would be against them of all people, you have to remember what Luther believed, before AND after he broke away from his religious schism. The more the Catholic Church pushed back against him, the more disenchanted he became until he was pushed into a corner and he realized the only way to survive was to surround himself was aligning with the interests of his wealthy sponsors. Some of the German Princes who supported Luther did believe in his cause but there was also an ulterior motive as to why they supported him. His writings meant that they’d no longer be in bondage to the higher echelons in the Church. They would be free to tax and have free reign over terrestrial and spiritual domains.

But some Protestants did not like this concept. They thought that they needed to go further. Some of these splinter groups did not (initially) spoke out against Luther. They simply wanted to go their own way but Luther felt that the only way for his movement to be safe was to have a united front. Dissention (aka disagreement) was out of the question. So what did he do? He persecuted them. Their response: Just like Luther had been pushed into a corner, they pushed back and called him no better than the Catholic Bishops he rebelled against. The final outcome was an even more violent pushback against them where Luther spoke out IN FAVOR of Catholic persecution of these groups. Of all of them, the ones he hated the most were the Anabaptists. They were called as such because they did not believe in infant baptism. The argument behind this is that to fully accept the covenant with Christ, you have to be fully aware and within your mental capabilities. Infants cannot decide for themselves, therefore, they have to be older when they decide they want to be part of his flock. If an infant were to die BEFORE the age of consent, then he or she is automatically sent to heaven. They often quoted from the New Testament, from the four main gospels, where Jesus says that the kingdom of heaven is closely tied to children. Till this day, there are other Christian denominations (among them the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints, Pentecostals, Revivalists, Seventh Day Adventists, Evangelical Free Churches, and Jehova’s Witnesses) that do not practice infant baptism.

With this being stated, you’d think a man who wanted to return to simpler times and was against the suppression of godly choice, would let Anabaptists live and let live, or be an open mind regarding their view on baptism. But you thought wrong. Luther went a full 180 on them. From being the oppressed, he and his followers became full oppressors. Just like the Council of Nicea and the Catholic Church over a thousand years prior, he wanted a form of Christianity that stood for national and spiritual unity. Anything that stood in the way of this progress had to be stamped out.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Childe Kadathine From the Tower Came

A gloom strangled the dusty valley. Old rock towered over darkest depths, drowned in fog and shadows. The waning sun of a late afternoon could not pierce the clouds and natural walls of jagged stone crags.

Jutting out in between them, atop a crumbling cliff, stood the Tower of Woe. Like a nail that dared to defy the natural order of things, it loomed, partly bathed in light from the setting sun, partly cast in the valley's dark. Hewn eerily smooth by human hands and fashioned in ways that suggested its makers remembered a cyclopean era, the tower's bleached slabs shared the age of the stone surrounding it.

An impossibility that had survived for thousands of years, resistant to destruction. An impossibility made real by sorcery, impervious to the sands of time.

The beaked edges of the structure almost took the shape of two claws, one grasping the earth beneath the tower, and the other reaching out to grab the heavens by the throat. Devised by an ancient civilization of devious wizards who fancied themselves greater than divinity, its shape inspired awe in the brave, and dread in the feeble-minded.

It thrummed with arcane energies. Any who beheld it quaked with an air of unease, permeating the entire valley. So far removed from civilization that only few ever survived the journey across a wasteland to reach it, and even fewer possessed the strength to brave whatever terrible secrets the tower held.

Not a single bird chirped. No insects buzzed. Animals avoided this desolate valley, draped in a deafening silence, save for a soft hum that emanated from the lonesome tower. A rumbling.

Red light cast by fire shone out and flickered from the myriads of narrow, glassless windows upon the face of the tower.

Something had come alive in its depths.

A wizard from Korvosa, Furio Falco, returned to the mouth of the valley. He returned to the Tower of Woe where he had dwelt and researched its many oddities.

Gravel and stone crunched underfoot, and though he was barely over thirty summers old, the uneven and precarious path forced him to use his ornate cane to secure his every step.

Calling it a path, however, was a stretch. Few mortals had tread upon it in the past millennia. So few that it still bore the footprints left behind by Falco's master, the Knight in Black named Septisanthas, who had discovered the ominous tower several years before leading the wizard there.

Claws of a dragon had scarred the tower's top and the pinnacles of the rocky spires framing the valley alike. Standing testament to the vale's third guardian, Karathrax.

The dragon had served well in preventing any raiders from approaching the tower, and the absence of such marauders afforded both Karathrax and Septisanthas their leave to attend other matters.

Now, Falco was all alone with the thing underneath the tower. He walked alone to the looming edifice, its narrow entrance from which eerie red light glowed, beckoning him to return.

The cool mountain air contrasted with the blazing heat of the sun he had basked in outside the valley, temperatures now clashing to make the wizard's head throb uncomfortably in the onset of a headache.

But the hours away from the tower had helped clear his mind. Helped center him and shed all excess thoughts as he had meditated out in the open, mulling over what magic he might need to employ next in examining the awakened thing in the depths.

An unliving mystery.

Clanking and clattering sounds echoed throughout the hollow center of the tower, bouncing off sharp-edged pillars and angular walls, punctuating the wizard's entry and descent, competing with the rapping of his boots as he took each step down the spiraling stairwell. Down hundreds upon hundreds of steps. Leaving him too much space to wonder what the creature was doing down there to cause such ruckus.

Heat from the lava pits beneath the tower rose, drying out the wizard's nose and leaving him with a tingling sensation, and turning his mouth to feel like he had been chewing on cotton.

He wondered what secrets the creature may reveal if it could still speak coherently. The clanking continued all the while.

Did the creature rail against its metal bondage, he wondered?

It sounded much less inert than after its initial awakening.

Falco stopped in his tracks at the end of the stairs, at the end of the long hallway leading to the Chamber of Catechisms. The air down here was close to blistering hot, prompting him to loosen the tight collar of his fine red vest.

The clanking had also gone silent. Only the monotone and growling rumble of the tower's churning machinery, perpetually powered by the lava pits, filled the air.

It could have broken free, he now worried.

SHWINK.

The wizard had drawn his silvery sword, previously hidden inside his cane, and approached the pointy-arched gate at the end of the hallway. The dark red light from the lava pits wavered here. The machinery rumbled loudest.

Sculptures carved into the masonry of the massive gate still sent chills down Falco's spine, even after having visited this chamber time and time and again. They depicted the old god-king and his armies subjugating all manner of monsters and legions, chained, and tormented under the grasping, greedy claws of their cruel emperor.

Falco stopped again before passing the gate. He expected the creature to jump out from the shadows of the corridor, from hiding places situated between opulent marble statues. Sneaking up on him unheard, all sounds it made drowned out by the bubbling of the lava pits and the churning of giant gears.

He scanned the walls, eyes nervously searching every dark spot. Swiveling to see the thing at the edge of his vision, always out of sight; a figment of his imagination, or his eyes playing tricks on him. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Marched onwards, ready to unleash his most powerful magic. Then immediately rethinking his strategy. The sword would do little. He never really used it other than as a threat or deterrent. And he mentally prepared to use magic for egress, rather than battle.

Whatever this thing was, he was certain that his thin, fine blade could do little to harm it.

For it had no flesh to cut. No organs to pierce.

He lowered the sword, keeping it by his side as a precaution, uncertain what it might communicate if the creature saw him near with the weapon raised. He set his jaw and continued onward. Had to face this thing. Speak with it.

It had spoken. Little, merely a string of disconnected words that failed to form a sentence. But the words it had uttered were pregnant with sophistication, they bore intelligence, and came on wings of the ancient tongue.

It might be able to shed so much light on the forgotten empire. To illuminate the mysteries its emperor and armies of wizards once held in their golden-clawed clutches.

Chains and ancient torture devices drooped drearily from the spiked iron fixtures upon soot-blackened walls. Heat rising from the dizzying depths of the pits below the iron grates distorted the air.

The creature stood out in the open. Free. Standing barely bigger than a tall man, its presence exuded something eerily menacing.

It turned. Its yellow robes flowed. From underneath its deep hood, its steel, expressionless mask faced Falco. Hollow eyes stared back at him, beyond which only unfathomable darkness lurked.

Was it angry? Confused?

Free from the shackles they had locked it in upon its awakening—the manacles still affixed to its wrists, with pieces of heavy broken chains dangling uselessly from them. Chains with the integrity to hold the strongest of men, and reinforced with magic to restrain even giants, even after all the years since their forging.

Almost as if to demonstrate the futility thereof, a shining, gilded hand of the creature curled its fingers around one of the shackles still wreathed around its wrist.

It grabbed. Squeezed.

The metal whined as it bent apart, crunched, and deformed under the iron vice of its grip. The creature twisted and pulled without any visible effort until the metal shackle broke apart, then clattered onto the iron grates at its steel-tipped feet, slipping and jangling until the broken shackle fell down hundreds of paces into the lava below the Chamber of Catechisms.

Falco cleared his throat and mustered all his courage to flash a defiant grin.

Delivering his best impression of what the forgotten empire's tongue must have once sounded like, he called out to it with bright and optimistic melody, "Greetings."

"Greetings," replied the creature with none of the feigned enthusiasm. "I am now fully awake."

The way it enunciated gave Falco pause. The stresses on syllables surprised him. If the creature harbored no hostility, it could also prove to be an invaluable resource in learning how the old Thassilonians once spoke before the end of their world.

The creature wrenched the other manacle from its wrist, producing the same unnerving spectacle of effortlessly destroying it and discarding it the same way as the first. Harboring no more doubts about it in his mind, Falco's first response to any sign of hostility would be to use magic to help him escape.

There was no way he could fight this thing alone.

"Pardon the, uhm, you know," Falco said, tipping his head to gesture at the sorry reminders of chains they had kept the creature in.

The masked metal creature reared its head and stared at the wall they had chained it to.

"You were wise to take such precautions for your own safety," said the creature. It spoke in a constant dull monotone, mirroring the constant, grinding rumble of the tower's machinery. Turning to face Falco again, it added, "Your attire is strange. I have never seen such fashion throughout the empire. Have new kingdoms risen in the west?"

Falco pursed his lips and pondered. The thin leather of his glove gripping the hilt of his slender sword now audibly cracked, reminding him of the tension throughout his body.

"Many kingdoms have risen and fallen since you last walked this earth. I am not sure you would recognize this world any longer."

The wizard became acutely aware of the distance between him and the steel creature.

Twenty paces. He had always been a good judge of measurement.

Asked the creature, "What year is this?"

"'Tis 4708 of the Absalom Reckoning."

The creature paused, then said, "I am entirely unfamiliar with your calendar."

Falco nodded, now feeling a painful reminder of the tension in his neck. It coupled with the dry sensation in his mouth, and the throbbing of his temples as his head began to ache.

"By my estimate, it has been around ten thousand years since you went to sleep. Your makers did well in constructing your form. It had been, uh, inert all this time, as far as I can tell."

"I am no construct. I am not even of your world."

It took a step towards Falco, and he instinctively took a step back in response. They both froze. The gears continued to grind; the tower continued to rumble incessantly.

"Fear not. I will do thee no harm unless you seek to render unto me the same," the creature said emotionlessly.

It did not help. Falco pondered what allegiance he should explicitly espouse—or feign—in the face of this strange entity. This tower had once served as a place of painful punishment, purposed for spies and traitors who had crossed the god-emperor.

This thing—had it been captive here? Or jailor?

But the creature interrupted his thoughts.

"I am not of your realm. I am child of Leng," it said.

The mention of the nightmare realm sent shivers to run down Falco's spine. He only knew that dread name from scarce legends, things barely known to even the greatest scholars who dedicated their lives to studying the mysteries of the Dark Tapestry and the Great Beyond.

"I chose to replace my flesh with the metals and innovative wonders of your realm, and before you, now, stands the wondrous result of this marriage between two very different worlds."

It raised its hands high in demonstration, allowing the wide sleeves of its yellow robe to openly display the mechanical marvels of its hands. Splayed its fingers, then balled them into fists. Its body put those of iron golems to utter shame, resembling more of a clockwork than a crude machine. The metal and gold linings upon all its edges shimmered in the glimmer of deep crimson light.

"Truly curious," said Falco. The irreverent wizard's voice trembled with newfound reverence.

The mystery of this creature continued to unfold, raising more and more questions.

"Why would you forsake your original body? I have been led to believe that you—your kind—you are made of the essence of dreams."

The hollow stared into Falco's eyes. Watched him. It stood still, neared not further.

"The essence of nightmares," it corrected him. Without melody. Menacing words, spoken without malice. "Immortal, yes. But as I stand before you, now, does my very being, here, before you, differ that much? I traded one form of immortality for another. My second body has advantages that my first did not, and vice versa. I prefer this form."

Falco mulled over what the denizen of Leng told him. Could it be a sophisticated golem, spinning a yarn and pulling a fast one on him? Some wizards did pull elaborate pranks in creating such devices.

"You can put your blade away," it said. "It will do you no good against me. If I wanted to dismember you, I would have already done so."

Falco gritted his teeth and his lips pressed against one another so hard that they turned into a thin white line. In an elegant flash, he sheathed the short sword back into his cane, blew a strand of frazzled hair from his face, and shifted his weight.

The tension remained.

At any rate, with his hands free, he could more easily flick his wrists and accurately draw the arcane glyphs necessary to conjure a spell, and the creature was indeed correct: he and his blade would not be able to put a single dent into that thing's mithral shell.

"What is your name?" he asked it.

It folded its hands in front of itself. Metal joints clicked harmoniously, and long, wide sleeves slid together, concealing those gilded digits.

"The Yellow Monk."

Falco arched a brow and mulled it over before responding, "That is a title."

"And yet it was the name most commonly used by your kind to address me."

"What about the, hm, less commonly used one, then?"

A chuckle erupted from behind the mask. Short, clipped. Soft. But chilling.

Unnatural.

"The Kadathine," it said with little pause to follow. "Another title, but I never had a need for a name, prior to arriving in this world of yours. Titles serve just as well."

"Alright. Yellow Monk it is," Falco muttered with a sigh. Then louder, he spoke, "I will have you know, that Thassilon has long fallen. And ten thousand years have likely passed since the Claimer held the Resplendent Throne."

The creature paused and took another step towards Falco. Its joints clicked, something mechanical whirred in its bowels.

The wizard stood still, hoping not to offend this bizarre being's sensibilities.

Nineteen paces away.

"He has not yet risen from the Eye of Avarice?" asked the Yellow Monk.

"No, but I've heard that name before. According to lore, it is secreted away in his hidden golden city. Scholars, such as I, and treasure hunters alike, we have all sought to find it, but to no avail. Perhaps you can tell me if it is even real? Or you know where that fabled city lies?"

"I do."

Another step.

Eighteen paces away.

Falco swallowed again. The heat here was unbearable, but it was not the heat that drove sweat to erupt from his pores.

"Do you care to share? Enlighten me, please."

"I will not. Enlightenment is attained on one's own. It is a result of one's own efforts."

Another step. Seventeen paces away.

"Ah, so you were one of the Claimer's loyal servants during the days of his rule?"

"I was, until I was not any longer. Gaze upon my golden robe, and see the gilded lines fused to my body. Know this: they were gifts from the Claimer. Rewards for my loyalty."

"But not any longer—was that why you were here? We—I—was led to believe that this tower—the Tower of Woe—that it was used to exact punishment on the god-king's unruly subjects. Why were you here?"

Another step. Sixteen paces away.

"I refused to consign myself to his return after sequestering himself to the Eye. As a toll for my transgression, the Claimer ordered me dismantled and smelted down within the forge of this tower. Most Exalted Ceoptra and her Wardens of Wind were tasked with my systematic destruction. The last thing I recall was the rune giants plucking the limbs from my torso."

Fifteen paces away. Falco's nervousness swelled, crept closer towards fear and outright panic.

This creature was entirely unpredictable.

Its tale so implausible that it refused to resemble fabrication. So bizarre that it had to hold truth.

The Yellow Monk chuckled again. Clipped once more, eerie in how cold and calculated its laughter felt. Like it had learned to emulate human laughter, but never understood it.

"Someone must have miscalculated, given how you and I now speak this freely."

"Fascinating," Falco blurted out. "You are fascinating. I know it may be a lot to ask, but—may I study you?"

Another step. Fourteen paces away.

At ten, Falco figured, he would flee.

"Study me? That is a fascinating prospect. And a mutual interest. I may want to study you more than you wish to study me. For instance, you must possess understanding of the arcane arts. Was it you who reassembled me?"

Thirteen steps remained between them.

"Yes. Y-yes, that was my doing," Falco said, clearing his throat again. The heat here had parched it so quickly that it felt like sandpaper. "Well, my understanding, now, is that you are an enemy of the Claimer."

"Incorrect," said the Yellow Monk.

"What?"

"Incorrect," it repeated.

"But he ordered you dismantled. Destroyed."

"Yet I do not deem him enemy. And furthermore, where is he now? Ten thousand years, so you said. He should have long returned yet remains absent."

"If all tales are to be believed, then he's trying to claw his way back into this world as we speak. Are you not concerned about him finding you and finishing what he started?"

Twelve steps.

"No. I am but a speck of dust in his grand designs. Where I came from, many other beings made of nightmare follow. The Claimer thinned the borders between our worlds. So much so that a feather suffices to pierce the parchment-thin barrier."

Eleven steps.

Falco's muscles, taut as steel chords, felt like they teetered on the brink of snapping apart. With delay, he recognized the grinding of his own teeth.

"If I helped you find the Claimer before he fully returns to your world, I would surely only draw his ire again. But as it stands now, I am free, and he remains entrapped in a prison of his own making," said the Yellow Monk. "What of me would you study? What would you have me tell thee?"

"Hm, all things considered, if you truly hail from Leng, then there is much I could learn from you about it. The reality of its existence is still a hotly-debated subject among my peers."

"I can assure you, Furio Falco—it is real."

A jolt shot through the wizard's body.

"How do you know my name?"

"Time and dreams are a strange thing. Time does not flow like a river, and all dreams flock eventually to the onyx walls of Kadath, afraid they can never escape its impossibly high summit, even more than Great Old Mhar awakening in the Fossa, and the howls of the hideous hounds of Tindalos, as they chase you across lost shores, the stink of fear escaping your skin. Their barbed tongues and eyeless maws reach out and snap at you, always just out of reach. Are you escaping them, or are they driving you somewhere?"

"W-what—what are you? What are you really?" Falco breathed, taken aback.

The Yellow Monk had described nightmares in all-too vivid detail—nightmares he had experienced before.

"Just another doorway to Azathoth," whispered the Yellow Monk.

Another step.

Ten paces away.

Yet Falco hesitated. Even without the influence of magic, this "Yellow Monk" compelled him to stay and listen. It held so much knowledge. So many answers that could be coaxed from it—if only he posed the right questions.

Just a few steps more, then he would take his escape.

He promised. He silently promised that to himself.

"Are there more—more of your kind? Did the Claimer draw more of you into this world?"

Nine. Nine paces away.

"Yes, and no. He opened a door and bid us enter. We stepped through of our own volition. Curious to explore your world, invited inside without needing our black ships to cross the darkness between the stars."

Eight.

"Fear me not, young man. Unlike my kin, I have chosen this marvel of metallurgy for a body. I have no designs on taking or experimenting on your kind. I have long outgrown such childish curiosity. I seek merely to perfect myself."

Falco frowned, interjected, "Perfect yourself? What do you mean?"

"I seek to become a perfect being. No god, no king. Does your world not perpetually live in question of their rule? Wonder if they truly exist, or if it is but human ambition and belief that gives them form? I can tell you, beyond a shadow of doubt, that the Old Ones exist. I know their names, and I can gaze upon their countenance without losing my mind. And I seek to join their ranks upon the day of my glorious return home."

Seven.

The Yellow Monk approached slowly, but Falco knew this slowness was deliberate. Chosen. For as powerful as the thing was, as easily as it had torn off its shackles, it likely possessed speed sufficient to cross the dwindling distance between them in the blink of an eye.

It always had.

"So that when one of your kind closes their eyes, and they glimpse the Dreaming Shore, and the Nameless Rock, and the Spider Vales—they will see my gleaming form. Brilliant, and shining out from the gloom, serene and immaculate and imposing. A beacon to guide the way, a blinding light that inspires awe even among the shantaks and the High-Priest Not To Be Described."

Six.

Another chuckle, more bone-chilling than any before. Clipped again, a mere mimicry of human sentiment. This close, the dim red light from the lava below reflected ominously on the sharp edges of Yellow Monk's mask.

"Fear me not, Furio Falco. I may not care if the Claimer returns or not—if that is the way that things were ordained for your world, so be it. No, I exist outside of whatever struggle he represents—his five-hundred-year rule was but a footnote in the annals of history. No, I yearn to broaden my horizons. And I believe you could teach me many things of your world, and of your new age."

Falco knew not what to ask. The sheer cascade of knowledge and gibberish that spilled forth from the Yellow Monk's mask staggered his thoughts. His mind circled and cycled at a thousand leagues a minute.

"And if all else fails, I am ever in search of worthy opponents to measure my strength against. Perhaps you—"

Five.

Five paces away, Falco flicked his wrist and blurted out the incantations necessary to vanish. In a flash of green light, leaving behind the stench of sulfur and a brief distortion of the air where he stood mere seconds ago, he had disappeared.

The Yellow Monk turned. Looked around.

Reached out and pawed at the air where Falco had stood before him.

"Very well. I shall await your return. If you hear me, there is nothing to fear. I, too, would like to know how I have awoken after all this time," said the Yellow Monk. "And I am sure you have so many more answers to provide."

But nobody was there to hear his dull, menacingly monotonous words.

Falco had not just turned invisible, he had escaped the place in an instant, bending space and time and reappearing at a safe distance, well out of sight from the Yellow Monk, outside the Tower of Woe.

Falco ran, stumbled, and staggered down the rough-and-tumble path of the valley.

Gathering his thoughts would have to wait.

Unraveling the Yellow Monk's mysteries took a rank well behind his will to live.

And in his next nightmare, they would meet again.

—Submitted by Wratts

[giftofshewbread]

Thief dying on a cross next to Jesus Knew!

Are you ready? “All who call on the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ will be saved” (Romans 10:13) Luke 23:32-43 (New King James Version) 32 There were also two others, criminals, led with Him to be put to death. 33 And when they had come to the place called Calvary, there they crucified Him, and the criminals, one on the right hand and the other on the left. 34 [a]Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.” And they divided His garments and cast lots. 35 And the people stood looking on. But even the rulers with them sneered, saying, “He saved others; let Him save Himself if He is the Christ, the chosen of God.”36 The soldiers also mocked Him, coming and offering Him sour wine, 37 and saying, “If You are the King of the Jews, save Yourself.”38 And an inscription also was [b]written over Him in letters of Greek, Latin, and Hebrew: THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.39 Then one of the criminals who were hanged blasphemed Him, saying, [c]“If You are the Christ, save Yourself and us.”40 But the other, answering, rebuked him, saying, “Do you not even fear God, seeing you are under the same condemnation? 41 And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this Man has done nothing wrong.” 42 Then he said [d]to Jesus, “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.”43 And Jesus said to him, “Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise.”  ​( the words of the thief who 'knew' Jesus are in green lettering above) What did Jesus say about Paradise?Jesus answers him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise”. This has often been interpreted to mean that on that same day the thief and Jesus would enter the intermediate resting place of the dead who were waiting for the Resurrection.

So, we have to ask ourselves, where do we go when we die, as a believer or non-believer? Question: "Where did Old Testament believers/saints go when they died?" Answer: The Old Testament believers went to a place of comfort and rest called “paradise” when they died. The Old Testament taught life after death and that everyone who departed from this life went to a place of conscious existence. The general term for this place was Sheol, which could be translated “the grave” or “the realm of the dead.” The wicked were there (Psalm 9:17; 31:17; 49:14; Isaiah 5:14), and so were the righteous (Genesis 37:35; Job 14:13; Psalm 6:5; 16:10; 88:3; Isaiah 38:10). The New Testament equivalent of Sheol is Hades. Luke 16:19–31 shows that, prior to Christ’s resurrection, Hades was divided into two realms: a place of comfort where Lazarus was (Abraham’s bosom or Abraham’s side) and a place of torment where the rich man was (hell). Lazarus’s place of comfort is elsewhere called “paradise” (Luke 23:43). The place of torment is called “Gehenna” in the Greek in Mark 9:45. Between paradise and hell (the two districts of Hades) there was “a great chasm” (Luke 16:26). The fact that no one could cross this chasm indicates that, after death, one’s fate is sealed. Today, when an unbeliever dies, he follows the Old Testament unbelievers to the torment side of Hades. At the final judgment, Hades will be emptied before the Great White Throne, where its occupants will be judged prior to entering the lake of fire (Revelation 20:13–15). On the other hand, when a believer dies today, he is “present with the Lord” in heaven (2 Corinthians 5:6–9). There, he joins the Old Testament saints who have been enjoying their reward for thousands of years. A resurrection awaits everyone—either a resurrection to eternal life or a resurrection to “shame and everlasting contempt” (Daniel 12:2). The Bible clearly states that New Testament saints who have died will be resurrected at the event we call the rapture of the church (1 Thessalonians 4:16–17). The Bible is less clear about when the Old Testament saints will be resurrected. It is our view that Old Testament believers will be joined to their resurrected bodies at the end of the tribulation period when Jesus returns to earth to set up His millennial kingdom (Isaiah 26:19; Hosea 13:14). Paradise was not heaven at this time of Christ's crucifixion, paradise was a place people went to after death, till the Messiah came and when he did, Jesus, went there after he was killed on the cross, to minister to all who had died before him and those who believed in him, went up to heaven when Jesus rose. So when they say now, 'To be absent from the body is to be in the presence of the Lord', MEANING, Believers in Jesus, true followers, not the pretenders, the luke warm, the social Christians, but true followers of Christ, at death, our souls/spirits go to be with heaven, our bodies are in the grave. Unbelievers, are said to be in the grave, still conscious, still in soul/spirit, but NOT in the presence of the Lord, as unbelievers/unsaved sinners CAN'T be in the presence of God/Jesus, for there is NO Sin/Unbelievers in heaven, can never be. So Unbelievers or 'fake' Christians as we'll call them that aren't truly trying to follow the lord and are only Christian in name only, they are conscious, they are awake, their soul & spirit are likely where all are held in waiting for their final judgement, but not in the presence of God/Jesus or in heaven.  Some say the unbelievers or fake Christians are asleep in the grave, could be, but if like in the old testament teaching, they are with all the others from the beginning of time, waiting in limbo persae, in Hades, till the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Judges them at the Great White Throne of Judgement, which doesn't end well for all who are judged. What is Amazing, the thief who recognized Jesus, recognized him as GOD/Son of GOD, He KNEW Jesus was sinless, committed no wrongs, that he was true and in his last breath he asks JESUS to Remember him, when Jesus comes into his Kingdom/Heaven. And what did Jesus say, " Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise".  JESUS gave the thief at that moment, GRACE, that thief in his recognition, became saved, he was going to be with Jesus, but first they would both go to 'Paradise' where Jesus ministered to all those who were waiting for Jesus to come, then they rose with Jesus and are in Heaven now.Do you see how easy it is?  The Thief in his dying breath called on JESUS to be Saved.  He wasn't baptized, he didn't say the 'Sinners Prayer' (which pastors often ask us to do in these latter years ) HE Simply Recognized 'WHO' Jesus is, The Messiah, The Savior, The Son of GOD!  The Thief simply 'KNEW' and asked JESUS to Remember him.

So,,,,,, Are you ready? “All who call on the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ will be saved” (Romans 10:13)

What of the other thief, he's dead, he mocked Jesus along with everyone else on the cross that day and is being held in Hades, till his final judgement, which won't end well for him or all who wicked/evil/unbelievers, period, there is no 2nd chance, we have to accept Jesus before our last breath or be damned, period, it's this basic.

So,,,,,, Are you ready? “All who call on the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ will be saved” (Romans 10:13)

Time is so very very short now folks, we are in the 'End Times/Latter Days', meaning, Jesus is about to Rapture all who are his beloved, rescue all who are true believes, from a world that is about to go FULL BLOWN EVIL, Yes, Jesus is about to appear at any moment, in the clouds, with a great shout of an angel and a great trumpet sound, He's gonna call all alive, home with him to Heaven..How do we know, by watching all the signs and times we are living in now, great evil is rising and will soon have full control of all the earth, NOBODY wants to be left behind. The greatest EVIL is about to be unleased all over the world, such as this world has never experienced before, no man will survive, go to the Book of Revelation in the Bible, the last book and read for yourself the unbelievable horrors to be unleashed, to KILL OFF ALL MANKIND, by every manner of Evil the soon coming Antichrist will pour out, satan's puppet will have full power to destroy 'ALL', Nature, Animals, Sea life, Water, Vegetation, Mankind, He's going to make this world uninhabitable and sweeping destruction & death, he hates all of GOD'S Creation, that means EVERYTHING, EVERYONE! 

 So,,,,,, Are you ready? “All who call on the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ will be saved” (Romans 10:13) Call out to JESUS Now to be SAVED! 

 The Thief 'KNEW' and think about this, the Bible hadn't been written then, he was living it right then and there, he was with the Son of GOD on a Cross going thru excruciating pain, dying on the cross next to Our Savior. He 'KNEW' only what he had heard or maybe even seen, at that time, he only 'heard' about Jesus, maybe he even seen some of the miracles JESUS commanded, maybe he was even around to see when Jesus fed the multitude of people with only a few fish and loaves of bread. Maybe he heard of how he healed the blind, the cripples, the deaf, the infirm, maybe he heard how he raised Lazarus from the dead?  Being a thief, he probably wasn't hang'n around with JESUS & the disciples, but he did hear enough about JESUS to KNOW, HE was GOD among them. No Bible, No Church services, No Television, Radio or Internet to be shown Scripture/Holy Word of GOD or to hear it, NO, the thief heard by word of mouth, he heard others speak of the Messiah at that time, the Son of GOD who came to save sinners, save mankind, if only they believed in Him, That HE is the Son of GOD, The Savior !

  Guess what?  That thief in his final moments on earth, in sheer pain & agony, 'KNEW' enough, that Jesus is LORD and that thief was saved and with Jesus.  And again, the thief asked JESUS to just remember him and JESUS said, 'Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise'.  And that thief was Saved and is with Jesus Now.

  What about You? So,,,,,, Are you ready? "All who call on the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ will be Saved" (Romans 10:13)

Time is Now, no more waiting, wait a breath too short and you are dead in Christ, meaning NO ETERNAL Home in Heaven with GOD/JESUS and ALL He's prepared for those who are truly believers/followers, are saved.  GOD says we can't Conceive of what's awaiting us who are Saved, What GOD has prepared in Heaven for those He sent his Son Jesus to die for, it's beyond our comprehension what awaits us in Heaven. To live in Beauty NO Eyes of mankind has ever seen. The Pure Love & Joy that awaits all who call on the Name of Jesus to be Saved, its absolute mind blowing and absolutely NOTHING compared to earth or all that is of the earth, GOD went all out for His Beloved, for all eternity, no more sickness, no more death, no more pain or sadness or suffering. We get new perfect bodies; we are eternal and will be with GOD/JESUS in all their Perfection..

So,,,,,, What are you waiting for?  Call upon JESUS Now, don't hesitate and don't look back, begin anew, be Saved, be part of GOD'S Heavenly Family and truly LIVE !  You absolutely WON'T Like the Alternative that awaits you otherwise and it's eternal as well, it doesn't end well.

 One last time,,,, ARE YOU READY?  CALL ON JESUS NOW, BE SAVED

 Before it's Too Late ! He's at the door knocking, "JESUS SAVE ME"!   YES it's this simple, Ask JESUS with all your heart, 'SAVE Me JESUS'. HE IS THE LIVING GOD, The Only 1, only HE Can Save us from an Eternal Hell, He died on the Cross of all of us, all who believe He is the True Son/Living GOD, will be Saved. We all are wretched/unclean, we all are SINNERS, we all are unworthy, but we can be saved, but only by the Greatest Love Sacrifice Ever, The Savior, The Lamb of God, JESUS. HE died for all, You & I, He loves us so much, He gave His Life for our sins, our unworthiness and HE makes us clean and worthy to be Saved, if we only call upon Him,.Are you ready? “All who call on the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ will be saved” (Romans 10:13) Heaven or Hell, it's our free choice, period.

One last time,,,, ARE YOU READY?  CALL ON JESUS NOW, BE SAVED NOW, Before it's Too Late !  'Knock Knock, It's JESUS, Are You Ready'?

Leho Lechem  

[adevotedappraisal]

Magdalene by FKA Twigs, a review.

I’ve been learning some shit from women from as long as I’ve been alive. Always some other shit that I never asked for but I got told it.  I used to treat them things they said as laws as a child, but I never saw them in a book, so then I stopped believing them.  They were always hushed laws though, laws told with squinted eyes and italicized whispers, laws told when no one else was around.

I mean, now of course men make the real laws that we know and live by.  Well come on now, we write them on parchment, and display them on lights, we code them into computers, inscribe them on coins and stone. But these women…man women tell you some other shit, like glue shit, in low, muttered tones in the quiet part of the house.  Like advice on… well not how the world works, but how to deal with the world when it works against you, and how to make it work for you. But you see, I’ve come to believe that the fairer sex tells you different laws than the vaunted laws and advice of our fathers because they all around see the world differently than men do.  They may, in fact, have been harbouring different goals than us all along.  

I mean for christssakes us men have our hero’s journey as clear as day, writ large and indelible across history books and entertainment.  You could take that Joseph Campbell mono-myth theory and see it expressed in Arthurian swash-buckle, the middle earth ring-slaying of Tolkien, or in the recently concluded tri-trilogy of Star Wars galactic clashes.  We’re in the empire business, as Breaking Bad’s Walter White infamously said.  But still, the question always lingered to me: what is the heroine’s journey? Is it really just a lady in a knight’s armour? Or some tough-as-nails spy for some interloping government’s intelligence agency, delivering kidney kicks in a designer pencil skirt?

Well, I’ve come to believe that the heroine’s journey is navigating the waves of history we imperial and trans-national men make from our railroads and pipelines, our satellites and wars, them at once preserving a culture and sparking a path and creating a bond between cultures in order for them and their (il)legitimate brood to survive.  That old chestnut about how behind every successful man is a woman always unnerved me by its easy adoption. I kept thinking ‘bout that woman.  I kept thinking, what the fuck was she thinking?

You see women’s heroes, they ain’t as clear as day to me.  They don’t kill the dragon, they don’t save the townspeople, they don’t shoot the Sherriff, or the deputy, or anyone most times. When I ask people in public at my job what super power they would like, most men go for strength, flight, and regenerative abilities (my pick).  Most women went with mind reading and flight. In late night conversations though, with the moonlight coming through the white blinds and resting soft on us like so, I sometimes manage to hear that women’s heroes heal and clean the sick of the nation, in sneakers with heels as round as a childhood eraser; they feed a family with one fish and five slices of wonder bread; they would run gambling spots in the back of their house, putting the needle back on the Commodores record and patrolling the perimeter of the smoked-out room with a black .45 nested by their love handles; they climb up flag poles and speak out loud in public for the disposed and teach children those unwritten, floating laws while cloistered in the quiet part of the house.  

Although their heroines are sometimes from the top strata of society –a Pharaoh here, an Eleanor Roosevelt there, an Oprah over there—they also name a healthy mix of radicals and weirdos with modest music success, people like Susan B. Anthony, Frida Kahlo, Virginia Woolf, or Nikki Giovanni, I mean did Nina Simone or Janis Joplin even crack the Billboard top ten? Yet there they are, up on the walls of a thousand college dorms across the country.  So even though I couldn’t’ve foreseen it, it makes sense that of all the ultra-natural creatures, of all the great conquering kings and divining prophets of the Holy Bible, Mary Magdalene ends up the spirit animal for the album of the year for 2019.

Mary Magdalene was a follower of Jewish Rabbi Jesus during the first century, according to the four Gospels of the New Testament of the Bible, a figure who was present for his miracles, his crucifixion and was the first to witness him after his resurrection.  From Pope Gregory I in the sixth century to Pope Paul VI in 1969, the Roman Catholic Church portrayed her as a prostitute, a sinful woman who had seven demons exorcised from her.  Medieval legends of the thirteenth century describe her as a wealthy woman who went to France and performed miracles, while in the apocryphal text The Gospel of Mary, translated in the mid-twentieth century, she is Jesus’ most trusted disciple who teaches the other apostles of the savior’s private philosophies.

Due to this range of description from varying figures in society, she gets portrayed in differing ways, by all types of women, each finding a part of Magdalene to explain themselves through.  Barbra Hershey, in the first half of Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) plays her as a firm and mysterious guide, a rebellious older cousin almost, while Yvonne Elliman, in Norman Jewison’s 1973 film adaptation of Lloyd Weber’s Jesus Christ Superstar is lovelorn and tender throughout, a proud witness of the Word being written for the first time.  In “Mary Magdalene,” FKA Twigs, the Birmingham UK alt-soul singer, describes the woman as a “creature of desire”, and she talks about possessing a “sacred geometry,” and later on in the song she tells us of “a nurturing breath that could stroke you/ divine confidence, a woman’s war, unoccupied history.” Her vocals that sound glassy and spectral in the solemn echoes of the acapella first third, co-produced by Benny Blanco, turn sensual and emotive when the blocky groove kicks in.  That groove comes into its own on the Nicolas Jaar produced back third, and when this all is adorned with plucked arpeggios it sounds like an autumnal sister to the wintry prowl of Bjork’s “Hidden Place” from her still excellent Vespertine (2001). 

This blending of the affairs of the body and of Christian theology is found in the moody “Holy Terrain” as well.  While it is too hermetic and subdued to have been an effective single, it still works really well as an album track.  In this arena, Future is not the hopped up king of the club, but a vulnerable star, with shaded eyes and a heart wrapped up in love and chemicals, sending his girl to church with drug money to pay tithes.  Over a domesticated trap beat he shows a vulnerable bond that can exist, wailing his sins and his devotion like a tipsy boyfriend does in the middle of a party, or perhaps like John the Baptist did, during one of his frenzied sermons, possessed and wailing “if you pray for me I know you play for keeps, calling my name, calling my name/ taking the feeling of promethazine away.”

Magdalene, the singer’s sophomore release, takes the mysterious power and resonance of this biblical anti-heroine, and involves its songs with her, these emotional, multi-textured songs about fame, pain and the break up with movie star boyfriend Robert Pattinson.  With “Sad Day,” Twigs sings with a delicate yet emotional yearning, imbued with a Kate Bush domesticity. The synth pads are a pulsing murmur, and the vocal samples are chopped and rendered into lonely, twisting figures.  The drums crash in only every once in a while, just enough to reset the tension and carve out an electronic groove, while the rest of the thing is an exercise in mood and restraint, the production by twigs, Jaar and Blanco, along with Cashmere Cat and Skrillex, leaves her laments cosseted in a floating sound, distant yet dense and tumultuous, the way approaching storm clouds can feel.   Meanwhile “Thousand Eyes” is a choir of Twigs, some voices cluttered and glittering, some others echoed and filled with dolour. “If you walk away it starts a thousand eyes,” she sings, the line starting off as pleading advice and by the close of the song ending up a warning in reverb, the vintage synths and updated DAWs used to create these sparse, aural haunts where the choral of shes and the digital ghosts of memory can echo around her whispered confessional.

In many of these divorce albums, the other party’s role in the conflict is laid bare in scathing terms: the wife that “didn’t have to use the son of mine, to keep me in line” from Marvin Gaye’s Here My Dear from 1979; the players who “only love you when they’re playin’” as Stevie Nicks sang on Fleetwood Macs Rumours (1977); or as Beyonce’s Lemonade (2017) charges, the husband that needs “to call Becky with the good hair.”   At first though, Twigs is diplomatic, like in “Home with me,” where she lays the conflict on both sides here, expressing the rigours of fame, the miscommunication –accidental or intentional –that fracture relationships, and the violent, tenuous silence of a house where one of the members is in some another country doing god knows what, physically or mentally. “I didn’t know you were lonely, if you’d just told me I’d be home with you,” she sings in the chorus over a lonely piano, while the verse sections have the piano chords flanked by blocks of glitch, and littered with flitched-off synths. Then, the last chorus swirls the words again, along with the strings and horns and everything into a rising crescendo of regret.

Later in the album however, her anger once smoldering is set alight, in the dramatic highlight “Fallen Alien.” Twigs sings with an increasing tension, as her agile voice morphs from confused, pouting girlfriend to towering lady of the manor, launching imprecations towards a past lover and perhaps fame itself. “I was waiting for you, on the outside, don’t tell me what you want ‘cuz I know you lie,” she sings, and, after the tension ratchets up becomes “when the lights are on, I know you, see you’re grey from all the lies you tell,” and then later on we have her sneering out loud “now hold me close, so tender, when you fall asleep I’ll kick you down.”  All while pondering pianos drop like rain from an awning, tick-tocking mini-snares and skittering noises flit across the beat like summer insects, the kicks of which are like an insistent, inquisitive knocking at the door, and then there’s that sample, filtered into an incandescent flame, crackling an  I FEEL THE LIGHTNING BLAST! all over the song like the arc of a Tesla coil. The song is a shocking rebuke, and it becomes apparent upon replays that the songs are sequenced to lead up to and away from it, the gravitational weight giving a shape and pace to the whole album.  Because of this, the other songs on Magdalene have more tempered, subtle electronic hues and tones, as if the seductive future soul of 2013s “Water Me” from EP2, and the inventive, booming experimentation of “Glass & Patron” from 2015s M3LL1SSX, were pursed back and restrained until it was needed most, and this results in an album more accomplished, nuanced and focused than her impressive but inconsistent debut LP1 (reviewed here).  

This technique of electronic restraint has shown up in the most recent albums by experimental pioneers, with the sparse, mournful tension of Radiohead’s A Moon Shaped Pool (2017), it’s cold, analog synths and digital embellishments cresting on the periphery of the song, and with Wilco’s Ode to Joy from last year, an album bereft of their lauded static and electric scrawl, mostly embossed in acoustic solitude and brittle, wintery guitar licks.  Twigs and her co-producers take the same knack for the most part throughout the album, like with closer “Cellophane,” where the dramatic voice and piano are in the forefront, while effects crunch lightly in the background like static electricity in a stretched sweater, and elsewhere, as the synths of “Daybed” slowly intensify into a sparkling soundscape, as if manufacturing an awakening sunrise through a bedroom window.  And it is this seamless melding of organic and electronic instruments, to express these wretched and fleeting emotions of heartbreak that makes this the album of the year.

It makes sense that an artist like FKA Twigs would be drawn to a figure like Mary Magdalene.  Of the many Marys in the New Testament, she stuck out as palpably different, or rather, she depicted a differing part of womanhood than the other two.  She wasn’t the chaste, life-giving mother of Jesus, or the dutiful Mary of Clopas. Instead, Magdalene was this mixture of sexuality and spirituality, one of those figures that managed to know men and women in equal measure, wrapped up with the blood as well as the flesh.  Twigs also played with this enrapturing sexuality in her work, writhing around in bed begging some papi to pacify her and fuck her while she stared at the sun, then making you identify with the lamentations of video girls, and then telling you in two weeks you won’t even recognize who you were seeing before.  There was something mysterious and layered to her millennial art-chick sexpot act though, layers that have begun to be revealed with this album.  

We realise now, that what she was depicting all along was more like the sexual heat that lays underneath devotion, as opposed to fleeting, mayfly lust, and that she now understands the weight and half-life of love.  That is, that beyond the sex and patron and fame there is a near sacred love we build between each other for a while in time, lasting as long as both hands can bear to hold it, and also that the death of a relationship still has the memory of the love created warm within it that then radiates off slow into the air.  A love that then falls into our minds for safekeeping dark and unobstructed now, the way Jesus’ blood fell from his wound into Joseph of Arimathea’s grail held aloft.  

“I never met a hero like me in a sci-fi,” FKA Twigs sings, an evocative line less so for the hegemonic patriarchy of the worldwide movie and comic book industry suggested by ‘the sci-fi’ here, and more for the ‘hero like me’ part, which suggests she had to make her hero origin story all up, without the scaffolding of centuries of relatable mythologies, presenting us with an avatar of millennial love, in all of its tortured luster.  And you hear this type of love in her voice, no longer changed up and ran through a filter for Future Soul sophistication most times, but out in the open now, to express particular emotions, whether it’s in that swooping, falling ‘I’ in the heart-break closer “Cellophane,” or her assured realisation, later on “Home With Me” where she says “But I’d save a life if I thought it belonged to you/ Mary Magdalene would never let her loved ones down.”  

It’s never about how to conquer with these women you see.  In the end of all relationships it’s how they find their way out after us temporarily embarrassed conquerors are about to leave, jacket slung over shoulder, standing by the door. You squint your eyes back at her this time, and you listen this time, while she tells you, or tells the ground in front of you, what parts of love to let go of, and what parts are worth holding on to in this age of Satan, the parts that will help you become yourself. “I wonder if you think that I could never help you fly,” the song tells you then, one of those stinging admissions that only women come up with, and you wisely stay silent, and then the piano chords part, the synths subside. And for a while there as she looks at you, as the breathy sortilege in the song keeps going, it all sounds like something worth believing in again.  And then, the words she says to you start to come across like laws.

[tptruepolitics]

LGBT Thoughts

Netflix has recently decided to push transgender ideologies in their Babysitters Club series – a show directed at adolescent girls. While Netflix – an independent company that should only have to answer to itself and its shareholders – is perfectly within their rights to air such shows, the fact remains that this is a deeply damaging topic to be showcasing to the most vulnerable and malleable among us. I think it’s time we finally address the enormous elephant in the room: the LGBT community. Here I will break down my thoughts on their rights, their roles, and their realities in our society.

For much of history, there have been documented incidences of same-sex encounters. Even the Bible makes reference to same-sex relations numerous times. The word sodomy is actually originated from one such text from Genesis in reference to the city of Sodom. Shakespeare is even rumored to have been gay by some scholars. However, for most of human existence, these individuals were forced to live in secret – outcasts of society, ostracized by their own people. To be perfectly fair, religious extremism has only contributed to the past 2-4 thousand years of ridicule. Before that, it was still frowned upon (at best) by most cultures simply because it went against the laws of nature. Male and female animals and even plant parts reproduce in union with one another. There are no same-sex reproductive organisms to my knowledge (correct me if I’m wrong). There are asexual organisms that reproduce by themselves, but certainly no major animal species that reproduce in any extraordinary way. There is a certain species of bird, I believe, that lives in Hawaii (once again, correct me if I’m wrong) that sometimes chooses a same-sex partner for life in the absence of a proper mate, but this is certainly an exception, not a rule. To add, they do not reproduce together.

But what does all this mean for humans? How should the “laws of nature” or even God’s laws apply to humans in this age of constant progressivism and an increasing detachment from religiosity that we call secularism? Well, thankfully, in our country and many around the world we are allowed the freedoms to live our lives as we see fit as long as they don’t infringe on the rights and liberties of others. So, if someone chooses to live outside the bounds of religious or natural laws, they certainly should be allowed to, as long as they are minding their own business. This concept of allowing homosexuality was highly contested up until the late 20th century, and is still somewhat contested today in 2020. The original founders felt that upholding moral and ethical truths in our school systems were an integral part of maintaining our precious union. As a matter of fact, the often-misrepresented “separation of church and state” clause did not mean that religion could not be learned about in schools, but that the federal government had no right to establish a State religion (capital S). Most of the founders actually encouraged religious teachings and values in schools. The more modern interpretations of the separation of church and state are due to an influx of not only secular ideologies, but also religious beliefs that were not prevalent during the time of our founding. While I am a firm believer that no harm can come from learning about religious values in schools, in this age of progressivism it is reasonable to note that certain contentious religious principles need not be forced upon others. This would be a clear infringement of the separation of church and state.

So, to get specific, let’s talk homosexuality. A common misconception in the eyes of secularists is that the Church (I’ll speak specifically about Catholicism here) preaches that homosexuality is a sin – that simply being gay is a sin against God. Well, this isn’t true. The Church expressly teaches that acting out homosexual fantasies is a sin. Let’s say, you are a man who is attracted to other men, but in your devotion to your religion, you find a woman whom you love, marry her, and live your life without having sex with another man. Is this man sinful, because he finds men attractive? Of course he is not! When you feel like strangling someone, but then you calm down and don’t, are you guilty of murder? No. So, simply being gay is not a sentence to Hell. As a matter of fact, even in the eyes of the Church, acting on your homosexual impulses isn’t a death sentence. There is reconciliation and forgiveness in the eyes of the Lord. If you confess your sin and repent for it, you are seen as forgiven. Not to mention, there are people who sin in every aspect of life: liars, swindlers, thieves, murderers – and I’m not even just talking about big sins. Small sins add up, and if you are not repentant of them, you are not any more likely to get to Heaven. However, I will paraphrase this, but I believe there is a Scripture saying that says you will be judged by your worst qualities. So, if you work hard your whole life to be a good Christian, and your only flaw is that you are a wonton whore, a light will be shown on this most vulnerable area.

You might be thinking to yourself, “but it’s a genetic mutation that causes some people to like members of the same sex. God would not have built natural urges in us if he didn’t want us to act on them.” Well, that’s just ridiculous. We have natural urges and desires that are built into us that we are meant to fight off all the time: anger, greed, and jealousy to name a few. Lust is just one more urge that is built into our nature, and it happens to come in all shapes and sizes. Our animalistic desire is not only to have as much sex as possible, but to have it with as many things as possible. Evidence of this is your dog, if you have one. Dogs will regularly hump humans due to a natural urge they have. Should the dog be doing this? Should humans all of a sudden be accepting of bestiality? Maybe don’t answer that one. Now that I’ve gotten a bit off topic, I’ll try to bring this all back. Yes, acting on your homosexual desires is a sin in many Christian churches. However, your homosexuality does nothing to harm me or my church, and as such, I believe firmly that if you wish you act on those temptations, you should be legally allowed to.

Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual peoples should not be deprived of their right to happiness, which can include uniting themselves in lawful union. That being said, I would like to advocate for an alteration in the name of the union. With the full rights, advantages and privileges of a married male and female couple, I would like to revoke the name “gay marriage” and return to the previously used “civil union” terminology. Marriage is a religious term that has been secularized over decades to include all unions whether inside or outside of a church between a man and a woman. I propose that all unions made outside of the boundaries of a religious ceremony be labeled civil unions, reserving the term marriage to those unions made within the boundaries of a religious ceremony. Civil unions will differ from Marriages in name only as to lay to rest the disagreements of many over this divisive issue. Thus, men and women, women and women, and men and men united solely by a judge will no longer be “married” but “united”. Those churches that allow gay marriages in their communities are by no means precluded from including them or precluded from calling them whatever they wish. However, legally, in the eyes of the state, a same-sex couple “married” in their churches will be viewed as “united” under the law. This is a semantic issue, as opposed to a legal issue. The semantics are clearly important on this issue and have been increasingly becoming more important as time goes on. I may not feel it is right to legally prevent people from enjoying their lives in whatever manners they please, but I do feel it is within my purview to define terms in order to ease tensions.

With regards to the transgender community, I have immense sympathy and respect for your feelings. Feeling like you don’t fit into the gender roles that your biology dictates can be frustrating, confusing and upsetting. I know. During my high school years, I often noted to myself that I had feminine characteristics that I didn’t understand. In some ways, I felt that I didn’t share many of the masculine interests of my friends. However, because I was surrounded by many fine men who were very accepting of my differences, I never felt that I didn’t belong with them. Here is the reality of the situation. Many people are not surrounded by these positive influences, and thereby feel that they need to re-identify themselves in order to fit into their social environments. This is not the case. Acceptance, toleration and understanding are the keys to solving this problem. Our attention with regard to the gender debate should be redirected towards Gender Stereotypes. At one point, I was under the impression that we were heading in the right direction. In a very enlightening high school class, I was challenged to think about what it means to be a man and what it means to be a woman. When I did this, I came up with many gender stereotypes that not only did not describe many of my peers, but also did not describe myself. Instead of concluding that I did not belong to my gender, however, I concluded that the stereotypes were the crux of the inconsistencies. At one point in history, gender roles were necessary for survival – the strong (men) went on the hunt, and the tender (women) cared for the children. They were important distinctions. This is not the case anymore! Over time, as technology and society developed to the point where strict gender roles were no longer necessary, women’s rights and roles in society began to change. This was a good thing and is a testament to how incredible our society has been for the less advantaged. These roles still play a part in our daily lives and still affect who we are, but they do not define us exclusively. Take Apples for example. The stereotype of an Apple is a red, juicy, sweet fruit. However, there are apples that are yellow, juicy and sweet. There are also apples that are green, juicy and tart. Is the yellow apple a mango now? Is the green apple a lime? No, their genetics limit them to the fruitful existence that they are. Nevertheless, biology dictates what type of fruit they are and not their characteristics; their characteristics don’t change the underlying biology.

To solve the issue of gender, some people on the progressive aisle have attempted to remove gender. I instead propose to remove the stereotypes/roles! This of course leads to inconsistencies in the Pride movement as a whole. For example, an exclusively lesbian woman might marry another woman who decides later that she is a man. Is this first woman heterosexual now, or should she be upset and betrayed and break off the marriage? Are you confused yet? This removal of gender is not only confusing to adults, but it’s confusing to children, and for them, it is dangerous. When you pose a child with the option to choose his/her gender identity, they will ask you what the differences are. Your response will undoubtedly be gender stereotypes. You are doing no one any favors by perpetuating these gender roles. The child will treat this as something fun, like a game. However, once you begin to treat it as something serious, the child will begin to treat it seriously. This is what major networks and schools and parents are beginning to do. Once you begin to treat your child as if they are not their biological sex, they will begin to accept that reality, more so to please you than anything else. This could have unimaginable consequences on their sense of self later in life, which could lead to self-esteem issues, learning disabilities, depression or worse. And making life-altering changes to your children i.e. long-term gender therapy, hormone treatments, or surgeries could permanently hurt them mentally and physically.

Conversely, if your little boy tells you one day that he is a girl, tell him, “No, you’re not a girl, you’re a boy. As a boy, you can be whoever you want to be, like whatever you want to like, and all of those characteristics will make you who you are.” If you tell your little boy that, there is an increased likelihood that he will have a more accepting view of others who are different from him, and will have a more positive outlook of himself. You can be a man who loves to sew, wear frilly clothing, and fixes his own car. You can be a woman who lifts weights, works on a construction site, and watches soap operas. They are not mutually exclusive. This also includes those members of our communities that wish to fully engage in their historical gendered roles. Women, who want nothing but to read, write, sew, be homemakers, and do the multitude of other activities that are considered feminine, should not be shamed into thinking that their choices are not valuable, are backwards, or are in anyway damaging to womanhood. Women who have no interest in science should not be shamed into believing that their lives are a waste and that they are giving in to the patriarchal oppression of women. This is not productive. Similarly, this standard applies to men, who should not be shamed into thinking that jobs that only use their hands are not worthy of respect because they do not require a college education. They should not be shamed into the common misconception that men are brutes, only caring about power and control. Men who are not interested in fashion design or cleaning are not uncreative or lazy. All humans have different interests and strengths.

The characteristics we have as human beings are largely taught to us. Generosity is taught, openness is taught. Negative things, as well: greed, sloth – they are learned. Selfishness is a learned characteristic. As a society, we have failed our younger generations. Parents, teachers, the government, and the media have all failed. To teach a child that they are so important that they have the ability to defy nature and choose their gender breeds self-centeredness and pride beyond compare. How selfish of us, how pompous! We are not that important. We are not able to create our own meaning. Our meaning is a gift bestowed upon us by a higher power. Who or what that higher power is, is for each and every man and woman to decide on their own, but a society based on the premise that they determine their own worth is doomed to fail because it is founded on the ideal that the self is the most important entity. This is not to contradict our founding principles concerning the individual. Those principles concern how government should act in relation to its people. The concept of self-importance, to which I’m referring, concerns how individuals view themselves and act in spite of the government.

 So, no, I don’t think that Netflix or schools should be teaching students, especially against the wills of their parents, that being a boy when you’re a girl or vice versa is acceptable. We should not be teaching children that biology can just be ignored. If we allowed this aspect of biology to be ignored, other aspects of biology may be ignored in the future (like age!). Nor do I think that sexual preference should be celebrated in public schools. This goes against the separation of church and state in a different manner, because teaching children that their religious observances of sin are incorrect is a direct interference with the practice of a religion. This would be a world where secularism becomes the state religion and that would be no more acceptable than some form of theism. Have no shame for who you are, but don’t put down other peoples’ views to make yourself feel better. Respect should be taught of all our children before they leave the home for school.

Here is my final message. Acceptance of self, love of one another, and understanding of our differences, should reign supreme.

[nancywheelxr]

Some brotherly fluff with Hela, Thor and Loki, pls?

Hi, hello, yes, Thor: Ragnarok was one of the best movies from the MCU and Loki is one of my favorite characters, so thank you for asking! Also, I’m sorry, I meant to keep this short, but somehow, this became a Ragnarok rewrite, so.

*

It begins to rain halfway into the play, a fine dripping of water that stubbornly refuses to pass, stays as a grey cloud above the palace and forces him to move the play inside the halls as soon as the first act is done. 

Perhaps, that should have been his first sign that his day would only decline from them on, but Loki had only frowned at the sky then– like he would tell Thor later on, he’s not a witch, he can’t see the future. 

If he hadn’t grown complacent in his deception, if he hadn’t settled on the boredom of his role, if he hadn’t believed himself safe in the stupidity of the court, then maybe he would have remembered what always follows the rain.

Thor is in a mood when he finds him in the throne room.

Surtur’s crown hangs from his hand, heavy and dusted with soot, and Loki knows at once that he’s been found out. And he wouldn’t even see his play past the first draft stages, oh well. 

Privately, Loki feels traitorously relieved to see his brother– never let it be said things are boring whenever Thor is around, if only because of his sheer inclination of seeking trouble whenever it fails to find him on its own, and for the past couple years, the taste of ruling has soured on his tongue, grown stale with the apathy of court life and the dullness of its interminable meetings over inane matters discussed by asinine people.

Still, for appearance’s sake and god forbid, to keep Thor from getting any ideas on his head, Loki calls for the guards, makes a show of calling his brother mad and crying treason.

It works about as well as expected and Loki admits he could have thought this a little more through. “Come on, brother,” Thor says, arm outstretched waiting for Mjolnir. If he pays attention, Loki can hear the sizzling of the hammer. 

“Fine, fine,” Loki easily wrenches himself away, less because he believes Thor would truly allow for Mjolnir to hit him and more to keep some sense of dignity and control over this quickly escalating situation, “I yield!”

A second later, Mjolnir is in his hand and thunder bounces off the walls.

It’s a testament of Thor’s temper and Loki should not push him further, not when he could be thrown into the dungeons for a lot more than treason now, but Loki has never been very good at making good life choices, now has he?

He grins, opening his arms, “surprise, brother, I am alive!”

Hurt and irritation flicker through Thor’s eyes and if he had been anyone else, perhaps Loki would feel guilt under his betrayed gaze. He’s not, though, he’s not anyone else and he’s not one for sentimentality, not since he learned how to survive, and besides, Thor has evolved to looking annoyed now. “Loki–”

His sentence is never finished.

The palace has stood true and tall for millennia, for thousands of years even before any of them were born, one could imagine it’s been there before Odin himself had been born, and it’s been subject of renovations many a time since then.

In none of those did anyone think of making sure it would withstand, well, Thor. 

The murals, old and brittle as they were, had not been made to survive indoor lightning or even the aftershocks. Before Thor can even start his undoubtedly riveting speech, they crack and crumble, falling to the floor like cherry blossoms in the spring.

“Did you know,” he starts and falls silent, unable to look away to the bloody horrors revealed underneath the idyllic portraits from before. While he has never considered himself squirmish, the sight fills him with cold dread, a nauseating sense of doom that permeates the air like dust particles.

“I think,” Thor says, his anger gone from his voice, replaced by a hesitant uncertainty as he, too, takes in the painting of a woman not much older than the both of them, leading an Asgardian army and placed at Odin’s right.

“We need to talk with the All-Father,” Loki concludes for him, too unease with this new-found revelations to wonder about the repercussions of his own actions.

In the face of what must be yet another dirty little secret of the All-Father, what is a little lie and mischief, anyway?

*

“I can’t believe you,” Thor says as they make their way to the room given to them by the girl at the front desk, sounding very much resigned in a way that makes it look like that yes, he could very well believe it. “Of all the places, this is where you imprisoned our father in?”

“Your father,” he counters reflexively, mind still preoccupied with frankly bigger things, “and it is not a prison, the humans leave their elders here as well. This house had glowing reviews, in fact.”

“You are impossible,” Thor continues as if not hearing his perfectly sound explanation, “yet again you survive the impossible and what is the first thing you do? Overthrow father and build yourself some ridiculous statues.”

“Now, you’re just being rude,” Loki begins to take offense, but then they are in front of the door and they will have to come in, face the Odin and all the complicated feelings he brings, and ask questions he doubts Thor knows how to word. 

The urge to flee is strong; Loki exhales, smoothes his hands pointedly not curled into fists.

“Well, go on, then,” he gestures for Thor to enter first, mockingly raising his eyebrows, and slips into careful indifference as he follows his brother into the room.

Odin is sitting by the window, watching the traffic outside with sunlight illuminating his face, warming the quilt he has thrown over his legs. It strikes Loki how very old he looks this way, how different from his memories. Maybe Midgard has this effect on their family, changing them fundamentally in places burrowed deep in their bones, impossible to shake off.

“My sons,” Odin says, and his voice, too, is frail, weary and worn thin, beckoning them closer with a wrinkled hand. It’s so jarring, Loki doesn’t have the presence of mind to correct him. “I am glad to see you while I still have some time left.”

Well, that’s just depressingly ominous. 

Thor makes a distressed sound, crouching in front of his father to look at him closer, and even Loki is not heartless enough not to look away from the grief on his eyes. “Father,” he says, “do not speak like that, it is not your time yet, it cannot be.”

His speech is closer to its original cadence, Loki notices, less infected with Midgardian terms and wordings, and wonders idly if he notices the difference at all. Unsure where to place himself in this reunion, Loki clears his throat, “we have questions, All-Father.”

Odin’s gaze settles on him, intense and unfairly melancholic, and Loki wishes he could muster his old anger as fiercely as before. “Loki,” Odin smiles, age and sadness pulling at the corners of his lips, he’d never been one inclined to have laughter lines, “I have failed you in many ways, but in this, I have failed you both. You come to ask of Hela, do you not?”

“Is that her name?” Thor asks, worry and curiosity briefly overthrowing his hesitation, “we have seen the murals underneath the paintings. Who is she, father? What is the meaning of those images?”

It seems, to Loki, pretty clear what the old murals seem to represent, or did Thor think Asgard came to rule the Nine Realms by asking politely? Still, he keeps quiet in the interest of knowing the heart of the matter all the sooner, not bothering to wonder how Odin knew why they were there– he supposes, after all, not many things could persuade them to work together, not anymore, not after everything.

And yet, as Odin speaks of their blood-soaked past, Loki finds himself hypocritically disgusted by the carnage and cruelty of their wars, and perhaps even more so, by this charade of peace and charity they had been playing in after Odin decided, in his oh-so-infinite wisdom, to abruptly change his ways.

“She has been secluded away since then,” Odin finishes with a miserable shake of his head, “and she will be released once I am gone.”

How very like him to discard his child like a broken toy, Loki thinks, bitter over a sister that isn’t even his, not by blood and certainly not by being raised together. If anything, the only thing they have in common is their failure to meet Odin’s standards. Did he even speak to her before making up his mind? Did he try to reason, to reach her before tossing her away into a barren realm, alone to stew on her anger?

Did mother know?

Distantly, Loki registers Odin speaking of preparing for war, meeting Hela with all the power they have on hand, even stooping so low as to ask for Thor’s little human friends for help. Something about it doesn’t settle right with him. 

Wasn’t this what started this mess in the first place?

Isn’t war the thing that has sent her spiraling?

Besides, if the Valkyrior couldn’t stop her, what hope have them of faring any better?

Faintly, in a voice that sounds so much like mother’s his chest aches with a familiar pain, he wonders what would have changed if Thor had not insisted on being stupidly stubborn on caring about him in Svartalfheim, even after New York, even after New Mexico. 

Irritatingly, he has been thinking of Thor as his brother for quite some time now, long enough for him to wonder if he had ever really stopped. His anger has dwindled, what once was a wildfire, has been muted into resigned fossilized coal. The ambers are still there, but it doesn’t burn him anymore, doesn’t feel like it’s going to overflow out of his body and spread to the world around him, doesn’t make him want the world to burn with him.

Even more so, he wonders how much of New York had been solely him and how much had been brought on by the Void, by– by Thanos. Falling from the Bifrost had been relieving, then terrifying, then lonely. It had not done any favors for his mind and it certainly had not left him yet.

What has this confinement been doing to their sister?

“We must talk to her first,” he finds himself saying, interrupting whatever battle plans Odin and Thor had been drawing, “if she has been cut off from all the realms for so long, how can we know anything at all?”

Thor looks at him as if he lost his head. In all fairness, there have been several opportunities where he could very well have. “Are you mad?”

“There is no talking with Hela,” Odin laments, in his most pious voice, most regretful, “she cannot be reasoned with, we must prepare for war and pray to the Norns.”

“Yes, because you have always been so successful at speaking with your children,” Loki tries not to sound bitter, not to sound like he’s counting himself into that lot, “forgive me if I don’t take you for your word entirely.”

“Loki,” Thor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he does when he thinks Loki is being unfairly difficult. Strangely, when he speaks again, it is not to tell him off. “Father, he has a point. You have tried and you have failed, but you have also failed in that regard with both of us in the past and yet here we are. I have not tried to start any wars recently and surprisingly, neither has Loki. How can we be sure Hela can’t be brought around as well?”

Odin remains silent for a long time, lips pursed in his distaste, and Loki carefully does not show his surprise at Thor’s support. Begrudgingly, it warms him further than any of the All-Father platitudes. Then, finally, “I am old and weak in my age, I do not have the strength to argue much longer with you both. If your mind is set in this recklessness, I cannot stop you, but I will not aid you either. If you wish to pursue this course of action, seek Heimdall, he shall open a door to her realm with my aid if he so decides.”

Rising, Thor gives his father a solemn last look, gone is the blind worship that used to dwell there. “We shall. I don’t pretend to understand a time long past, but I have to say, father, I can’t see how sealing our sister away and writing her out of history has helped any.”

Once it’s clear no answer will be forthcoming, Thorn turns away to him, determination on his expression. “Brother, you know more of Asgard’s current situation than me– where can we find Heimdall?”

“Erm,” Loki hopes his smile is sheepish enough not to incur Thor’s wrath as he says, “about that, I might have exiled him for some time now. I never did try to give chase, so I cannot guess at his whereabouts now.”

Thor pinches the bridge of his nose again, sighs.

*

“My princes,” says Heimdall, placidly as ever, where he stands at his usual place with his sword as if he had never left at all, as if Loki had not stripped him of his job, as if he hadn’t needed to leave his homeland behind for the past two years. 

“Heimdall,” Thor smiles, and claps him on the back, his grin falling into a grimace not too long after, “do you know why we seek you?”

Just in case, Loki decides to silently take his place out of reach of Heimdall’s sword, just in case there are some hard feelings over his exile. 

“You wish to visit Hela in her prison,” he nods, stoic and grim, and his hands twitch on the hilt of his sword– surely a sign of overwhelming anxiety, coming from Heimdall. “I can take you there and I can bring you back, but I cannot promise what else might come with you, that is not the way gates work.”

“You think she might try to return with us,” Loki guesses. Unfortunately, it’s a very good point and a very real possibility, one they must never let come to pass, not if she is as mad as Odin paints her to be. “You will be watching us, will you not?”

Heimdall looks at him with his golden eyes and Loki has the uncomfortable feeling he’s being bared to his soul. “Aye, my prince, I will.”

“Then you’ll know if we succeed or not,” Thor catches on to his plan, nodding along, “if there’s even a chance she’ll come to lay waste to Asgard, do not bring us back.”

This could quite possibly become a suicide mission, he realizes, now that he has time away from Odin to go over his logic, separate it from the bitterness that unfailingly rises whenever the All-Father is around. What if Hela does not want to be reasoned with, not anymore? 

They could very well be too late.

One might wonder why he is still insisting on being a part of this at all, he is no Aesir and he is no Odinson, he has no obligation to fix Odin’s messes.

Thor’s pained voice murmurs over Heimdall’s as he explains their reasoning, their plan in not enough details and too much sentiment.

Loki curses himself in his head and loudly cuts in to point out exactly how wrong Thor is.

*

The realm is a wasteland in shades of grey.

Nothing on sight but dark sand for miles, dunes and dunes of it, black against the clouded sky, and the air smells faintly of smoke even though there’s no fire burning nearby.

It is a dead place made for dead people and it makes him wonder what it says about their sister that Odin thought fitting to send her here.

In but seconds, they no longer have to wonder: Hela stands before them, tall and regal, her dark hair and dark clothes and dark smile not unlike her prison. “Brothers,” she says, and her eyes sparkle with something– rage? Jealousy? Hate? Hurt? He cannot identify, it’s gone too quickly, replaced with an indifference too perfected not to be entirely false. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I’d ask if father dearest is gone, but if that were the case, we would not be having this conversation here. Actually, we would not be having this conversation at all.”

The hatred in her voice is unmistakable, but so is the pain, the betrayal, and Loki trades a look with Thor– perhaps, if it still hurts, then she still cares, then there’s still hope. “We come not in the All-Father’s order,” he dares speak, keeping his own tone carefully neutral, “or his blessing, for that matter.”

“We have only learned of you today, sister,” Thor joins him, earnest as he is bound to ever be in the face of a sibling he can save, “that’s why we’re so late. If we had known, we would have come sooner.”

Despite Thor’s pitch having more information, it is on him that Hela focuses on, eyes calculating. “You call him All-Father. I thought you my brother as well since you were here with him, was I mistaken?”

Well, shove him under the bus, why don’t you.

“In a manner of speaking,” Loki decides on, settling for a more diplomatic answer, one that wouldn’t start Thor in one of his tirades and would perhaps gain him some favor in Hela’s eyes. “Odin stole me from my planet after his battle had ended and raised me alongside Thor. I can’t say I’m overly fond of him or inclined to call him father.”

“And why is that? Did he discard you after you were done being useful, that does seem to be his way.”

Loki smiles. It is not a nice smile and out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Thor send him nervous glances. “No, I cast myself away before he could.”

“Sister, we have come not to talk about the past–”

“Not now, brat,” she waves Thor off with one disinterested motion of her hand and it’s such a jarring sight, it does manage to shut him up. “I remember your insufferable wailing, few things change, I see. Now tell me, if you are not my brother, who are you?”

“I am Loki,” he says, pretends it does not sting to stop his introduction there, “and my brother and I have come to hear your side of the story.”

That throws her off, Loki can see in the way she cannot quite mask her surprise. Her eyebrows rise and her lips turn into a cruel smile, “is that so? And who says I want to tell it? Perhaps I would like it better to kill you both, watch your blood paint a little color in the sand. This place drains on my power, that is true, but I am still stronger than any of you.”

There’s a warning there, but there’s information, too. They hadn’t known how Odin kept her locked up, exactly. If she is weakened, then they are already safer than previously thought– not that there’s much comfort in that, they had not been safe at all before. 

Except, if she wanted them dead, she could have done it already. She didn’t have to show herself to them or even deign to listen to what they had to say. She didn’t have to ask questions or tell Thor to shut up.

If Hela is anything like them, like him, she must be bored out of her mind here.

They must be the most interesting to happen in thousands of years.

“You could,” Loki begins cautiously, “but then you would be back to the same state you have been for the past millennia. You are right, Odin is weakened,” at his side, Thor makes a noise. Loki ignores him, “but who is to say he won’t recover? He could be slipping into the Odinsleep as we speak and you of all people know from how much closer to death he has returned. Would you rather stay in your greying world– which, I can tell, is just bursting with entertainment– or take the opportunity to air your grievances with the All-Father?”

“You’re the worst,” Thor pinches the bridge of his nose once again, and Loki sees Hela cocking her head, eyeing them with amused curiosity, “why are you baiting her to kill us? We have just had a conversation about recklessness. Mainly, you complained about mine. I feel entitled to complain about yours now, considering you lump my life with yours on the line.”

“I was not baiting her,” he explains impatiently, they do not have this kind of time to be idling, “I was merely pointing out it is to her advantage to keep us alive. Forgive me for assuming she uses her brain, unlike you.”

“Are you ever going to come up with a better argument than calling me an idiot? It’s been centuries, brother, surely you must have a better comeback by now–”

“I will stab you–”

A sound, harsh and sharp, interrupts their bickering, and Loki is shocked to find it’s Hela laughing. It is not anywhere nice or reassuring, but he wouldn’t call it unpleasant. “I must admit, this is entertaining. Are you always this petty?”

“No,” says Loki while Thor says, “yes.”

“Delightful,” Hela grins, lips pulling back to reveal a row of white teeth that looks too sharp in this half-light, “I will refrain from killing you today, but know this, brothers, once I am out of this wretched place, I will destroy Asgard and everything in its wake.”

Loki looks at Thor. 

Thor looks back.

This is a good compromise for a first meeting, wouldn’t you say?

“Eh,” Thor shrugs, “we shall work out the details later. Now, tell us, sister, your tale and spare no detail.”

Taking in her seeming flair for the dramatics, Loki does not think it wise to ask her not to spare any details, but he only sighs, resigning himself to spend the rest of his day on this nightmarish desert.

*

Hela does not kill them on the first day and she does not try to follow them back when Heimdall opens the Bifrost, although Loki isn’t sure how much of that is because she cannot do so with her powers lessened.

Still, she gives them her side and it’s just as much of a frightening tale as Odin’s was, full of glorified victories and ruthless battles. Her words drip enough blood that he almost understands why Odin thought necessary to lock her and throw away the key.

Almost.

*

“Tell me, brother,” she says on the second visit, her voice sounding less like the clinking of swords in a battlefield, “how is my hammer?”

Thor pales. “Right, about that–”

They leave pretty quickly after that.

*

Days go by with the wind and Loki finds he is not as resentful to having Thor crowned king as he thought he would be, as he had been once upon a time. He wishes he could say it has all to do with his time as king himself, the boredom and the monotony, but he knows better. Unfortunately, he knows better.

It’s extremely annoying.

As for their sister, and it irritates him to no end that he is, in fact, thinking of Thor’s megalomaniac sister and his sister as well, she hasn’t tried to kill them yet, most likely because Odin’s magic has sealed her power for now. Of course, Thor likes to think they have been– building a rapport.

“She hasn’t threatened us this time,” Thor points out, “that’s progress.”

“Or maybe she thinks it is implied,” he sighs. This might have started as his idea, but he certainly did not think it would go this far. Or that he would have avoided the dungeons this far.

Or that he would still be there.

Maybe they are all surprising each other these days.

*

“So you have given up on killing him?” Hela asks, watching with bewildered eyes. Today, Loki has come alone, left Thor in one of his interminable meetings and endured Heimdall’s all-knowing gaze on his back, steady and unnerving. For some reason, Hela has taken this as an invitation to grill him about his story. “Why?”

She has a way of finding the heart of the matter and tearing it out into the open.

“It is complicated,” he says, sitting down in the newly conjured chair, “but blaming anyone else for Odin’s faults did not bring as much satisfaction. And this Thor is not the one who slighted me in our childhood, there is no fun there either.”

Hela hums. “Perhaps. But I think that is not why. You are a sentimental fool, brother.”

The tea he had brought with him warms his hands, but Loki still feels unsettled all the way back to the Observatory.

*

“I cannot believe you gave her a plant,” Loki says, shaking his head and feeling stupid just thinking of the stupid cactus in the stupid yellow vase, “what did you think that would accomplish?”

Thor shrugs. “Taking up hobbies is a good first step.”

*

Knitting, Thor decides, is a good second step. Predictably, he is wrong about that just like Loki imagined he would be. 

When Hela stabs his brother in the shoulder with the knitting needle, Loki laughs and notices she could have gone for much more fatal spots.

Perhaps this might truly be progress.

*

Odin is not getting any better.

They can only hope progress is enough when the seal is broken.

*

Of course, there are not only good days. If anything, most days end up with Hela raging over something or other and swearing vengeance on Asgard, and Loki tries not to think about it, but they are running out of time.

They have to make a decision soon– will they wait for Hela as a lost sister returning home or an enemy that could bring about the end of everything? Both choices are too dissonant from each other, two ends of a scale so far apart, they probably should not be part of the same scale at all. 

A few days after Thor found him in Asgard, he had cornered him in his room, his speech vastly different from before. Maybe you’ll always be the god of mischief, he had said, for once not sounding like anything at all, but you could be more. 

Then, he had not exiled him from Asgard but had made very clear that should Loki wish to leave, Thor would not stop him. He had seemed surprised to find Loki still there in the morning.

Decisions, decisions– it seems everything is about choosing lately. 

“There is a Midgardian saying,” he says now as they make the slow walk back to the palace, covered in the black sand of Hela’s prison, “that says the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Thor’s eyebrows rise. “Never thought I’d hear you quoting humans, brother.”

“In this case,” Loki shrugs, dusting himself off to keep himself casual, careful to betray as little as possible of how much thought he’s been giving this entire situation, “it has its merits.”

Thor hums agreeably, wholly unbothered by the sand. “True. Do you think we are making a mistake by trying to speak with Hela?”

What Loki really thinks is that he wishes people would stop asking him so many damn questions with complicated answers. “As a king, maybe. As her brother? I think you would not have forgiven yourself if you had not tried this first.”

For a long time, Thor doesn’t speak again. Then, “I really hope there are no more murals underneath those.”

*

As Odin weakens, Hela strengthens.

Or so they find out when they are greeted by inhuman growling as soon as the Bifrost fades. No more than a few steps away, a wolf larger than any horse snarls, hungry eyes trained on their throats. 

“Hm,” Thor clears his throat, “sister?”

Hela, who had been petting its head serenely until now, glances up lazily. “Yes?”

“There did not use to be a wolf in here yesterday,” Loki points out, “I am fairly sure I would have noticed if there were a wolf in here yesterday or any other day for that matter.”

“Oh,” she says, and for the first time since they learned of her, Hela smiles a smile that is not full of sharp teeth and hunger. She smiles and it’s just a smile, it’s nice, it’s almost happy. “I was able to call for Fenrir this morning.”

Thrown off by the jarring sight, Loki nods mutely, while Thor returns her grin with one of his won, bright and excited, “he is a mighty companion indeed! May I pet him?”

“Did you just ask to pet the giant wolf–”

“You may try,” Hela ignores him, waving Thor closer. With her track record, it really is a gamble whether she means for her pet wolf to eat him or not. “He will probably not bite.”

Approaching slowly, Thor reaches a hand, telegraphing his intentions loudly not to startle the animal, and to Loki’s utter disbelief, the wolf actually does cease its infernal snarling, ears dropping, and butts its head against his hand.

Absolutely ridiculous.

“Did you know, sister,” Thor says, and his voice takes a dangerous turn, teasing, which means Loki is probably not going to like whatever comes out of his mouth next, “that on Midgard, the humans think Loki is Fenrir’s mother?”

“And here we go again,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, huffs.

“It’s true,” Thor continues, and Hela laughs, and it sounds less and less like broken glass and more and more like laughter. “They also blame him for Sleipnir and Jormungandr.”

“Yes, go on, laugh it up,” Loki glares but he has no hope it is not half-hearted at best. Oddly enough, it is now, dropping to one knee to card his fingers through grey fur softer than it should possibly be, that he first believes this might not end in flames yet. “But let us not forget what they did remember correctly– like the time you lost Mjolnir and had to pretend to be a giant’s bride.”

“You lost my hammer?”

Hela sounds mildly upset but her eyes are amused, no longer clouded over by the thousands of years of loneliness, by a madness not unlike his. Loki fell into the Void, but Hela had been trapped in a void of her own. Now, it will not be too long before she gets to be free once more, for better or for worse.

In any case, the future does not look entirely bleak if one looks from this moment. They are all together and there have been little to no violent threats. If he were anyone else, Loki might even call it nice.

And besides, in a thousand years from now, who knows gods of what they will be known as.

[raisingsupergirl]

A Daydream In Defense of Classical Education: Love the Lord Your God With all Your Solid, Liquid, Gas, and Plasma

LentWatch 2020, Week One: Freedom!

Change is hard. Breaking habits is harder. And breaking habits without accountability is the hardest, which is probably why I've already "failed" at my personal Lent goals by snacking after dinner (c'mon, it was just a few cookies… and some meat-n-cheese… and some chips). But despite realizing my limits and having to drop that one goal, I've held strong to the rest (which you can read about by clicking here), and the results have been like a long sigh after months of holding my breath.

At first, I felt a little lost. Especially regarding social media and YouTube videos. It's amazing how we, in the 21st century, have lost the ability to sit idle. Every spare moment is taken up by checking our phones. Waiting at doctor's offices, going to the bathroom, five-second pauses in friendly conversation—they all fall victim to Instagram notifications, leaving no room for actual thought. And I almost forgot the joy of such idleness before I gave these little things up. And that, combined with cutting television down to a minimum and alcohol down to zero, has made way for that glorious thing that used to be so condemned by teachers and parents: daydreaming!

Now, one can't just cut out all entertainment cold turkey. I'm not even convinced that a human can survive on work and sleep alone. There must be some in-between where we recharge and enjoy pleasures of our own choosing. And so, instead of Facebook and Netflix and beers, I've been reading—at night, mostly, but also in the morning, and even a little during the day. As I said in my previous post, I started re-reading Celebration of Discipline. But I'm also reading The Book of Revelation, The Time Machine, and a creative young adult trilogy called The Illuminae Files. I've never been one to read multiple things at one time, but gosh, it seems like my mind has been hungry for too long, and now it's chowing down. And with the glut of all these stories and ideas, I'm finding that I pause every page or so to just think.

What am I thinking about? All kinds of stuff! For example, why water can't (typically) get hotter than 212 degrees Fahrenheit. Or why an open refrigerator will actually heat a room. Or whether Einstein was wrong about exceeding the speed of light. Or why four separate books of the Bible seem to disagree about how to love God (and thus, what it means to be human). You know, normal stuff.

WARNING: What follows is some serious musing and rambling. If you're strapped for time or are easily irritated by random details, skip to the last paragraph. You'll have no idea what the title of this post means, but hey, I'm not sure I really know, so…

Now, if you haven't checked out, you're probably just intrigued enough to wonder if I've completely lost it. But it may surprise you to know that all of the thoughts I listed above are quite related. And I never would have had them (or their subsequent "higher" questions) if I hadn't "wasted" tens of thousands of dollars on a bunch of classes that I "didn't need" in college. I would have just read the books I listed earlier with interest, and then I would have moved on with my life. But, you see, there are things that bind us—things that connect us to art, literature, history, architecture, mathematics, science, religion, and back to art again. And, for me at least, the more I fill in the gaps between these elements of the human experience, the more I appreciate it all.

I get that not everyone is like me. I get that most people are happy to learn a craft—become an expert, even—work at that craft, leave a legacy, and catch the last episode of their favorite TV shows. And that's the way it's always been. I mean, not everyone in ancient Greece was a philosopher. Not everyone in the Middle Ages received a classical education. But there may have been soldiers and peasants who would have enjoyed the experience had they been given the opportunity. And I, for one, am one of those peasants.

As I've said in previous posts, my young life was characterized by impulsiveness, which culminate in the idea that, "I should go to college and become a physical therapist." I just kind of had the idea one day, so I did it. I resonate with Elle Woods (from Legally Blonde) when she applied to Harvard Law School and said, "What, like it's hard?" Now, of course college was hard (and PT school was much more so), but I enjoyed it. All of it. Even the classes that I didn't need to take: philosophy, freshman English (in which I learned only about Little Red Riding Hood in all of her iterations throughout history…), physics, Old Testament studies, American history. Learning to enjoy education was a slow burn, and it definitely didn't peak until college. If I'd have followed my first inclinations as a senior in high school, I would have joined the military or the police academy, and I would have had a fulfilling career in either (likely with a more impactful contribution to society), but I never would have understood the universe in the way that I do now. And that would have been a real shame.

But I did go to college, and I did rack up student loans (which I'm scheduled to pay off this spring!). And I did come close to what could be called a classical education, which laid the foundation for me to continue to learn, grow, and connect thoughts and ideas into new and creative concepts… some of which are kind of insane, like the one's I mentioned above, which I will now explain briefly (but only if you see the dragon in this picture I took below. Why? Because it’s awesome, and if you don’t see it, you’re not worthy--aka weird enough--to continue):

Thanks to the books I'm reading in tandem—along with plenty of breaks spent daydreaming in idle, wandering thought—I've dredged up an old fascination of mine: Why is the Great Commandment represented in four different ways in the Bible? "Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength." That's how the author of Deuteronomy puts it. But then when the verse is quoted by Jesus thousands of years later, Matthew, Mark, and Luke all put it in slightly different terms: "heart, soul, and mind," "heart, soul, mind, and strength," and "heart, soul, strength, and mind," respectively. Now, I realize the differences are subtle, and Mark and Luke both say the same things in a different order, but they are different. And when the essence of the phrase is, "Love God with everything you have," it's easy to wonder if these components make up everything it means to be human. And further research into the original languages in which these phrases were written sheds some light onto the discrepancy: English (and Greek, for that matter) doesn't have the words to describe the original Hebrew text, so slight variations are represented based on who's writing it and in what language.

But the intrigue remains. What does make up a human? And the answer, for someone like me (OCD, science-minded, Christian foundation), it's clear that we're bound together by a multifaceted system, like the Holy Trinity or the Four States of Matter. And so, if we take the States of Matter approach, what if our strength (bones, muscles, tendons) is akin to "solids," our heart (hormones, neurotransmitters, basic emotions) is akin to "liquids," our mind (cortical thought, short-term memories, self-awareness) is akin to "gas," and our soul (that ethereal, immortal morality not bound to social constructs or genetic influence) is akin to "plasma?" And so, such extrapolation (i.e. going down the Wikipedia rabbit hole) naturally leads to all sorts of allegory and thought puzzles. Oh, what fun it is to dream!

LAST PARAGRAPH BELOW FOR NORMAL PEOPLE:

Like I said, cutting the distractions from my day has allowed me to get back to the things that bring me true joy: quiet contemplation, purposeful living, and totally normal ideas about what it means to be human. Week one has been a success. I'm thankful for the money I "wasted" on my education because it's made me the man I am today, and I'm thankful for Lent because, even though I will inevitably fail at some of it, my ultimate victory will be remembering who I am as a man (which, apparently, boils down to the various states of matter…). So, thanks for reading, y'all. You could have been doing a bunch of other things (and you probably wish you had), but hopefully my rambling forced you to have at least one thought of your own.

And maybe, just maybe, that thought will lead to a daydream…

[greywhalebaja]

Graceful Giants: The Enchanting World of Grey Whale Watching in Baja

Baja California, located in northwestern Mexico, is renowned for its extraordinary biodiversity and pristine natural beauty. Among its many marvels, one experience stands out as truly remarkable: grey whale watching. Every year, these majestic creatures embark on an epic migration journey, captivating visitors with their awe-inspiring presence. In this article, we will explore the wonders of grey whale watching in Baja and delve into the importance of preserving these incredible marine mammals.

From late December to early April, the calm and warm waters of Baja's Pacific coast become the playground for thousands of grey whales. These magnificent creatures travel approximately 5,000 miles from their Arctic feeding grounds to the sheltered lagoons of Baja California. Here, they seek refuge to give birth and nurture their calves. Witnessing this incredible natural phenomenon is an experience like no other.

One of the most popular destinations for grey whale watching in Baja is the San Ignacio Lagoon. This pristine sanctuary offers visitors a unique opportunity to observe these gentle giants up close. As you embark on a whale-watching tour, you'll be greeted by the sight of immense grey whale mothers and their curious calves gracefully gliding through the water. The sheer size and beauty of these creatures leave an indelible impression on all who encounter them.

The interactions between humans and grey whales in Baja's lagoons are truly special. These intelligent creatures display a remarkable level of trust and curiosity towards visitors. It's not uncommon for a mother whale to approach a boat, allowing passengers to stroke her barnacle-covered skin. This close encounter provides an intimate connection with nature and instills a sense of wonder and respect for these remarkable marine mammals.

Gray whale watching Baja tours adhere to strict guidelines to ensure the safety and well-being of both whales and humans. Local guides are knowledgeable and experienced, providing valuable insights into the behavior and biology of these fascinating creatures. They educate visitors on the importance of conservation and the need to protect the fragile ecosystems that support the grey whale population.

Preservation efforts are vital for the long-term survival of grey whales. Threats such as climate change, pollution, and habitat destruction pose significant challenges to these magnificent creatures. By participating in responsible whale watching tours, visitors not only contribute to the local economy but also support conservation initiatives that help safeguard the future of grey whales in Baja.

Beyond the thrill of encountering grey whales, Baja offers a wealth of other natural wonders. Pristine beaches, dramatic cliffs, and unique desert landscapes make it a paradise for nature enthusiasts. Exploring the region's diverse ecosystems, hiking through breathtaking canyons, or snorkeling in crystal-clear waters are just a few of the additional delights that await visitors in Baja.

In conclusion, grey whale watching in Baja is an unforgettable experience that combines the beauty of nature with the opportunity for intimate encounters with these gentle giants. The migration of grey whales is a testament to the resilience and wonder of the natural world. By participating in responsible tourism practices and supporting conservation efforts, we can ensure that future generations will continue to be captivated by the awe-inspiring sight of grey whales in Baja's pristine waters. So, pack your bags and embark on a journey to witness this marine marvel – a truly life-changing adventure awaits! https://www.greywhale.com/gray-whale-watching-in-baja/

[razieltwelve]

The Port (Final Rose)

Port Cerulean was the largest and most important port in Atlas. It was one of the few places in the kingdom with a harbour large and deep enough to accommodate even the largest cargo ships. Although great advances had been made in air transport, the cost of transporting vast quantities of goods entirely by air was simply too high. To survive, Atlas needed to ensure a steady influx of supplies via sea.

That was why Atlas had committed so heavily to programs designed to clear the sea of aquatic Grimm. They might not have been able to kill all of them, but they had thinned the numbers enough that constant patrols and advanced sensor systems could guarantee a relatively safe journey along designated naval transport corridors. 

If Port Cerulean ever fell, Atlas would be in a world of trouble. Without the massive areas of arable land that Vale possessed, Atlas was forced to import much of its food. Without those imports, it would only be a matter of weeks - maybe less - before they found themselves in dire straits. Moreover, there were many other products that they simply couldn’t produce for themselves in the quantities they needed.

To prevent any of these horrible outcomes, Port Cerulean was one of the most heavily fortified locations on the planet. A massive sea wall had been built that controlled all access to the harbour via a number of closely monitored gates. It was covered in weapons and designed to withstand attack from hordes of lesser Grimm.

Throughout the harbour were a number of towers that contained comprehensive weapons packages designed to eliminate any Grimm that managed to get past the wall. Further back on land were the truly heavy weapons, a quartet of gigantic plasma cannons whose output dwarfed even the damage put out by ultra-heavy artillery. They weren’t designed to fight lesser Grimm. Instead, they’d been built to engage colossal Grimm.

The plasma cannons weren’t alone. Scores of missile tubes, laser batteries, and conventional artillery outposts dotted the harbour. If the Grimm ever managed to destroy Port Cerulean, they would take absolutely horrendous casualties doing so. The newest additions to the defences were a trio of enormous rail guns, amongst the largest in the world. Plasma cannons might not have been ideal for breaching the very thickest of Grimm armour, but the rail guns could propel one tonne projectiles at unbelievable speeds.

X     X     X

“Look at that!” Ruby cried. “Have you ever seen a bigger rail gun?”

Yang bit back a laugh as her sister waved animatedly at the colossal weapon that occupied a large chunk of the hillside overlooking the port. “Nope.”

“I wonder how they generate enough power to operate it.” Ruby’s cheeks flushed. “They say it can fire a one tonne projectile at more than fifty thousand miles per hour. The kinetic energy alone is like hitting something with fifty tonnes of dynamite, and that’s not even taking into account they use three-step warheads as projectiles.”

“Three-step warheads?” Blake asked.

Ruby nodded eagerly. “Yeah! A three-step warheads is a special kind of explosive. You use the kinetic impact to trigger an atomic bomb, which then triggers a nuclear bomb, which can then trigger an exotic reaction that results in the creation of about a kilogram of anti-matter. Just one of those can completely dwarf the output of a typical small-scale tactical nuke by a factor of maybe a thousand.”

“…” Weiss looked a bit queasy. “And they have three of those rail guns here?”

“They’re not for regular Grimm,” Ruby said. “They’re for colossal Grimm. The last one to make landfall in Atlas was five years ago, wasn’t it? They had to hit it with multiple Dust-catalysed super-explosives to slow it down long enough for Aunt Lightning to show up and kill it. I still think they should have used nukes. Sure, there’s a bit of radiation to worry about, but the extra oomph is worth it.” She sighed dramatically. “I still can’t believe Diana wouldn’t lend me a three-step warhead. I mean she was basically the lead designer. I bet she’s got heaps of them in her closet.”

Yang opened her mouth and then closed it. As insane as Ruby was for even wanting one of those things, she was probably right. Diana probably did have at least a few of those stashed away somewhere.

“Ruby, what would you even do with one?” Blake asked.

“See if I could scale the design down enough to work with a hand-held rail gun. It’d be like shooting Grimm with tiny nukes. How cool would that be?”

The other three members of Team RWBY exchanged a look. They’d have to keep an eye out for trouble, just in case Ruby managed to badger those designs out of Diana.

“Don’t forget,” Weiss chided. “We’re here for a reason. As part of this semester’s practical missions assignments, we have to observe how critical defensive bulwarks are operated. I can scarcely imagine a more important bulwark than this. Without it, Atlas would fall.”

Ruby took a moment to compose herself. “Yeah. You’re right.” She took a deep breath. “But it’s hard to imagine this place falling. It’s got enough power to fight off tens of thousands of lesser Grimm and enough big guns to bring down even colossal Grimm, provided they get enough warning.”

“It is better to have too many weapons than too few.”

Weiss turned and snapped to attention. “General Ironwood!”

The general nodded at them. “At ease. You aren’t here as my subordinates. Rather, you are here to learn. As aspiring huntresses, you may one day be asked to stand in defence of this port.” He gestured. “I find myself in possession of an hour or two of free time. Perhaps you could walk with me while I tour the defences.”

“Certainly, sir,” Weiss replied quickly. “It would be an honour.”

X     X     X

James Ironwood was a man who prepared for the worst. At one of Atlas’s highest-ranking officers, that was his solemn duty and honour. He had supervised the renovation of Port Cerulean’s defences personally. Many had bristled at his push to have outsiders from beyond Atlas involved, but his was a practical approach. Hope was a genius, one of the greatest minds in the world, and his help was greatly appreciated. Yet to place so many burdens upon him would surely lead to disaster. Instead, James had paid handsomely, using precious political capital to sway his superiors and colleagues, to have other intellects of similar standing brought in.

The massive rail guns and their projectiles had been Diana’s brainchild, just as the design of the titanic sea wall had been Vanille’s. Hope had designed the automated defences, his expertise in robotics proving invaluable as he crafted a masterpiece that would stand against even tens of thousands of Grimm. It would be a symphony, thousands of weapons working in unison to cover the breadth of the wall, prioritising anything that could damage it while ensuring nothing could breach it.

Every winter, the Grimm came. The vast floes of ice offered them unique opportunities, even as it made travel by sea increasingly difficult. And every winter, the wall turned them back. Last winter, they had killed more than one hundred and fifty thousand Grimm over the span of three months. That was an average of fifty thousand Grimm a month, a little over one and a half thousand a day. And through it all, Port Cerulean had continued to operate, a testament to the bravery of the captains who plied the seas and the expertise of those who manned the walls.

They were heroes, each and every one of them, and James was proud to say that he had personally appointed their commanding officer and much of the senior staff. However, he kept such thoughts to himself as he explained the basics of the wall’s operation to Team RWBY. Given their pedigree, it would only be a matter of time before they found themselves on call, ready to respond should the next colossal Grimm make its appearance.

“Overlapping fields of fire are key,” James explained. “As is proper allocation of weaponry. Using artillery to kill a lone lesser Grimm is a waste not only of resources but also of time. When Grimm are assaulting a location en masse, it is important to eliminate them before they can completely overrun the defences. This requires both speed and precision in decision making.” He gestured. “The wall’s defences are geared toward different types of Grimm. Some are designed to clear areas of lesser Grimm, which is important when a swarm attacks. Others are designed to eliminate smaller numbers of more powerful Grimm, which is also important since such Grimm are often capable of damaging the walls and its defences.”

James was pleased to see they were remaining silent, their eyes wandering over the wall as they considered his words. Ruby, in particular, was gesturing, seemingly teasing out the angles of fire and coverage herself.

“Apart from the wall, this port also has its own dedicated aerial and naval assets. Where possible, we prefer to kill the Grimm before they get here. As such, we make extensive use of missile frigates, submarines, and air-dropped torpedoes and depth charges to thin their numbers. Even larger Grimm can often be dealt with if located early enough. At the very least, we need to know if we have to call for reinforcements.”

James pointed to a ship that was approaching. “That ship is carrying tens of thousands of tonnes of grain. Think about what would happen if we were to lose it. How many mouths would go hungry?” His gaze sharpened. “Which is why it is being escorted by a pair of our ships, and why the wall’s defences are already active, ready to strike down anything that attacks it.”

Ruby gulped. “How many ships like that come in each day?”

“As many as we can get,” James said bluntly. “Ruby, Atlas does not have the luxury of vast, fertile fields as Vale does. Ours is a rugged kingdom, rich in many resources, but desolate and cruel in many ways. It is always cold here, and our winters are brutal. To survive, we need not only our wits and our courage but also our neighbours.” He raised one hand and clenched it into a fist. “Thus are the kingdoms stronger together than apart, like the fingers of a fist. We trade our technology, our mineral wealth, and our expertise for what we cannot produce ourselves. We bring in what we can by air, but our needs are so great that only by using the sea can we make ends meet.”

Blake made a face. “In Menagerie, we used to count the ships coming in when I was a kid. There were days when we didn’t have any.”

“Things have improved,” James said. “We have spent vast sums to clear the seas of Grimm, and Professor Dia’s work to establish the Grimm Monitoring Network has paid off handsomely. Moreover, we now have close cooperation with Arendelle’s navy, which has done much to increase the amount of ocean traffic we can sustain safely.” He paused. “Too many in Atlas see the world in terms of competition. They’re not wrong, but we must never forget that we have to work together.”

“You and Ozpin argue a lot,” Yang said. “Or at least my parents say so.”

James chuckled. “Oh, Ozpin and I argue all the time. I argue with Professor Dia as well. That does not mean we disagree - it is more a matter of specifics. We each agree that cooperation is necessary, but exactly what form that cooperation takes requires plenty of discussion and compromise.”

“Look!” Weiss pointed. “That’s one of my family’s ships.”

Another ship was approaching, and it bore the familiar logo of the Schnee Dust Company.

“Indeed.” James turned. “But we’ve spent enough time out here. I’ve been told you may have an interest in observing some of our… larger weaponry.”

Ruby practically squealed. “Can we fire some of it?”

James’s lips twitched. “No.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Despite its many advantages, Atlas does have to import much of its food, as well as other things. To ensure a steady supply, it has taken great care to establish safe transportation routes, and it has massively fortified its ports and airfields to withstand attack. Unlike Vale, they do not have the luxury of having Lightning and Fang basically down the road for help. Incidentally, quite a few Yun do tours of duty in Atlas as part of a Clan-sponspored mercenary group.

They are popular since the Yun are well known for their prowess in battle and their sense of honour. Once hired to defend a location, the Yun can be counted on to either defend it or die trying. They are also joined by many Dia and other clans since overseas work is another way to build up precious experience while making money. It helps that the Yun aren’t much bothered by the cold and are perfectly happy climbing mountains.

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