#the God-shaped hole is such that humans really will build a religion around anything

[ainsi-soit-il]

For that matter, there was no theology to it, no philosophy, at least not in the sense of an ism. There was no goal of an improved moral order in the world or an improved social order, nothing about salvation and certainly nothing about immortality or the life hereafter. Hereafter! That was a laugh. If there was ever a group devoted totally to the here and now it was the Pranksters. I remember puzzling over this. There was something so... religious in the air, in the very atmosphere of the Prankster life, and yet one couldn't put one's finger on it.

Tom Wolfe, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test.

[thesextheorist]

External Male Genitalia

(Warning: One very shit side diagram of the male genitalia, and one computer generated image showing the difference between a circumcised and uncircumcised penis).

Hello my lovelies,

Sorry for such a long wait, I’ve been struggling with my mental health and motivation in general. However, I’ve had a mini holiday and I feel re-energised. I’m going to set myself a goal of posting a new ‘lesson’, if you will, on this blog every Friday. I just want to say another big thank you to all those who are supporting this blog and are wanting to learn more about your fun parts.

My first two posts were centred around the female genitalia (of which I am very familiar seeing as though I have one). We are now going to give some love to the guys and talk about male genitalia – I have done as much research as I can. Unfortunately with male genitalia it seems to be a case of…what you see is really all you get, externally anyway. I will do my best, but if something does seem off just let me know (remember this is a learning journey for all of us – myself included). Ok without further ado…

Mons Pubis – The area of fatty tissue that covers the pelvic bone, however it is not as prominent on males as it is females.

Onto the actual penis, which is split up into three main sections:

The root – this is internally attached to the wall of your abdomen, and connects the penis to the pelvic bones via ligaments to offer support. Colour coded Green (I’ve included some on the actual penis to help give the idea of how it supports the penis).

The shaft/the body – This is the tube like part of the penis. This is the area that swells with blood due to the three internal chambers which contain spongy erectile tissue (corpus spongiosum) which themselves are filled with thousands of gaps which fill with blood as the male becomes aroused. When the penis becomes erect, it lengthens and thickens, shifting positions as it lifts towards the abdomen – where the rather cringy term ‘standing to attention’ is aptly applied. Colour coded Orange.

The glans – this is the ‘blub’ or head at the very end of the penis, which can be covered with foreskin. There is the urethral opening at the end of the penis where both urine and semen are expelled from the body. Yes men only have ‘one hole’ and both urine and semen are expelled from the urethra. However, internal reproductive organs block off the ability to expel urine from the urethra when the penis is erect. The glans is also filled with thousands of nerve endings (4000 to be exact), meaning if you want a reaction – give it some special attention, don’t neglect the other areas, but this is the external pleasure centre. Colour coded Red.

Foreskin – This is a sheath of skin that is attached to the head/glans of the penis when males are born. It helps to keep the glans lubricated, mainly in older males. It is fully attached to the glans in these early days, meaning it can’t be pulled back. It starts to separate around age 2 but it can start partially detaching later in life. No matter what age you are, please for the love of God do not try to pull your foreskin back further than it will naturally go – you will hurt yourself. If you have foreskin it is important to gently pull it back and wash under it, if not a cheesy like substance delightfully known as ‘smegma’ can build up and potentially lead to infections. The foreskin can also be removed at a young age for religious beliefs. The removal of the foreskin is known as circumcision. There are also different forms of circumcision for different religions, but I am not qualified to talk about them. If anyone belonging to a religion that practices circumcision and the belief behind it would like to share their story please feel free (I will anonymise you of course and please do not post your experience unless you are 18+). Colour coded Red. There is an image below which shows the difference between a circumcised penis and a non-circumcised penis.  

Scrotum - The scrotum is the sac located behind the penis; it is literally a sack of skin to hold the testicles. There is a left and right testicle, and like female breasts they are rarely symmetrical – if there is one thing to learn about nature is that she hates symmetry with a passion. In fact, one side of the human body is bigger than the other. Anyway back to balls. The purpose of the scrotum is to hold the testes which produce sperm and hold them until ejaculation (the physical effect of an orgasm). Hormones, such as testosterone (clues in the name) are produced here. Testosterone is the main sex hormone found in males, it plays a key role in the maturing of the male during puberty – focusing mainly on the sex organs, secondly on bone mass, muscle and body hair. In some cases a male may be born with one testicle. This is normal, but I would always advise that you check with your doctors if you are worried about something (I’ll share a story about my asymmetrical tits and the doctors at the end to make you guys and gals feel better). Others may lose a testicle to a medical issue – remember all bodies are different and there is beauty in our imperfections. Colour coded Blue.

Perineum – Which is also eloquently referred to as the ‘Gooch’, which is located behind the balls and before the anus – it’s in-between the two. Much like on the female, the perineum can vary in size, between 1 – 2+ inches. It can also be stimulated during sex, again, just be careful. (see my second post on female genitalia for reference).

Right story time:

So I’m telling you all this to help with my own body confidence and to help anyone who may be going through the same thing either with their tits or balls, or anyone who may be struggling with body image in general. So during puberty my tits started growing in fairly even, until my left decided to be a bitch and outgrow the other. And this isn’t a ‘little’ difference – it is incredibly noticeable, and I have to wear special shaping and compacting bras to help with my shape and make it less noticeable. Now a lot of things can affect this, diet, hormones and genetics being some. I went to the doctors for two reasons, one to check that there were not any underlying health problems such as breast cancer. Thankfully that was a negative, but I still make sure to regularly check my breasts in the bath to be sure (I’ll include a post on this too). Two, to see if anything could be done to even them out, but the NHS said no as it wasn’t a real medical concern (which to be fair, it isn’t a medical concern if there is nothing causing it other than nature hating symmetry). I’m now in my 20s and still suffer with this problem. I’ll be honest with you, I’m self-conscious every day, I’m scared of getting naked and having someone laugh at me. However, at the end of the day, if someone laughs at your body doing something that it can’t control, then they’re a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve your time and you should wait for bigger and better things. No one is lesser because of their body, no matter what it looks like. Coming to terms with your body does take time, it is still taking me time, but talking to your loved ones (or complete strangers on the internet if you’re like me) is the first stepping stone to acceptance.

Alright, that’s a wrap on my external genitalia series! Over the next few weeks I’ll be covering erogenous zones, internal pleasure centres, masturbation, consent and safe sex (not necessarily in that order)! I will cover the reproductive systems at some point, but I will let you know that it is not my main concern as most education systems around the world teach sex ed with the purpose of reproduction. To say sorry for being so late with this post, I will let you guys choose what I next post about, just reply to this post and I’ll tally it up. Your choices are:

1 – Erogenous Zones

2 – Internal Pleasure centres

The runner up will be posted a week after the winner. I’ll stop counting the results on Sunday, 11th July at 9 pm (UK time/GMT +1).

The next post will also be a lot better than this one as I get back into the swing of it. I hope anyway. 

Take care and stay sex positive my lovelies!

-          Love, TheSexTheorist xxx

[jonthethinker]

Together Or Alone?

Since I finally have a few days off work, I want to get weird and really dig deep into why I personally enjoy the Mighty Nein and its particular breed of found family so much, and why the dynamics between its members are so satisfying for my heart in particular. Let’s get unnecessarily deep, shall we?

You may not completely understand why I think this would be weird, but you’ll understand fairly quickly as I get started.

I’ve been on a sort of spiritual journey, in a way, over the course of this most eventful year. A small part of me feels bad that while so much suffering is going on, and so much of the world feels like it’s falling apart, I’ve been making positive strides in determining my place in the grand scheme of things. But a larger part of me is just really grateful to finally find a bit of internal peace after years of not having it, of finally having some bit of quiet in a mind that’s never been able to still itself long enough for any such thing.

I haven’t exactly found religion, but I have given more shape to how I best want to imagine our universe and my humble place in it, and I’ve finally started asking the right questions.

One of those questions stands above the rest, and it’s the question I’ve decided the Universe Itself is asking; Together or Alone?

I started seeing attempted answers to this question everywhere. In the universe bursting outward, yet huge masses of it clinging together to form all we know and can perceive. I see it in wondrous solar systems forming and spinning in a rippled field of mutually affected gravity; and I see it in the black holes that can form, and tear and pull all that beauty into nothing. I see it in incredible ecosystems where the life and the land combine to form what feels like its own organism, larger than just the sum of its parts; and I see it in the environmental devastation caused by our own actions, killing that organism, and in turn doing irreparable damage to the very spirit of our world.

I see it in humanity’s natural inclination for cooperation and concern for others; and I see it also in our inclination to be blinded by power and in that blindness, inflicting unspeakable harm on each other in order to hold onto that power. I see it in our bodies, organs one by one relying on each other in a perfect act of faith to form something greater than a liver or heart or brain could ever be on their own; and I see it in cancer, single-minded in its pursuit of self-replication by all means, all memory of belonging to something greater stricken from its damaged DNA. I see it in basic elemental particles, most of them ready and able for their eventual combination with other particles to build wonderful compounds with entirely new properties, adding untold dimensions of complexity to how our world works; and I see it in those small rogue particles the neutrinos, that can shoot off from a star for eons without interacting with a single thing.

The question and its many answers, and the dialectical relationships those answers have, are what I feel can really undergird all of our interactions with each other, all progress and all regress, all friendships and all rivalries. It’s there in all our stories and all art we create; Together or Alone? What’s your answer?

For me, the answer that felt like it escaped the singing lips of an angel, was, “Of course, together. Always together.”

It shapes my politics heavily. I’m a lefty, but its not just because I believe we’re all equal as individuals; it’s because I believe we are all a part of the same thing. We are all a part of that same great organism, that same great body. The Universe. God. Whatever you want to call it, though it needs no name. We are in this together because we are one thing from many different things, whether we like it or not.

But I’m not just blindly optimistic about this. I don’t think it works like this all on its own. It takes work and time. It took billions of years for solar systems to form. For single-cell organisms to band together into colonies and then evolve into multi-cell organisms. It took a while longer for creatures to stick together as families, for the mutual dependencies of ecosystems to form, and even longer for the first tribes and societies to form. It took time, and an incredible amount of energy and effort, and so much failure. We’ve hurt each other so much, that’s true. But it’s only by coming together that we’ve ever been able create anything new, anything Good.

The universe has a bias towards entropy; things tend to fall away and apart. So there’s a beauty in the struggle for togetherness. I’d argue that it’s the only source of beauty in the first place; the unity of forces interacting. The quest for togetherness gives my life meaning, drive, and purpose. And for someone who’s struggled with depression for so long, I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to have purpose, especially for something bigger than me.

And by this point, you’re probably wondering when I’m going to stop sermonizing and actually talk about Critical Role. so here we go.

The individual members of the Mighty Nein are some deeply flawed and deeply troubled people, at least when we first met them. Some of them have done awful things, sometimes against their will. They’ve all been the victims of powers much greater than themselves, and as a result, have been left feeling frayed at the edges. They’ve all had hurts and been shaped by those hurts; whether it was loneliness, unfair expectations, or just being unfortunate enough to be different in all the wrong ways. Damaged is a word that carries unfortunate implications, as does broken; but it’s undeniable that you’ve got seven people who have all felt like Sisyphus when the boulder rolls back down the hill.

Some have taken this fate better than others, but it’s undeniable that these people have suffered, and in that suffering, gained nothing.

But then they met each other.

It wasn’t all roses from the get-go. You throw these people with underdeveloped social skills and an untold amounts of personal baggage, and you’ve got yourself some friction to say the least. But when they all met each other, they had nothing but their bodies and their hurts. They were total equals. Even when the Mighty Drei met Caduceus, they had just felt like they lost everything, and they were meeting someone who had no one. They all started together at their foundations, and over time, built something I think is truly beautiful.

This process hasn’t been perfect. Beau, for instance, can still be totally rude and abrasive to strangers and outsiders (and I love that about her), and still has a hard time swallowing her pride long enough to ask for help. Caleb is very much struggling with his trauma, and that path is never a straight line of progress for anyone. Jester for the longest time still didn’t really want to feel any negative emotions around the others, and her own pride has gotten in the way of owning up to how new she is to all this. Yasha bears a great deal of guilt for a great many things, and while she’s making strides, it’s still left its mark on her. Veth has come so far, but doesn’t know how to reconcile the contradictions between the two lives she wants as both a mother and an adventurer. Fjord has a deep desire for answers, answers that may open up a lot of wounds that have started to heal in the Mighty Nein’s care. And Caduceus refuses to share his troubles, his doubts about how much his time with Nein has fundamentally changed him from the boy his family knew all those years ago.

That’s a lot of hurt, and some of it will never go away completely. But it’s like how our bodies have all of these vestigial functions that no longer serve any purpose to it, and make our daily lives in office chairs or standing in one place all day harmful to our health. Or like ancient seas whose waters are long since gone, but have left their undeniable mark in the shapes of canyons and mesas, in the colorful layers of sedimentary rock they leave behind. The past is an unavoidable factor in how everything in the universe gets to take shape, but the present finds a way to adapt. And we people get to choose how to adapt. And the Mighty Nein chose caring about each other as their method of adaptation.

And the thing of it is, I don’t think its just having people finally caring about them that has allowed them to come as far as they have. I think it’s also the act of caring, the act of serving others, considering how the path you wish to take will affect someone else, that has really pushed them to this great place we currently find them in. I truly think there something inside of us that wants to be a part of something bigger than ourselves, and that in the moments we feel emptiest it isn’t because of what we lack on the inside but the connections we lack on the outside, and it’s the systems we inhabit that make us think otherwise. I see this so clearly in the Mighty Nein. If left all on their own, in the cruel worlds we first found them in and have learned they came from, I see seven people going on seven unique paths of self-destruction; but together, they can build something greater than themselves, that thing being the Mighty Nein.

I really do think the Mighty Nein is like its own entity. They are something totally different when they are together, like seven different elements that came together to form a compound with entirely different characteristics. It’s why the work so smoothly together in combat. Why, when the pressure is on, they tend to work as a relatively well-oiled machine. Why they hurt so much less when they are with each other. It’s like up-scaling from an atom to a cell, a cell to an animal, an animal to an ecosystem.

This togetherness is why I love the Nein so damn much. It’s reaffirming at a deep level for me. The story that they are telling, and the one forming without their active intention even being involved, is a wonderful thing. Stories about togetherness are my bread and butter; it’s why I’m a sucker for a good romance or found-family narrative, because I love it when people come together to make something more than them, making one plus one equal three. There’s nothing quite like it. And Critical Role has it in spades.

And it’s not all about the depth of answering some spiritual question. I enjoy the potty humor and the eight people just trying to fuck with each other and make each other laugh. I enjoy the silliness and joy and endless pop culture references. But also the act of eight friends coming together to make a show where they create a beautiful, silly, heartfelt story together has its own sort of spiritual resonance with me.

I also want to establish that I understand that this is a company selling an entertainment experience to me. They aren’t just doing this in the spirit of togetherness, they are doing this to strengthen their careers and incomes. I get that. But in the end, it’s all a part of the dialectic. It’s all motivation for me to continue working towards building a world where people can make wonderful art like this without worrying about building a career out of it or paying the bills. It reminds me of how much work there is to be done, but also of all the work that’s already been done.

Critical Role has its flaws, but it is a wonderful thing and I’m happier everyday I’m reminded it exists. The Mighty Nein are probably my favorite found family ever, and lately, a very powerful affirmation for my own journey. I do wonder if anyone else has had similar experiences, with this artwork or others like it. If so, I’d love for you to share them with me.

[heckinhacker]

Blood Moon!Aatrox x Demon!S/O - Insane between crazy.

word count: 1,608 requested: Yes!  - By Anonymous: “ Can I ask for Blood moon Aatrox fanfic plz? When he met the demon s/o but they're different from the other demons because instead of killing mortals, they tried to save them plz. “ warnings: Curses, violence, Aatrox being Aatrox. 

 You were standing on the podium, your arms raised to red as blood heaven, shouting at your own kind.

“And WHY do we have to sacrifice human lives for our own sake? Why is it everything about bloodshed?! Humans aren’t bad, they’re innocent, they can do no harm to us, so why do we kill them like animals?! They’re just like us - NO. They’re even better. THEY have emotions, they can be reasoned with, they connect with each other and we only have ability to think, but what do we get from thinking when we don’t use it! Everything we do is just kill, stab, get those guts out and make a new scarf, this is stupid!” 

You preached, you shouted to heavens and other demons looking at you like you’d lost your mind. There was solid moment of silence, before you heard this hoarse laugh. Pyke. It’s almost always Pyke. After his laugh which usually makes you go insane, every other demon burst in mad laughs too. Even The Kalista, this smart Kalista. You felt disappointment rise in your chest. You really wanted to hide right now. Somewhere, anywhere. You jumped off of podium and tried to fast-walk out of there. With no luck, of course, demons are really, really...jackasses. 

Thresh stood in your way, his mask and “hair” floating above you. You furrowed your eyebrows behind your mask. - What was that, [y/n]? I couldn’t quite understand because of your whines, you weren’t clear enough! - Right. You’re sure it’s because of me? You forgot your head from home, maybe that’s why.

Thresh’s red flame erupted around, eye-holes of floating mask filled with red light. Well, someone can’t handle being roasted. Thresh aimed his hook pretty quickly to your direction, but you gracefully jumped away, huffing. You wouldn’t like to fight with this sadist not now nor anytime, it’s better to flee and wait until  he calms down. You heard behind you screams of Thresh and louder talks of other demons. They’re stupid. Too stupid to understand. They never get through they thin skulls that thanks to people they exist. Kinda. God knows about “The First One”. Does he even exist? The progenitor every human and demon fear, The first demon ever who landed his feet on human’s ground. Funny. He sounds like some kind of “Adam and Eve” from human’s religion, like, you know? “The first one” ! But he’s alone, and he was made by blood moon itself. If he’d only show up...anywhere. Not like It’d be a good thing for you. We all can imagine he’d be an ass too, like everyone else was. 

The plan for the rest of the day was to lay down on some tree and take a nap, maybe find some animals to play around with, then wait ‘till the night when the monsters go apeshit. You just climbed up, took mask off so it covers only your eyes and managed to close them to rest, but then, loud explosion, maniacal laughs, terrorizing screams of your beloved mortals. No, not that again. You groaned, fixing your mask and jumping down to run to the village. Why are they on the streak again? Do they ever fucking rest?? You were there almost immediately, trying to protect the defenseless. Good thing your fighting weapon was shield. You did as much as you could, but little did you know - Aatrox was there.

You pushed Talon away from this poor man who had pass out from fear, shouting at him to ‘fucking stop’. When Talon wanted to jump up with a dangerous growl, Aatrox shouted with this demonic, echoed like by some other dimension voice who scared everyone around.”ENOUGH.” You, demons, people who tried to run away but fell down because they knees got weak because of terrifying shout that pierced their souls and minds. Your shield was dropped to the ground as you looked at this tall form of majestic horror in human representation. He was The Progenitor, The First One, That demon from which everything started. You gulped loudly, and he stared directly at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He’s a born leader, general of darkspawn army, leading for mortal’s extinction. - I… - What does you attitude mean? You’re not even that old demon. What were you thinking? - I just… - Enough of this nonsense. I’ll teach you a lesson, novice, while others can- - N-no, they cannot. - Can you repeat yourself? - They just can’t! CAN’T! - you shouted, looking amazingly dangerous while bending down to get your shield and furiously tap it with your little sword you promised never to use. - I won’t let this madness continue, no more! Aatrox threw his sword aside, which created thud way louder it should be. You could promise ground had shaken at this exact moment this enormous peace of ancient iron and brutally murdered souls had fallen down. He makes few steps towards you, you don’t move even inch, only take deep breaths. He brutally rips your mask off to look at your countenance. He squeezed your cheeks with one hand without problem, your faces way too close, your foreheads touching. - Do you still have courage to open your filthy, pathetic mouth? - I. Am. NOT. Afraid. Of. You. You didn’t even stutter, twitch, anything. This demon was not afraid, the youngest demon known was not shaken by mighty Aatrox. He was, indeed, surprised. How could you. How could you DARE to talk back to him. He was now holding you up by your throat. Even though you were already dead, you could feel suffocation. Your little coughs and struggling looked entertaining for other demons, but Aatrox told them off with one single glare. They vanished as soon as they appeared. - Apologise. - Not...in this...afterlife…- you coughed furiously. - and not...in the next...weakling…

Aatrox threw you like a ragdoll across empty field, your flight was over when you hit the wall, making deep hole in it. You-shaped hole. He approached you, took up his sword and looked down at you, like you were some bug. He put his surely oversized foot on your shoulder, pushing you deeper into building’s wall. - You’re brave. I like that. I expect more submissiveness next time, but consider yourself lucky. Now perish. - he threw you your mask back.

No matter how much you wanted to snark back some backfire, but only bit your bottom lip, stood up slowly and went away, limping. 

Aatrox would lie if he’d say he didn’t picked up any interest in you. Furthermore, he was thinking about you. He had no clue what has gotten into him, but it annoys the fuck out of him. Your pathetic face when he was choking you, desperate gasp after you were released, hateful look you shot at him when he stepped on your shoulder. The thought of this image sent shiver down his spine, he purely hated that. With passion. He decides to see your unmasked face again, to fight his own thoughts. To fight himself. He can prove he’s more than some human attachment. 

He got up, fixed his clothes, tightened up his man-bun and went off to the hardest war he had ahead of himself.

You can sense his presence right away, so his big figure heading to you was really no surprising, his aura was strong and steps pretty loud. He draws his sword in front of your face and you raise your eyebrow in amusement, as he demands the fight. - Draw your weapon. - Why…? - It’s a war, [y/n]. There’s no turning back. - Why would I start the fight I’ll for sure lose? But he forces you to take up your shield to protect yourself from his strong swing with the sword which is probably heavier than you with your shield in hand. You block the attack, pushing him back slightly, groaning. You feel the vibration off that hit in your bone, unpleasant feeling. You are angry at this moment, grabbing your little sword into your second hand. Not like it’ll help much against gigantic sword, but well, you didn’t thought straight. It’s like...you are against demon’s nature, but you’re one anyway, you have something from them, and anger had blinded your common sense. Aatrox was the first one even in this case. He was the first to trigger your demon nature. 

You charged at gigantic monster with such force he lost his balance for a moment, but helped himself with his sword. You use that moment to try and stab him under his ribs, but he kicks you so hard you fall back with loud thud. He takes a deep breath, rushes to you and kicks off your shield. After that, he steps on  your wrist, forcing you to drop this imitation of a sword. He throws his weapon away, kneels down, grabs your collar and kisses you forcefully. There was no hint of gentleness or pureness. It was pure - pure wildness and domination. You gasp in surprise, trying to kick him off or push him away, but there’s no use of that.

No matter how much you try to fight it, he kisses pretty damn well. You finally give up, closing your eyes and reciprocate the passion he somehow shared with you. When you were over - not because of breath loss - he looked at you, his eyes not full of aggression or fighting spirit. They were...as normal as they could be, not fully but had that hint of something else.

“I lost the war between us. I lost with the insane between crazy.”

[facadesmiled]

A REALLY LONG CHARACTER  SURVEY. RULES.  repost , don’t  reblog  ! tag  10  ! good  luck  ! TAGGED.  @maxabre​ ( thank you mate ! ! ♥ ) TAGGING. Imma tag some of my new followers, so @suitshinigami​, @hackinggod​, @pareidae​, @animaltamerbeast​, @bcwtruckled​, @hypnohatter​ and also @kniifethrower​, @godschose​, @solisnumen​, @moanaialiki​, and... oh heck, whoever feels like it. You go guys. *thumbs up*

❤ FULL NAME :  Edmund John Clemence Taylor NICKNAME : Joker ( technically his name / alias, since his real one is unknown. ) AGE : 25 BIRTHDAY : April 2nd, 1863 ETHNIC GROUP : English NATIONALITY : English LANGUAGE / S : English, some French and German. Learning Spanish currently. SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Asexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Panromantic. Has no preference to either women or men. Basically swings every which way. RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Is normally single, though is mainly dating Beast or Clopin ( @pitroi​ ). CLASS : Circuses don’t really have a set class. Though, as he was adopted by Baron Kelvin, he technically is from a high class. HOME TOWN / AREA : London, England, specifically the East End. CURRENT HOME : the grounds of the Noah’s Ark Circus. Secondary home is the manor of Baron Kelvin.  PROFESSION : Ringmaster and part time clown of the Noah’s Ark Circus, Joker leads his family and enjoys making their audience laugh. Behind the vibrant curtains, however, he’s a kidnapper for Baron Kelvin; he kidnaps children and kills anyone who gets in his way. In the Alive!AU, he works tech and backstage in general at an Opera House in London.

❤ PHYSICAL. HAIR : Ginger, hangs down a little bit past his ears when not pulled up. Tied into little braids at the back, which are bleached at the end and hang down to the top of his back. EYES : A vibrant purple colour. FACE : Very soft and gentle, with little lines around his eyes and corners of his mouth from where he’s been smiling all the time. He also normally wears makeup, though it’s mostly around his eyes. A light blue teardrop made of facepaint droops down from his left eye. LIPS : Average sized, though occasionally covered in some kind of clear gloss. A little snaggletooth can be seen peeking out from the side. COMPLEXION : Not exactly pale, but not exactly a normal white skin tone either. He’s somewhere in between. BLEMISHES : Not really considered a blemish, but he has freckles that he hides with makeup on his face, and is also peppered with them on his shoulders and upper back. SCARS : Generally all around his body. Joker has a missing right arm, obviously. Though other than that, he has a bullet hole scar in his upper left shoulder on his back from where he was shot once on a kidnapping mission. There’s also some cuts on his forearm from mishaps with his swordcane or a knife. On his back as well are general scars from where he’s been beaten, both by Kelvin and by people on the East End. And finally, there’s a small burn mark on his butt from where Jumbo’s fire got.... a little too close to him during a show. TATTOOS : N/A HEIGHT : 6′1″ WEIGHT :  Not entirely sure. BUILD : Average body size, but curvy. He’s stronger than he looks, even with a missing arm. Most of his muscles are in his legs. FEATURES : A skeleton-shaped prosthetic right arm. ALLERGIES : N/A USUAL HAIR STYLE : Pulled back by pins until it looks something like a lion’s mane. A small but hangs over his left eye, directly over his teardrop facepaint feature. The longer, bleached pieces of hair are in small braids and cascade down his back. In the Alive!AU, it’s all short and down ( a little bit past his ears, like in canon ) and the longer pieces have been cut off, though occasionally he clips back his bangs when he’s working. USUAL FACE LOOK : Smirk, casual smile, or a full blown ( often fake ) performer's smile. USUAL CLOTHING : His circus outfit, which consists of a white dress shirt, a ruffled elastic belt that hangs loose a little at the end, a grey and black diamond vest, big yellow bow, black poofy pants with grey diamonds on the side hem, black and white curly toed boots, and a purple coat that adorns his shoulders that has gold trim and diamonds on the ends of the sleeves and bottom. For a full reference, see here and here. When not in his circus outfit, he wears a normal Victorian style suit, as his other job is a butler. The only circus-y thing about this suit is a black and grey diamond bow at his neck- it’s not as big as the one on his circus outfit though.

❤ PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Loosing those he loves, being abandoned, death, life after death, heights, people finding out what he really is, his family receiving a terrible fate of some kind. ASPIRATION / S : Getting his family ‘ over the hills and far away. ‘ Nothing else matters. POSITIVE TRAITS : Caring, cheerful, joking, helpful, consoling, sympathetic, encouraging, positive in general, complimentary, passionate. NEGATIVE TRAITS : Liar, stoic, full of self-hatred, rarely lets people in, negative in mentality, strict, oblivious, basically a living, breathing, walking facade of a human being. ZODIAC : Aries

TEMPERAMENT : Melancholic: The melancholic temperament is fundamentally introverted and thoughtful. Melancholic people often were perceived as very (or overly) pondering and considerate, getting rather worried when they could not be on time for events. Melancholics can be highly creative in activities such as poetry and art - and can become preoccupied with the tragedy and cruelty in the world. Often they are perfectionists. They are self-reliant and independent; one negative part of being a melancholic is that they can get so involved in what they are doing they forget to think of others. SOUL TYPE / S : Caregiver: If you recognize yourself as a Caregiver, you may already have noticed the tendency to put others’ needs ahead of your own. This trait makes it essential that you go out of your way to take care of yourself as well as those around you. Remember that you’re no use to others if you’re not healthy or fit enough to help them. You are loyal to the extreme, and you guard those who are entrusted to your care with your life. Fighting another person’s battles can be important if that individual is unable to stand up for themselves, though you should be cautious not to disempower those in your care by not allowing them to do things for themselves. Your empathy allows you to understand nonverbal emotional signals. This ability will tell you when someone needs your help, and how best to assist them. It is common for Caregiver types to intuitively know what someone needs at any given time. VICE HABIT / S : Drinking ‘til drunk, spiraling into numb depression, holding in emotions. VIRTUES / VICES: Charity, diligence, kindness, patience. / Pride, sorrow, wrath. FAITH : Believes in God, Jesus, Angels, the Devil, ect. No set religion though, just general beliefs.   GHOSTS ? : Definitely. He believes in all manner of the supernatural. AFTERLIFE ? : Yes- and he’s scared of it. REINCARNATION ? : Yes. He feels like a spirit can choose to be reincarnated, if they so wish to be. ALIENS ? :  Maybe? In a modern verse, he probably would. EDUCATION LEVEL : Just basics- how to read and write. He wasn’t taught much else at Kelvin’s manor. Performance style education is high, obviously. He knows his way around the arts.

❤ FAMILY. FATHER : Unknown birth father / Baron Kelvin MOTHER : Karen Taylor SIBLINGS : The first tier of the Noah’s Ark Circus, and the circus in general really. Also, the children at Renbourn Workhouse. EXTENDED FAMILY : N/A. NAME MEANING / S :  The name Edmund is derived from the Old English elements ēad, meaning "prosperity" or "riches", and mund, meaning "protector". HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : N/A. ( Thanks Yana T. :/ No I’m kidding. Really. I swear. )

❤ FAVORITES. HOLIDAY : Christmas! He loves the joy and cheer, and also giving out gifts. MONTH : November. SEASON : Autumn. PLACE :  London, since that is and always will be his home. Though, he also like Paris! WEATHER : Snow, or a brisk fall day. SOUND :  The bustle as the audience dims down to silence, in anticipation for a show. SCENT / S : Anything that reminds him of a stage. TASTE / S : Caramel! Also cheese. FEEL / S : Being warm when it’s cold outside, the slight heat from stage lights, getting tingly from excitement, joy, fluffy things. ANIMAL / S :  Any and all! COLORS :  Purple, orange, and yellow!

❤ EXTRA. TALENTS :  Juggling, cracking jokes, leading, preforming, singing, playing a few instruments- he can do a lot.  BAD AT : Opening up to people, high wire/tightrope ( he did it once- never again ), thinking things through. TURN ONS : N/A. Asexual, and doesn’t really care for it, regardless. TURN OFFS :  See above. HOBBIES : Attending all kinds of shows ( operas, orchestras, musicals, other circuses, ect. ), reading, practicing his skills, writing small poems or short stories. TROPES : Above Good and Evil: He didn’t care what he had to do, as long as he thought it would save the other children.

All For Nothing: He believed he was protecting his “brothers and sisters” back at the Renbon Workhouse by obeying Kelvin. After he and all the first-tier members of the circus die because of it, Ciel and Sebastian find the Renbon Workhouse abandoned. They assume Kelvin allowed Doctor to kill the children for his experiments with artificial limbs. Joker and the rest died for nothing.

Knight Templar Big Brother: He will do anything for his foster siblings, even kidnap children because his demented “father” makes him believe he’s protecting his brothers and sisters back at the Renbon Workhouse by doing so (although there are actually no children there anymore).

My Master, Right or Wrong: No matter how much he hates to kidnap innocent children and force them to perform in dangerous shows in which they die gruesomely; if that is what his “father” wants he will do it, since he’s still the man who saved him and his “siblings”, and the one supposedly protecting the other children at the Renbon Workhouse.

Not So Different: To Ciel. When he begs Ciel to not kill Kelvin he states that the man is the one who saved them and is helping all their friends at the orphanage. Even if Joker and the others had to do commit horrible actions to further their cause, he still feels it’s right if it gives all the abandoned children a better future. Ciel’s response shows that he understands their need to better themselves, even if it’s at the expense of other people, and replies: “To save your own skins, you obeyed him and sacrificed others… You fought to protect your world. What’s wrong with that? In the end, "justice” is just an official line taken by those in power to serve their own ends. No one’s looking out for others. If you’re careless, you’ll be robbed. There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who steal, and those who are stolen from. And today, I steal your futures. That’s all this is.“ AESTHETIC TAGS : circuses, stages, blood over flowers,  fairy lights, autumn leaves, warm colours.

❤ FC INFO. MAIN FC: Himself ALT FC / S : N/A OLDER FC / S : N/A YOUNGER FC / S : Also himself VOICE CLAIM: Mathew Mercer ( see the BOC dub, here. ) Singing voice claim, Miura Ryosuke ( see the Noah’s Ark Circus musical, here. ) GENDERBENT  FC / S : N/A

[douxreviews]

American Gods - ‘A Murder of Gods’ Review

"That’s some profound knowledge for you right there. Wrapped up in a quaint sexual metaphor."

American Gods takes a quick side trip to alt-right paradise, and makes some new friends along the way.

One of the things most widely known about this episode among people who care in any way about such things is that everything we see this week is a brand new creation on the part of the series and has nothing at all to do with the novel. Which is good, really. That's the main virtue of doing a multi-season adaptation of a novel like this; it gives them the opportunity to really explore the corners of the universe that they're showing us in a way that a novel really can't.

Fortunately, they really take the opportunity and run with it, giving us a highly enjoyable episode while really digging into the ramifications of a couple things that were thrown out there previously. Most notably, last week we saw Mr. Wednesday being offered the opportunity to stop fighting and allow Mr. World to assimilate him into the new order of things. Specifically, as a weapons satellite over the middle east, which is a fair enough example of the sort of thing that is worshiped by a certain striation of humanity.

Wednesday turned down the offer in favor of remaining himself and fighting the new gods, which is for the best since that's sort of the plot of the whole series. But this week we get to see what happens to an old god who does agree to the offer. And so we stop off in Vulcan, Virginia, where every store welcomes open carry sidearms and fascist style armbands are all the rage.

Vulcan, for those of you who were popular as children and therefore might not have spent every second obsessively studying these things, was the Roman god of fire. In the episode they identify him as the god of the Volcano, which is close enough, if not strictly accurate enough for the more pedantic of us. He was the rough equivalent of Hephaestus in the Greek pantheon, but I feel obligated to point out that the whole metalwork thing was more Hephaestus' gig than Vulcan's. Which kind of makes me wish they'd gone with the Greek version of this particular god rather than the Roman, but I suppose they wanted to use the less difficult name. Plus the 'V' made a nice logo for his company.

When your whole show premise is based around addressing the idea of new gods based on things that modern American's actually worship, guns and ammunition has to be pretty close to the top of the list. Even so, it's quite brave for the show to be as up front about it as they are here. This is a town, and by proxy a country, that openly worships their guns. They all carry them, a volcano on every hip, as Vulcan says. The 'firearms as a way to make yourself feel powerful' theme is in no way subtext. It's the text. The good people of Vulcan only have to turn a blind eye to the occasional factory manager 'falling' into the smelting pots and they get to keep their nice, shiny guns.

I have to say, Vulcan transitioning from the volcano to the bullet factory works really well. The show spells it out, in a nice turn of phrase; he's gone from fire to firepower. They're showing us what happens to Gods who accept the offer Wednesday turned down last week, and what we see having happened here is a bloated, smug, king of his own little hill, openly rubbing Wednesday's nose in his own comfort. His taunting of Shadow with the front yard lynching tree, is just one detail in the sub-textually hostile dynamic between Wednesday and Vulcan.

But the idea of what happens to a god who assimilates isn't the only thing we're being shown here. We're also being shown what happens to an old god who turns down Mr. Wednesday's offer. That's going to come up again the next time he reaches out to an old friend, because now we know what the implicit threat is. That's a nice structural note for the season to build on later. Vulcan turned Wednesday down, so Wednesday decapitated him and vowed to tell everyone that Vulcan had decided to betray his new friends and so the new gods killed him. To say nothing of his urinating into the foundry. Seriously, let's not say anything about that.

Meanwhile, in the other plotline, Mad Sweeney, Laura, and Salim have ended up together on a road trip to Kentucky, by way of Indiana. Honestly, I could watch these three all day long. The combination of Laura and Sweeney trying to out-cynic one another contrasted with Salim's endearing sweet positivity is just a winning formula. One thing that this show doesn't get enough credit for is the way the characters interact with one another. Pleasingly, it makes perfect logistic sense why they're together despite not liking one another particularly. Sweeney very kindly even spells it out for us:  He wants his coin. The only way Laura will give it to him is by getting her resurrected properly, and it so happens he 'knows a guy who knows a guy.' They need a car to get there, and Salim has one, but Salim is searching for the Jinn. Well, it so happens that Sweeney knows how to find him and will do so in exchange for a lift. Perfectly set up, they're all doing what they're doing out of self interest, and that's a solid way to establish your mismatched buddy road trip.

Lastly, it's worth mentioning the opening sequence. We've seen several 'Coming to America' vignettes in the past, but they've all been in a comfortable past setting where we can view them as history. By setting this weeks segment as immigrants crossing from Mexico illegally, only to be greeted with gunfire from sinister shadowed 'border patrollers', the show is forcing the viewers to confront some very uncomfortable thoughts about what coming to America means. The sequence is made even bolder in the way it unabashedly frames the immigrants as the heroes and the border patrol as the villains, right down to Mexican Jesus assisting the immigrants and getting shot by the patrol for his efforts.

Seriously. A TV show just showed American border agents, unofficial or otherwise - it's not really clear, shoot and kill Jesus. That's... well, brave doesn't seem to even cover it.

Quotes:

Shadow: "Who are you?" Wednesday: "If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me."

Laura: "Do you have a car?" Sweeney: "Yes. I do." Laura: "Well Chop-chop, ginger minge. Let’s go."

Laura: "Did you just name drop Jesus Christ like you know a guy who knows a guy?"

Wednesday: "There’s always been a god shaped hole in Man’s head. Trees were the first to fill it."

Wednesday: "Religion inspires in those who fear nothing fear of the gods. And using that fear requires a certain element of f**ked up."

Salim: "You are not a leprechaun?" Sweeney: "Oh, she’s a lepre-c**t" Laura: "(after smashing his face in the glass) If I hear that word pass your lips one more time I’m gonna peel them off your gums."

Salim: "I never met Ibrahim bin Irem. I imagine he was given a new life, just as I was. My name is Salim. Or, it was Salim. I do not know what my name is now."

Bits and Pieces:

-- So, rapture and fear. Wednesday seems to be telling us that Gods get their energy from fear and that sacrifice is essentially food to them. That's an interesting differentiation, because it makes a distinction between thought and action. I'll be interested to see if they expand on that.

-- Vulcan says that people like to be watched and that they don't do evil while being observed. That's very Jeremy Bentham of him. There's an interesting Doctor Who connection there, if you feel like doing the research. Key word to look up being 'panopticon'.

-- Sweeney uses the phrase 'murder of Gods' as the group singular noun, like a pack of wolves, a murder of crows, or a romp of otters.

-- Yes, the group singular for otters is a 'romp'. I've been waiting to work that into conversation for years.

-- Wednesday is desperately trying to convince Shadow to let go of Laura, including implying that she only came to see him to let him go and lying to him about knowing about her presence there in the first place. I wonder why he's so desperate to get rid of her.

-- There was a really nice shot transition from Mexican Jesus forming a golden halo to confirm who he was, and then that halo turning out to be the headlights of the border patrol trucks. Really nicely framed.

-- Shadow's being infected by the bit of 'tree-thing' was kind of a waste of episode space, to the extent that I forgot to even mention it last episode. It did, however, allow Wednesday to tell us about Mr. Wood, one of the first Gods, which introduced the concept of gods evolving and changing to adapt to changes in the world, which thematically set up Vulcan's situation. SO it wasn't a total waste.

-- The shot of the 'World's Greatest Boss' mug dissolving in the molten metal made me laugh out load.

-- That is, in actual fact, what happens when you fire bullets into the air like that. Don't fire bullets into the air like that. It's a dumb-ass thing to do.

-- As I mentioned in a previous Punisher review, Corbin Bernsen really does a great 'villain'. It's a shame he lost his head.

-- It's a little inexplicable however why Vulcan actually made that sword for Wednesday. It seemed pretty clear that they were both already planning to betray one another, so why actually give him a powerful weapon like that?

A really great character piece, as well as an exciting advancement toward the season one finale. Can't wait to get to Kentucky.

Three and a half out of four shell casings.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water

[robininthelabyrinth]

Victory in Anticipation (Coldwave) - Chapter 3

Fic: Victory in Anticipation (Ao3 Link) - Chapter 3/3 Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow, Norse Mythology Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart Sequel to Victory in Waiting - read first

Summary: Leonard Snart is dead and his soul has gone to Valhalla, the home of heroes, and that’s the end of the story.

Well.

Not quite.

Warnings:  references to genocide, torture, animal cruelty; Norse mythology appropriate torture shown on-screen

———————————————————————–

Len’s so cold he can feel it in his bones.

He’s lost feeling in his fingers long ago. He used every minute of the head start he got, walking the crooked ways in the shadows where even Heimdall has trouble seeing him, but cat-fur-cloak or no, he can’t hide forever and eventually the alarm was raised. The hounds caught his trail some while ago – he’s not sure how long, time doesn’t seem to work right here in the place between the worlds, the mountain stream that drizzles down the gigantic tree roots that Ed called Ygg-something – but they only found the clothing he took with him in the pack. He left it half in a frozen lake, the one with the strange moving shapes under the water. Dead shapes.

Draugr, if such a term can be applied to creatures that weren’t human to begin with.

Jötunheim is –

It’s a graveyard.

There had been some glorious years in Len’s youth when his father had been in jail and his mother still alive; she’d enrolled him in the Hebrew school down the way at the local Reform temple to keep him busy in the afternoons until she finished work. He’d picked up what smatterings of religion he knew about there.

They’d covered the Holocaust, the Shoah, because of course they did – they watched the movies, heard the stories from people’s families, saw the pictures. Every year on remembrance day.

That experience is the only reason he can look upon the ruins of a world murdered in whole and keep moving.

There are bones lying unburied in the fields. Buildings torn open like crabshells to get at the people hiding within. An entire capital city razed to the ground.

Some of the bones are very small.

Others are gigantic.

Not all look human.

It doesn’t matter. They were people, and they are dead, and from what Ed says, it was all to prevent some sort of stupid prophecy. Disgust doesn't even begin to describe Len's feelings on the subject, but he can't think about that now. He has to focus on surviving.

It’s very cold.

Ed says that the coldest place in the universe – the Norse universe, anyway; Len thinks the deepest, darkest parts of space spotted by the Hubble might beg to differ – is called Niflheim, and that before, it was confined into its own realm. He said there was a chance it might be bleeding over into Jötunheim.

Bleeding is the wrong word.

Flooding might be a better one.

The icy water is seeping in everywhere he looks, turning every low point into mud that he has to trudge through, a roiling mist creeping in at the edges of his vision that freezes everything it touches to the point of shattering, and it’s so cold. It’s so incredibly cold.

There’s ice on his fingertips.

Len tries not to look at them. He knows very well what the penalties of frostbite are, and his hands –

He gave up one hand for Mick before.

He’ll give up both to get back to him if he has to.

The apples Iðunn gave him are helping; he’s spacing out the bites. They warm him up inside and let him keep going, but even with the strict rationing he’s been imposing on himself, he’s running out.

The crooked paths are long and twisted, and he’s so very cold. He’s walking along the stream – it keeps trying to lose him, quick turns and dips through ditches, doubling back at odd points that definitely weren’t doing that when he was looking ahead earlier – and he has to keep his eyes firmly fixed to the ground lest he run into an ice-trap, which is like a pothole but with a Venus flytrap’s teeth made of sharp icicles.

He’s pretty sure he heard one of the hounds fall into one, pained whimpers and yips as the ice spread over the dog’s legs, inching up his body toward his heart in veins of ice.

The one-handed war-god hadn’t cared.

There’d been a loud crack of sound, and then there hadn’t been any more wounded noises.

Len wishes he had his gun with him. He’d show the bastard what it means to be cold.

There’s a cave in sight; the stream leads straight there, almost grudgingly, like it’s annoyed that Len’s gotten this far.

At this point, Len just hopes the cave is warmer than where he is now. He can’t hear the dogs anymore – though he’s not sure if that’s because they’re no longer following him or because his ears have frozen over. It’s taking everything he has to keep moving.

He swallows the last piece of apple he has and forces his legs to move, one after the other.

The cave remains stubbornly far away, or maybe he’s just moving slow.

His hands have stopped shaking. He remembers that that’s a bad sign, but he’s not sure he remembers why.

He’s almost there.

He’s almost –

The cave entrance is right in front of him.

Len reaches out with frozen fingers and manages to wrap his hand around the stone.

He pulls himself forward –

Hands shoot out from within the cave and pull him in.

Len gasps in negation, both from the idea of being caught and from the terrible warm emanating from those hands, the warmth of cave, the burning warmth, the –

“Hey, Lenny,” a familiar voice says.

Len squints up at a blur that is coalescing into an even more familiar face.

“Mick?” he asks, scarcely daring to believe it.

“Yeah,” Mick says gruffly, his hands like brands on Len’s frozen shoulders. “It’s me. I came to get you, but it looks like you got most of the way out all by yourself.”

He pauses.

“What’s with all the cat hair?”

Len laughs till his eyes fill with tears.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mick was kind enough to bring Len’s parka with him, which – once the cat fur is brushed off, and it comes off so easily now, when before no mud or wind or branches could dislodge it – he wraps around Len’s shoulders and then slides his arms around him, helping him warm up. They sit at the entrance of the cavern and Len leans in, tucks his head under Mick’s chin the way he hasn’t in years.

Len watches the ice drip off his fingers with fascination.

His fingers still work. He has no idea how he got that lucky.

Mick very considerately blows on his fingers as they defrost.

Len permits it until his brain defrosts enough to realize what Mick’s doing, at which point he flips Mick off.

“How’d you survive Jötunheim?” Mick asks, leaning his chin against Len’s head.

“Cat fur to hide me from sight; clothing to distract the hounds,” Len says. “Golden apples to keep me going.”

Mick nods.

They sit in silence for a few minutes.

There’s a thought wiggling in the back of Len’s mind. He stays still, stays quiet, and lets it come forward until it’s loud enough for him to hear.

Then he asks, “How’d you know about Jötunheim? How’d you get here, anyway? Where is here?”

Mick hesitates, which is unlike him.

“I think,” he says slowly. “I think – it’s time for you to meet my family. My parents.”

And he takes Len by the hand, urging him to stand up, and Mick leads him, hand-in-hand, deeper into the great cavern, past the stalactites and the rock.

Igneous rock.

Almost like those videos he’d seen as a kid, educational ones. The inside of a volcano.

And inside –

There’s a man.

“Fuck,” Len says, because that’s just obscene. The man’s half naked, clothing in tatters; he’s splayed out on his back, his arms bound down, his legs bound down, all on three enormous stones, and above him there is a tree with a frankly enormous snake with glistening fangs fully extended, thick gobs of poison dripping off of them in a steady stream, like a leaky faucet. A woman sits by his side, her legs splayed out in exhaustion, and she holds out a mostly-filled bowl with scarred hands to catch the poison before it hits the man’s face. His face is scarred, too, but even as Len watches the scars are sinking back into his skin, little by little. His hair is red, and his face –

His face has Mick’s facile expressions, his sharp chin. Mick’s broad jawline Len sees in the woman, his eyes, his neck.

“Fuck,” Len says again, with even more feeling this time.

These are Mick’s parents.

These are -

Thereupon they took three flat stones, and set them on edge and drilled a hole in each stone –

Maybe Len should have stayed to listen to the end of that story, but whatever. He’s even more glad now that he punched that skald right in his smirking face.

“Mother,” Mick says. “Father.”

The woman looks up, and a smile crosses her weary face. “My little wildfire,” she says. “You have grown large and strong at last.”

Mick’s hand squeezes tightly on Len’s to the point of pain.

The man turns his head and slits his eyes open. “My boy,” he croaks, lips dry, throat echoing with the sound of screams through years uncounted. “My little bright one.”

“Father,” Mick says again, and his voice shakes.

“Come and embrace me, little one,” his mother says. “I would give my soul to embrace you, but I cannot spare my hands.”

Mick doesn’t move at first, so Len untangles their fingers – it takes some effort – and gives Mick a little push in her direction.

Mick looks at Len, eyes wide and lost.

“Go on,” Len urges, then looks at the whole set up. Dropping his voice, he adds, “Ain’t there anything that can be done for him?”

Mick shakes his head mutely, but definitively, and then goes to his mother’s side, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around her.

“And when you are done,” Mick’s father says, amusement threading through his voice despite his circumstances, “you really must introduce us to your companion. Though he will have to forgive our poor hospitality; I fear that I am a bit tied up at the moment.”

Len really could get to like this guy. He’s a dick. He’s chained to a rock with a poisonous snake perched a meter above his head, and he’s still a dick. And still making puns. Now that’s devotion to the art.

“My name’s Len,” he offers. Despite the association with his father, he tends to prefer to introduce himself by his last name in an attempt to keep some emotional distance. But, well – this is Mick’s family, and so it’s his family too, he guesses.

Admittedly, this was not what he was imagining, insofar as he ever imagined it. Which he hadn't.

But to be fair, when was Mick ever what he imagined, what he could have imagined? He’s always been so much more.

Besides, not like Len can really cast any stones. He’s an einherjar, now, and one that escaped; that’s not exactly normal either.

Len shoves his hands into his pockets, fingering the feather he used as a token to escape. Yeah. Definitely not normal.

“Len is my bride,” Mick says, and Len flushes. He’s never going to get used to Mick saying that, and it’s been – decades, now. Mick says it with such pride, though, that Len’s given up all attempts at suggesting alternatives. At least Mick’s usually content with saying ‘partner’.

“You have found a bride!” Mick’s mother says, smile lighting up her face, and Mick’s father grins happily, too. “And are you happy?”

“No one could make me as happy as Len does,” Mick says, and means it, and Len flushes even more.

“He seems very fine indeed,” Mick’s father offers, mischief dancing in his eyes. “You must tell us all of his good qualities – how you met, of course, and how you won him – we must judge ourselves how fine a bride you have won, for only the best is good enough for our boy –”

“You must release me, my son,” Mick’s mother says quietly.

Mick’s father’s smile fades and his eyes go wide, white all around. “Not yet,” he protests. “Not yet; surely it is not so soon –”

“If it were longer, I would have waited, my love,” Mick’s mother says. Her eyes are sad. Mick releases her, and his eyes are wide, too, fear and sadness and frustrated anger all. “I cannot delay further.”

Len looks from one to the other to Mick in bemusement. He’s not sure what they’re talking about. He should have listened to that story till the end, even if it was about Mick and his brother being brutalized by uncaring gods. What is it that she has to do that makes them so scared? So sad?

The snake shifts its great, shining coils, tensing like a spring about to pop, its dead-looking eyes glimmering in anticipation.

And then the woman pulls away the bowl, fuck, why?

The poison, without any barrier, falls down straight onto the guy’s face, and he screams – his flesh sizzles – the poison eats away at him like acid – his back arches in inhuman contortion – the ground shakes –

The woman walks as quickly as she can manage towards the cliff, going to pour away the poison; she has to walk, not run, because she’ll spill it otherwise, because it is acid, the poison, that’s why her fingers are so scarred –

Mick gives a cry of pain, like he, too, is being burned alive by acid poison just watching this happen to his father, and Len always knew that Mick loved his father, not like Len and his own, and then Mick – because Mick’s a self-sacrificing idiot, and Len’s always known that too – Mick sticks his own hands between the snake and his father.

And then Mick screams.

He screams and he screams and he screams, but he keeps his hands cupped together, trying to catch as much of the poison as he can even as it drips down to his father's face.

He screams.

No.

No.

Len did not come all this way, he did not survive the endless tedium of Valhalla, befriend the greatest and least of the creatures of the lands of the gods, did not capture Ratatoskr and learn his secrets, did not steal a feather from Muninn and evade the hounds of Tyr, walk the crooked paths and survive the dead wasteland of Jötunheim, only to find Mick and then watch him suffer.

Len dashes forward, desperate to find some way to help, something, anything to make it stop – it’s just chains, holding him down, surely, and Len knows chains, there must be some key, some lock, some way – he reaches for his pockets, his lockpicks, but he doesn’t have any lockpicks, they were all lost on his way to Valhalla and there weren’t any others there, but he does have Muninn’s feather, which tapers to a long point at the end, maybe he can use that –

His fingers close over the feather, and suddenly he sees it, the knot at the high left corner, the lock that binds the chains together.

Len uses the feather and his nail in combination, desperately prying the lock open, and it’s only years of experience being cool in the face of all provocation, years of practicing on every type of lock in existence no matter how loud or noisy, no matter if the police are shooting at him or Mick’s lit the whole place on fire again, that lets him keep his focus now, with Mick screaming and Mick’s father screaming, too, as the poison burns through Mick’s hands and falls upon his face, Mick’s mother sobbing as she hurries to the edge –

Len pops the lock.

He grabs Mick’s father and pulls him away from the stones, from the snake, throws the two of them into Mick to get them away, away from the snake and the rocks and everything - and suddenly, abruptly, everything is dead quiet.

The screams stop, the sobs stop, the hissing stop, even the damnable plop-plop-plop of the snake’s venom stops.

“What have you done?” Mick’s father asks blankly. His face is healing even as Len watches, much faster than before, zipping back up like a Hollywood special effect. Even Mick’s hands are healing impossible-fast, bubbling flesh calming, turning back from blistered red to his regular ruddy tone.

It’s only after a few moments of everybody staring at him – all of them, Mick and his mother and his father and even the snake are all staring at him – that Len realizes that it wasn’t a rhetorical question.

“I…got you away from the snake?” he says hesitantly. He’s not sure why they’re all gaping at him.

“'None who wish to can release him',” Mick’s father quotes. “How did you get around that? No one who wants to let me out of my bindings can do so; that’s the spell and the curse that binds me.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Len says, blinking. “Not really. I mean. It wasn’t really my primary objective or anything.”

“What?”

“I didn’t particularly care one way or another about releasing you,” Len clarifies. “No offense, you seem cool and all, but I met you, like, five minutes ago and yes, your situation sucked and all, but I’m pretty used to ignoring terrible things.”

“Then what did you want?” Mick’s father demands.

“I wanted Mick to get his hands out from under that stupid snake,” Len says blankly. Isn’t it obvious? “And he wouldn’t do that if you were still there.”

They stare.

“It was hurting him,” Len emphasizes.

They all stare at him a few seconds longer, and then Mick’s father starts to laugh, high and clear and incredibly amused. “Oh, my son,” he laughs, bending over at the waist. “My son, my son! What a bride you have brought before us!”

“Do you know what you just did?” Mick asks Len, his eyes still wide with shock.

“Uh,” Len says. He’s getting the sinking feeling that more just happened than he thinks what he did really warrants.

“Do you know what happens when he is released?” Mick’s voice actually cracks in the middle of that sentence. He’s clearly under a lot of stress; Len has no idea why. It’s not like Mick doesn’t know about Len’s skill at picking locks.

“I may have left before hearing the end of that story,” Len confesses.

Mick’s father howls with laughter.

“Do you even know what Ragnarök is?” Mick shrieks. It's very unlike him.

“No one ever said!” Len says defensively. “All the other einherjar wouldn’t talk about it! And it’s not like I ever looked up Norse myths before, okay? Other than, like, that one Xena episode…technically it was a Hercules episode, but it came on at the same time as the regular Xena episode…and I only saw half of that, too…”

Mick puts his head into his hands that way he always does when Len does something beyond belief. Mick’s mother wraps her arms around her son and hides her smile in his shoulder.

“What gold is this,” Mick’s father says, utterly delighted. “I would not change it for the world; this is the finest joke I have ever heard.”

“Lenny,” Mick says, his voice slightly muffled by his fingers. “Ragnarök is the end of the world.”

“What,” Len says.

“The sun turns black, earth sinks in the sea; the hot stars down from heaven are whirled; fierce grows the steam and the life-feeding flame, till fire leaps high about heaven itself,” Mick’s mother says, her voice lyrical. “Now Garm howls loud before Gnipahellir; the fetters will burst, and the wolf run free; much do I know, and more can see, of the fate of the gods…you didn’t know?”

Len opens his mouth, then closes it again when nothing seems to come out.

After a few seconds, he finds his voice. “So, uh,” he says. “Most awkward meet the parents ever, or most awkward meet the parents ever, am I right?”

And Loki’s laughter fills the room.

[ualscout]

Captain's Log: No One

I did roughly 8 hours of field research for this project. If that doesn’t show how hyped I was, I don’t know what does. 

We were told to go to the British Museum to take notes and sketches of artifacts that interested us. We’d then incorporate our research into our first animatic by centering/including the artifact in a story. The British Museum is a pretty fukken big museum, host to artifacts from cultures all over the world. I was gonna be there a while. 

My first area of interest was the Ancient Egypt section. Even thought it was packed, I took a lot of sketches and notes on stuff I could picture as the centerpiece of a story- a means of congregating or hosting. For instance, a lot of libations bowls that would be used by many people a day who visited a temple took my interest, or the towering sarcophagi that looked way too big for only one person. I initially didn’t want the artifact to become the character, but to assist the characters interacting with it. That way, I could tell a story around it. 

My next stop was the Ancient Greece section. As a kid, I knew everything about greek mythos. It’s a religion not only with multiple gods, but fatally flawed gods is so interesting to me. I took a lot of notes, but most of the notes ended up being around the story as opposed to the aesthetic of the artifact. The Greeks shared an area with the Romans, so I took some notes there as well. I moved onto Ancient Asia. There was a lot of interesting material, I liked to look at the jade crystal carvings and imagine the cronch from biting down on one. They had interesting masks, but not too much stood out to me in there. As I spent more time in the museum, the more monotonous everything got. I don’t think it’s the cultures being repetitive, but it does show how humanity fixates on very similar topics, even beyond cultural barriers. Kind of like parallel evolution. Where I really started to find my spark was Ancient Europe and Scandinavia. Aesthetically and mythologically, I love vikings. Pagan traditions are really cool as well, it all just seems so foreign to me (we don’t learn much about it in American schools). Stuff was interesting me again, but nothing was really catching my eye… Until I was being ushered out of the museum at closing time. I saw a deer skull, the antlers still attached, with holes drilled in.

It was from Star Carr. Made of red deer skull, it served as a headpiece and is among the oldest evidences of shamanic religion. It seemed so unsettling in an ancient and earthy way on its own, the idea of someone wearing it intrigued me. Coming home, I started on three base ideas to bring into class. The first was using an ancient viking mirror as a gateway between an eldritch horror and a young adult who’s distant grandmother just passed away and received the mirror as inheritance… except the eldritch horror acts like an elderly guy with clearly racist beliefs but trying to seem like he doesn’t. They talk by fogging up the mirror and writing. 

The second was two people arguing over who would win in a fight: a person on horseback or a centaur. Inspired by the fact that any times centaurs are featured in art, they’re always fighting a human. Even after writing a rough script for it, I don’t know who would win. 

The last idea was using the mask I found. I liked the idea of it holding an ancient spirit tasked with protecting a humanity that has long since forgotten its existence. I also liked the idea of it being able to possess other living creatures. Not sure if I wanted it to be horror or not, but it would certainly be unsettling. You can probably tell which idea I went with. 

Today, we wrote a script. This is the only area I have any expertise in. My script ended up being 10 or so pages of screen direction and character building, but I finished the dialogue as well. 

The story follows three hikers who venture into some Scandinavian woods on a backpacking trip. Haak is the most serious and the leader, he has the most survival skills out of the group. Maya is the prankster of the crew, but is just as experienced as Haak. Robyn is the physically weakest character, often scared by everything and unnerved by the surroundings. The characters leave their car and enter the woods, but not before trying to make sense of the cryptic writing on the worn and torn trailhead. Robyn is the only one who seems to pay any mind to it. As the group start, a narrator that could be Robyn starts speaking about “tales for a trip through the woods.” The tips start out as actual advice one would use for a backpacking trip, like packing extra food and always having a map, but slowly get more cryptic and unsettling. The characters make their way through the assortment of settings in the woods, focusing more on the nature around them instead of what the group is doing. As the tips get more cryptic, saying stuff like “it may seem like the trees are following you, they’re just keeping an eye on you” and “be grateful you don’t know what’s under the dirt, pray you never find out,” the forest seems to retaliate against the characters. For instance, they get lost and double cross an area they’ve already been in, get haunted by the eyes on the birch trees, and more. Eventually, it all leads up to a normal bear attack being an Ursa Major, a bear with stars in its pelt and no need to hold a solid corporeal form. Haak and Maya get struck down by the bear after supposedly subduing it. As it’s coming for Robyn, Robyn backs up into the form that was following from beginning. The head is out of shot, but it puts a strange headpiece on Robyn, and allows Robyn to fight back against the bear. Once the fight is over, Robyn is faced with the ancient spirit who saved them- a towering, scraggly figure made of twigs and forest materials. It’s creepy to look at, and was framed at the start to be the creature tormenting the group. The creature reaches out and touches Robyn’s forehead, using their body to say verbally “no one believes in you, you should believe in yourself, too.” In Robyn’s voice. The next scene happens where the group dropped the car off, Haak blinking back to consciousness. Somehow, Robyn saved them, and Haak passes out again knowing they’ll be okay. Help arrives as Robyn looks back at No One for the final time as the spirit disappears into the forest. 

The idea is how humans have interacted with and continue to interact with nature. The reality is the forest provides, but it does not protect. People putting faith in the old gods to protect them is a tradition long dead with history, but the idea of this god still holding onto life for the soul purpose of protecting those who may wander into its domain is a very human story, even if it’s behind a creepy mask with origins we don’t entirely understand. It’s inspired by my love of hiking and nature, I actually work in the summer as a camp counselor at a ranch that takes our campers backpacking on the weekends. Each of the human characters show some kind of recurring theme I see in the people I go on these hikes with, and some are named after them. I think drawing the sets and characters for this will be pretty fun, I look forward to it. 

Character design is up next. I started with Robyn, the rest of the characters would follow in style. 

I wanted Robyn to have a very childish look, but not dumb childish. Like a smart bookworm who has no idea how to survive outside a library, much less civilization. However, Robyn couldn’t look like they thrived in society either. They should be a shy nerd who’s out of their element everywhere, not just in the wild, which just makes being in the outdoors that much more terrible. I also wanted Robyn to come off as genderless so anyone could relate to them. The story isn’t about their gender or age (even though in cannon the characters are in college/university/living on their own, but the style still makes them look like children… oh well) it’s about the forest and how they interact with it. 

I had a hard time getting a grip on the style I wanted, everything seemed so forced and I was never happy with what I drew. I kept erasing and redoing and changing without keeping anything. About halfway through the day, I was still only half a character sketch page done and feeling quite hopeless. I realized I was trying to be perfect on a sheet that wasn’t supposed to be. It Sucked… but I figured out the style I wanted. The t-shirt and swishy basketball shorts is the epitome of beginner hiker attire. I stopped caring so much about the quality of the drawings and just started drawing action poses. 

The next most important character would be No One. I had a lot more fun playing with No One’s design, probably because I didn’t have to make it look human. I wanted to make them look imposing, scary, but made of the environment. Like, with clothes of moss and litchin. Almost stitched together. I played with making them tall, wider, hunched over, in layers. The hardest choice I had to make was the horn shape. I pulled a lot of references from different horned creatures even though the original skull was a red deer. 

Eventually, I came up with final designs for both. I made up Haak and Maya while storyboarding, their designs were simple and based on real people, like their personalities. No worries ‘bout that. Their character models followed the base Robyn’s exploration found. 

Next, storyboarding. I spent so much goddamn time in storyboarding. Not too much happened, but I did like plotting out everything. I realized I can pretty easily plot out the setting and where the characters are in relation to each other then manipulate the camera as needed. Pretty nifty. The only problem is 1. Im bad at drawing and 2. Drawing the same thing over and over again kinda sucks. I spent a lot of time designing the varying backgrounds the characters would walk through and played with how the forest would interact with them. For instance, what if a path suddenly changed or wasn’t visible on the second cross through? What if you could see the reflections of eyes in the cave shadows before the characters entered? 

The idea originally started over the summer. I was hiking through a birch forest and noticed the markings on the white bark looked a lot like eyes… what if they were watching while you passed by? I let this fuel my imagination and inspire the script. I liked playing with where mystery or malice could hide in the forest, which is a lot of places. Sure, people generally feel threatened by the animals, but the terrain is arguably more dangerous. I didn’t want to introduce a wildlife enemy until the climax, or it would just make it less impactful. If a wild animal is revealed to be evil, it gives another face to the force tormenting them, which takes away from the little cameo No One gets at the start. 

Nothing really important happened over the storyboarding period. Just little epiphanies. I realized I got better at drawing the characters and much quicker at it as time went on. I spent a lot of time editing shots and order, which is why the storyboards are messy AF. Made me feel kind of self conscious because everyone at my table had works of art for storyboards, but whatever. They’re supposed to be tools. I also made the very stupid choice to go over every single goddamn board in digital. It was hell. Next time, I’ll probably do everything digitally… 

Capturing audio was hard not only because of the location but because of the season. For instance, I need cricket sounds, nature sounds, car sounds (that I could control), and quiet crisp sounds. Too bad I go to school and live on a street that’s triangulated by a fire station, police station, and hospital. And everyone seems to be lighting things on fire, getting crimed, or dying. 

I got what sounds I could, but I had a fun time recording with everyone. It was the first time the class was forced out of their comfort zones and made to talk to the people outside their tables. It was a welcome change and I met some cool people. We would talk about what sounds we needed in our stories and whenever we realized how to get that sound it was a group epiphany with excitement. Too bad nowhere in Camberwell is quiet. 

Instead of having one of them narrate my lines, I just did them myself at home with my own microphone. It was just easier because I knew what tone I wanted this character to be. In terms of pitch, I just edited it in Audacity. The quality of it didn’t matter, because it wasn’t supposed to be exactly human. I played with it being lower pitched, but if I wanted to make it seem like Robyn was the real narrator, I would need it to be higher. It sounds pretty close to what I wanted- hollow, indifferent, but all-knowing and wise beyond the years the voice should belong to. 

I knew from the start I wanted one of two songs in the soundtrack, even though Joe said no songs… sorry, but I envisioned it with this music, it wasn’t structured around it but it was structured with it. Both are the instrumentals behind the songs, so there’s no words, but I did make a playlist of music I wanted to inspire this animatic with at the start. Both songs were at the top. The first song is “Welcome Home, Son” by Radical Face. It’s got a steady beat, good organic guitar, piano, and what sounds like bells. It’s got a REI feel to it (and I’m realizing now that you don’t know what REI is, probably… but I’m keeping the comparison because it’s true) which is kind of like adventuring somewhere greater than yourself, understanding the greatness of it, being slightly scared of it. Like you’re on a quest with no destination. Like facing the mortality and insignificance of yourself in this vast and wondrous world, but instead of fleeing in fear or rejecting the fear, accepting it and finding a home in it. The background vocals add to the feeling of humanity that’s not quite ‘human’ but when tested it tended to mess up the dialogue. The sound of bells and wind chimes was nice, like a feeling of emptiness or forgotten home. Just all around a great song. Also there’s a wind sound effect, like it’s blowing through the trees outside the mouth of a cave. I just think it’s neat and put it at the beginning. 

The other song was “New Slang” by The Shins. It has a similar feeling to “Welcome Home, Son” but not quite as adventurous. Much like the song lyrics say, “Gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth, only I don’t know how they got out, dear…” it’s about returning home with a bittersweet feeling, somewhere you don’t quite belong, but desperately want to. The simple guitar strumming and bass feel melancholy, and the calm electric guitar (never thought I’d say that pair of words together) just make it seem like an amble through the old woods in the backyard of your childhood home, visiting the old treehouse, and sitting in it alone as you remember back to when you weren’t alone in it and much smaller. The simplicity of the song adds less of a dramatic tone and a more organic and realistic one. It’s also more comforting than “Welcome Home, Son” due to less swells and changes in the sounds. It also has background vocals, but they’re much more human and less dramatic, they almost sound like a mourning wolf separated from his pack, but his calls go unanswered. The thing is the runtime is 1/2 that of “Welcome Home, Son”… The middle section, when edited, made up about 4 minutes. 

I played with both and enjoyed both results a lot. The music starts as they enter the forest and the narration starts, following them as they go on their adventure. It’s supposed to show that time’s passing like a montage, but also ends up showing how the danger is real and haunting when Ursa Major awakens in the bear. 

My biggest issue while editing the animatic was sound design after the music cuts out. It ends at the perfect moment and even follows the story beats of the end, but after that I just had the haunting silence of the forest and the sound of the nature around the characters in which I had to put a dramatic fight scene. I didn’t want to bring the music back until No One revealed themselves to Robyn to show the connection had finally been made, but the fight scene between Robyn and Ursa Major was so empty… It felt like I was just layering bear grunts and damage sounds over dynamic shots, but it wasn’t translating as tense, it was just awkward. I also had trouble with selecting what sounds were real. Robyn doesn’t make any verbal sound, the only sound to come from Robyn is their footfalls and how they interact with the environment. I should have made more steady rules with how Robyn and the other characters are present outside of the middle montage.  

Actually while I’m writing this I realized I could restart the music and have it cut back out once No One takes back their face… fuck.

So, what did I learn from this? That I storyboarded way too fucking much and made way too many fucking characters. I was told all throughout diagnostic to be free and reach for the stars, especially in communication, but the reality is in trying to tell the story I wanted I ended up drowning myself in work. 

I really loved writing this story, though. That’s my favorite part of anything. Writing is the ONLY skill I have over everyone else, and I WILL flex on everyone when I get the chance. It was just too big of a story for right now. I mean, I got everything from a single deer skull, it didn’t seem like much at the time… Maybe when I’m better at all of this, I’ll revisit it and make it more like I pictured in my head. I felt like epiphanies kept coming to me as I was writing the script, but as time went on and I had to plan it, I would get too caught up in the details. I love preproduction though. Like, a lot. That’s for sure my favorite part of making animation and film. Just figuring out where everything goes and how it all works together is just so satisfying and I really enjoy it. A bonus is it doesn’t have to look like Perfect Art, either. The fact that it doesn’t look perfect is one of my greatest insecurities, but it’s something I’ll have to get over, and it’s easier to get over it if it’s forgivable/expected. I know once we do actual animation, it’ll just be harder to make longer stories and I won’t know how to cut down on it all… but whatever. I’ve always had a problem writing too much, so that’s just something I’ll have to learn to manage. I’ll try and do better next time. I was really tempted to make this a comedy, like I always do, but I didn’t. I made something serious for once, and it didn’t end up as I imagined, but it got close enough. 

That’s a victory Royale. 

[ravenemrysaurlineus]

By Robin Artisson... Good News: The United States is proud to report that everyone has the freedom to believe whatever they want, or nothing at all, if that's what they want. People are not bound by the customs and traditions of "The Old Country" or any country that they might be from. People can re-invent themselves as they see fit, drop customs, ignore the demands of duty and heritage, and be free. Bad News: One of our most crucial pathways of connection to our ancestors and ancestral wisdom is through customs, traditions, and shared religious beliefs. So, the whole-cloth dismissal or banishment of those things (much like the rejection of ancestral cultural origin) strips a person of deep pylons of connection and identity, yielding people who, in the space of two generations, have only consumerism as a culture and only materialism to build an identity upon. Further Bad News: The vast majority of inherited religious traditions these days are shite. Religion, as nearly everyone undestands it today, is a construct that was completely invented as a cultural hijack of organic and ancestral religious traditions from earlier times. Whatever identity or connection these kinds of religion help people to have today is intrinsically tainted by their historical revisionism, and their pro-civilization, pro-obedience, pro-authoritarian, pro-patriarchy, and pro-narrow minded biases. So you get a sense of belonging and identity from them, but you also get shaped, on various levels, to be an asshole, too. And an asshole who is ignorant of history and disconnected from the natural world, the real home of your soul. Good News: The founders of The United States hated that kind of religion. They the 18th century equivalent of hippies and progressives: they were deists, atheists, unitarians, and the like. They were post-Enlightenment guys who knew what kind of social hell that religion caused, and they wanted to banish that from public life. Bad news: Those guys, like 7/8ths of the people alive today, had only bad examples of religion, which they used to judge all religion from every era of history by. Because the Abrahamic religions they were trying to help people escape from were shite, they just assumed (in that civilized, over-simplisitic, and world-weary way) that all religion had been this way, since time out of mind. It's understandable why they would assume that, or why modern people would, but that doesn't make it true. Further Bad News: Iron Age Pagan religion, in most centers of European civilization (and in other places), was also shite. And people today who are trying to rebirth that kind of Pagan religion can't see how they are replicating harmful ancient cultural norms, which are every bit as repellent as Abrahamic religious norms. And a lot of those people are annoying as fuck, because they carry all the damage of their Abrahamic and civilized upbringing with them and just manifest it under a thin veneer of "paganism." So, when they ass off, this only proves the case of the people that say "even earlier religions than the Abrahamic ones were shite, too." This drives the final arrogance: the idea that all spiritual dimensions of humanity, historical or modern, are worthy only of being ignored or discarded. The hole left by the loss of that natural and crucial dimension in human beings is being filled with the noise of STEM fields and hyper-intellectual, super-slappable Thinking/Sensate technologists and scientists. But the mythical dimension can't be counterfeited. The Empiricism Lords and their newfangled technomagic don't fit, and they only make the hole bigger. A desperate return to more "open minded" versions of the Shite Religions that whole nations were founded to get away from also makes the hole bigger. Good News: The Iron Age wasn't the only pre-Christian/Pre-Islamic age of man. Neither was the Bronze age before it, or the Neolithic age before that. Human "religious" history, like human history itself, is vast, and human group religious experience wasn't always oriented around centrally planned and centrally controlled civilizations that had civilized "sacred" narratives justifying misogyny, super-violence, and the reduction of nature's powers to "resources" for humans to arrogantly over-use and destroy. Bad News: Civilized people are convinced that human history began with civilization, and refuse to believe that the humans before civilization had anything of value, or lived in any way that was better or wiser. Civilization itself cannot allow its people to believe that. The first rule of civilization is thus: "Because we have made cool things that make your life easier (forget how much destruction they cause) this is the best that humans have ever had it. We are the best that's ever been. The Gods like us best/only our God is real and he likes us best. Everyone else is shite compared to us. We're right, we live the best way, and everyone else is wrong and barbaric." Any similarities between that logic and what the religions produced by civilizations preach is not an empty coincidence. When things seem good in the civilized world, it's because civilization is just _so_ great. When they seem bad- as they often do, because they are- then suddenly you hear "It's always been this bad." "People have always been this way." "There's always been evil people in control." It's the equivalent to "You prayed and things worked out in your favor? Praise the Lord! God is good, all the time! Oh, sorry, things didn't work out your way? Well, God works in mysterious ways and this is a fallen world..." Good News: There really isn't any at this point. This is where we are. You might feel like you know which way to jump, but understand that civilization will oppose you at every turn, and your fellow man will not understand. More than half of them will believe you evil; the other half will believe you insane. You will find your feet tied together by your civilized conditioning: may the good Fates help you slip the knots, at least somewhat. Your understanding will not be adequate to the task; it is my wish that some strange things will happen that open surprising doors in your mind that deliver you to the worldless understanding. Psilocybin can be a good start, but even that wise and kindly helper (himself hated and banned by civilization) won't take you the whole way. You will have to be brave and creative. May the Great Unseen and all its many powers and forces, that we have worked _so hard to ignore_ find it in them to be kind to us. If it is right that they should be so.