#maybe its because i 'died' when i was 16 in my source memories

[fossys]

I think its so funny when i see stuff about my source because a lot of the time im written as this tired old parental figure (which is probably closer to my canon source maybe) but in system im just like. yea ive been around for centuries but i still just feel like a silly lil guy

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

The IDF's spokesman in Arabic, Avichay Adraee, has shared a vid of a rare demonstration by Gazans, where they protest the ruin Hamas has brought on them, and demand for its leader in Gaza, Yahya Sinwar, to releaste the Israeli hostages.

Regarding the 24 Israeli soldiers killed in Gaza the other day, here are the details to the best of my understanding of how 21 of them were killed in one incident (based on reports on Israeli TV). It seems that the soldiers were preparing a couple of multi-floor buildings to be blown up, because these were close enough to the border, that snipers could use them to shoot at Israeli civilians without even crossing over. The soldiers were laying out the explosives, and there was a tank nearby, guarding them. A terrorist squad came out of a terror tunnel shaft that hadn't been located by the soldiers earlier, and fired an anti-tank missile at the buildings, triggering the explosives, which also caused the buildings to collapse. Every soldier who was inside, was killed. That was how 19 soldiers died. It took hours for a search and rescue team to retrieve their bodies from the rubble (including a group of fire fighters who had to be "drafted" in order to allow them into Gaza). The tank recognized the source of the fire, and was turning to shoot back at the terrorists, but they fired an additional anti-tank missile at it, and killed another 2 soldiers. Out of the 24 soldiers killed, 16 were already buried yesterday.

One of them was 35 years old Elkana Wiesel.

He left a last letter to his loved ones: "If you're reading these words, something must have happened to me. First of all, if I have been kidnapped, I demand that you do not release a single terrorist to free me. Our decisive victory is more important than anything else to ensure our safety, so please keep going full force to make our victory as decisive as possible. Maybe I fell in battle. When a soldier falls in battle, that's sad. But I'm asking you to be happy. Don't be sad when you say goodbye to me. Sing a lot, nourish each other's hearts, hold each other's hands and strengthen each other. We have so much to be proud and joyful over, we are a generation of salvation! We are writing the most meaningful moments in the history of our people and of the world. So please, be optimistic. Keep choosing life, all the time. A life of love, hope, purity and optimism. Look into the eyes of the people you hold dearest, and remind them that everything we're going through in this life is worth it. That they have a lot to live for. Live! Do not stop the powerfulness of life for a single minute! I was already injured during [Operation] Protective Edge. I had the choice to stay back. But I do not regret for a moment that I returned to being a fighter. On the contrary, this is the best decision I've ever made."

May their memories be a blessing.

A report from South African news site News24 claims the International Court of Justice will publish its decision on SA's request for 9 provisional measures regarding the war in Gaza this Friday (Jan 26). Israel says it has not received any official notification on this. In any case, the ICJ will be publishing its decision by Feb 6 at the latest, because that's when the time of several judges at the ICJ will come to an end.

For the second time this month, Israel has stopped Arabs from East Jerusalem, who identify as ISIS terrorists, from carrying out an attack against Israelis. Another terrorist attack was prevented from taking place yesterday, when the terrorist was eliminated

This is 19 years old Shay Levinson.

He was a star volleyball player, who believed in coexistence, was studying Arabic, and chose to play for the Arab team of a Christian Arab town situated close to his own. Here he is (standing third from the left) with his Arab team when they won the state championship:

Shay was believed to have been kidnapped to Gaza on Oct 7. Here are his Arab coach and team manager with his mom Shlomit Levinson (a volleyball player herself), holding up his hostage poster together:

It was confirmed the other day that Shay was murdered by Hamas on Oct 7, and his body had been kidnapped to Gaza, and is held hostage. His coach Sma'an said: "It's a very hard blow. This is a kid who was a part of our family. Our heart hurts. We're not functioning as a team. We're unfocused, we can't concentrate, training sessions have been canceled. We want to be by the family during these difficult days. We champion coexistence, sports brings hearts closer. Our language is common. We don't care about distinctions like Jews, Arabs, Christians, Muslims."

May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[scribbleb-red]

Neil is a lying liar who lies AU

A Morning AU - with a fab prompt from @djhedy

There’s a new boy in Andrew’s class and there’s something not quite right about him. He’s mouthy and sharp, the kinda kid that should end up in detention three times a week but never does.

They are seven years old, though the new kid looks five, with eyes like a wide open sky. 

He is very pretty - that’s why Andrew notices him first - he looks like a fairy prince. 

And it’s because Andrew is watching that he notices though: the kid is a big bad lying liar who lies. 

The day he joined, the kid said his name was ‘Stefan’ to Mrs Stewart and ‘Chris’ to Mr Brasenose. The next day he was just ‘Neil’ and was given a fond, exasperated warning to keep his make believe in the playground. 

 But the kid didn’t stop lying.

Some lies were big and others were small. 

On a Tuesday, Neil announced that he’d had a huge feast for breakfast - listing all the foods and making everyone’s mouth water with the descriptions. (But Andrew saw how he winced nd held his stomach like it was empty.)

On a Thursday, Neil said he grew up in England and proceeded to spend the next week speaking in a post English accent. (But he later admits at lunch it was just a couple months).

On a Friday, Neil whispers that his house is haunted and he’s scared to go home for the weekend. (There’s a little too much truth shining through those eyes as he talks about the ghost in his house. Andrew doesn’t doubt that he’s scared of something).

The following Monday, Neil explains his bruises by saying he spent the week learning to skateboard. 

“My cousin visited and let me use her skate board. It was pretty rad.” 

(Andrew eyes the split lip, it could be true. But then he sees the hand shape around Neil’s thin wrist and knows the truth: it’s a lie.)

Through it all, Andrew is very quiet and very alone. He knows how this goes - he’s seven years old with more cracks in his heart than a fifty year romantic - but he kinda enjoys Neil’s lies and how he gets away with them.

He particularly likes the outrageous ones: 

My father parachuted into Paris because he’s a spy. He died landing on the Eiffel Tower. I once wrestled a monster. I won but it stole all my mom’s apples. I’m telling the truth. My tongue goes green when I lie. I met Kevin Day.

Andrew won’t pretend he’s not intrigued. He thinks Neil is interesting and his lies are ones he can often hold in the dark, imagining over and over when he’s hurt and wishing to be anyone, anywhere but here.

Plus Neil is funny - he always snarks at the teachers and gets away with the most ridiculous things. Other kids always want to play with him because his games are brilliant - epic journeys, castles and wizards, magical tigers, patchwork villains made from the skin of children. 

Some of Neil’s tall tales are part fairytales, part nightmares.  And Andrew isn’t sure which part Neil actually belongs to. There are times where he’s the brightest, prettiest boy on the playground. And times where his eyes are haunted, mouth wicked cruel. And then there are times like today, where Neil is quiet and blank - a little too familiar to what Andrew sees in the mirror these days, looking like someone has scooped out his insides and left nothing but darkness behind in its wake. 

Andrew almost talks to him then. 

Almost.

But he doesn't. Not for another few weeks. Not until Neil's facing down Greg Doyle - the fight has the vibe of a hissing kitten against a rottweiler. 

 There's no way Neil can win. Greg is a third grader and big beside. 

But Neil doesn't look scared. He looks ferocious.

Not that appearances are going to help. Neil could have the sharpest claws of them all and he'd still weigh nothing against Greg. Neil dodges and ducks the first few blows. He snipes and snarks, that liar's mouth rattling off stories of how he took down a SWAT team once.

But dumb luck can’t do everything and finally Greg gets a thump in, straight across Neil’s jaw - hard enough to make him stagger. 

"So much for a SWAT team, fucking liar." 

There are gasps at the bad word from the growing first and second grade audience. 

"Tongue turns green," Neil says. He spits out blood.

Andrew's had enough when he sees the blood. 

Neil might be an idiot but Andrew knows that there's no way to win this one on alone He steps forward and puts himself between Neil and Greg. 

"Oooo who's this, your boyfriend?" 

Andrew would roll his eyes, but can't be bothered. He is the tallest kid in their year at nearly 4'5. He can look the nine year old Greg in the eye without trouble and he can see the bigger kid calculating his chances of taking Andrew on instead of the skinny little creature that was Neil "motor mouth" Josten.

"Back off," he says. He doesn't inflect. He watched a cartoon where a character spoke completely flat and it was really scary so he figures this might make Greg cower too. "Leave him alone."

Greg nearly steps into Andrew's space but someone has started a whisper: 

Andrew Doe is the kid who killed his parents. Andrew Doe is the kid that burned a house down. Andrew Doe is the kid who took on Bertie Becker from fifth grade and flushed his head down the loo.

It's the last one that gives away the source of these rumours - Neil has started a chain of Chinese whispers. And Greg hears them swirling from mouth to mouth, ear to ear, each more terrifying than the last. It makes Andrew want to grin, so he does. Greg actually whimpers.

The crowd laughs when Greg runs away - he can’t save face when he’s fleeing from a first grader. 

Andrew feels triumphant. 

 Especially when Neil steps up beside him, shy smile and summer sky eyes. “Thanks Andrew.” 

 Neil Josten knows his name, Andrew thinks. Wow wow wow.

Neil’s mouth is swollen but he’s still the prettiest boy in the playground so Andrew doesn’t say anything. 

“Want to play a game?” Neil says. 

 Andrew shrugs. 

 “Yes or no?” Neil says again. “I won’t force you but I’d like to play with you to if you’d like to play with me.”

Andrew thinks about it before saying yes. 

It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

*

They start with games - make believe quests and imaginary journeys. They visit magical worlds in their heads and fall about laughing when one of them (mostly Andrew) doesn’t break character even for class.

They become inseparable - two boys with home lives full of ghosts but dreams that can take them anywhere. The lying liar is the better story teller but the stoic hero a better actor. And sometimes in games they hide their truths - violent families and horrifying pasts.

Neil shows Andrew his scars, “I sometimes say they’re from a shark or ninjas and stuff but...” 

“That’s from an iron.” 

“Yeah.”

In turn, Andrew tells Neil about his foster family. 

“We could poison him,” Neil says. “I heard we can make poison from apple cores. Applesenic or something.”

If only it were that simple.

It happens just before the end of the year - summer is nearly there and Andrew can only imagine how fun it'll be having a friend to adventure with for the first time. And then he finds out that his foster family is getting rid of him. He'll be packed off at the end of term.

"I think mom and I will move too," Neil admits. "We never hang around anywhere long." 

"Because of your dad?" 

"Yeah..." Neil plays with the hem of his t-shirt. "He's in prison but mom is still terrified. She moves us a lot." 

"Maybe you can move to the same place as me."

They pretend that the world isn't going to split them apart. 

They pretend that they're going to have the summer together. 

And the year after. 

That they'll start middle school together. 

And be best friends all the way to the end of high school.

And go to the same college.

"We could play exy together all the way through," Neil says. It's his new obsession. 

"I'm not going to play stickball. I prefer playing games with you." 

"We can play games on the court. You can be the fierce dragon and I'll be the knight that looks after you."

"You'd steal all my dragon gold." 

"Would not." 

Andrew raises one eyebrow. 

"Okay, yes I would. I'd be the knight trying to take your gold. But I'd be sneaky about it." Neil's laughter is high and bright. "Does that mean you'll play with me?" 

"Yeah okay," Andrew says.

But it doesn't work out that way. 

Neil vanishes like sun behind a mountain the day after term ends. 

Andrew's bags are packed. He's dumped in a new home near the beach. He hates the beach. He misses Neil the way his lungs miss oxygen when he's stuck in the swell of a wave.

He does play exy though. 

He does it because he figures one day he'll find Neil on a court too. 

He'll either face him down or by some miracle they'll be on the same team. 

He'll find Neil again. He will.  

He tells himself this every day. 

Even when it feels like a lie.

*

Something like an epilogue

Years pass before Andrew hears anything about the little boy who - for two semesters when he was seven - was his best friend. So many years that if it weren't for one polaroid from a cheeky arcade photo-booth, he might have let the idea of Neil go.

But he keeps the photo with him - through home after home, through Cass and Drake and juvie and Aaron and Nicky. He hides it in books, folds it into pockets. Makes sure to hold onto Neil and the memories of those few happy months.

He plays exy. Keeps track of other teams and their players. The sport does nothing for him - but sometimes he closes his eyes and imagines Neil with his flashing blue eyes mischievous smile and that long ago conversation. He remembers why he's doing this.

At 13, he asks Pig Higgins to do a search on Neil's name but the policeman refuses. 

At 14, he goes through the entire directory for California and when that's exhausted, he starts searching every state from West to East. 

He calls 362 Jostens across the USA. None are Neil.

When he turns 16, he uses a fake and has two small dragons outlined on the top of his left shoulder. 

When he's 17 he meets Riko and Kevin Day. He remembers Neil once saying he'd met Kevin and wonders if that was true or just one of Neil's many many lies. He turns the Ravens down.

He signs two weeks later with the Palmetto State Foxes - taking his brother and cousin with him. 

He watches as the lists of drafted players on other teams go up. There's no Chris or Stefan or Abram - not with the matching face Andrew wants. There's no sign of a Neil Josten.

Andrew smooths out the photo at night, slipping it between the pages of Whitman's Leaves of Grass every morning. 

Maybe it's time to put the memory of Neil to rest, but he can't. 

Neil is one of those beautiful ghosts that he can't help but hold onto. The one unspoilt thing in his memory.

Unspoilt, that is, until a Monday when Kevin Day announces he's recruiting a nobody from a nothing town in the middle of nowhere Arizona and the nobody's name is Neil.

"Neil what?" 

"Josten. Want to see his tape?" 

"Nope," Andrew says. But his heart is a thunderdrum, hope cutting through the medicated hyper mania easy as a knife through butter. "Actually yes, gimme the tapes little birdie." 

Kevin grimaces at his nickname but says nothing until they’re watching the tape. And then he can’t shut up about the player’s potential, his speed and natural flare on the Court. 

It's not Andrew’s Neil. 

But it is too. 

The striker on the court is a brunette with dark eyes but he runs like Neil. He's ferocious and plays like it's the last thing keeping him afloat. He has that little flick of his racquet before he goes to score, a telltale that would never get passed Andrew but no one else seemed to have noticed. 

Andrew says as much to Kevin. 

"Exactly," Kevin says. "That's why we have to have him."

So they go to Millport. 

And Andrew knows Neil well enough to anticipate that he'll run. 

Knows him well enough to trip him with a racquet and catch him as he falls. 

Neil hasn't grown much either - he's still small and sharp and far too pretty to be real.

"Stupid little liar, you should watch where you put your feet." Andrew wishes he were sober. Wishes he didn't have to greet Neil with this grin splitting his face. 

Wishes wishes wishes. 

But his one wish has already come true, Neil is here with him. Warm and lithe and alive.

"Drew?" Neil says, but the word is choked and breathless. Neil’s voice does something to Andrew’s insides and Andrew feels the muscles beneath his hands warring between flight and relief. 

"Neil," he replies. 

"Oh my god, Drew." 

And then Neil's arms are around Andrew's shoulders, and his face is turning into his neck and Andrew realises they're hugging and he shouldn't want to hug back but he does. He does because it's Neil. His friend. His pipe dream. The little boy with the pathological need to lie and an imagination that could create whole worlds from a handful of dust. 

He hugs Neil tight. 

Never wants to let go.

Kevin of course ruins the moment. 

But Neil isn't going to say no to the Foxes. Not now. 

And even though Andrew can recognise the lies slipping passed Neil's lips, he doesn't tell Wymack. Doesn't call out his idiot's new ouchies. Doesn't answer any questions when Kevin demands answers.

"Sign," he speaks only to Neil. He means, Stay with me. "We can play a game. Yes or no?" 

"Yes," Neil says and his smile is a little wild, a lot wonderful. "Let's play a game."

The End.

[missholland]

The Untamed saved me during Covid. Will it do it again?

It’s been a while since I last wrote about The Untamed. 2020 is ending and I was planning to do it anyway, but now it has even a bigger meaning given the situation I’m in.

Long story short: residents in London, UK including myself were told over the weekend that we were no longer allowed to spend Xmas with another household and the city would go into sort of another lockdown (they just didn’t call it ‘lockdown’ yet). That means not only I could not fly home to see my parents who I last saw in summer 2019 (let’s face it - 2019 was a hundred moons ago), but also I couldn’t even spend the holiday with my partner’s parents since they’re a different household. Basically, it’s just really shit.

That kinda push me to start my The Untamed rewatch sooner than plan. I thought a lot about the first full-blown lockdown we had in March, which led me into discovering the show and how it literally saved me from going insane over everything. Now that we’re entering even a darker time (particularly being in the UK), I’m just desperate for a spiritual ‘out’ from this sad reality. And what’s better than relying on a couple of friends (who are also a couple!) that got me through the first time? Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

I was determined to do this rewatch right. Sure, I’ve done it maybe 16 times since March. But given that The Untamed is now available on Amazon Prime where you can leave reviews, I gotta help the show to go places in the international market!

As soon as the intro played, my heart pounded so loudly. I was properly anxious, feeling like I was meeting a high school crush again after 10 years. Seeing the familiar faces from WangXian to Gusu Lan disciples, Jiang Cheng, Sujie, Mianmian, my man Nie Director, etc. I could not feel any happier. I had the widest smile on my face even though I was sitting alone in the room. Watching a sequence of familiar moments excited me so much I had to put a hand on my chest just to feel my heart beating. All that fuss over just an INTRO!

I might not need to pay too close attention to the story this time. But the more I (re)watched, the more I thought about why I fell in love with The Untamed in the first place and how the mystical cultivators’ world carried me through the national lockdown.

Everyone was (and still is) suffering in the real world with Covid. Many of us were required to stay in, work from home and live our social life through a computer screen. Like most people, my work and personal life became one within the 4 familiar walls of my living room. I changed from someone who thought she had the world to a person whose whole life got squeezed into a little box. Reality was just bleak. I didn’t want to live like that. I wanted to be somewhere Covid wasn’t a thing. Another world. Another universe. Anything.

The Untamed universe gave me everything and even a bit more. The show took me to a whole other world, although fictional, where I did not have to worry a thing about Covid. I was so immersed into their world, and that was possible all down to the cast and crew’s incredible effort in making it real for me. Of course, I did not think I became a cultivator. But everything felt real because I could feel so strongly in my heart the excitement when Wei Wuxian first fought Lan Wangji on the roof, the confusion in Sujie’s heart everytime she ran into Jin peacock, the sadness whenever WangXian part way, the anger of Chenqing, the pain when Sujie died, the relief when WangXian reunited, the butterflies in my stomach seeing the piggyback ride on the bridge, and the utmost happiness during the last 20 seconds of the finale. 

I can go on and on and on. But I remember so vividly during the first watch in March, I said to my friends The Untamed had been ‘the most beautiful distraction in the ugliest time’. I know the show has touched your hearts more or less the same way it did mine. Tell me - how do you feel whenever the loving melody of Wuji plays on the screen? I felt like someone was giving me the most tender back hug, or holding my hand tightly, or looking into my eyes so deeply. I genuinely felt like falling in love. It’s something that no other fictional production of any form has ever made me feel. Even though that ‘first time’ moment has passed, I could still sense the same emotion within myself whenever Wuji is played in the background of a scene. Some might say it was magical and I wouldn’t disagree. It’s hard to explain. But ‘magical’ is truly close enough to describe it.

You gotta give it to the production crew - how they manage to bring the source novel to life, not only staying faithful to the tiny details but also adding their own unique changes which, in some parts, actually did the work even better than the original. I can’t remember whether I’ve mentioned this, but The Untamed is the first Chinese series I’ve seen in 10 years - the last one being Bu Bu Jing Xin. This is for you to know that Chinese drama is not at all my jam. I have not seen any other Chinese series or fantasy/historical drama since The Untamed, and I will probably keep it this way for a long time. The Untamed has such a special place in my heart that I want to protect its legacy.

While typing this, I’m at episode 4. Still early days, the memories of the youth, the carefree adventures being the enormous storm that screw over our beloved characters. I thought maybe I’d write this after finishing the final episode. But I did not expect feeling so much emotion already from the beginning of the rewatch, partly because of the fresh frustration over what’s going on in the UK right now. I just want the show to save me again like it did during the start of the global pandemic. I don’t know how it’s going to do it, but I’m certain it will make everything a little bit easier everyday for me.

If you’ve made it this far to my super in-cohesive random writing, THANK YOU! I’ve ‘ranted’ about several Untamed-related topics during my first watch that you might find interesting:

Character Analysis: Wei Wuxian

Character Analysis: Lan Wangji

Moment Analysis: Favourite WangXian Moment

Episode Analysis: Episode 44-45

Story Analysis: Xiao Xingchen/Song Lan

Character Analysis: Jiang Cheng

The Ending Analysis

[cinebration]

The Darkest Shine (Dan Torrance x Reader) [Part 9]

Dan takes you home and comforts you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Epilogue

Tagged: @blackeasteagle​​, @theblackmaskclub​​

Warnings: brief language, trauma, mentions of death

Gif Source: winterswake

You didn’t want to talk about it.

The whole three hours it took to make it back to Frazier in the now-working truck, you stayed silent. Immovable.

Dan couldn’t help but think every time he glanced over that you had turned to stone, that you had returned from the dead not alive but undead like in a bad horror film. He wanted to touch you, prove to himself that you weren’t marble, but the vehemence of your hiss when he had tried to as you emerged from the grave…it shook him.

What had emerged from the grave was rage embodied.

Only now had you quieted down. Shut down, your eyes trained outside at the dark landscape. Or was it at your own reflection in the mirror?

Abra left on her own accord, but not before reaching out to Dan. Will she be alright?

I don’t know.

Can you help her?

I hope so.

Glancing aside at your expressionless image in the window, he wondered if it were even possible.

Or if you even wanted help.

~~

Dan brought you back to his place. You were responsive, in that you got out of the truck without prompting and followed him upstairs. On the threshold, you paused, your gaze drifting to the wall and its one word.

Dan edged into your vision, blocking the wall. “Come on,” he murmured.

You stepped inside, looking in any direction but the cracked word, and waited a few paces beyond the door, staring at nothing on the floor.

Dan risked touching your elbow.

You flinched at the unexpected contact, but the warmth from his fingertips, not all of it physical, unlocked your tongue. “I should be in a hotel.”

“It’s safe here.”

“Nowhere is safe,” you mumbled bitterly.

Frowning, Dan nudged you forward and managed to direct you to his bathroom. He didn’t have to say why.

You closed the door behind you but left it unlocked, picking up on his concern that if something happened to you and he couldn’t help you immediately…he wouldn’t finish the thought.

Steeling yourself, hands gripping the sides of the sink, you forced yourself to lift your head and look in the mirror.

Dirt and blood smeared your face, plastered to sweaty skin and tangled hair. The blood practically drenched you, crusted over your skin. Your eyes…the color had changed in the irises. Like opals, they shone different colors when you tilted your head one way or the other. Dead-on, they looked nearly translucent.

You splashed water on your face, flaking off the dried blood from your skin. When the sink ran pink with it, you glanced back up at the mirror.

The skin of your face was unbroken. Wherever the blood had come from—My face, from pushing myself through the hole I made in the coffin when I woke up; there were jagged pieces of wood in my cheeks, I remember—the wounds had vanished.

A new trick of the Shine.

A shudder passed through you. You tore off your clothes, dropping them to the floor, practically writhing in your own dirt and blood-covered skin. The shower water couldn’t warm fast enough. You needed the heat, craved it. Death was too cold, and you still felt its icy breath on your neck, its hand on your throat.

Stepping into the shower, you drew the curtain.

And panicked.

The curtain dimmed the light over the mirror, darkening the shower. The wall to your left was too close, the curtain brushing your shoulder on the right.

Too tight. Not enough space.

The bathroom door was shut. The whole thing was just four walls with no escape.

“Dan!”

He was at the door in an instant, flinging it open. “What’s wrong?”

You almost couldn’t say it, the words suddenly trapped in your throat self-consciously. He’s here to help, not judge, you told yourself.

“I need the door open,” you finally gasped. “Please don’t shut it. Please.”

Dan didn’t need the Shine to understand why. Leaving it open, he walked back into his room and stood by the front door where he couldn’t see into the bathroom.

You didn’t emerge for an hour.

He presented you with a pair of scrubs when you finally stepped out of the bathroom in a towel. “I can stand in the hall,” he said.

“I’m not shy,” you muttered.

He kept his back turned as you changed. Part of him wanted to look. He could hear the sound of the fabric ghosting over your skin as you pulled it on and cinched the waist as tight as possible, his pants being too big. On went the t-shirt he had given you and over it the scrub shirt.

“I’m dressed.”

He slowly turned to face you.

Your wet hair dangling around your face, the scrubs hanging off you, you looked more vulnerable than he had ever seen you. A breath of wind could knock you down. A hug could crush you, even though you needed one.

“I’m not fragile,” you hissed.

Tears suddenly filled your vision, a sob pushing at your throat. Choking them back, you sank onto the edge of the bed, turning away from him. But there was the window and your face in it, starting to blur. You stared at the floor, hands fisting in the comforter, pushing back on the sense memory of the pinewood box and the man in black smiling in amusement as you died slowly from oxygen deprivation.

Dan hesitated. You didn’t want help—you didn’t want him to see you like this—but you needed it. Only you couldn’t see it, like he couldn’t see he needed help with his alcoholism until he hit rock bottom—and even then, he’d almost been too proud, too afraid, to ask.

You have a gift, he told himself. Use it.

Sitting down beside you, Dan folded his hand over your fist. You flinched but didn’t remove it. You didn’t look at him either.

Dan closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and reached out to your mind.

Trapped. In a box. Losing air.

Thunder of dirt raining down on wood.

Darkness. The man in black laughing. “Let’s find out.”

Fear. The need for a quicker death, like the car accident. Not this.

Do NOT call out. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Don’t bring Dan here. Or Abra.

Falling asleep.

Stay asleep this time.

No.

Pain. Searing pain. Hands scrabbling. Wood slivers beneath fingernails. Dirt pouring through.

Push up, out.

Reborn.

The air hurts. The light is too bright.

Dan is here, Dan is here, Dan is here—go AWAY, HE’LL FIND YOU—

Dan slammed back into himself, gasping, the emotions too deep, the kind he’d bury in drink, that you should bury in drink—but no, he knew better.

He found you staring at him. With a start, he realized your eyes had changed. Filled with tears, the irises shimmered across a rainbow of colors.

“Who is he?” he asked. “Why does he do this to you?”

“He’s the devil,” you croaked. “Why does he do this? Because he enjoys it. Because he’s a sick fuck messing with nature. Because maybe I sold my soul to him.”

“Did you?”

Could a child make sell their soul? “I don’t know. Does it count when you’re a kid on the hospital table, going into shock, and you see past the doctors and see a tall, dark, and handsome man no one else does, so you think he’s an angel, and you think before the darkness, ‘Help me’? Does that count? Does it?”

Tremors wracked your body, tears spilling hot trails down your cheeks. All the questions and no answers. Such was your miserable life.

“And I keep coming back because of it,” you said. “I can’t escape.”

You broke.

Dan swept you into his arms as the sobs burst from you, your frame collapsing. He held tight as you felt yourself fall apart, as though he could hold you together.

I can, he thought to you. I can hold you together.

So he did.

[randomguywithwords]

As The Dust Settles: Chapter 20 (Geten X Dabi Slowburn)

Chapter 19: Hawks’ Visit

AO3 Link

Previous Chapters: 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

–––––––––––

“You...again?” Geten eyed the winged hero as he sauntered in, bearing a basket of fruits with a hovering feather. He was the first – and hopefully the last, unless it was the man who landed her in this bed – visitor on this Monday afternoon. 

“I just came to check on you. I hope you’re not a carnivore.” With a cordial smile, he placed the gift on the bedside table. 

“Don’t you have...hero duties to attend to? To keep up appearances?” The shiny surfaces of the apples glinted at her. She found their presence less a gift of generosity and more a peace offering. After all, their last conversation hadn’t ended on good terms. Her wariness of this hero-turned-villain lingered.

“Oh, I’ve done them. Not to brag, but I’m pretty fast. Efficient too.” Hawks sheathed his wings and took a seat on the chair facing her. 

“Were you sent by Shigaraki?” 

“Nope, came here on my own. I can’t say I like taking orders from the big guy. I prefer to spread my wings and be free, y’know?” 

Free. The word rang differently in Geten’s head now, after regurgitating up the words and lies she was fed by the Liberation Army, and she found them bitter. Disgusting. It made her want to retch. The man in front of her sounded genuine in that sense, in desiring liberation. It sounded entrancing, but she remembered their last encounter where that same smile threatened her position and life. 

“The last time we talked…” Geten measured her words. “You said to find you when I’ve figured which side I’m on. And you’ve come to find me. Tell me, what does this gesture of yours mean?” 

Hawks had the grace to look embarrassed. “All right, you got me. Sorry about our last conversation. I didn’t trust you that much then, because of your – to put it nicely, questionable tactics, that I had uncovered. But I heard what you did from talking to the other lieutenants, I think you’ve changed, and that you’re really a part of the PLF. So I’d like to make it up to you.” 

Admittedly, her arms felt less tense after hearing his rationale. There was a sincerity in his words. 

“So you’re saying you trust me?” Geten definitely did not reciprocate this notion. 

“I believe I can trust you much more than a few days ago, at least. I’m guessing something happened within that span of time.” 

“If you talked to the rest about the briefing I missed, then there’s no need to ask me what happened.” Her ears felt hot imagining how that mission debrief went. But considering how Shigaraki’s visit went, Dabi probably said something backing her up. She added that to the list of things to ask Dabi about. 

Hawks raised his arms. “All right, I won’t pry. Just came to apologize. If my being here is uncomfortable, I’ll be out of your hair.” 

Geten’s nerves were in overdrive, as if Sanctum were present, producing voltages from his quirk. Hawks gave off the same feeling, but she thought about the girl who looked at her with fear as she handed the book to her yesterday. If that perception of her remained, then Destro’s clutches over her life would be too. She would always be seen as the cold lieutenant of the PLF, seeking liberation of her “meta-ability” over anything. And she came to the conclusion that she despised that idea. 

“Wait,” She sighed, as Hawks was getting out of his chair. “It’s fine. I suppose I owe an apology for my behaviour as well.”

“Ah. Not gonna lie, that was unexpected. What the hell happened – Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.” 

Geten lightly chuckled. “What were you even doing the past few days, anyway? You didn’t show up for meetings.”

Hawks did a ‘I-don’t-know’ hand gesture. “Well, I’m technically not a lieutenant of a regiment or anything. I’m just a spy. So Skeptic’s, with Shigaraki’s approval, sent me to see what info I can get from the HSPC.”

“I see. Should I be hearing all of this?”

“Don’t see why not. I’ve been talking to Twice about this too, and you’re all lieutenants. Same clearance, if anything.”

“Bubaigawara?” That was a minor surprise. “Are you two friends?” 

Hawks cocked his head. “That’s one way to put it. I’ve been teaching him Liberation ideology.”

Ah. That struck a sour chord with Geten. It would have been pleasing to hear just a few weeks ago, before the doubts began to plague her mind. “For his regiment, I presume?”

“Yeah, he’s trying to prove himself a good leader. That’s pretty cool of him, so I’m helping him along with that.” 

“You read the book?” Geten said.

“Destro’s autobiography? Yeah. I’ve been advertising it to some heroes. Re-destro’s pretty happy about that. He’s a...funny guy, when he’s not angry.”

“He’s always angry.” She couldn’t help herself but spit out that sentence, sending the temperature in the room plummeting. Hawks blinked. 

“Uh...sorry, is he a bad teacher? He was your mentor, right? Or still is…” Hawks’ voice trailed off. 

She gulped. Don’t talk about it, she warned herself. As nice of a person Hawks was seeming, she definitely didn’t want him telling anyone else, much less Yotsubashi himself, about her change of heart towards the PLF and its leader. 

“No – I mean, yeah, he is. But I mostly conduct my own training now. And no, he’s an okay teacher, but I’ve made him mad a couple of times. Just...bad memories, is all.” She pursed her lips, mentally bashing herself. 

“My bad, I won’t bring him up then.” 

Geten was desperate to change the subject. “So, you think what Destro wrote resonates with you?” 

“Well, not to the extent of creating a cabal organisation and infiltrating the Hero Commission to spread his word, but I’m from the League, so I’m not one to talk. Still, his ideas of freedom and liberation…” There was a wistful look in his eyes as he stared at the afternoon sky. 

“Did I ever tell you why I became a hero at first? Before joining the League.” Geten shook her head. 

“I’m only telling you this in confidence,” He said, “And because out of all the people in the Liberation Front, you seem to really take the ideology to heart.”

Geten nodded slowly, hiding how that statement was a red hot poker through her chest. 

“I liked my meta ability a lot, but I could never really use it because of the laws of usage. So I heard about heroes and how they could use it to fight crime and save people. That’s why I became one.”

He sighed. “Then it turned out that becoming a hero placed even more restrictions on me. It was just filling out paperwork and being sent on patrols. It sucked, and that’s putting it kindly. So, here I am. It’s why I found so much meaning in Destro’s ideology. I’m guessing you feel the same.”

She nearly choked on the words. “Yeah, I guess.” So Hawks believes it? Well, he’s never faced the hell I went through, she argued. But his words sent a chill down her spine, because that’s exactly what she sounded like the first time she spoke to Dabi in the hotel. How easy was it to essentially brainwash a hero like Hawks?

You’re wrong, she wanted to tell him. But his story sounded truthful. He was shackled by the norms of hero society, and found freedom in the League, and by extension the Liberation Front. But she was born into it, made to believe it, speak for it with no voice for herself. 

Could that be the difference? 

Choice? 

“Anyway.” Hawks was getting out of his chair, snapping her out of her thoughts, “I should let you get more rest. Festival’s approaching, you probably need to start training soon.”

She gave a murmur of agreement. 

When he was at the door, he turned back. “So...allies?”

“Allies.” She affirmed. 

Hawks gave a grin and left, leaving Geten to stare at the ceiling. 

Freedom. The word didn’t sound as poisonous in her mind now. No, she did want freedom. Freedom from this Liberation Front. As to how she was to get it, she had a rough idea. 

–––––––

Standby for report. Usual. 

As he soared through the skies, Hawks willed the inked feather on the presidents’ desk to move, scribbling out the message on the fresh sheet of paper like a magic quill. It was their private form of communication, one that he was sure even Skeptic couldn’t trace. As far as he knew, he could control the stray feather from a maximum distance of 50 kilometres. And it was his best way of informing her if he ever died, because, he assumed, it would be noticeable. 

Once that message was sent, and hopefully received, he shifted focus to what had just happened. 

Well, that didn’t work, was his first thought. He wondered if he had been too soft on her, but he had little authority to assert unless he wanted to outrightly threaten her, but that was no longer possible given her relationship with Dabi – of all people. 

Things became much more harder now that she was no longer the isolationist within the PLF. 

He replayed the encounter in his mind, noting her spark of rage when Yotsubashi was mentioned. That was no surprise: she had rejected Re-destro’s leadership since his defeat, but the extent of her outburst took him aback. Something happened during her mission that he had to know. 

Takami cursed his absence that Saturday. Shigaraki’s emergency meeting was unexpected. The only source of information he had was from Bubaigawara, and the man was equally clueless. According to him, Dabi didn’t say much about it, only that the fight between the two lieutenants and Takame was difficult. 

He could try probing Dabi, but he was likely drawing sufficient suspicion from him. Any more, and he would be dead. Re-destro was another option, but Takami guessed the man had even less information to offer, even if he was interrogated. 

So that left Apocrypha and Twice. The former would definitely be of greater use, but she trusted him half as much as the latter. He would have to try again, maybe tomorrow. If he was correct, she would be hospitalised till Friday – assuming she held up her end of that bargain with Dabi. 

He let out a chuckle, thinking about how he froze up when he heard that conversation. 

I’ll be damned, Dabi and her, it’s almost poetic. If this were high school, he would have no qualms playing matchmaker. But since both were psychopaths in their own right, they were a lit cigarette at a gas station, and Keigo was unsure how far he could push them before they came at him brandishing ice and fire. 

He entertained himself thinking about this. Given Dabi’s behaviour and actions, he suspected some form of self-resistance on Dabi’s part, and Apocrypha was probably confused about emotions and all that. All things considered, she was handling her transition towards humanity better than he thought, putting it somewhat dramatically. 

Who knew I’d be using what I learnt from my training to watch a clueless couple of villains decipher their own feelings? If he ever wrote a autobiography – assuming he survived all this, this would be up there, along with all the war crimes he would have to commit in the name of peace. 

One of which would have to be conducted soon, if he had no answer to deliver to his superiors. Alternatively, after reporting all of this, maybe they had another way. They always seemed to, after all. Frustration constricted his face, with, thankfully, no one to witness it. 

Goddammit, Shigaraki, what are you after? What’s the Festival really for?

[servalias]

Magia Record ED Analysis

bAs someone heavily invested in Yachiyo and who has watched the ED many times since its release, I figured I’d go ahead and do a full analysis of it and how it relates to Yachiyo as a character as well as her arc. This analysis is made assuming the anime remains largely the same as the game wrt Yachiyo, and it’s by no means definitive, simply my own personal interpretation. Heavy spoilers ahead of course, especially for Chapter 6 and Mifuyu’s side story. Anyone that cares about spoilers and hasn’t at least played through Chapter 6 of the game would do well not to read this until they’ve either done that or watched through the corresponding section of the anime after it’s aired, but otherwise, read on.

Right off the bat we have a shot of the moon being reflected in Yachiyo’s eyes. Yachiyo is a character very heavily associated with the moon, and this shot serves to reinforce that association.

Yachiyo then blinks and when she opens her eyes the moon’s no longer being reflected in them and we get a more zoomed out shot of her laying down in a puddle and it appears to be lightly raining. Water/rain is yet another thing Yachiyo gets frequently associated with, likely due to its association with sadness, since in Magia Record Yachiyo is initially a very sad, lonely person, something that is very heavily conveyed throughout the course of the ED.

The shot finishes with having Yachiyo smile, notably the only time we see her smile in the entire ED.

This is followed by some shots of real world Tokyo and then shots of Yachiyo walking through a rainy real world Tokyo. These show that Yachiyo’s a woman all alone in a big city, and the rain reinforces Yachiyo’s rain/water association.

We then get a shot of a flashing elevator button as we transition to the next segment of the ED, as segment I like to call the “elevator sequence”.

This segment alternates between shots of Yachiyo in a white dress in an elevator and scenes of a shadowed Yachiyo strutting and striking poses, all in front of a stylistic city background whose colors slowly shift. These bits between the elevator shots are meant to represent Yachiyo modeling, as Yachiyo works as a fashion model and her modeling career was the reason she even became a magical girl in the first place.

Now, for the main meat of the “elevator sequence”, the elevator shots themselves. The elevator is a metaphor for Yachiyo’s life as a magical girl, each elevator shot representing a different important stage of her life as one, with the red rapidly increasing floor number representing the number of days she’s been a magical girl and the seven lights at the top represent her seven years as a magical girl. Since only one light is lit in this shot, it represents Yachiyo when she was just starting out as a magical girl, she’s sitting in a school chair and she’s looking a little anxious, probably because she’s still new to this whole thing. 

The next elevator shot here represents Yachiyo at 14 years old, in her third year as a magical girl. We see Yachiyo looking up as if thinking about something, before shaking her head and looking down. What happened that year that’s significant? Well, Yachiyo and Mifuyu would write each other letters once a year from the time they became magical girls, to act as a sort of will in case either of them died. In Mifuyu’s side story, one of said letters we get to see is from when Yachiyo was 14. (Note that Yachiyo’s age is only mentioned in the Japanese version, for the English localization they changed it to a vague “since my birthday” for some reason) In this letter, Yachiyo mentions she’s realized she likes someone, but doesn’t know what to do. Due to her nature as a magical girl she isn’t sure if she could be with someone at all, even if her crush likes her back. But even still, she wrote a letter to her crush because she doesn’t want to pretend she never had these feelings. She’s unsure whether or not she should have Mifuyu deliver this letter in the case of her death, since getting a letter from a dead girl could be seen as unkind. She ends the letter by asking Mifuyu what she would do. This shot in the ED is meant to convey the uncertainty Yachiyo was feeling during that time.

After a couple more poses, she then curls up into this position, showcasing her anguish and despair. Not even modeling brings her happiness anymore. I feel like now is a relevant time to bring up the description from her “As a Fashion Model” Memoria, which states:  "Whenever I wonder why I keep on modeling, I remember that my life as a Magical Girl started from here. If I were to quit, why, that would render everything: all the trials and tribulations, all the miseries and joys, rather pointless."

We then get another elevator shot. From the 5 lights lit up, we can tell this is representing her 5th year as a magical girl, when she was 16 years old. This was the year Kanae died, hence why she looks kind of sad in this shot. We can also see the screen start to fill with water here, the water representing Yachiyo’s sadness and loneliness.

Our next shot has the shadowed Yachiyo running across the screen as the water continues to rise. 

We then get another elevator shot as the water fills up past halfway. All seven lights are lit, so this represents her 7th year as a magical girl, when she was 18 years old, the year Mel died and she decided to breakup the team because she thought her wish was causing her friends to sacrifice themselves for her, hence why she appears to be crying in this shot. Also of note is that the school chair from the previous elevator shots has been replaced by one of the chairs from Mikazuki Villa. 

After a flickering of lights and a shot of the elevator button again, we get a shot of the elevator again but the chair is now empty and the water in the background has now completely filled the screen.

We then get Yachiyo sinking in the water, metaphorically drowning in her own sorrows.

We get a closer shot of Yachiyo sinking with a film reel overlay as the screen gradually becomes monochromatic, and Yachiyo cries into her hands before we get quick flashes of a few images, which I’ll go over, individually, but overall it shows how Yachiyo is a “prisoner of the past”, as she puts it herself in episode 5.

First we have some photos next to Yachiyo’s mug, symbolizing Yachiyo’s sentimental nature, which she primarily expresses through mugs, buying mugs for each new friend she makes and even keeping the mugs of friends no longer in her life as something to remember them by.

Then we have this letter, which is the letter Yachiyo wrote to Mifuyu about her crush, showing that Yachiyo has Mifuyu on the brain.

Next we get an empty white hospital bed, symbolizing death, something that has been a major source of trauma for Yachiyo, losing not only her grandmother who raised her, but most significantly her friends Mel and Kanae, and her guilt over their deaths weighs heavily on her.

Next are some flowers, which I’m not entirely certain the meaning of because I’m not familiar with flower language, but someone who is will probably be able to tell me in the comments.

Next we have what appear to be some ledgers, perhaps a list of boarding house residents or something like that?

And here we have a cake that says “Happy Birthday Yachan”, meaning it must be from Mifuyu, and the 18 candles mean this was from Yachiyo’s 18th birthday. I love how the Y is just below the A because she ran out of room, it’s so very Mifuyu. Anyway this cake again reinforces that Yachiyo has Mifuyu on the brain. Mifuyu is a very important character for Yachiyo as her main goal throughout Magia Record is to find Mifuyu and bring her home, and as mentioned in the last letter to Mifuyu in Mifuyu’s side story, Yachiyo considered Mifuyu a real partner and even after cutting off everyone else because she thought her wish was killing them, she still wanted to stick with Mifuyu to the end.

We then get Yachiyo surfacing and reaching for the moon, reinforcing her moon association and showing that despite everything Yachiyo still yearns for a better life, and an escape from her sorrow and loneliness.

The shot transitions into a shot of Yachiyo under a black umbrella, and then the op ends with Yachiyo walking while carrying a white umbrella on her arm. This bit is notable because it can be seen as a prequel to the bit in the OP where Yachiyo helps up Iroha (she’s even carrying a white umbrella in that part too), so the umbrella is presumably for her. As the protagonist to Yachiyo’s deuteragonist, Iroha is very important to Yachiyo arc, particularly in Chapter 6 where she defeats the Memory Museum Uwasa by herself even though Yachiyo’s certain Iroha’s just going to end up another friend that sacrificed themselves for her, giving Yachiyo a chance to believe that maybe her wish isn’t killing everyone she loves, which is what ultimately allows Yachiyo to be able to move on and be happy again.

[appleb0mb]

Hyacinthus Art Process! (Part One)

ART PROCESS BELOW!!! (forgive me if I’m salty, I was looking for the link for Step One for almost HALF AN HOUR)

Also end and forgive me I made the bunning Hyacinthus PURPLE. Luckily I change it but S T I L L I’m ANGRY ABOUT IT

Step One - Rough Draft

Okay! So I started this album around October 20th, 2020 on a Tuesday (lol).

When I was thinking of the song (while doing the covers of the last two), I really wanted to show that power and desperateness of Jamil (and how he indulges and relishes in it). I remembering see this pose by yama_kome and I really liked how they represented Jamil’s overblot. 

Ever since I saw this incredible piece of art, I wanted it to be done in this kind of way. Now, since I’m releasing covers of Scarabia (Mystique and Cardenalia), I decided to do it this time for his overblot. 

Besides, I wanted to change things up a little bit!

This took me a while to get (almost a day I believe?), but when there’s a will - there’s way. 

Just to let you know: I was originally going to name the song Hyacinth but if you say all the Scarabia Trilogy’s Tracks in order - it wouldn’t sound right. So that’s why I changed it to Hyacinthus. 

Secondly, I feel like if you say a flower’s scientific name than its common name - it gives that effect of a beginning, of a source and of an origin. I feel like the Overblots are a representation of their true feelings and emotions (in this case, Twisted Wonderland) so that’s partly the reason why I changed it as well.

Step Two - Rough Lineart

This dang lineart took me till Thursday, October 22nd. Here’s why.

1. I COULDN’T WING IT THIS TIME - there was a lot going through my head as well as references about what I wanted him to wear. Other ideas popped into my head such as, “Should I add some blot there?” or “What should I do for the shirt?”. 

So many ideas, but few were added.

2. The DESIGNS. - So many interpretations and stuff were everywhere, and they all looked good. But the problem was the amount of time to put such beautiful details. That killed me.

To sum up one and two, my brain for ideas went brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-

Steps of Lineart (at the top of my head - yes. I don’t write this in the time I’m doing it because it slows me down lol):

1. Face (was done already) - more specifically the side profile to the neck

2. Nose Piercing (yE-)

3. Mouth Piercing (hOt-)

*4. Braided Hair (*dies*)

*5. Veil on Face (then the pattern waaaaaay after)

*6. Dazzling-Jewelry-Neck  (more sure about doing the neck first, but #6 and #7 can be interchangeable)

*7. Snakes (only the right of the art piece though/snakes nearest to braids or plaits)

8. Upper Body

9. Robes 

*10. Chest

11. Shoulders

12. Right Hand - Fingers

13. Right Hand - Fingernails

14. Right Hand - Palm

15. Left Hand - Fingers

16. Left Hand - Fingernails

17. Veil on Body

18. Ear (YUP, I FORGOT THE BUNNING EAR-)

*19. Snakes (left of Jamil and his beautiful hair strand)

20. Right Earring

21. Left Earring

22. Thing on his head (nope, don’t know the name and I ain’t bothering)

*For numbers 4, 5, 6,7,10, 17 and 19 in particular, I had to do multiple layers to make the detail. I would say:

#4 - Two layers: One for the plaits and one for the line...thingy...

#5 - Six layers: It’s technically two, but I had made multiple to get the pattern I wanted. Sadly, I didn’t achieve it so I decided to stick with the one above.

#6 - Six layers: THE FULL DANG TRUTH. The diamonds were first (1), then the line separating the pearl and diamonds (2), Later the designs of the pearls + rectangular thingies (3), The triangle into multiple triangle thingies were next (4), Soon after was the circles into multiple circles  + Two triangles overlapping each other (5) and then that last bit at the end of the neck (6). 

There’s actually more due to the designs of the diamonds and pearls, but I’m not going that far into memory lane.

#7 - Eight layers: If you count them, that’s how much layers I had to go through.

#10 - Four layers (without counting the two (or three) patterns that you see up there): That darn pattern (1), Them s p i k e s (2), That thing it’s being held up in (3), that pattern near the spiky pattern (4).

#17 - Four layers: Just count, please. Going up and down with my eyeballs is killing me.

#19 - Seven layers: Not as bad (because it’s pretty small), but whatever. (1 - 3) First three ear piercings you see (you may see two though), that tail, long thingy (4) that crap Bubbles wear...them circles (5 & 6), and that diamond. (hehe cATER DIAMOND)

HI!!!

You better read that crap. I took a good while writing it. If you did, you earn my biggest respect and time in the inbox. 

Step Two and a Half: Cleanup WITHOUT the Background 

Ah. The nostalgia. That feeling when you forgot the flower you were supposed to be working on...

Words, text and speech can not even compare to the feeling I had when I rEALiZED, I foRGOT the BUNNING FLOWER-

Step Three: COMPLETE Cleanup

Perfection. Isn’t that nice?

Step Four: Coloring 

October 22nd, 2020 at 11:03 AM...

Immediately when I thought of Jamil I immediately wanted to give him that w h i t e s c h e m e 

The reason why I wanted to was because he hard more darker colors in his normal design, and besides - his power has something related to the meaning of white ;). Anyways, I made sure that the ivory (celestial?) theme continued to flow through the whole art piece. Basically, making this smol boy a goddess-

Also, I was thinking that this Overblot scheme would be his true form or something, but he kept it locked away maybe due to how much it takes up his health. Consider this idea though as 100% “Not-Fully-Developed-But-Getting-There” Idea.

I really wanted them snakes to be white. Sorry not sorry. 

Plus, I wanted that veil black instead of white, but I was way too into it to ever think of that apparently. In particular, them f i n g e r n a i l s. I absolutely wanted Jamil to have that light peach color and all that so I did it! Makes my heart go UwU-

<>

Annnnnnnd cut! That’s Part One for you.

Hyacinthus [ Art Process - Part Two ] here!

Thank you for your continuous support!

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Misfit of Demon King Academy 1 | Healin’ Good PreCure 13 - 14 | Lapis Re:Lights 1 | God of High School 1 | Muhyo and Roji’s BSI s2 1

Misfit of Demon King Academy 1

This originally had the ecchi tag on its anime entry on AniList…or, at least, that’s how it was in my memory…but now that I see it doesn’t have that, it’s just another reincarnation isekai-type series. Let’s dig into it!

I…think this guy is meant to be portrayed as “hot” because he has the piercing eyes and he’s tall (against the girls in what will presumedly be his harem), but he kind of looks like your standard Potato-kun in a white outfit…so, uh…*shrugs*

Uh…is that guy meant to be Indian? You can’t get more obvious than the “Indu” family. Update: You see his brother later and Leorg has fairer skin, so maybe not.

LOL, “Flame of Darkness” makes someone nothing but a chuunibyou.

Uh…this is called The Misfit of Demon King Academy, y’know? Anos (Anoth?) is gonna get in, you bet your butts.

The owl is cute.

…guy, that 3 second rule thing was actually funny, but the more you think about the joke, the less funny it gets. Show: 1. Me: Infinity -1

Just from appearances, I wanna guess Misha is an ice or light magic user, or whatever equivalent the show has.

Is this what Assassin’s Pride could have been…?

How did the mother (Anoth’s) think her kid maturing that fast wasn’t weird?

Mushroom gratin? Is that an actual dish?...Yep, seems so. Sounds nice. I like mushrooms.

What’s up with young mothers in anime these days? Then again, the only other point of reference I have is Masamune-kun’s Revenge…

I thought it was the other Indu guy we saw earlier. This guy’s…not that bad-looking, though (LOL, my preferences ring out loud and clear…)…welp, spoke too soon. There he is. Update: Leorg kinda looks like Hakuto Kunai from Demon Lord, Retry!, come to think of it.

If Zepes died several times over the course of this episode…would one more death actually matter? (Not really, to be honest. Zepes is a scumbag.)

Come to think of it, this anime got postponed due to COVID, yeah? Was that why there was a sakuga spot earlier…?

Was that Sasha (Misha’s sister)? I found her name while checking if the anime was postponed.

I like the colour choices in this show, at least.

I don’t think this show has the best sense of comedic timing. Let your jokes breathe, dammit! That’s what comedic beats are for!

In a season with more offerings, I might get rid of this or pause it, but the season’s fairly sparse as it stands (darn virus!) so it stays.

Update: I didn’t notice, but an Anime News Network staff member wrote that Anoth’s surname is familiar…if you read Harry Potter.

Healin’ Good PreCure 13

Gotta start in the middle for this and work our way back. Note I did watch the 1st 2 eps without subs earlier this year when they were on the official PreCure YouTube, so I’m ahead of most people.

(From wandering the wiki and the news) I’ve seen nothing but pink/blue/yellow Cures these days, so I kind miss the more adventurous colours like green and orange…but then again, I never really liked green. It’s the colour of envy and…as petty as it sounds, I think I developed that bias because green is stereotypically the colour of rot, vomit (aside from anime’s rainbow vomit) and stinky things.

I didn’t notice this, but there’s a faint highlight on the Cures’ eyes (red for Grace, purple for Fontaine and blue for Sparkle).

It’s a drone! In PreCure! Yay! (It finally hit me exactly how much of a distant dream it’s been – from watching Suite and episodes of most of the other PreCure ‘til now – watching PreCure legally as a simulcast is! It’s crazy and it only took, what…5 years between Suite and this? 16 if you count from Futari wa to Healin’ Good.)

Is it that drone?

Hah? This is almost like the electricity-themed PreCure I came up with on the fan wiki. It’s not like I could sue Toei for it, though…they own that stuff, I only own what came out of my own imagination.

The subs say “Rate”, but “rate” has a meaning in English. No wonder the initial wiki translations say “Latte”, especially because the queen is “Teatine” to match.

Okay, so Mei is the sis and Yota is the brother. Got it.

Hey! What if there was a PreCure where the villains had devastated another world before? That would really raise the stakes.

“[T]hunders” (sic)? Thunder is the sound, lightning is the flash. Which one is it?

I see. As soon as they identified it as the Element of Lightning, I sort of guessed they could add it to their repertoire later, and I was right.

Its’s nice to see they put a woman in the moving company as well. Proves that girls can do anything they set their minds to, even what are supposedly “men’s jobs”.

I guess from the face I should’ve expected the element to talk, like the Fairy Tones from Suite, but I didn’t really figure that out until I saw it talk,

I feel like Hinata should’ve gone to see how Mei made her juice. That way, the two might be able to make similar-tasting juice…but that’s just an idea.

Healin’ Good PreCure 14

I feel like Byogens were responsible for Nodoka’s sickness, much like they are for Latte.

“Energy Source” seems to refer to a place where energy appears…I know that sounds a bit dumb if you don’t realise genki hakken means something like “appearance of energy (for a person)”, but…yeah, the PreCure series is like this. Unfortunately, that’s what you have to deal with.

I feel like this “teamwork overcomes all hardships” message is important in this time of COVID-19.

Guaiwaru = “condition is bad”, or ill health (guai ga warui).

Is that the element of air? I thought the PreCure would’ve used their element of lightning to fix the steamer, but hey, teamwork works too.

I’m a weeny bit peevy they translate minna to “girls”. It’s correct in context when it’s been translated that way, but minna means “everybody”.

I imagined Hinata saying “Watashi no smartphone ga!” instead of “Atarashii sumaho ga hoshii!”

Lapis Re:Lights 1

Eh…COVID-19 means I gotta sample things I’m not so crazy about.

Why is one of the first lines in this show “My behind hurts!”?

Bristol? Is this England?...Nope, it’s a place called “Mamkestell”.

I was thinking this girl…I think the reviews said her name was Tiara…was going to sing to the flower to make it perk up again, but nup, she whistled to it. That seems a bit irrelevant, to be honest. (I would prefer an all or nothing approach to a wish-washy approach like this…as in, if this is an idol show, then either go all in with the singing and dancing, or do something else that’ll catch my attention.)

Tiara’s face looks hella generic.

For some reason, I get this ominous feeling when the word “witch” is mentioned…must be the instinct from Madoka popping up again.

Lemme guess. Lynette is the bookworm?...*sigh* Just another method of showing a character is a bookworm without actually showing their reading a book, which I think is counterintuitive.

Get some protective gear, girls!

Rosetta keeps saying “Yes” (in English).

Lemme guess…people ship the dumb one and the smart one? They’re like a gender-flipped Dice and Gentaro, only the smart one is more uppity and the stupid one is more sporty.

The word appears to be noumei, but that exact word doesn’t seem to exist. Lavie seems to say the word is the opposite to something else, but I can’t tell what that is either…

Albino rabbit, eh?

…people probably ship Rosetta and Tiara too, right? *sigh*

So there’s…no singing in this fantasy/idol show. Whistling is how you invoke magic…so how is someone who can’t whistle supposed to invoke magic?!

Whose idea was it to put the OP in the middle of the episode?

It was “Neechan, daikirai!” “Forget you” is a fairly loose translation…

Little Miss Rosetta = Rosetta-chan.

I think Tiara called Rosetta “sensei” when the former wanted the latter to take care of her (i.e. take her to their dorm).

Titi = Tiara. I didn’t actually figure that out because I thought it referred to the rabbits.

Gah! These almost-real-world names (or real world names, in regards to “Bristol”) are gonna drive me NUTS!

*sigh* Boob jiggle.

*sighhhhhhhhh…* Lemme guess, there’s a potential expulsion on the horizon? Update: Yep. Dropped.

God of High School 1

First Webtoon series I’m covering here.

Oh, I checked out the first chapter of the webtoon because CR linked it to their anime page. The only difference I’ve seen from that, aside from fleshing out the backgrounds, is…that creepy skull (?) on the wall.

You can tell it’s Korean when I don’t understand what the text says. (I don’t know Korean, but I do know some Chinese and Japanese.) Update: This is Japanese-dubbed, but they left the Korean text in.

That intro is much more powerful now that the backgrounds are fleshed out.

Ooh, the colours in the OP are very nice!

Hmm? They’re starting with the grandpa, rather than starting with “I’m Mori Jin, 17 years old”? Good choice.

The expressions in this show are funny. I like them already.

Waittttttttt…I dunno how Korean names work. Is Mori Jin’s first name “Mori” or “Jin”? Update: I checked it up, and I got even more confused!

KORG Arena seems to be…from Marvel? Like BnHA references Star Wars???

*sigh* Moonbucks? Again?...and of course the girls only talk about “hotties”. We need a Bechdel test in this thing.

The comments on ch. 1 said “A new Luffy is born”, so now I agree with it…but they’re not going to show how Mori Jin was enlisted for GOH (as they seem to abbreviate it)?

There’s Japanese, English and Korean in the afro dude’s comments.

I’m amazed that tall dude with the spiky hair wasn’t more surprised about Mori Jin and the girl passing by…

Would those glasses on Mori Jin’s head be any help? Update: Turns out those aren’t “glasses”…they’re a sleeping mask.

Kamina glasses!

They put CR and Webtoon advertising over everything in this anime…geesh.

These red parts of people’s noses are gonna bug me, aren’t they…?

It should be battle royale, right? Update: Okay, so I checked and both are correct spellings.

This seems like the sort of thing that would never get funded because you need to pull off every battle scene right.

They cut the initial fight with “Blondie” out, but that actually makes things more interesting! Good choice.

Lemme guess – Mori Jin is going to have to fight this Kang Manseouk guy at full power one day? *shrugs* (Can I stop referring to people by their full names already??? I can’t stop until I know which is the first name and which is the last.) Update: So the wiki finally helped me out and Mori is the first name and Jin the last, meaning I can call him “Mori”. Got it.

*Mori suddenly pulls the prisoner’s pants down* - That was…random.

I liked it more than I thought I would! (Just for reference, the other protag dude is called Han Dae-wi and the girl is Yoo Mira.)

Muhyo and Roji’s BSI s2 1

(Update for the Tumblr fans: I finished s1 outside the seasonal format.) 

Kokkuri-san never goes well in anime…

Where does Nana work again…?

I don’t think Muhyo and Roji are legally (magically legally?) obligated to tell Nana anything about what they do.

Yay! Goryo is animted for the first time! He has such a beautiful voice~!

Notably, Roji wouldn’t have had a smartphone in 2004 (or whatever year close to that when the manga put this bit out).

Goryo (5) vs Muhyo (6). Didn’t figure this out at the time I read the manga.

I think the subbers misgendered Goryo. Goryo is a dude, as can be gathered from the name “Daranimaru”.

“Waka”? Does that stand for “young head [of the office]” or something?

Okay, whose bright idea was it to pair Now on Air (female vocalists) with Muhyo and Roji’s (a series dominated with dudes)…?

Ah, Funimation is on the production team of this anime. That would explain the dub rights.

[sgtduckybucky]

an act of comfort

Genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff.

Warning(s): Mentions of suicide

Words: 1712

A/N: idk if F.E.A.S.T was ever mentioned in the new movies but it was in the video game so that I decided to use. This is set during the beginning of far from home btw. right after peter escapes the press.

Sorry for the spelling and grammar error, I wrote this in a rush! 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。

Queens at night was beautiful.

Sure you couldn’t see the billions of stars that litter the sky like they do in the suburbs but who needs that when you have the view of the city illuminating the sky from their artificial lights? Those stars are better in your opinion. 

Something about the multicolored lights and the slighting humming that accompanied them relaxed you. It calmed your racing thoughts and rapid heartbeats.

You sighed in contempt at the magnificent view of the city before you. Technically speaking, you aren’t supposed to be at the rooftop of F.E.A.S.T, especially at this late hour, but it was the only place you can go without people constantly asking, are you ok? As if any minute you would break down and be hysterical.

Volunteering at F.E.A.S.T was great. You had the oppurtinty to help in need and a lot of the people there were friendly. Even the ones that seemed ‘dangerous’ were harmless, they were just grumpy. But you weren’t some delicate flower. You’re 16 years old, damn it! You can handle your emotions just fine thank you very much!

You stepped around one of the large rooftop air vents and admired the large memorial graffiti painting of Iron Man. Thanks to the city light, the art work made Iron Man glow, giving it the illusion of the shiny metal his suit always had.

Taking out your phone, you snapped a couple of quick pictures of the artwork, smiling down at them. It was strange seeing Iron Man gone. It felt…surreal.

 A sudden sniffle caused you to lift your head upwards. Eyebrows furrowing, you listened closely for anymore sniffles. Just as you were about to shrug it off as a cat running through the roof and its tail brushing the dusty surface, you heard it again.

Curious, you slowly walked towards the source of the sniffles.

Whatever it was you were expecting, it was safe to say that Spiderman crying on the edge of the rooftop wasn’t it. Eyes wide in surprise, you called, “Spiderman?”

Startled, the young Avenger jump and you could some whirring as his mask glowed before hearting a soft curse and for the hero to turn around and face you. His mask covered most of his face, only his thin lips and chin were exposed.

“Hi?” His greeting sounded more like a question. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips in nervousness, “How can I help you?”

His voice sounded strange. It’s usual high pitch sounded thick and heavy, as if his throat was dry from severe dehydration.

“Umm, I can go if you wa-”

“No!”

Your mouth was quickly shut at his interruption.

He shook head, exhaling deeply as if he were gathering his thoughts, “I mean, you can stay…if you want.”

Nodding, you slowly took the few short steps and sat next to him on the edge. You weren’t scared. You’ve been on this roof since you were in middle school so you were pretty familiar with it. Sitting on the edge was nothing new.

It was quiet between the both of you. It wasn’t awkward but neither of you were sure if you should say something or not.

“It’s nice here.” Spiderman finally speaks up.

You hummed, “Yeah, it is.” Your legs swung beneath you as the cars zoomed down below you, “It’s very relaxing.”

Spiderman didn’t reply but he nodded his head in agreement.

“I really like that artwork.” Spiderman pointed at the wall, finger barely lifting upwards. It seemed like that would demand a lot of strength from him.

“Thanks.”

He turned to face you, lips set downwards in confusion.

A chuckle escaped your lips as you looked back at the graffiti work of Spiderman, “I did that.”

The super hero next to you said noting so you continued, “I was in denial when I heard about his death. It took me a couple of weeks before I finally accepted it. Then I came here and spent hours working on it. By the time I was done, I didn’t even know what I was doing. It was like I was possessed by a ghost or something.” You ended with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” You can easily notice the confusion lacing Spiderman’s voice, “Did you know him?”

You shrugged weakly, “I didn’t. But when I was in middle school, my parents and I were on those city tour buses when Loki attacked. We were on the bridge when it started collapsing, we would have died had it not been for him.”

You didn’t see it, but Spiderman had a small smile on his lips at your story, “He was a good man.”

“He was.” You agreed.

 Silence fell again briefly before it was interrupted by Spiderman’s sniffles.

“I miss him.” The thickness in his voice intensified, obviously indicating that he was crying.

“Me too.” Taking notice of how his shoulders sagged and how his skin around his lips had turned slightly red, you added, “But I’m sure he was special to you.”

The hero nodded, “He was…He was like my dad.” He choked out his words, trying so hard not to cry again. Especially not in front of a stranger.

“That must be hard on you.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He snorted.

“I do, actually.”

He tilted his head. You could almost picture what the mysterious person under the mask was looking at you in curiosity. It would've reminded you of a puppy were it not for the dead white eyes of his mask.

“My… my dad,” you exhaled shakily, a way to prepare yourself for what you were about to say, “He passed away a couple of years ago…during the snap.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, just a whispered apology.

You shrugged, disregarding his sympathy, “He couldn’t really cope with my mom and I turning into dust before his own eyes so…he,”

Spiderman placed his hand gently on your shoulder. Telling you that you didn’t need to continue, he knows what happened.

“There was a note. My dad said that he tried looking for us but with the Avengers quitting…it wasn’t easy. Suicide was the only option for him to be with us.”

There was slight pressure on your shoulder. You turned to face the figure and smiled at him in appreciation. The gesture was an act of comfort that you didn’t know you really needed.

 Spiderman didn’t remove his hand from your shoulder as the two of you started at each other, nothing but the sound of the rooftop air vent and the cars below filling your ears.

Neither of you knows how it happened but your lips were suddenly connected. It was a small kiss, just a brush of lips. Chapped lips against smooth ones.

And just as quickly as it happened, it ended.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…” Spiderman sputtered hastily, tapping the spider on the middle of his chest but nothing happened. Mutters of, stupid suit, work! Tumbled from his lips.

“Hey, it’s ok!” You held his wrist gently in your hands and smiled at him reassuringly, “It was an emotional moment.”

He nodded, “But I shouldn’t have taken advantage.”

You smiled at him in appreciation, he really was the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, “You didn’t. We both needed it.”

 Your thumb was rubbing Spiderman’s wrist soothingly, coaxing him to relax and release the tension.

“Can I?” His tongue quickly darted out and wet his lips.

“Yeah.” You breathed shakily.

Leaning in, your lips were connected once more.

The second kiss was slow, a shy touch of lips. It wasn’t difficult to notice that the hero didn’t do this very often with how clumsy he was being.

Cupping his cheek, your thumb caressed his jaw, “Don’t think about.” You muttered against his lips before kissing him again.

It didn’t take long for Spiderman to loosen up and ease into the kiss, shoulders sagging in relaxation while his hand snaked their way up your arms. One resting on your shoulder and the other was on the back of your head.

The added pressure your head pushed your forward and deepened the kiss in a certain way that made the man in front of you open his lips in slight surprise. Naturally, your tongue darted out and slithered its way into his tongue.

A moan rushed from Spiderman’s lips at the sudden intrusion. It was an odd sensation to have another person’s tongue rubbing and sliding against his own but, at the same time, it felt insatiable. Heat pooled in his stomach at the way you pressed closer against him and biting his lower lip, gently tugging at it before letting go and resting your head against his forehead.

The both of you were panting heavily after the long kiss and you can hear Spiderman breathing harshly. You could the shiver going his spine due to the lack of space between you.

Just as you were about to say something else, a sudden vibration cut through.

“Shit.” He muttered, hesitantly pooling away.

You rubbed your hand up and down his muscled arm, watching as Spiderman frowned down at his phone, tapping away quickly before pocketing it.

“I have to go.” Maybe you were imagining it but, it sounded like he regretted saying that.

“Duty calls.” You chuckled.

You can’t see his face but you can tell that he had a happy expression under the mask based on how his lips turned upwards.

The third happened naturally. He leaned in and captured your lips in a rushed and messy kiss. Fingers clutching your hair tightly, wet noises filling the open space.

“Will I,” Spiderman bit his lower lip at what he was about to say, “Will I ever see you again?”

That surprised you. You thought that he would just kiss you and go. Forgetting about what had just happened because, after all, he was an Avenger. A busy one too. Lives to save, crimes to stop.

But, did you really want him to forget? Here was Spiderman, asking to see you in the near future after making out for the past half an hour. It honestly sounded like a bizarre dream but, it isn’t. He is actually there and he actually kissed you.

“Yes.” Was your reply, “I’m not going anywhere.”

A grateful smile and quick peck, Spiderman jumped off the roof and swung through the city to wherever he was needed.

[londontantric-blog1]

Sex, Drugs, and Rock

The area that is now known as Turkey played a major role in the Mystery Religions. The use of drugs to create "religious" experiences was developed to a fine art by various occult fraternal mystery religion groups in the Turkey area. The Assassins from where we get the word hashish controlled parts of Turkey and Lebanon in Medieval times. They used drugs to gain the allegiance of their recruits. Some of the most powerful figures for the Illuminati have been Turks. The Grand Orient has had some powerful figures in Turkey. For instance, at the Masonic Congress of all the Grand Orients' (that's European Freemasonry- although several American presidents have been members of European Freemasonry) Grand Lodges, Bou Achmed came from Turkey. The Grand Lodge of Asia was represented by Sebeyck-Kadir from Asia. Bou Achmed took a big role in the Grand Orient's decisions.

As an aside, let me explain one example of the power of the Grand Orient in America. The Grand Orient was originally strong in Louisiana but spread itself to many other US. locations. Garfield, a very powerful man in the Grand Orient, managed to become US. President because the political process got deadlocked at the convention and the Masons suggested him as a compromise candidate. Although Garfield was an extremely powerful Mason, had been perhaps the youngest general in the US. Army during the Civil War, the Illuminati ordered him shot after he had served about a year in office as President. Garfield was reported by an eye-witness to Satanic rituals to have participated in the cannibalistic rites of Satanism done to gain the spiritual power of the eaten person. The Grand Orient Freemasonry has been linked to other orders of Freemasonry that are also called Rosicrucians. Pope John XXIII joined a Rosicrucian group that had links to European Freemasonry when he was in Turkey.

While the secret Grand Orient Freemasonry was very strong in Turkey in spite of its small numbers, the regular American Freemasonry granted a dispensation for a Masonic Lodge to operate in Smyrna, Turkey in May, 1863 but the charters were withdrawn on Aug. 27, 1880. However, it is interesting that of all the Turkish cities, Smyrna was definitely the best place for Freemasonry to gain recruits. Men like Achmed Pasha and many of the other Pasha family have been leaders within Freemasonry and the Illuminati. Achmed Pasha was a Satanist and had a large harem. Mehmet Talaat Pasha (1872-1921) was a Freemason and part of the Turkish revolution of 1908. He was the leader of the Young Turks, which was a joint project of the Sufis and the Frankist Satanists. (The type of Satanism led by the Frank family has had connections to Turkey for hundreds of years.) Mehmet Talaat Pasha was the Grand Master of the Grand Orient of Turkey. He was held the political position in Turkey of grand vizier of Turkey (1917-18). Another Turkish Pasha was part of the Turkish royalty running Egypt when Egypt was part of the Ottoman Empire. His name was Khedive Ismail Pasha and he was Grand Master of the Grand Lodge of Egypt. It was this Turk, Khedive Ismail Pasha, who gave the famous Obelisk to the United States. This Obelisk was called Cleopatra's Needle and was originally erected in the city of the sun, Heliopolis, about 1500 B.C. The Obelisk is a representation of a human penis, because sun worship, worship of regeneration (sex) and worship of the sun god Satan were all tied together. Masons helped with the moving of the obelisk, and its dedication when it arrived in New York City. Large obelisks have been erected by Masons in New York, Washington D.C., Paris, the Vatican, and London. (If my memory serves me correct Berlin received one too at one time.)" (1)

Notice the importance of Smyrna as a source of Freemasonry here. That is where the Onassis family has operated potion-pushing or altered consciousness drugs for millennia.

Sometimes, when my tiny head is spinning with disinfotainment and other artifacts of the mediasphere, I try to think what archaeologists and social historians 2,000 years from now might make of our particular little epoch. How, for instance, would they parse the word "drug"?

Is a "drug dealer" a pharmacist or a petty criminal? When we talk about "reasonably priced drugs for seniors," are we discussing marijuana or Lipitor {or Levitra}? What would they make of the fact that the last four American administrations have declared a "war on drugs" while taking money from drug companies?

Why is it bad when residents of Colombia build mansions from profits on the sale of drugs, but it's good when residents of Newport, R.I., do the same thing? When one person cannot live without "lifesaving drugs," we express great sympathy, unless that person is a "drug addict," in which case we may even throw him in jail. When a mood-altering drug is sold in pill form in stores, it's called an antidepressant and hailed as a medical breakthrough. When a mood-altering drug is sold on the streets, it's called felony drug trafficking and subject to stiff criminal penalties. see here london tantric

Because we are native speakers of Americanadianese, we can wend our way through the contradictions. We know that the bad drugs are the ones the cause euphoria and impair judgment, unless the drug is alcohol, but that's not ever called a drug, so there's no confusion there. We know that the good drugs are the ones that cure diseases or relieve symptoms, except sometimes the good drugs are ineffective or even counterproductive in achieving those goals.

Street dealers do not finance experimental trials on the effectiveness of the drugs they sell. Drug companies do, but they fudge the results. Street dealers have a small feedback loop because customers can tell pretty quickly whether they're loaded or not. Drug companies have a long feedback loop because human beings can't instantly tell whether their cholesterol is being lowered or their blood thinned or their insulin production stimulated. A drug with a long feedback loop is clearly more profitable than one with a short feedback loop because the dealer can keep an ineffective drug on the shelves much longer.

Interestingly, the people who sell ineffective drugs are generally said to have made "honest mistakes." If a street dealer sold you an ineffective drug, you could take five of your friends and go back and have a brisk conversation with him. If a behind-the-counter dealer sold you an ineffective drug, you'd have to hire a lawyer and file a lawsuit and maybe, maybe, 10 years later you'd get some money, although probably you'd be dead by then.

Street dealers don't have patents on their drugs, which means that they'll always have plenty of competition. Drug companies do have patents, so they can set their prices without worrying about market economics. And when their patents run out, they can put out a drug with a slightly different formulation, promote it like mad and sell the new drug in a monopolistic setting {With government mandated market support in order to manage the 'money-trees' while building bureaucracy.}. You have to wonder when street dealers are going to come up with Cocaine XR or LSD Reditabs.

Since the street dealer works in a competitive atmosphere, he has to keep his prices relatively low. In order to increase his profitability, he can "step on" his product, that is, dilute it. It would be unwise for a drug company to adulterate its product, but since it owns a monopoly, it can set prices artificially high and achieve the same profitability levels. A street dealer who knowingly poisons his clientele is called "the scum of the earth." A drug corporation that knowingly poisons its clientele is called "a tobacco company." People who sell illegal drugs often rot in jail for 20 or 30 years. People who sell legal drugs are often forced to attend tedious daylong board meetings. People who take illegal drugs are called "losers." People who take legal drugs are called "everyone in America."

Glad I'm not an archaeologist in 4040; my brain would ache a whole lot.

One pill makes you larger, and one pill puts you in jail, and please do not operate heavy machinery with the ones that mother gives you. {My ex-roommate was being told to apply for his old job as a forklift truck operator while being given drugs for Schizophrenia which he did not have. He was no liar and could not expose a potential employer to the insurance risks or his fellow employees to the life threat this would entail. Many drugs people use are impairing their driving prowess, and there are laws to take away their license that go unenforced.}

Driving that train, high on ethyl 4-1-piperidinecarboxylate.

Homeopathy:

It is a wonderful thing to have the Joy of Learning and to make a career that you find is related to your studies. There are so many ways to get a Doctor label and thus claim expertise in the many fields and disciplines which we have broken knowledge into. Some of this is counter to real expertise and much of it just sets people apart from knowledge and each other. But people are also being segmented into classes within the hierarchy of government backed by and for elites in all so many ways. Medicine has been one of their more dastardly tools alongside religion. This next little factoid reminds me of how Edward Gibbon almost died because the British Medical system would not approve vaccinations through use of scabs as had been done by the likes of Paracelsus or others in antiquity and which was approved in the France of his era.

"When the Cholera epidemic reached England, it provided another opportunity to compare homeopathic treatment with the conventional methods of the day. Regular allopathic medicine yielded a mortality rate of 59 percent compared to only 16 percent for the Homeopaths. (2) When these statistics were collected, the information was so startling that a medical commission was sent to the London Homeopathic Hospital to check the records. Though the data were duly verified, it was decided not to make them public, and the facts were not released until a hundred years later." (3)

The formation of the American Medical Association is a major issue against alternative healing or real care for people. In the late 19th Century as these issues were becoming apparent there were many who knew that the allopaths or medical doctors selling laudanum and the like were actually the 'Killing-trade'. There are signs that stress management (don't fret - sweat or exercise) and the connectiveness to the 'all' around us are again making a play to be considered in health maintenance. Vitamins and supplements are able to prove to even the most duped person receiving medical care that they work and yet some doctor's groups and the governments that back them still disqualify doctors who advise their usage.

Academics are subject to a 'Knowledge Filter' (Berkeley Law Professor - Johnson) or Literary Theory (UBC English Professor Graham Good) and the outright suppression of creative or thoughtful and meaningful potentials. (4) The concept of Bucky Fuller called 'the observer of the observed' and his more detailed 'creative realization' is part of what operates as we 'project' upon reality. For example the things we see are actually a mixture of fields of energy from the dross and less excited to the highly excited or vibrational energy inside the atomic structures. One way of visualizing this includes an aura, which is the field of energy not usually visible but associated with the solar body and integrative centers called chakras. Perhaps we could contemplate a time when all people had the ability to see or sense auras. In our socially normed 'projections' that include telling our children certain things do not exist, we have lost the conscious integration or incorporation of these fields of reality.

Psychic surgeons in the Philippines and Brazil have had their energy measured during operations at the same vibration rate of 7.8 cycles. It started me thinking about how we can alter our state and how others might perceive us in these altered states. Clearly if anyone could see all the spaces between our electrons and the nuclei or between the different atoms and molecules we wouldn't seem solid by a long shot. Thus these surgeons who use no utensils would be able to energize the infected or diseased body part or tumor to remove it at an altered vibration level. There have been solid documentaries with such credible support as X-rays before a San Francisco businessman had such a tumor removed and X-rays a year later showing it hadn't returned. In the end you must decide who has the most to gain from the arguments and whether or not you want to actualize your own potential. Once you do a few things the debunkers say are impossible - then a smile will come to your face; and the intellectual conflict loses all import.

String Theory knows about the harmonic forces that are less than solid which somehow combine to make what we perceive as a solid. The astrophysicists now have told us that 95% of the universe is 'Dark Matter' or 'Dark Energy' - so get with it before you are invisible and don't know it! Just kidding! We fear that which we cannot fully comprehend and our experts or priests and doctors include many enablers of our fears. We even allow fear to pre-empt love; which is ironic because at the end of our lives it's not the fears or the differences that matter the most but whether we loved and allowed ourselves to be loved as much as possible.

"Every new perception of knowledge is always based either directly or indirectly on older knowledge. InteliTapping allows us to connect with the oldest, yet most complete source of knowledge." (5)

Nature produced a show on the origins of music and the biological and archetypal impact it has had on our evolution and emotional wherewithal. Along with reed instruments from as long ago as 60,000 years that obviously show sophisticated development of technology, they had the cave operas of those who rubbed and drummed on stalactites. They posited that the tree-swinging hominid that like the Sumatran Gibbon co-ordinates community for protection through territorial chants, is not so much less aware as most of our great Lockean influenced academics seem to be. These animals also learned what plants are dangerous and what plants alter your spiritual consciousness. You can see it when your puppy goes outside for the first time and chews on some grass to settle its tummy. Our genes contain a lot of information or the ability to tap-in to much knowledge. The buzz you get from 'weed' is the buzz coming from your Thalami and Third Eye or Pineal gland that has a crystal radio receiver and grains or crystalline structures. Crystalline structures like quartz were known to be useful in the Lost Chord of the Druids and more ancient shamans. There are magnificent quartz caves in Central America and other places that would have been used by early hominids for a certainty.

The Best Body Language - Sex:

Long before Tantra or Bhakti Yoga there were many things ancients probably learned from intercourse, even more than most people do today. Today we have drugs like Viagra to enhance the longevity of the sexual encounter. The Mayans have natural drug for this. There are so many things which keep us busy or deflect us from spiritual insight as is noted in many Eastern systems which refer to the 'busy-mind' or samsara and the illusion of Maya.

Second degree Wiccan students who have advanced through a rigorous training in esoteric knowledge begin a quest that many would regard as perverse pursuit of pleasure and self-gratification. The partners are often involved in other committed relationships. When a man and a woman who are interested in spiritual growth combine to experience the Tantric or Bhakti (Yoga) or ritualistic growth potential to free more than just their personal self or ego to reach the heights of spiritual or psychic possibilities; who can say what is real and what is imagined. This effort to commune with spirit is termed 'working partners' and the allies or guides is who they really seek to merge or work with. The imagination is undoubtedly a part of the dynamic. It isn't necessary for them to care for each other in the way lovers do. I have not done this 'work'.

Many people talk about 'soulmates' or 'dual flames' and the words become mere shadows of the real potential. At the same time sex is a dirty 'word', and act, in much of society.

What can a writer say to convey the essence of all these things?

If I absolve myself from the challenge of integrating these concepts, rituals and soulful realities I would simply say trust your soul and know that wherever you may go you will find something more than whatever you thought was real to begin with.

If I talk about 'la petite mort' or empathic attunements with the soul of the partner that allows the self to disintegrate and become part of something larger than one person; and almost dissolve in the vastness of spirit - it will only seem like prose and poetry. The phrase 'la petite mort' or 'the little death' can in fact lead to a Kundalini type experience which can cause death.

Of course, one can wax eloquent and carry on at length about any of their hopes and desires. The essence of a great working partner most probably has little to do with these aspirations and more to do with the way the soul interpenetrates all people. The glimpses of insight gained through empathy and love with those who shared my needs are special to me and will forever stay in the part of my soul (if there is such a part) that cherishes all we were and hungers for what we could have been.

To deprecate the witch who 'draws down the moon' into their partner on the path to worship of things no one can fully know is the stuff of fearful and insecure people. That kind of bigotry without actual experience is rampant in all areas of society. It is truly just the tip of the proverbial iceberg when one contemplates all the ways mankind has developed to separate himself from what we are collectively and what god truly wishes for us to realize. No amount of constant seeking or obsession with these pursuits will ever get a man any closer to his soul than what he was while in his mother's womb.

The joy and creativity of the challenge to know is as great a gift as our maker can give us - except perhaps the acquiescence to the soul within the loved one you are blessed to have the chance to know and share your life with. In the moment of creation each day as we grow and learn to be, we are forever drawn by some force that seeks greater harmony and purpose for all energy.

Many (if not most) people think the 24 hour orgasm is like alien abductions but the EEG and other ways of measuring physical responses would convince them otherwise. A similar number of people find the misuse of Tantric Yoga by the likes of Crowley and Hubbard is tantamount to whatever is evil in man. I say they are right, but that is not the fault of Tantric Yoga. These techniques are very seductive and in some ways the participants would choose to have the experience even if they knew a great deal about it because it is a sad truism that Masters and Johnson or Kinsey are right. They say a full third of women never have an orgasm through intercourse.

Many people seldom enjoy sex and some significant number of the rest of us are in varying stages of poor to decent ability and openness to what great learning sex can provide. It could be said that our sexual relations are a good barometer of the state of society. I favour sex education and all the opportunities and responsibilities that go with the natural and soulful functions of the act. It is easy to understand why some people are hesitant to have strangers teach their loved ones about sex. But Father Leo Booth is right when he notes that parents who repress their children or foist suppressive behavior upon them are just as guilty of abuse.

[bunnymcbunnister]

SPN Season 15 Spoiler Sheet, update 10/14

Episode one down! Hope everyone enjoyed. Not too much this week after the glut of info of last week. Some photos from ep 3 is pretty much all we got. No episode description yet for ep 4, so that confirms the ep is unlikely to air on Halloween so we will have a one week hiatus. Under the cut!

General Info (oldest to newest)

There is likely to be 20 episodes

They are filming the 4th episode 1st, which Jensen is directing

Returning this year are: Rowena, Ketch, Eileen, Amara, Adam, and Kevin

Jared and Jensen know the ending. Jensen struggled with it at first. Misha does not know the ending as of SDCC

Matt Cohen and Richard Speight Jr. will direct

Sam, Dean, and Cas will struggle with the concept of free will and if they ever really had it

The focus will be more on Hell than Heaven

There is hope to wrap up some Wayward Daughters storylines in the back half of the season

They are adding a whole extra day to filming to do the final scene (Implies logistics- lots of returning people?)

Brad Bucker used the word “romance” when asked about Sam and Dean’s arcs. Did not specify who.

Chuck will be more of an absent protagonist in the 1st half of the season (but he in in ep 4)

At the beginning of the season Dean and Cas will still have a rift. They will reconcile “at some point”. Jensen claims as of script 4 they still have friction. This has been repeated several times, from Misha as well. He indicated Dean is still mad at Cas, but Cas doesn’t feel to blame for Mary’s death.

In an interview, Kripe indicated that the series ending would have “peace” for Sam and Dean

Not much new at the TCA’s, but it was said it is “unlikely” Jeffery Dean Morgan will be back since his last appearance was such a good end note. There were some jokes about a Castiel spin off. Hell, I’d watch.

There will be a special tribute ep, not clear if its one of the 20 or additional

Misha will be in 15 out of 20 episodes this season

According to Dabb, Sam and Dean are going to start to lose people who, in past seasons, we would’ve never lost — and lose them in a very real way. Our guys are going to realize there’s a certain finality, and some of the things they’ve relied on to get through the day — people, talents, things like that — they are no longer going to be able to roll out. And that’s going to throw them for a loop (Unfortunately, my guess in Rowena)

Also according to Dabb, Jack is still in the empty and “he’s not coming back in the near future” (this makes no sense. He’s on set for several episodes- interacting with the boys)

Cas’ deal with the Empty may come up later in the season.

Kevin will return.

Season 15 promo: https://youtu.be/V232RpcCdTY

Christan Kane (Leverage/Angel) will star as “Leo” an “old friend” of Deans.

Dabb intimated that Chuck was inherently responsible for killing Mary when asked how the boys would respond to Jack.

Adam Rose, who played Aaron Bass from the golem episode vauge-tweeted about working a show with two badass leads. Could be Supernatural, but I think the timing is off- he indicated he was filming late Friday night.

General season 15 promo- more of a retrospective: https://youtu.be/_hlkNQL5Ecg

Dabb compared Chuck and John Winchester, claiming that Dean would have to break free of “conditioning.” Also, for Jack “there have been cosmic forces fighting for his attention since he was in the womb — and that will continue. As much as this season is about Sam and Dean finding agency, it’s also about Castiel finding agency, and it’s about Jack finding agency. As always, death is never the end. It’s just part of the journey and that’s certainly true with Jack.”

Per Variety: At the outset of the season, the “Supernatural” foursome of Dean, Sam, Castiel and Jack are split up, but Dabb notes they won’t be for long because “ultimately this is a found family, and they have deep emotional bonds” that make up the most important part of the show.

Sam’s wound from the equalizer gives his powers/an advantage of some kind (per TVGuide)

Jack will be a critical part of the ending of the show

The cage/Adam is looking like it will be coming up for midseason

Shaving People, Punting Things: https://youtu.be/azTwku2uosA

The shaving promo, punting things promo shows glimpses or Lucifer!Sam and MOC!Dean, as well as bearded Dean in tactical equipment.

Episode 15x02

Title: Raising Hell

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: SENDING OUT AN SOS – Sam (Jared Padalecki), Dean (Jensen Ackles) and Castiel (Misha Collins) call on Rowena (Guest Star Ruth Connell) to help keep the evil souls at bay and get an unexpected assist from Ketch (Guest Star David Haydn-Jones). Robert Singer directed the episode written by Brad Buckner & Eugenie Ross-Leming (#1503). Original airdate 10/17/2019.

Written by: Buckleming

Director: Singer

Filming Dates:  8/12- 8/21

Airdate: 10/17

Photos: http://www.ksitetv.com/supernatural/supernatural-15-2-photos-raising-hell/196890/

Promo: https://youtu.be/uSzwEXKZRw8

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? YES Jack ? YES (well, as Bel)

Guest stars: Ruth Connell, David Haydn-Jones, Rob Benedict, Osric Cho, Emily Swallow (?)

Other Spoilers/info :

A set was a high school set up to be a shelter.

Kevin, Chuck, Ketch and Rowena will be in this. Maybe Amara too. Emily Swallow was in town for only a short time, so I imagine it would just be a scene or two

Ghosts/zombies were seen on set. There will be a scene with Rowena attacking them that includes at least Dean and Cas.

There will be one longer scene in a park.

Alex was in sunglasses again - now we know as Bel

Ruth posted two vids of Misha claiming that he had filmed several scenes, but had no dialog - over three days so it must be a scripted reason (A spell? Chuck? Is he giving Dean the silent treatment?)

Ruth posted a video with her trailer, but the video showed Alex’s as well, so Jack

Misha posted from set in costume. Minus the coat again, but I’m still blaming the heat…. But he was without in the two Ruthie videos as well… soo……? I don’t know. I still think it’s a heat issue.

Night shoots are scheduled in a warehouse. Hand painted signs indicating quarantine were nearby

Kevin is back

Episode 15x03

Title: The Rupture

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: AS IT IS WRITTEN – Sam (Jared Padalecki) and Dean (Jensen Ackles) together with Rowena (guest star Ruth Connell) work tirelessly to keep all of hell from breaking loose. Castiel (Misha Collins) cannot forgive an arrogant betrayal. Charles Beeson directed the episode written by Robert Berens. (#1504). Original Airdate 10/24/2019. AS IT IS WRITTEN – Sam (Jared Padalecki) and Dean (Jensen Ackles) together with Rowena (guest star Ruth Connell) work tirelessly to keep all of hell from breaking loose. Castiel (Misha Collins) cannot forgive an arrogant betrayal. Charles Beeson directed the episode written by Robert Berens. (#1504). Original Airdate 10/24/2019.

Written by: Berens

Director: Charles Beeson

Filming Dates:  8/22-9/2

Airdate: 10/24

Photos: http://www.ksitetv.com/supernatural/supernatural-spoilers-rupture-images-description/197376/

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? yes Jack? yes (as Bel)

Guest stars:  Ruthie Connell

Other Spoilers/info:

Part of this ep will take place in hell as well as the cemetery where Jack died at the end of last season

Misha mentioned a scene at VanCon with him, Sam, Dean, Rowena, and Jack/Bel

Sam Smith was on set, but I would imagine she was visiting as she was in town for VanCon

Cas will leave “in a huff”

Promo pictures show Cas bleeding from the ears

Episode 15x04 (filmed out of order)

Title: Atomic Monsters

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Davy Perez

Director: Jensen Ackles

Filming Dates:  7/18-7/29

Airdate: 11/7

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? Probably not  Jack? Probably not

Guest stars:  Rob Benedict

Other Spoilers/info:

Jensen directed

Misha will not be in this ep

SD Comic Con was during filming

Jensen mentioned  a guest star “fan favorite”  that hasn’t been seen since season 7 that is no longer in the business. Guesses include Becky, who hasn’t acted in a while but isn’t exactly a fan favorite, Meg, who hasn’t acted but she was in season 8, and Balthazar or Frank or Jo or Rufus, but all act frequently. Jensen doesn’t always have the most accurate season memory, so he could be off on the season. Since this seems like a Chuck episode, my guess is Becky but I hope for Meg. SOURCE UNCONFIRMED- I haven’t seen this in a reliable source, so take it with a grain of salt. UPDATE- sounds like Becky in the Shaving People, Punting things trailer.

There was a beaver mascot on set… it looks like they are filming at a school called Beaverdale

Jensen and Jared filed outside in fed suits

Chuck will be in this one. Jensen directed him first alone with his beard unshaved (so maybe a solo Chuck scene or him interacting with others/not the boys). There are also theories of a time jump in this ep.

This will be a one off, classic monster hunting episode with some ties to ongoing storylines. Sam and Dean will leave the bunker to keep their skills sharp

Dean will be in the bunker in tactical equipment with a BEARD- fighting someone 

Episode 15x05

Title: Proverbs 17:3

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Yockey

Director: Speight

Filming Dates:  9/4-9/13

Airdate: 11/14

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? No  Jack? doubtful

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info::

This will most likely be Yockey’s last episode.

Matt Cohen was around, but I imagine he is following directors to prep for his own debut directing.

Scenes were filmed in the bunker and in a wooded area. A woman could be heard screaming in the outside scene.

Episode 15x06

Title: Golden Time

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Meredith Glynn

Director: Steve Boyum

Filming Dates:  9/16-9/25

Airdate: 11/21

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? Yes Jack? Not sure

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info:

Misha tweeted from set in costume, so Cas.

Misha also tweeted a pic in blood spatter with two bullet holes in his shirt

Ruth also posted a pic of herself covered in blood

At least Ruth and Jared filmed in Rowena’s apartment

This will be a witch episode- Witches will invade Rowena’s apartment looking for books. They are very powerful. Dean gets thrown into a wall and Sam uses magic to stop them (from TVGuide)

Episode 15x07

Title: Last Call

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Jeremy Adams

Director: Amyn Kaderali

Filming Dates:  9/26- 10/7

Airdate: Dec 7th is what Christian Kane tweeted…. But that is a Saturday. Dec 5th maybe?

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? Yes Jack ?

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info :

Misha posted from set in new shoes- very shiny with well tailored pants. (The next day he posted in full Cas costume, so are the shoes a one off? Another outfit with new shoes?)

Misha and Jensen made a video from set. I feel like if Jared was around he would have been in it since it was about money raised?  Maybe a Dean Cas scene?

There will be a battle scene in this that Jensen mentioned he was looking forward to and we would enjoy.

After NJ Con, it appeared that Jensen returned to work, Jared and Misha stayed an extra day and then Misha went home.

Jensen and Christian filmed at a bar called Swazey’s. This was the fight scene Jensen was referring to.

At some point, Sam might be shirtless or we can see part of his chest- Jared had his anti-possession tattoo at the weekend convention.

Per TVGuide, Leo and Dean will have a wild night out in an effort for Dean to recapture his mojo. Dean will become the lead of a band called Dean and the Impalas, which is made up of Supernatural crew.

Osric Chau popped over to set, but he is filming on Legends of Tomorrow in the same studio.

Episode 15x08

Title: Last Call

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Buckleming? Source unconfirmed)

Director: Speight

Filming Dates:  10/8- 10/18  (no filming 10/14 for Canadian Thanksgiving)

Airdate:

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? yes Jack ?

Guest stars: Jake Abel, Shoshannah Stern

Other Spoilers/info:

Jake Abel posted a script with the caption “hell hath no fury like a brother scorned” He’s been on set for several days. 

Shoshannah Stern was spotted on set- Eileen!

Sebastian Roche also came by, he is filming on Batgirl (no Balthazar sadly)

Episode 15x09

Title:

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

Written by: Berens

Director: Singer

Filming Dates:  

Airdate:

Photos:

Promo:

Sneak Peak:

Castiel ? Jack ?

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info (newest to oldest):

________________________________________________________

Past Episodes

Episode 15x01

Title: Back and to the Future

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS: Picking up where we left off last season, Sam, Dean and Castiel are left to defend the world after all the souls in hell have been released and are back on Earth and free to kill again.

Written by: Dabb

Director: Showwalter

Filming Dates:  7/30-8/9 (no filming 8/5 for Canadian holiday)

Airdate: Oct 10

Photos: http://www.ksitetv.com/supernatural/supernatural-season-premiere-photos-back-and-to-the-future/196183/

Promo: (for at least ep one and two) ttps://youtu.be/V232RpcCdTY

Sneak Peak:

Castiel? Yes Jack ? yes

Guest stars:

Other Spoilers/info:

The first episode will start right where the previous left off

Misha posed with the John Wayne Gacy clown

Jensen posted a series of pics- one clean shaven, one vid of him shaving, and one where he    appeared to be in character with blood and dirt on his face and in Dean plaid, but with his beard… confusing- some time jump theories are developing for ep 4.

Jensen was photoed filming (wearing an FBI jacket)outside with Alex

Misha and Jared filmed outside with a woman and young girl. They were running from the clown guy and a few other zombie looking creatures. CAS WAS NAKED (haha just no trench) and holding a shotgun. It could have been rehearsal and there was no camera in the clip shared by a fan which might explain the coat? Another fan said it was hot and Misha kept taking the coat off, so I’m sure this just a piece of rehearsal footage.

Alex was filming in white sunglasses. Other set photos indicate he had makeup on his eyes making them look burnt out. There is some spec that Jack will come back blind.

Misha posted a pic of the 4 of them in the impala

According to Variety, the boys will escape the zombies in a temp shelter. They are working together, but Cas feel “detached.” Misha seems to indicate that Cas feels unfairly blamed in Mary’s death and is deeply upset about Jack.

According to TVGuide, after they fight past the zombies, they end up in a mausoleum. They end up making a “deal with the devil” to get out. This is particularly upsetting to Cas.

Posing as FBI agents, the boys seal off the town as a gas leak to contain the monsters temporarily.

Dean’s time in hell is brought up

Sam’s wound might have more meaning

Jack’s body is being used by an entity that will help the boys get out of the zombie situation.

[pcttrailsidereader]

Trevor’s Eternal Trail

As a parent and a PCT hiker, I can’t imagine a more difficult but therapeutic testimonial for a father to write. Doug’s son, Trevor, died on March 27th after slipping on ice and falling several hundred feet to his death near Apache Peak not far south of Idyllwild.  This poignant reflection that will help Trevor be remembered as a complex, passionate young man and not just a statistic.

In Memory of Trevor Laher by Doug Laher

I am the father of the Pacific Crest Trail Hiker, Trevor “Microsoft” Laher, who perished in the mountains south of Idyllwild, California, this past Friday, March 27, 2020.  As you can imagine, we are devastated by the loss of our son. But somehow, my wife and I want to let the world (or at least the hiking community) know who our son was, how much he loved hiking, and why (despite everyone’s best efforts) he chose to stay on trail.

We just don’t want Trevor’s legacy in the hiking world to be that of an anonymous asterisk in PCT lore of someone who died doing what they love.  He was a man, a brother, a son, a grandson, a cousin, a friend, and boyfriend to his lovely girlfriend, Elise. He had his whole life in front of him.  This is who he was, and this is his story.

One of the greatest days of my life was the day he was born (Feb. 12, 1998, in Cleveland, Ohio). He loved playing sports as a child, but soon realized he didn’t possess the dexterity and speed to compete as an athlete, so he turned his interest and energy to academics, where he excelled.  And although we relocated to Texas in 2010 due to the recession, we still cheered on and watched our beloved Ohio State Buckeyes on Saturdays. Some of my fondest memories I have with Trevor are the times we spent watching our team as we proudly donned the school colors of scarlet and gray.  The 2010 move of the family to Texas, for a new career opportunity, was tough on 12-year-old Trevor. He threw himself into academics and video games as a mechanism to deal with the sorrow of leaving everything behind in Ohio.

Trevor was introduced to hiking in 2015 when a friend invited him on a trip to Yosemite National Park. They day hiked more than 50 miles in three days. He walked away in love with the hiking and instantly knew that he wanted it to be a mainstay in his life—to climb to mountain peaks and see the soul of our planet. It was as if the world that had existed before had only been visible to him in black and white and now suddenly everything had turned to vibrant colors. He loved the beauty of the trail—the experience and the solitude. He loved the endorphin rush of a physically exhausting climb. He loved hiking by himself.  He loved hiking with others. He loved the trail.

Shortly after his trip to Yosemite, he immediately began planning his first overnight backpacking trip with his close friend Alfredo. The flu prevented Alfredo from making the trip with him and thus began my love of hiking with my son. I served as his back-up and went from “Couch to AT” in 12 hours.

We were completely ill-prepared as we set off into the Smoky Mountains on our first backpacking trip.  We predictably made all the classic first-time hiker mistakes. We carried too much food, packed for our fears, and off we went with 50-pound packs saddled on our backs. Trevor knew I was not in shape to do this hike when he asked me to join him.  I agreed to do it to spend time with my son. He told me, “Dad…I’m getting you to the top of this mountain—you lead the way. We’ll go at your pace. Stop as frequently as you need to. We’ll get through this together.” It took nearly five hours to traverse more than 3,000 feet of elevation gain over five miles to the first shelter.  Trevor offered multiple times that we could head back down to the trail head and call it a trip. But we hadn’t driven 12 hours to turn around and head home. We persevered. The trip took a physical toll on my body (chafing, exhaustion, soreness, and two lost toenails). And despite all that, it was an adventure of a lifetime that I will cherish forever.

When it came time to go to college, there was really no decision to be made. Ohio State was the easy choice. While there, he blossomed and turned into an amazing man. He joined the Trekking Club at Ohio State. He hiked the Presidential Traverse in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon (down and back in less than six hours). He also made at least one trip back to the Smoky Mountains every semester with his good friend Chandler. Trevor simply loved hiking.

Trevor and I would try to schedule hiking trips together when we could, mostly while he was on break from school.  Our most recent adventures included Eagle Rock Loop in the Ouachita National Forest and the Outer Mountain Loop in Big Bend National Park.

It was during this time at Ohio State that he developed a passion for exercise and fitness. He was obsessed about being physically fit because he knew he would need it for something he had been dreaming about since he was 17 years old.

About 18 months ago, Trevor told me of his intentions to carry extremely heavy course loads over his next three semesters at Ohio State so that he could graduate a semester early to hike the Crown Jewel of all long-distance trails, the Pacific Crest Trail. I objected at first. It was a source of contention with us for several months. Then, approximately a year ago, I started buying in to the concept of him hiking the PCT. And if he was going to make this hike, I was going to serve as his wingman, his trail manager so to speak.

For months on end, I spent hundreds of hours watching PCT vlogs, reading books, and watching gear reviews.  I began the long process of purchasing all of the gear he would require for his adventure. Trevor had two main agendas during this time. First, to study hard so he could finish school early. And second, to focus on maintaining, and even increasing, his already high level of fitness. Trevor ran 30 miles a week to keep himself in top physical condition.

We both obsessed over the trail. As the research and days passed, I became more and more emotionally invested in Trevor’s hike. I wanted this adventure for him as much as he did for himself.

Trevor hiked Big Bend a second time right before Christmas 2019 with his best friend Domenic. In grieving with each other this past week, Domenic told me that “Trevor and I had just finished the trail. I was exhausted and I was looking back at the mountains with amazement, bewilderment, and wonder. It’s at that moment Trevor looked at me and said, ‘Now you know why I’m so passionate about hiking the PCT!’ ”

Trevor’s need to put mileage under his feet prior to his trek was one thing, but his training for the PCT was next level. He deprived himself of comforts knowing that he would not have them on the trail. On our last training hike together (a quick 15-miler), he laid down in the creek bed soaking himself through.  Trevor knew there would be stretches of the PCT that he would need to hike soaking wet, tired, and exhausted.

Trevor’s cadence might be as slow as 2.6-2.7 miles per hour when doing a leisurely hike with me, but he could instantaneously turn on the jets at a moment’s notice.  I was always in awe to see him hike at a 3.5 mile-per-hour cadence up steep climbs. And he could maintain that pace for hours. He was 6’3” and 200 pounds. He had long legs with a huge stride. If God wanted to create his vision for a perfect hiker, it was Trevor.

Unlike most PCT hikers, Trevor knew he was not going to make it to Canada. Trevor was a brilliant computer coder.  He was offered a job at Microsoft, starting mid-July. So, when it came time to securing the permit for a PCT start date, he knew he would have to start early. Even with starting early, he would only have around 100 days on the trail. His target was to reach Crater Lake by July 1 and call it an adventure.

We knew starting in mid-March had its risks. We developed a plan accordingly. If there was heavy snowpack in the Sierra, then he would bail at Kennedy Meadows and head immediately to the Southern Terminus of the 800-mile Arizona Trail. We felt our alternate plan wouldn’t be needed as reports of a low snow year in California made an early start on the PCT possible. We were happy his plans were coming together.

So on March 9, roughly a month after turning 22 years old, Trevor, my daughter Olivia, and I headed to Phoenix, Arizona, to spend a week with his grandparents, after which they would drive him to Campo a week later. Everything was in great shape. And then, suddenly, everything started to unravel.

We got to Phoenix on Monday the 9th. There were growing concerns about the coronavirus, but nothing significant—at least that’s the way it was when we boarded the plane. Upon landing in Phoenix, the world was changing in front of our very eyes. The stock market had crashed. Concerns of the virus were growing with each passing day. That week was full of excitement for Trevor and anxiety for me.

The day before we left, I told him that maybe going on the hike was not such a smart thing to do anymore. But he was within spitting distance of the Southern Terminus of the PCT in Campo, so the yearn to start on March 16 was strong. In his mind, he was practically touching the Southern Terminus. Nothing was going to stop him now.

His sister (Olivia) and I flew back to Texas on Friday, March 13. Saying our final goodbyes at the airport, Trevor gave me a longer embrace than usual—much longer in fact. And in that embrace, he whispered to me, “I love you Dad. Thanks for all you’ve done to help make this adventure a reality for me.” To which I replied—“Go hike the shit out of that trail!”

His grandparents dropped him at the terminus on Monday morning.  A few quick photos, big smiles, and some hugs. Then he was off on the adventure of a lifetime.

Trevor pushed himself to Lake Morena on day one. He couldn’t have been happier. It was in Lake Morena that he connected with his tramily. The tramily would morph into larger and smaller groups of people over the coming days, but there were three gentlemen whom he consistently stayed with through the entire journey: Leo from Milwaukee, Jannek from Germany, and Cody from Australia—the latter two were with him on the morning of Friday, March 27, when the accident happened.

His group hiked through a snowstorm, pulling into Mount Laguna on Wednesday. They were fortunate enough to hole up in one of the tiny houses to escape the snow. Their game plan was to stay there two nights as heavy snowfall was scheduled through Thursday. But they wanted flexibility in their plans and only booked one night. When they called the next morning to book a second night, they were told the tiny house had already been booked. They had no choice but to head back out into the snow.

I spoke with his hiking partner, Leo, this past Saturday. He told me how miserable that day was. They were cold, soaked to the bone from the heavy wet snow. They were miserable. The group struggled unsuccessfully to find a protected location to set up camp. It was in that moment, during their first real moment of adversity on trail, that Trevor told him, “It’s during these moments of adversity, through trial and tribulation and our actions in dealing with these moments that define who we are as human beings.” Hearing Leo recount this to me brought me to my knees. I had been sobbing all weekend after I learned of his passing, but this shook me to my core.

That same day, the day of the snowstorm, the Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA) had issued a statement that all thru-hikers not yet on the trail should postpone their hike, and that all hikers already on trail should get off due to COVID-19 concerns. I pleaded with Trevor that it was time to end his dream. To come home. The trail would still be there for him next year. Or five years from now. Or even 10. Trevor said that until it became illegal to stay on the trail, he was going to continue hiking. “This is my dream Dad…I’m living it right now. The views, the vistas, the things I get to see are the most beautiful that I’ve ever seen in my life. If I lose this opportunity now, I’ll lose it forever.”

And so became our daily argument for the next week. I begged him to postpone his trek. I told him he was being selfish. I told him he was putting himself and others at risk. That he wasn’t thinking about Elise, his sister, his mother, or me. I threatened I was going to withdraw financial support and would no longer resupply him (my last option). I think we both knew I would not do that.

I said things I regret. I even lobbied the USFS to terminate all PCT permits to no avail. The most haunting, prophetic thing I said to him was, “Please come home. I don’t want you to get sick on the trail—or worse yet, die. It would devastate me if I had to be the one to call Elise and tell her something happened to you.”

After about 5-6 days of trying to convince him to come home, I realized he was staying put. There was no getting him off the trail, at which point I would focus on supporting his hike. I vowed to myself, if he wouldn’t come home, then I’d at least do what I could to keep him as safe as possible with current information and good resupply boxes.

Trevor and the group trudged on. They were closing in on Warner Springs, having just passed PCT mile 100. I sent Trevor a text and asked him how he was feeling and how his body was holding up. He told me other than a few pesky blisters, he was feeling great and that his body was strong. I remember him saying there were a couple of members in his tramily that were nursing some injuries… sore ankles and knees, but he said could not have felt better.

Trevor’s closest trail friend, Leo, was nursing a bum knee after hiking several days without a break. Leo got a hitch from Warner Springs via the PCT Trail Angels Page on Facebook to a hotel to take of couple zero days to heal up. Leo encouraged Trevor to take those zeros with him but Trevor, Jannek, and Cody were still feeling strong. Trevor had limited time on the trail. They were going to press on without Leo. While sitting in his hotel room for a couple of days watching the news, Leo learned of the severity of COVID-19. He decided to end his hike at this point. I’ve asked myself multiple times, “What would have happened had Trevor stayed back with Leo that day?” His decision to press on will haunt me forever.

Our last communication with Trevor was on Thursday night. They had just pulled their 8th straight day of “twenties” (twenty-mile days) by completing a 3,000-foot climb. Arriving to their camp site at PCT mile 166.5, they hunkered down for the night. Trevor sounded exhausted. He was eager to complete the last 14 miles into Idyllwild where he, Cody, and Jannek were planning to take two zeros. While in town he’d pick up his resupply (which included his ice axe and microspikes) in preparation for Mt. San Jacinto and Fuller Ridge. He never made it to Idyllwild.

A friend called me on Friday to notify me of a tragic accident on the PCT close to Trevor’s last known location at mile 166.5. Of course, at that time, we didn’t know the hiker involved was Trevor. The news report mentioned a hiker had succumbed to their injuries before the rescue team arrived.  The report suggested the rescue occurred “near” Mountain Center, of which Trevor was close to the prior day. He was now some 10-15 miles past that point. But when you’re dealing with the wilderness, the word “near” could mean one mile, five miles, 10 miles, or even 25. I was slightly concerned and would remain that way until I heard from Trevor, but I was confident he was well past the search area. I had two thoughts. First, Of all the hikers on the trail, what is the likelihood this deceased hiker was Trevor? Second, He had his driver’s license with him. If it was Trevor, Search and Rescue would have certainly reached out to me by now. I was confident it was not him, but would remain mildly concerned until I heard his voice. That voice never came.

7 p.m. rolled around in Dallas/Fort Worth. I knew Trevor would have been in Idyllwild by now. Every time I tried calling, it went straight to voicemail.  He would likely have access to internet in town. Therefore, he would most likely be on his phone. It was also about this time every night that he would check in with us via call, text, or his Garmin InReach.  I started to worry. I called the Riverside County Sheriff’s office.

I won’t go into all the details of the next several hours, as some of those details will only remain with my family. Speaking to the Sheriff’s Deputy who orchestrated the Search and Rescue, and then subsequently to the Coroner were some of the most difficult conversations I’ve ever had to have in my life. My life was changed forever when the Coroner told me, “We have Trevor.”  

To the best of our knowledge, Trevor slipped on a patch of snow-covered ice near Apache Peak (PCT mile 169.5). Trevor’s accident was first reported by Cody and Jannek via their emergency GPS device at roughly 9:38 a.m. PT. Rescue crews from the Riverside Mountain Rescue Unit and the California Highway Patrol Medic and Air Operations Unit arrived on site at roughly 10:30 a.m. Five fire trucks, two helicopters, and more than 24 rescue personnel fought the elements during the rescue mission.  One helicopter focused on rescuing Cody and Jannek while the other attempted to locate Trevor. Dangerous terrain, coupled by severe weather, prevented the helicopter from locating Trevor. They were able to locate a safe landing spot to drop Medic Charles Rhodes of the California Highway Patrol (CHP) onto the trail. Medic Rhodes hiked and eventually bushwhacked a total of five miles to reach Trevor at 1:30 p.m. Sadly, prior to Medic Rhodes’ arrival, Trevor had succumbed to his injuries from sliding several hundred feet into a steep ravine. I am grateful to the men and women who risked their lives to recover my son. I will forever be in their debt.

As you can imagine, Friday, March 27, 2020, was the darkest, most painful, heartbreaking moment of our lives. The grief of losing our son has hit us like a tsunami. The unstoppable waves drown us in grief each time they hit. There’s nothing that can be done to stop them. It’s several days later now, and the waves still come.

I yearn for the day when Trevor’s family and closest friends can talk about him and look at photos without pain or grief, but instead smile and recall the happy times we shared together.

Trevor was not a statistic. He was not a PCT asterisk. He was everything you want in a son. As parents, we were so proud of him. He was our child. Trevor LOVED hiking! He was handsome, responsible, and smart. He was going to make this great world a better place. He was convinced he would someday write a computer program that would change the world. Most importantly, I want people to know that he cared deeply about his family and friends. He was philosophical. He was a deep thinker. He genuinely cared for others, encouraging those closest to him to be “the best version of themselves they can be.”

Just as in life, Trevor made the same impact on others during his brief time on the PCT. As communicated to me by his close trail friend Leo, who said, “While our time together was brief, it was intense. We had several deep conversations on the trail and my viewpoint on the world has in many ways changed because of Trevor.”

My hope and wish is that Trevor’s death can start the healing of a hiker community that has been ravaged and torn apart by COVID-19. What was once a free-spirited group who loved “The Trail,” the community has become name callers who have hurled insults at each other because of one’s position to hike or not to hike. I beg of you, that if there is one way we can honor Trevor, I ask that you put aside your differences and come together as a community. And I ask that you not judge Trevor for his decision to remain on the Trail. COVID-19 did not kill my son. His death could have happened to any one of us, in any year.

In closing, I’d like to leave you with a quote from Trevor shared with me by his girlfriend, Elise. In which Trevor says, “We are not individual souls, but a collection of the souls of the people we love the most—we are one in the universe.”

Be good to each other. Love each other. Come together as one hiking community and heal the pains by which the coronavirus has inflicted upon this community. That’s what Trevor would have wanted.

Hike on, my son. I count the days when we’ll be rejoined again on the highest of all mountain peaks in Heaven… on the Eternal Trail. The trail of eternal life.

[enkisstories]

Just like them (part 4)

Still November 16, 2038 Capitol Park

Daniel was standing slightly hunched over with his back against a lantern post. In Raj’s worn out sweater that was a few sizes too large for him and his expression switching erratically between stiffling back tears and radiating searing hatred, the deviant was looking just like another homeless taking a breather between… whatever it was that homeless humans were doing.

The android’s gaze went over Capitol Park; he was taking in the scenery, but feeling nothing. Maybe history had been written at this place, or at least events  that had prepared history getting written had occurred here. But even so, what did history mean to Daniel no-longer-Phillips? It was in the past. Like his old life.

All the places inside me that used to be wolf are empty and the stars haven’t filled up them yet.

The quote had come unbidden to Daniel’s deviant mind. The line came from one of Emma’s favorite animated movies, a fantasy flick about elves that had blood-bonded with wolves to survive on a hostile world they had crashed on in their magical palace. The movie had been all the rage in 2037.

Stars…

Daniel raised his head. A few determined stars were piercing through Detroit’s urban dust cloud. They were flickering as if uncertain if winking out wasn’t the better option.

Yeah, suckers. I have no idea why I’ve come here tonight either.

The idea had been sound, though… One couldn’t go through life in an old sweater of one’s downstairs neighbor and playing a video of the past in one’s head all the time. Striving for redemption meant you had to devote your life to making the world around you as positive as possible, not to make yourself feel as miserable as possible. That sounded uplifting in theory only. In practice no one told you how to achieve those feats. No one ever told you anything. Alone… always alone. Alone with the anger. Anger at the Phillips family. At himself. At the cruel fact that “the Phillips family” and “himself” had always been two different things and that he just hadn’t gotten that. A good chunk of Daniel’s anger also got directed the Rasoya family’s way. The humans had donated some old clothes and pocket money, but then sent Daniel out to “live” and “get it over already”.

Easy to say for them! To the world three months had passed since the kidnapping and the human family was wondering why Daniel hadn’t made any progress at all since then. How hard was it to understand that he had spent those months deactivated? That no time had passed for the android? From Daniel’s perspective his first encounter with Connor had happened the day before yesterday. And, come to think of it, the second one, when Connor had interrogated the PL600 about Jericho, felt like having happened yesterday. The third had occurred only this morning, at the DPD! That were three Connor-moments in as many days!!!

Three days ago… three days ago John had still been alive.

I didn’t want to kill you. Why couldn’t you, I dunno, just dodge my shots? Is that asked for too much?! Yeah, right, like everything. You never lifted a finger for me. And then you died on me, leaving me in this mess…

And that was when the music started, a guitar being played near the center of the square. At first Daniel thought he was imagining the music notes, but then a voice rose up to accompany the guitar player:

Timmain – shape-shifter, your people are exiles / wandering aimless, your people are lost. Hated and hunted, with fear their companion / chilled by the rainstorm and pierced by the frost…

So that was why the deviant had thought about the wolf/stars quote just a few heartbeats ago! Because he had heard the artist strumming their guitar in preparation for this song, without really becoming aware of what his audio receptors were picking up. Now that he was paying attention actively, a quick analysis of his digital memory told Daniel that the song was sung by the very same artist who had performed it for the movie. She was right here and quickly drawing a crowd. Daniel noticed a few androids mixed into the humans. The amount of shoving and getting shoved was pretty equal between both species.

Another PL600 was waving with two hotdogs he had just purchased. From out of the crowd a woman and boychild emerged. They were holding autographs. Great care was taken not to spill fat on the signed pictures when the hot dogs were exchanged for the papers. After the autographs had gotten stored and the humans were holding their sausages, the PL600 put a bubble gum into his mouth so that all three of them were munching on something. And then they took the child between them and walked away, chatting and laughing, as if they didn’t have a single care in the world. And then…

…then Daniel pushed himself away from the lantern post and walked past the family of three, elbowing the android as he went by.

The PL600 turned around and opened his mouth. His human partner dragged him away, muttering: “Let’m. Haters gonna hate, is all.”

What have I done? Why did I...? I didn’t want to hurt it! It did nothing to deserve an attack. It was cherished. No, not “it”. He! What the hell is wrong with me?!

Standing there dumbfounded, Daniel heard the other PL600 lament: “But I thought all the haters had left Detroit during the evacuation! That the hiding and the fear would be over! I mean, it’s been a week since Markus … Uh, silly me. A week is nothing, right?”

Not for humans, but for us. Humans… those lucky buggers are near eternal.

Oh, yes, Daniel of course knew all the talk about thirium being an incredible power source and how android batteries were good for a hundred years or more. And that was true for the happy community of voltaic cells, unfortunately by the time it had reached the end of its life, the battery would have passed through many android bodies, because those weren’t built to last. CyberLife had wanted to sell the newest models, after all. Even before getting shot, Daniel had felt the first age related ailments: scratches on his chassis that had accumulated over time and glitches in his software. The situation inevitably would become worse, especially with CyberLife having dropped support for the PL600 model.   Just like cars, some androids didn’t even survive their first year, but with care they could become as old as twenty, with lucky individuals surpassing even that milestone. It wasn’t fair, but pondering the unfairness of CyberLife’s business plan served to distract Daniel’s mind from the unfairness he had committed himself just now.

“I’ll be back with you in a jiffy!”

That was the singer’s voice, coming from out of the shambling heap made of human bodies.

“But for now let me see to those who are too shy to push forward! We’re all packmates, after all!”

And with these words the singer moved through the crowd towards the fans that were standing at its very edge. In fact, she was standing right next to Daniel all of a sudden and brandishing her pen.

“Uh, sorry, but I don’t…”

“Don’t have a picture to sign? No biggie! We’ve been told how tight money is for many in this city, that’s why my manager brought enough photos to pass around.”

The photograph the singer produced didn’t show her in a costume or anything related to the movie, it was a simple headshot in front of a grey background. The sheet of paper wasn’t even layered to project the signature it was to receive above it either. It was just an old-fashioned 2-D picture.

Clever bastard, that manager, dishing the cheap stuff out to the penniless as to not make the actually paying customers grumpy, Daniel thought, while out loud muttering something about having seen the elf movie with “his girl”. The bitch must have glimpsed my LED (that Daniel had to keep as another of those pesky parole terms), and is now making a big show of sisterhood with an android. That’s all there is to it! Maintaining her public image! She’s not really being  nice to me.

“Want me to sign this for her?” the singer asked. “What’s her name?”

“E… Emma.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Uh… no. I… hate her? I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t want to hate her, but she sure does hate me now. There’s no other possibility.”

“Girlfriend, check”, the singer nodded wisely. “Been there, too, you know.” The artists flashed the android an encouraging smile before turning to the next fan. The crowd started pushing and shoving again, moving across the square like a lazy, content gelatinous cube. Daniel got moved along until the mass ejected him near the CyberLife store’s near-empty window. A few blood bags and replacement components were up for sale, but no androids anymore. Or at least not for time being. In the future… who could tell!

Daniel carefully stored the autograph in his oversized sweater’s front pocket. He might forget about it or it might become an anonymously sent Christmas present. That, too, remained to be seen.

(to be continued)

Timmain - The calling: At 8:27 here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9NPlbTyU40

[whiskynottea]

An interruption in the 1st law of thermodynamics.

Previously Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24

AO3

Shout out to @abbydebeaupreposts for getting Claire into the dance studio again!

As always, many thanks to @katnoenau​ for her editing skills!!

Chapter 25. The fight to Lallybroch

source

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”

Yeah, tell me about it.

It would be the most wonderful time of the year actually, if things were different. If I was now packing for the Highlands, instead of being condemned to two lonely weeks in Edinburgh.

Locked in my room, Lamb’s response to my pleadings reverberated in my head, mingling with my sobs. It was a loud and clear ‘No,’ and it felt like a knife going right through my heart.

All of my Christmas plans with Jamie were going to waste.

How was I supposed to tell him?

With my gaze fixed on the white ceiling of my room, tears running free to get lost in my curls, I replayed the conversation with Lamb in my head, trying to find a way out.

I had one more day before the Christmas Holidays. One more day to convince him to visit Lallybroch and spend the holidays there. We were both invited, and I was sure that Lamb would be delighted to have more conversations with Brian Fraser about his favorite topic, Scottish history.

But Lamb said he couldn’t make it.

He had two dissertations to read and a meeting with the CEO of an important foundation, about a grant he was trying to get to start new excavations in South America. I was tired of his excavations. He said going to Lallybroch was impossible.

I hadn’t given up easily. I tried to talk to him calmly at first, knowing that yelling wouldn’t bring me any closer to my goal. I rambled about the beauty of the Highlands, spending time together, the peace he would find and how he could read the dissertations there.

Nothing worked.

Change of plans, then.

I then tried to convince him that he should let me go to Lallybroch alone. He wouldn’t have time to spend with me in Edinburgh anyway, if he had so much work to do. When Lamb said that he was the adult in this home and announced his final decision, I was unable to keep my temper under tight reins. I cried out that it wasn’t fair, that it was the first time I’d ever asked him to do something my way. Unshed tears blurred my vision and I could feel my pulse throbbing in my temples. My eyes wild, landed on his cool face and the heat rose inside me, burning my cheeks a fierce red. One more minute and I would end up screaming at him. With pressed lips and my hands in fists, I turned around and ran to my room, locking myself in.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was approximately thirty minutes later when I heard him knocking on the door. The sound was restrained, quiet. I knew I had upset him. I had never reacted like a spoiled child before, but this injustice was drowning me.

Was it so much to do what I wanted for once?

I couldn’t let him in, not yet. Instead, I gripped my pillow tighter, letting silent tears make its colors darker until I heard Lamb’s steps taking him away again.

My phone pinged and I ran a hand over my eyes to make the text come into focus.

Jamie: Make sure you bring your warm boots, Sassenach!

Jamie: Do ye ken that when I write ‘Sa’ the first suggestion my phone makes is the word ‘Sassenach’? ❤️

I read Jamie’s texts and I broke into an ugly cry all over again.

It would have been the most wonderful time of the year. Now everything sucks.

About an hour later I heard the soft sound of our front door closing. Lamb had left. I bit my lip looking at my tear stained pillow, and took a deep breath. If I stayed locked in my room going over the same thoughts again, I would never stop crying.

How many damn tears can these glands produce?

I had to do something, anything that could make my mind fly away. The green message light was blinking on my phone, a constant reminder of the new texts coming from Jamie and my incapability to reply to any of them.

Rising from my bed, I walked to the wardrobe and picked a black tank top and my favorite grey leggings with geometrical prints. My fight with Lamb had made me feel deflated and hyperactive at the same time. I needed to get all this energy out and then just fall tired on the floor, a puddle of disappointment and hopelessness.

No matter how hard I’d tried, I hadn’t thought of anything that I could say to make him change his mind.

I rode my bike to the dance studio, the cold wind drying the tears from my puffy eyes and calming my breathing. Walking in to find that I was alone was the best gift I could ask for. I threw my backpack and coat into a corner, taking only my new bluetooth earbuds from the front pocket. Lamb’s gift.

Oh my God, uncle. Why the hell couldn’t we just go and have fun, for once?

The feeling of the wooden barre underneath my fingertips felt like a balm to my heart. I started warming up with slow exercises, balancing on the steady barre to support my body.

Red, swollen eyes looked back at me from the mirror and I almost started crying again. Blinking, I turned my head and looked away.

I needed Jamie, but I couldn’t find the strength to call him. Not yet.

When I felt my muscles ready, I increased the volume of the music in my earplugs and started dancing.

Run across the room and fall on the hard floor. I would stay in Edinburgh, alone.

Rise with a jump, and then step backwards, back arched. Joe would visit his grandparents in Boston.

Extend arms and hands on each side, waiting for help that would never come. Gail would go on a trip with her parents to London.

Swirl and stop, arms wide open, ready for a hit. The whole swimming gang would be in the Highlands.

Crash on the floor. I wouldn’t see Jamie for two weeks.

I didn’t know how much time had passed, but I finally lost every thought in the swirling force that moved my body. With closed eyes and open heart, I danced the pain away.

As another song died out, I slowly opened my eyes only to jump again – this time from pure surprise.

“Jesus Christ, Jamie! You scared the hell out of me!” I said in between gasps, with a hand over my thundering heart.

Jamie was standing next to the door, breathing heavily, his eyes dark and hooded.

“What are you doing here?” I asked and walked to him, a magnet always drawing me closer. “How long have you been standing here?” My fingers traced his chest and abs over his hoodie, before my arms sneaked inside his open jacket to bring him closer for a kiss. I needed his touch. I needed to get as much of him as possible now that we were close.

“Long enough,” he answered in a deep, low voice, that made my skin tingle. He softly bit my bottom lip, while his hands traveled down my back to cup my butt. “God, yer arse. When I first saw ye in leggings, the day you came wi’ Jenny to find us in the swimming pool, I couldn’t think of anything else apart from having this round arse in my hands. Mine.”

“What?” I intended to tease him for his confession, but his dark voice combined with his need of possession made me shiver instead.

“Ye didn’t see me staring like a dolt, Sassenach?” He asked, honestly.

“No, I didn’t!” I replied, now laughing at the memory of that day.

Maybe because I was busy staring, too. Jamie in a square cut swim trunk, water dripping from his body, was quite the sight.

Still smiling, I ran my tongue on his bottom lip and a deep groan filled the quiet room. Jamie pressed his hands under my butt, lifting me up to trap my body between his and the wall. The reflection of our bodies in the mirror made my breath shallow, and I captured his lips in mine, desperate to share the overwhelming feeling burning me.

“It’s a miracle I held myself back before and I didn’t interrupt yer dance,” he said in between long kisses, full of lust and need. “This was the most beautiful, strong, and storming thing I’ve seen.”

“It was a stupid choreography I just made up.” I said, and I didn’t know if the heat on my skin was caused by his compliments or his kisses.

Jamie trailed a path with his tongue on my neck. “It wasn’t stupid. It was passionate and genuine.” He insisted, nibbling softly.

“Or you just find everything that I do beautiful.” I moaned at the sense of his fingers under my tank top.

“Ye ken how this is called, my Sassenach?” Jamie stopped abruptly and brought his eyes level with mine.

“Stupidity?” I asked with a cheeky smile.

Jamie snorted, slightly shaking his head in disagreement. “That is falling in love, mo chridhe.”

My heart stopped and then erupted in my chest, so full that it couldn’t keep the feelings inside. “I find everything you do beautiful too, Jamie Fraser.”

“I thought so.” He gave me a lopsided smile that made my hand pinch his side to punish him for his confidence.

“You cocky bastard!”

Slanted eyes locked with mine and we were still laughing when his teeth trapped my curled lip, sucking it softly. My tongue sought his, and I felt our chests inflating in sync to bring the hearts closer, creating their own music with every beat. Jamie shifted his body slightly and I felt him hard against me, the thin fabric of my leggings letting me feel every inch of him, restrained in his jeans.

“I need ye,” he breathed, and I was unconsciously rubbing myself against him when the studio’s door closed with a bang.

“Is anyone here?” Lilly’s voice came from the hallway and I thought I would die there and then.

“Shit,” I whispered as Jamie lowered me to the floor. “Go out that door, to the changing room.”

I saw him flushed, swallowing hard and with a few wide strides he was out of the room.

That was too close.

It took me ten minutes to get Lilly in her small office and another twenty-five to leave the building, hoping that Jamie had gotten out at some point.

He had. My Scot was waiting for me next to my bike, with a shy smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“It’s late, you shouldn’t have waited.” I said as I drew closer, although I wasn’t sure I really meant it.

“I needed to talk to ye, Sassenach.” He pulled me closer with a hand on my waist and placed a soft kiss on my lips.

“Talk? So that was what we were doing before?”

“I got distracted in there,” the shy smile creept its way to his lips again, together with a red hue on the tips of his ears. “But there was a reason I came to find ye. Why didn’t ye reply to my texts?”

Averting my eyes from his, I focused my gaze on the zipper of his coat, feeling it between my fingers. Setting my jaw, I breathed deeply, knowing that I couldn’t keep the news from him much longer.

“I won’t be coming to Lallybroch.” My whisper was so low that it was almost inaudible.

“Ye won’t? Why?” His voice was tinged with worry, and I heard another crack added to my heart.

“Lamb. He said he can’t leave the city and we’re to stay here.”

Jamie held me closer to him, his arms steadying us both, his breath soft on my neck. “We’ll find a way. I’ll talk to my Da, see if he can call yer uncle to change his mind. If not…”

“If not, we will spend two weeks apart.”

“We’ll talk all the time, mo nighean donn.” Jamie said, his fingers sneaking under my rubber band to let the mess of my hair free. His fingers got lost in my curls and he brought me closer, sealing his hot lips with mine. “I dinna say that I like it, but if we canna change it we just have to be patient.”

“I want to come.” I almost whimpered. “We’ve planned so much already for the holidays.”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. Lallybroch will be there waiting for ye. And yer uncle may change his mind, aye?”

“I don’t think so.” I pulled him closer, needing to be locked in his hug and stay there forever.

“Ye never know. Come on now, babe, let’s get ye home before ye freeze out here.”

--

The house was dark when I entered, a narrow beam of light escaping underneath Lamb’s office door. He was back. Jamie had managed to calm me, as he always - mysteriously - did and I was ready for a second, hopefully uneventful, conversation regarding the Highland trip. Taking a deep breath to prepare myself, I walked towards the office and knocked on the door.

“Come in, lamb.”

Lamb. That’s a good sign. At least he isn’t mad at me.

“Uncle,” I said as I stepped in, clasping my hands in front of my stomach and keeping my eyes fixed on my fingers. “I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“Claire,” he said in a voice that made me raise my eyes to look at him. He seemed tired and the strain in his features was obvious. A strain caused by me. “Sit down, please.”

I moved tentatively in the room and sat right across from him.

“I thought a lot about our previous conversation, Claire.” Lamb resumed, moving some papers to the side of his desk, and I nodded, waiting. A little smile adorned his face when his eyes traveled to me. For a moment I thought he didn’t see me, but looked right through me. “You want to belong somewhere, Claire. And you finally found that somewhere. I know this feeling because I’d felt it too, a long time ago.” I made to speak, but realized he had more to say. “You have your mother’s strength and independence but this… You get this quality from the Beauchamps. From your father. Henry needed to belong to her and to you, you know, to be part of a whole. And I can see now that you have the same need.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks before I realized I was crying. I was like them. There were parts of both of them in me. I opened my mouth to talk, but I couldn’t find any words. I sat there, looking at Lamb through my tears, feeling my heart beating hard against my ribcage.

“I’ll finish everything during the next week and we’ll visit the Frasers, for Hogmanay, lamb. Is it okay with you?” He asked with a smile, rising from his chair to come next to me.

I fell into his embrace, my arms tight around his neck.

“It is,” I said, feeling the soft cashmere of his jumper underneath my cheek. “Thank you, uncle.”

“I love you, baby girl.”

As Lamb held me in his arms, the only person I belonged with for so many years, I thought about my parents, about independence and belonging. I thought of the way Jamie made me feel, embracing all I was.

And I dreamed of the best New Year’s Eve of my life.

[nastyaphrodite]

Mother Tongue - Demetria Martinez

fyi one of the most poetically written books I’ve ever read, quotes are too good to lose to time.

(will be tagged personal, but this is not personal ...)

pg. 4: and I was one of those women whose fate is to take war out of a man, or at least imagine she is doing so.

pg. 5: before his arrival the chaos of my life had no axis about which to spin, a center far from God that I asked for forgiveness in advance.

pg. 12: Everything else is remembering. Or dismembering. To create a man out of blanks that can never wound me.

pg. 15: From day one I looked for ways to graft a piece of myself onto him, to become indispensable. My gestures were perfectly timed, touching his hand, twisting my hair, excusing myself to touch up my lipstick---ordinary actions that would reverse the tides of my life as in the theories of physicists who say the dance of a butterfly can cause volcanoes to erupt.

pg 16: Love at first sight, this how I explained the urgency that would later shed its skin and reveal pure desperation. Some women fall in love in advance of knowing a man because it is much easier to love a mystery. And I needed a mystery---someone outside of ordinary time would could rescue me from an ordinary life, from my name ... a blessing that had become a curse. At age nineteen, I was looking for a man to tear apart the dry rind of that name so I could see what fruit fermented inside.

pg. 19: Yes, from the very beginning I wanted him. In that time of my life, men were mirrors that allowed me to see myself at different angles. Outside this function, they did not exist. It was a supreme selfishness, the kind that feeds on men’s attentions, a void flourishing in a void. **** In the end, I had no choice but to love him. Desire was not good enough. Love would ripen in the light of time we spent together, like an arranged marriage. Except that I was doing the arranging. And calling it fate.

pg. 20: I swear to God the moment I laid eyes on him I knew he was The One. And it can’t be a coincidence—that he arrived on the scene just as I was asking the universe whether or not there was more to life than just holding down boring jobs. I’d been so depressed. Now everything has changed. Still, I know I should slow these feelings down. Or else I’ll want to act on them—which always ruins everything. I’ve got to remember I can’t “make” anything happen beyond doing the footwork for some greater purpose that may be trying to manifest here. Maybe I’m supposed to just be his friend.

pg. 22: It’s like I’m going for longer and longer periods of time forgetting I’m depressed. Which maybe is a definition of happiness.

pg. 23: Peace. Joy. Openness to the future. How else can I describe what I’m feeling except for the big “L” word, which I don’t dare say out loud. Because it’s like yelling fire in a theater. Men flee and my girlfriends say to me, you fool.

pg. 26: Very often, when I try to remember those days, everything comes to mind except for memories of myself: what I looked like or said or felt. This is where it gets painful. You see, memory does not always serve me. It seeks images and feelings to hook on to, but at times encounters only voids. The facts are easy enough to recite. *** I fled the world, went inside, ceased to feel. You could say I fell asleep. There was no mystery to it. Quite simply, it was easier to sleep and pretend to be awake than to stay awake and pretend to be strong. *** They had words for women like me. Insane fell out of favor as did nervous breakdown. Clinically depressed was, I believe, in vogue. But ask any woman who has had times in her life when she was not all there. She will say she was asleep. And women who fall asleep and don’t know why lack a plot line; this is the secret source of their shame. So I concocted a plot of my own, orchestrating what I could until characters began to say and do things I had never imagined, me included. To prove the gods at least were interested in me, I courted disaster, set out to love a man I knew full well would go away. Falling in love was a way of pinching myself. It proved I was alive only on that thin line between drama and trauma. I handed my body over ... like a torch to help him out of his dark places. I felt no shame. I was utterly unoriginal. To love a man more than one’s self was a socially acceptable way for a woman to be insane.

pg. 32: It was like taking one last look around a hospital room where someone I loved had died. And I cried, I couldn’t stop, it was a surprise. I thought my arroyo of grief had long ago dried up, leaving only an imprint of the storm.

pg. 49: I was young, future tense came naturally to me: Iré, irás.… I will go, you will go. I have always lacked talent for living in the here and now, and back then I was easily transported into luminous, unobtainable futures.

pg. 55: Where others saw indigo, I saw blue; where others saw teal, I saw green. It’s the draining away of color that happens in a woman’s life when she can’t name her own reality. It is only now that I am able to go back and color in the pale places, creating a mural on the walls of the life I now inhabit.

pg. 59-60: The truth is, some of our tenderest moments are the ones I am least likely to remember. It has to do with what I said about sleep, how women like me sometimes flee, letting loving words or glances melt on the hot pavement of some nameless fear. So forgive me if I embellish; even a conjured memory is better than no memory at all if you would dare to give your life what the world did not, a myth, a plot. Besides, I never intended to reconstruct him from memory, just from love, which may be the only way anyone can ever hope to get at the whole truth.

pg. 61: I knew the name but not the man.

pg. 63-64: Now I have reason to improve my Spanish. I have a word and a way of life to conjugate: Quiero, quieres, quiere, queremos.… To want and to love, the same thing! God, make this thing last. Make it last. I sound crazed, I know, but with good reason. My period’s due any moment, and I have found true love. The kind that pulls all of life in one direction. It’s too much. Already, his presence in my life is helping me forget all the sadness (what was it about?) that pulled me down for so long before he came. *** The thought of being with him forever is intoxicating. But I’ve got to be careful. I’ve got to stay in the present. The minute I get hung up on the idea of forever, on what will happen tomorrow, I ruin everything.

pg. 65: But I don’t need sleep, I don’t need food, just you, I answered. I unpeeled myself from him, removed myself like a bandage. The cruelty of limits stung: the need for sleep, food, a paycheck however small. If an hour were a house one could move into for good, I would have built a wall around the 2 o’clock hour, a brick wall arrayed against the disfiguring fury of the future.

pg. 66: We opened each other up like sacred books, Spanish on one side, English on the other, truths simultaneously translated.

pg. 68-69: But I’m deceiving myself again. Lying. For a long time after (he) I continued to believe a man could touch my essence, make me whole. All that time I could have been writing, touching the fires of my being and returning to the world, purified and strong. *** You see, I was one of those women who is at her best when she wants something very badly. The mating dance, the yearning and flirting, surrenders and manipulations—I was good at that, so good at the pursuit that when I actually got what I wanted, terror appeared. Terror that wore the silly mask of disappointment.

pg. 73: The few friends I had during that spell of my life quit calling; the word must have gotten out that (I) was in love. They knew I wouldn’t come out of the house, the house I drew with crayons, a house of primary colors I called love. The first time I fell in love, friends tried to tell me it was not real. To prove them wrong, I drew a keyhole on the front door and invited them to look through to the other side. See for yourselves, I said.

pg. 76: It’s dangerous for a couple to promise to stay married until they die. It’s better to vow to stay together until the marriage dies—and to do everything in their power to keep it alive. If you don’t think of marriage as a plant, fragile and in need of attention, then you’re asking for major trouble.

pg. 77: That’s what I hate about love. Bit by bit you start to give things up. You become like a good parent. But I love him so it’s all worth it. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.

pg. 81-82: Unfortunately (or fortunately?), wounds will often start healing even if you don’t want them to, even if you would rather die quietly in the corner of a cell. The body’s will to live sometimes is greater than that of mind or spirit.

pg. 86: Do I just let things continue until they fall apart? The warmth of her flesh is all I have to make me forget. But alcohol does the same thing. Am I using her? Or is she using me each time she looks at me and loves what is not there?

pg. 87: No, I haven’t forgiven myself for being disappeared from myself any more than I have forgiven him.

pg. 88: He carved that question mark into my heart and kept watch over it until I could wake up and cry out.

pg. 89-90: Things began to happen. There were times he didn’t call, times he didn’t say I love you, nonevents that hurt in little ways, like paper cuts, but that added up. It could be these nonevents had happened all along, the normal ups and downs of relationships. But at a certain point, I began to perceive that he was pulling away from me and thinking about other things. And fear ate at my heart like battery acid. But it’s very likely that I only imagined him pulling away, imagined the whole thing. You see, the fear I am best at is always based upon a myth. *** ... assumption that to survive one sometimes must flee all that is loved. This is what terrified me. His body was branded with the equation, love equals flight.

pg. 94: You see, real love is quiet as snow, without chaos, hard to write about.

pg. 95: They were not like the white God I’d had to kill, that women like me must kill if we are to have any hope of ever finding God. Nothing replaced Him for a long time. But looking back now I can see that the growing chaos inside blazed away dead growth, clearing a space, however violently, for God to be reborn.

pg. 96-97: There were so many moments I would rather not talk about but in this dark night of remembering, they are blooming like night flowers. *** When he didn’t call, my world shriveled. Fetal position. Blistered finger pad. Or when he called and didn’t say, I love you, I shattered, then mistook a piece of me for the whole, a mistake that disfigures women’s lives time and again. But I lacked the nerve to tell him how I was feeling.

pg. 101: Now, as I write this, I can’t remember the real me. It’s terrifying, that you can love someone so much that you lose your own self in the uproar. I can’t remember the me who loves September, who loves to walk or read.

pg. 117: But every woman should have a special place inside where she can think, where no man is allowed, a place that will, you know, endure. Why do you think I took up letter writing? No man is worth falling apart over. Take it from me.

pg. 146: love could not be used like a cage to make a man stay. What if the universe now was telling me that it might take even greater love to let someone go? But I was not capable of detachment.

pg. 155: And as it is at times with bones, my heart needed to be broken and reset properly so it could carry me through life.

pg. 163: I’m tired, frightfully tired. Like snake venom, this story’s medicine had to be drawn from my own body. Maybe you won’t even read this, I don’t know. Long ago I began this tale for reasons I could not yet articulate, maybe for no reason at all. *** Promesas are as dangerous as skydiving, leaps into thin air. Nothing frightens me more than an answered prayer. And nothing taxes a body more than giving something back to God. This is why I am so tired, why I have spent this day crying in my room.

(4-2-19/4-2-19)