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4dkellysworld · 2 months ago

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Lester Levenson's self-realisation story

This is the more detailed version of Lester Levenson's story of releasing thoughts & feelings to self-realization that should have been in his autobiography (you can read the more condensed version from the book here). It is a much more detailed account of Lester's process and journey to self-realization in the three months, a very short version was included in this post on why clear the subconscious mind to realise Self.

Reading this was enlightening to me - perhaps it will spark some resonance in you for your own path and practice :)

(I didn't include the parts before this excerpt where he just started self-inquiry after his health issue, the excerpt below starts from when things really progressed for Lester)

In the morning, he woke very early feeling rested and refreshed. His first thought was, "Well, then, what is happiness?" He laughed at his tenacity as he rolled out of bed and into the shower. Preparing breakfast, his thoughts continued to explore the question which dominated his mind. Well, then, what is happiness? What is the common denominator in all these moments? There was Sy, there was Milton, then June, and his Nettie... What was the common denominator? Somehow he knew it was tied up with love, but he could not, at first, see how. When it finally came, it was so simple and pure and complete an answer that he wondered why he had never seen it before.

"Happiness is when I am loving!" He realized that in every instance, his feeling of love for the other person had been intense and that's where the happiness had come from, from his own feeling of loving. It was so clear to him now that being loved was not the answer. He could see that even if people loved him, unless he felt love in return, he was not going to be happy. Their loving might make them happy, but it would not, could not, make him happy. It was a new and mind-boggling concept and even though he instinctively knew that it was correct, his old scientific training didn't allow him to accept it without testing. So he looked into his past, remembering those times in his life when he had been loving and happy, and he recognized that at those times, the other person had not necessarily been loving him.

He looked at the other side too, the unhappy times and now that he knew what to look for, it was very obvious that he had not been loving. Oh, he'd thought at the time that he loved them, as with Nettie and June. He loved them, needed them, wanted them. But was that love, he wondered now? No, it was painful... he was experiencing pain that they didn't love him. And even though he called it love, he was really wanting to possess them completely, thinking he needed all their love to be happy.

That was the key! He had been experiencing a want or lack of love, expecting the other person to supply the love, waiting for the other person to make him happy. He had to laugh, it seemed so ludicrous. To think that someone else could make him happy seemed like the funniest thing in the world. He knew, better than anyone that no one could ever make him anything. He'd always been very proud and stubborn and self-sufficient, sure that he never needed anyone or anything. "What a joke!" He thought. The truth is that he'd been all the time dying inside for want of love, thinking he had to get it from someone. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he laughed and laughed at the realization that what he'd been looking for all his life was inside him. He had been like the absent-minded professor looking everywhere for his glasses which were on top of his head all the time.

"What a shame," he thought, wiping away the tears. "What a shame that I never saw this before. All that time, all those years wasted; what a shame." "But wait a minute!" he thought. "If happiness is when I'm experiencing love for the other one, then that means happiness is a feeling within me. "And if I felt unloving in the past? Well, I know I can't change the past, but could I possibly correct the feeling now inside myself`? Could I change the feeling to love now?"

He decided to try it. He looked at his most recent unhappiness, the day he left the hospital. "First," he asked himself, "was I experiencing a lack of love that day?" "Yes," he answered aloud. "Nobody gave a damn about me, not the nurses, not the orderlies, not even Dr. Schultz. They did not care. As sick as I was, they threw me out, sent me home to die so they wouldn't have to watch one of their failures. Well, the hell with them. They can all go to hell." He was shocked at the vehemence in his voice. His body trembled with rage and he felt weak. He really hated the doctor. He could feel it burning in his chest. "Oh, boy," he thought, "this sure isn't love."

"Well, can I change it?" he asked. "Is it possible to turn it into love for the doctor?" "Hell, no," he thought, "why should I? What did he ever do to deserve any love?" "That's not the point," he answered himself. "The point is not whether he deserves love. The point is, can you do it? Is it possible to simply change a feeling of hatred into a feeling of love—not for the benefit of the other person but for yourself?"

As the thought crossed his mind, he felt something break loose in his chest. A gentle easing, a sense of dissolving, and the burning sensation was gone. He didn't trust it at first. It seemed too easy, so he pictured again the scene with Dr. Schultz in the hospital. He was surprised to find that it brought only a mild feeling of resentment rather than the previous intense burning hatred. He wondered if he could do it again.

"Let's see," he thought, "what did I just do? Ah, yes. Can I change this feeling of resentment into a feeling of love?" He chuckled as he felt the resentment dissolve in his chest. Then it was totally gone and he was happy. He thought of Dr. Schultz again, pictured him in his mind and felt happy, even loving. He saw now, reliving that last meeting, how the doctor had hated to tell him the things he had to say. He could feel the doctor's pain at having to tell a young man in the prime of his life that his life was over. "Doctor Schultz, you son-of-a-gun," he said, grinning, "I love you."

"Well, it worked on that one," he thought. "If my theory is sound, then it should work on everything." Eagerly, he began trying it on other moments, and the results were consistently the same, each time that he asked himself if he could change the feeling of hostility or anger or hatred to one of love, the dissolving process took place. Sometimes he had to repeat it over and over until he felt only Love for the person.

At times, the entire process would take only a minute or two; at other times, it might take him hours of working on a particular person or event before his feelings were only loving, but he would doggedly stay with it until it was completed on each person and each incident.

His entire life came up for review in bits and pieces. One by one, he changed to Love all the old hurts and disappointments. He began to feel stronger as the weight of his pain dropped away. He was happier than he had ever been in his entire life, and he kept it going, feeling even more happiness with each new thing corrected. He stopped going to bed because he had so much energy that he couldn't lie down. When he felt tired, he would doze in his chair and awaken an hour or so later to start in again. There was so much to be corrected in his life that he didn't want to stop until he had looked under every stone and around every corner.

Another thing that intrigued him was the question of how far he could take this. As he corrected each thing, he became happier, he could feel it; but he wondered how far he could go. Was there a limit to happiness? So far, he hadn't found any boundaries to it and the possibilities were staggering. So he kept on, around the clock.

His strength was returning, but not wanting to be distracted, he avoided getting involved in social activities and would sometimes even pass up the Sunday get-together with his family. He did his food shopping in the middle of the night, around two or three in the morning. There were very few people up and about at that hour, and he enjoyed the quiet of the city. He went on correcting his life, even while doing the necessaries. And he noticed that when someone in a store or on the street would annoy him, he was able to correct that response with Love either immediately or shortly thereafter. This pleased him, and he found himself loving others with intensity far beyond anything he had imagined possible. As he described it many years later, "When I mixed with people, and again and again when they would do things that I didn't like and within me was a feeling of non-Love, I would immediately change that attitude to one of loving them even though they were opposing me. Eventually I got to a point where, no matter how much I was being opposed, I could maintain a feeling of Love for them."

He continued to correct his life with consistent results for about a month until one day he got stumped. He was working on the last time he had seen Nettie, the day she chose someone else. He had already corrected a lot of the pain with regard to her; she had come to his mind again and again, and it had not always been easy. In fact, it had been very difficult at first to work on that old relationship but gradually as he gained strength, he had been able to confront some of those long-buried feelings and correct them.

But on this particular day, no matter how hard he tried to correct it with Love, there was still a feeling of despair which he could not dislodge. He wanted to escape, to get out of his chair and run, to get something to eat, to do anything that would get him away from his intense feeling. Instead, he decided to sit there until he handled it.

Something told him that if he let that feeling push him around, if he lost that battle, he would have lost the war. He stayed in his chair, determined to ride it out. He probed, "What's wrong here? Why isn't it dissolving? Nettie, oh, my Nettie." He began to cry now, tears streaming down his cheeks, all the pain he had locked up on the day they parted came now in a flood. "Why did you do it, Nettie?" he cried aloud. "Why did you do it? Why did you leave me, my darling? We could have been so happy, we'd have married and been so happy."

"Damn," he thought, "why do people do things like that? They throw their happiness away and everyone else's, too. They have no right to do that. They shouldn't be allowed to do that. There should be some way of making them change; some way of changing the things they do and the effect they have on people."

He felt the old pain of ulcers starting up again in his stomach and realized with certainty that the ulcers had started that last day with Nettie. He'd drunk the beer and thrown up; that had been the beginning. He wished it had been different. More than anything else in this world, he wanted to change what had happened. He wanted to go back and live it over again the other way with Nettie choosing him, with them getting married and being happy forevermore.

"Well, you can't change it, stupid," he shouted at himself, "so you might just as well stop trying to." That jolted him. He saw that he was still trying to change something that had been finished more than twenty years ago. "No, it can't be finished," he cried. "I won't let it be finished." His throat hurt now and he felt like screaming and smashing things. Then, like instant replay, he heard what he'd said, "I won’t let it be finished." That was the source of his anguish; he'd wanted to change it all these years and so he kept it alive inside himself, buried deep, eroding his happiness. "Well, to hell with that," he said, almost flippantly. Suddenly, with that decision, the whole thing was gone. He couldn't believe it. He felt for the hurt, the pain, the despair. It was all gone. He thought of Nettie as he remembered her, so young, so beautiful, and he simply loved her. There was none of the old painful feeling left.

He began to look now in this new direction. He realized that the cause of his ulcers was that he had wanted to change everything, starting with his nearest and dearest and extending out to the rest of the world, including the United States, other countries, government heads, the weather, endings of movies he had seen, the way businesses were run, taxes, the army, the President; there was nothing he could think of that he had not wanted to change in one way or another.

What a revelation! He saw himself subject to and a victim of everything he wanted to change! He began dissolving all that. When he thought of something that caused him pain about a person or situation, he would now either correct it with Love or dissolve wanting to change it. This added a new dimension to his work, and his progress accelerated.

By the time a second month had gone by, it was all he could do sometimes to stay in his chair, he became so energized. And there were times, when he had worked on particularly painful incidents in his life, that he literally could not sit and would go out into the city and walk for miles, reviewing, correcting, dissolving until he had burned off enough energy to sit still again. Sometimes he felt as though he had hold of a chain with many links of incidents on it which needed correcting. Once he got hold of the chain, he would follow through incident by incident until there was nothing left to be corrected. An example of such a chain was jealousy.

He had always been intensely jealous but managed to hide it most of the time under a facade of not caring. Nevertheless, his insides used to burn if the girl he was with so much as looked at someone else, or even mentioned another man. He decided to correct this tendency in himself. He would probe his memory for instances where his jealousy had driven him; correct it; then look for more. When he thought it was cleared out, he tested himself by imagining the girl he loved most making love with the man he would least want her to be with. It was a good test because he could see immediately that there was more work to do. Sometimes the intensity of his feelings would almost drive him mad, but he continued for days until there was no last vestige of jealousy left in him. When he could finally enjoy their enjoyment of each other, he knew he was finished with jealousy.

Insights came with increasing frequency. He would often gain a sudden, complete understanding of something which had always puzzled him. Philosophies he had studied became clear, and he could see that they had often started off on the right track, only to veer off into distortions, having been diverted by an incorrect idea springing from the author's own storehouse of uncorrected feelings. His mind began to feel like crystal, clear and sharp. "Colors seemed brighter and everything was more sharply defined" says Lester.

"Above all, I saw that I was responsible for everything that had happened to me, formerly thinking that the world was abusing me! And I saw that my tremendous effort to make money and then losing it was due only to my thinking; that I had been always seeking happiness, and thought that making money would do it. So whenever the business started to make money, and the money did not bring me the happiness I wanted, I began to lose interest and the thing collapsed. I had always blamed it on other people and circumstances, not realizing that it was simply my subconscious knowledge that this is not happiness which caused me to lose interest and that, in turn, caused the business to collapse."

"This was a tremendous piece of freedom, to think that I am not a victim of this world, that it lies within my power to arrange the world the way I want it to be; rather than be an effect of it. I can now be in control of it and arrange it the way I would like it to be. That was a tremendous realization, a tremendous feeling of Freedom."

"Discovering that my happiness equated to my loving, and that my thinking was the cause of things happening to me in my life gave me more and more freedom; freedom from the subconscious compulsions that I had to work, I had to make money, I had to have girlfriends. Freedom in the feeling that I was now able to determine my destiny, I was now able to control my world, lightened my internal burden so strongly that I felt there was no need for me to have to do anything.

"Plus, this happiness was so great. It was a new experience for me. I was experiencing a joy that I never knew existed, never dreamed could be. So I decided, "This is so great, I'm not going to stop until I carry it all the way." I had no idea how far it could go. I had no idea how joyous a person could be. But I was determined to find out."

During the third month, things went even faster. There was a depth to Lester’s feelings that threatened to bowl him over at times. His knees sometimes buckled, but he stayed with each feeling until it was corrected. He was becoming happier and happier, still looking to see if there were any limits to what he could accomplish with this new process.

"How much further can I go?" Lester would ask himself, then push it even further. It was also during the third month that he ran into an old adversary, one he had seen out of the corner of his eye again and again throughout his life. It had lurked nearby, always on the periphery and he had never before been willing to meet it head on. It was the fear of death.

Now he recognized it as the basis of every single feeling he had ever had. He began to coax it out into the open, wanting to take a good look at the biggest foe of all, which had so very nearly won the battle only a few months ago. He began to lure those feelings into the open and to dissolve them. And it worked!

He got to the place where, with great confidence, he laughed and laughed and laughed at this foe which had kept a fire lit under him his entire life so that there had not been one moment of real peace, ever. This last of the monsters turned out to be, after all, only a feeling. As he dissolved the fear of death, he realized one day that his body was sound, healed. The physical impairment was corrected. He couldn't explain to anyone how he knew; he just knew it as surely as he knew who he was. His body was sound.

At the end of the third month, he had slipped into a blissful, joyous state, which he could only describe as feeling like a million orgasms surging all at once through his entire body. It went on and on and he realized that this feeling, although not sexual, was what he was always been looking for but never found in sex. He felt light, living for weeks with joy exploding inside him every moment. Everyone and everything became exquisitely beautiful to him. He kept looking for more things to correct, but there didn't seem to be much. Occasionally something would occur to him, but it would be gone almost before he could define it and the joy would surge through him even more strongly.

After several weeks, he began to wonder if there could be anything better beyond this joy. He was sitting in his chair in the usual position, slumped down, legs stretched out, chin touching his chest. He had an idle thought without expecting an answer, but the answer came.

What was beyond this incredible joyous state that didn't stop? He saw that it was peace, imperturbability and he realized with certainty that if he accepted it, if he decided to move into that peace, it would never, ever go away. And he went—slipped into it so effortlessly – with just a decision to have it. He was there.

Everything was still. He was in a quietness that he now knew had always been there but drowned out by incessant noise from his accumulated, uncorrected past. In fact, it was more than quiet; it was so far beyond anything imaginable that there were no words to describe the delectable deliciousness of the tranquility.

His earlier question about happiness was answered too. There were no limits to happiness, but when you have it all, every minute, it gets tiresome. Then this peace is just beyond and all you have to do is step over the line into it. "Is there anything beyond even this?" he wondered. But as he asked, he knew the answer.

This peace was eternal and forever and it was the essence of every living thing. There was only one Beingness and everything was It. Every person was It, but they were without awareness of the fact, blinded by the uncorrected past they hold on to.

He saw this Beingness as something like a comb. He was at the spine of the comb and all the teeth fanned out from it, each one thinking it was separate and different from all the other teeth. And that was true, but only if you looked at it from the tooth end of the comb. Once you got back to the spine or source, you could see that it wasn’t true. It was all one comb. There was no real separation, except when you sat at the tooth end. It was all in one’s point of view.

#excerpts #lester levenson

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bitesizedpoetry · 5 months ago

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hello x

what are your favourite poetry blogs?

I did not expect this innocuous question to make me so sad. Because I went through my following list and this is a snippet of what stared back:

Almost all my favourite poetry blogs are either inactive or have been deactivated, and now I'm wishing I saved their poems that took my heart in their hands and shook it like a snow globe.

Still, here are my favourite active (at least within the year) poetry blogs in no particular order: also included some excerpts of their writing. And hopefully I didn't miss anyone. If I did, might have thought you were inactive, but I still love your poetry, promise!

@prasannawrites "You offer me your hand to hold & I look to your palm, creating a deity out of this" "…creating small gods from the mundane…" "How could I fit words into a prayer, when I can just as easily warm your hand on a cold night?"

@palladiumfragments "you're only worth something when you're suffering" "you have become the women in the mythology you loved so much as a child." "a dagger is the only thing that awaits you on the altar. you can reinvent yourself all you want but the rot is in the thread."

@amiablesummer "You laugh and laugh, lie down on the kitchen floor where you're not meant to lie, let alone laugh, and you're not meant to die there either. But what if we did, what if we stayed on the floor of the kitchen forever until the world burned from the too-bright sun and the oceans drowned all our utensils, one by one?"

@haikkun "I was a bird once / Tore my feathers in a dream / Though I beheld six kinds of light / Could only chase them via screams"

@kiisuuumii "i am still, just a small rabbit, fur grown in, black, and it is in my nature, still, to be taken, simply, as prey…" "…in the willingness to succumb to nature…" "i place my neck between the jaws of the wolf."

@ellisnightingale "It’s cloudy out, I like that best. Rain dusts the windowpane. So light it hardly makes a sound and the sky is dark again. I’m sure it’s cold but I won’t check, I’ll stay here where it’s dry. I don’t need sun on days like this."

@conversationswithme "I remember more this time, 1:52 in the morning / 10/29 - my cat is dead and I can’t whisper the / ugly in his ear. I have to write it here. / for me. / for you. / anyone. / I remember - that pungent, burnt smell - that / I can’t forget, and now knowing it / was the meat of a small person, / known as me. / I heard she grew up okay, though."

@cherokeeghostwriter "I am / four hours of sleep / meets, uncounted cups of coffee / meets, my fascination with the rain / dripping from the roof"

@memories-beneath-the-skin This entire poem

@leechteethwrites "Some things I could have never prepared for…" "The way the sky stretched itself after I no longer believed in heaven." "…I am still haunted by unshakable cruelties…" "The parts of my mother's girlhood I failed to rescue."

@sincerelygarden "I look at myself and lose my mind" "My instinct is telling me to find shelter / I can not blanket myself with this skin-" "I am in it, I know this. I can not crawl out, I am in it, I know…" "I look at myself and she doesn't make sense to me but I remember when she did"

I remember being asked similar questions years ago, and here are some of my answers when my other favourite poets/writers were still active. Please go through their archives, and you'll find so many hidden treasures. (And if any of them see this now, please start writing & sharing your work again soon. And to the active ones now, please continue writing & sharing, and I see some of you are starting to not be active now too...don't do that pls & ty)

If anyone has recommendations or if you have a poetry blog, please let me know in the replies or reblogs (so that more people can see this, maybe?), or message me privately. This ask made me realise I need more poetry blogs to follow.

#anonymous #spilled ink #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #literature #writeblr #poets corner #spilled thoughts #writing #poems on tumblr #dark academia #light academia #i hope none of the links are broken #thanks for the question anon <3

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lakesbian · 4 months ago

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Although that Discord excerpt is often cited as the original "Coil is black WoG", my secondhand understanding is that the actual original moment is a fair bit older, took place in IRC instead, and sadly wasn't recorded as far as I know. Basically, someone floated the hypothetical possibility that Coil was black. Another user insisted that he couldn't be black, apparently for racist reasons, and Wildbow decided to do a little trolling by decreeing on the spot that Coil was canonically black, to dunk on the racist in the chat. And because of Wildbow's whole personality, he then became very attached to the idea that this had always been his intent, even though it was clearly an impulsive decision and he clearly hadn't actually thought through the implications for the race politics of Worm as a whole.

Sending this ask actually sent me down a whole rabbit hole, because the main piece of evidence that gets cited that Wildbow totally actually did intend Coil to be black all along is that at one point, in 16.10, when Taylor is blind, she describes his hair as "coarse". I was going to bring that up, but it suddenly occurred to me that Wildbow has gone back and edited Worm several times, especially over this kind of internet discourse bullshit, and it's entirely possible that this was one of those times. So I decided to do some investigating on the Internet Archive, and it turns out that I was right! The word "coarse" was added to the description of Coil's hair in 16.10 sometime between September 19, 2015 and May 27, 2016. Which I guess narrows down when that incident in the IRC must have happened.

damn you should have made this your own post this is good detective work. didn't know that was a mystery that needed solving but the more you know. i was rather baffled as to how the book that's infamously racist about derogatory descriptions of Evil Gross Black People managed to have a black child predator villain without ever including gratuitous racism in the description of coil, and "it's because coil wasn't initially intended to be black and wildbow retconned it in an ill-advised attempt to own a racist + maintained it as true henceforth" would actually make perfect sense as an explanation

#ask #wormblr #parahumans #not really super relevant to the book itself but im trying to do the tagging things so they can be located later thing #worm spoilers

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darsynia · 5 months ago

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The Smoke That Roams (post-apocalypse AU Bucky/Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | lmk if you want to be tagged for Bucky fics!

Summary: You and Bucky find each other after the world almost ends

Length/Warnings: 3,080 | sex, allusions to violence

Notes: I tagged this on AO3 as 'romance and survival soaked in metaphor,' lol. It's post-apocalyptic angst. Stop typing, Darsy.

Excerpt:

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized. You were afraid for him. He was a supersoldier, but he wasn’t immortal. Bucky often went off by himself without saying anything to you--but what if someday he didn’t come back?

A pillow landed on the queen sized bed beside yours, followed by a blanket, followed by Bucky, who threw himself onto his back beside you with as much care as he’d tossed everything else. He was so warm you could feel the heat radiating through the space that separated you, even though none of it carried through to his tone.

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

The Smoke That Roams

You used to compare him to a solid, cold hunk of metal. Non-reflective but uncorroded, with a metaphorical melting point so high it’s practically unreachable. A weapon when thrown but otherwise safe, foundational, inexpressive.

That was before he touched you.

Bucky Barnes is not safe. He is expressive, though. Just not with words.

now

The world isn’t destroyed. There are still plants, there are still animals, and there are still safe places to spend time. The planet may actually be better off now than in the last few hundred years, because the humans who were in the process of ruining things just barely failed.

There are no regulations, no government-enforced exclusion zones, only good- and bad-intentioned people living day to day. You figure humanity has around twenty years of 'every man for himself' to realize how difficult it is to grow crops and sustain life. Until then, everyone’s subsisting on canned food and shelf-stable meats while hating every second of it.

Boredom is an unexpectedly dystopian pandemic, post-apocalypse. Books still exist, so there’s that. Unfortunately, even if there were experienced people to keep the electrical grid going, it’s completely unsustainable without an accompanying society. When you’re really depressed, you picture various survivors all around the world hunkering down to read Jurassic Park or Gone Girl next to pine-scented candles or last year’s Pantone table tapers. Once, you imagined a group of miserable assholes warming their hands next to a bonfire of Live, Laugh, Love wall hangings outside of a Cracker Barrel. It helped. You doubt any Karens survived the apocalypse to object.

then

You survived out of luck, if you could call living in the aftermath of a failed nuclear response ‘luck.’

Given the honest-to-fuck alien invasion, those nuclear strikes should have taken out the whole area. Instead, a strange golden dome repelled the worst of the damage, but you knew better than to assume it would stick around. After gathering some important provisions (including a gun and all your ammo), you spent some time bundling up your lawnmower’s spare gas can. You'd read The Stand. There's no way you're strong enough to pilfer gasoline from an underground tank.

That was when you found a leather-clad warrior man standing beside your motorcycle. He didn't seem surprised to see you. “You know how to ride this?”

“You after parts or gas?” you asked, hand on the butt of your gun. You were high on survivor’s guilt and low on bravado. He noticed both.

“A bodyguard,” Bucky told you sardonically.

He eventually told you the real reason, but at the time you’d pulled courage out of the sulfuric smell of danger in the air and suggested you watch each other’s backs.

now

“Still awake?”

You roll over to see Bucky’s familiar shape standing at the window, outlined in moonlight.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet.” Yesterday the two of you had retreated further into the mountains, judging your previous temporary home too close to the river after seeing two small groups using it for through travel.

“Never thought I’d like the quiet this much,” he muses.

Getting up, you move to stand beside him, still dressed in multiple layers to ward off the colder elevation. “That’s because it matters why it’s quiet.”

He doesn’t look over, but his smile is gorgeous in the dim light. “That’s a war reference.”

“You’re damn right.”

The two of you stand in silence, watching the shadows of the nearby trees play in the wind until he speaks again, gruff and oddly defensive.

“I was right about the shelter.”

“There’s a radio? Was it the right kind?”

“Yeah. Months worth of food, too.”

You’re embarrassed at how excited you are at the thought of MREs. “That’s great,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm. It’s sopping wet. Turning to look at him more fully, you see that his hair is wet too. He’s been dripping the whole time he's stood there; there’s a halo of wet, dark spots on the floor around him that feel almost symbolic.

“Most of the food was untouched. Ghosts don’t eat much.”

“How many?” You have to dredge to find enough moisture to rub your vocal cords together.

“Just one. Buried him in the woods pretty far out, washed up in the river.”

Bucky leaves so much unsaid, but you’re good at decoding him by now. This new cabin is miles from the river. As a good ‘bodyguard,’ though, you have one more clarifying question. It’ll matter, if you want to stay here for longer than a week or two.

“Was there evidence of-- did someone else--”

“Self-inflicted.”

“Yeah, aren’t we all,” you sigh, pushing away the guilt of relief.

then

You learned him slowly.

Bucky didn’t need a bodyguard as much as a body, or more accurately a second person to help carry the items he was gathering. It made sense; even a loner like him wouldn’t separate from the other Avengers without a reason. Their version of ‘strength in numbers’ was too complicated to understand and he didn’t really explain, but it had something to do with scattered communication, whatever that meant.

The parts he needed were in military bases, abandoned (and guarded, which was fucking terrifying) high rises, and one notable item was in a corn field. Eventually he gave you his motorcycle and upgraded to one with a sidecar.

You didn’t ask why it was wet when he showed up with it, but you had an idea of why he might have needed to clean it off.

By then you were used to sharing a room with him, dressing and undressing when he was out of the room or faced away. He didn't seem to mind, but you couldn’t really tell, and he didn’t say.

You were more like coworkers than anything else, to the point that he barely spoke once one of you started readying for bed, like an unwritten boundary. Not that night. He’d broken into a hotel with two beds, one for each of you. That night, instead of his usual steady rhythm of breaths that eventually lengthened into sleep, there was just pensive silence.

Silence was the worst part of your new life. Silence allowed doubts and fears to creep into the gaps between breaths, clawing out space for larger worries. Bucky was quiet, but he was rarely silent.

“It’s not cold,” he finally said, almost accusatory.

You didn’t know how to respond. You weren’t cold, you were in shock. Death was everywhere and nowhere; either you fought for your life or saw the evidence of those who’d lost that battle. Each choice came with terrible necessity. Had that sidecar been a necessity?

The flashlight clicked on. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold.”

“You’re safe. Go to sleep.”

It was… exactly what you needed.

now

“I need to build it as high up as I can,” Bucky says.

“Not ‘we?’” you ask, nowhere near as breezy as you hoped.

“I need you to be here, safe.” He reaches out and grabs your hand with his smooth, river-damp metal one, squeezing just too much. It’s as calculated as it is unintentional, like your relationship. “This time, ‘safe’ is not with me.”

He can run for days, heal his own wounds, kill in so many ways it would take a week to list them all, and you still don’t want him to go alone.

You don’t say that, though.

Instead, you tuck yourself against Bucky’s chest, wrapping your arms around his drenched torso. There are no dryers, no radiators to hang your wet clothes on, no fireplace to dry them by. It’s a message.

He holds you close in the moonlight, his river water soaking into you, your unspoken love seeping into him.

then

Bucky learned you fiercely.

After begrudgingly joining you the first time, he slept beside you from then on, handling it the same way he handled everything: with little explanation and an air of inflexibility. Suddenly you were two people who slept (slept, mind you) together, the metal plates of your lives shifting perfectly to fit that new reality.

You didn’t fully understand what it all meant until the night Bucky went for a walk instead of getting into bed. He’d killed a man right in front of you that day--brief, brutal, and bleak--and you'd waited for him to come back, alone with your own brutal and bleak thoughts. Had survival destroyed your morality? Why had he been beautiful as he’d ended the attacker’s life? Couldn’t things go back to the way they were? You didn’t ask for this!

Then it hit you.

Neither did he.

You got to travel with him in 2019 because someone did things to him in the 40s that he’d never asked for.

Bucky came back, but that didn't help you purge those horrible thoughts, not until he sighed in obvious annoyance and threw an arm over your hip, dragging you back against his chest like it was an obligation.

Only then could you sleep.

And so could he.

now

The moon is too high to shine through your borrowed window anymore, so Bucky leads you back to the bed in the dark. He guides your clothes over your head and down your hips as unerringly as a marksman who knows the specs of his weapons. When he kisses you, it’s sloppy and imprecise, like he doesn't have time to come up with a plan other than 'must touch, now.'

He drops you onto your back on the bed and straightens up, stripping off his shirt. You figure that out by the sound the sodden fabric makes on the hardwood floor, a wet thunk followed by the metal pinging noise his belt buckle makes.

A strange realization hits you: for the first time since everything went to hell, you don’t want water stains on the floor. This could be your place, yours and his. The thought warms the places where you’d pressed up against Bucky’s wet clothes, but soon his kisses do that for you, furnace-hot yet gentle as the curl of smoke from your frequent campfires.

You burn for him, and you have since before he touched you with intent and looked at you with desire.

then

Post-apocalyptic isolation was finally getting to you.

The warehouse was cold, impersonal, and dangerous enough that no one lived there, despite being a single building surrounded by miles of possibly-fertile fields. Back when it was operating, that had protected the county population, and now that it was not, its position could best be called strategic. No one could sneak up on you if you were diligent, but the monotony of guard duty was wearing on you. So was the wind coming off of the unrelenting central plains.

You'd never seen Bucky that frustrated before. He came to bed each night tense and sullen, even angry, and instinctively, you’d done your best to give him space. It was only in the last few nights that ‘space’ had included sleeping separately, despite the chill of early autumn that seeped into your bones from the concrete floor.

Day five of that singular brand of loneliness happened to be day thirteen at that location. You weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“Let me help you.” Your tone was wounded, but you didn’t raise your voice.

“You are helping.”

“There’s no point in me watching for nonexistent scavengers when whatever you’re doing isn’t working down here! Especially since--” Your words turned to ash in midair. You’d been about to say ‘especially since you won’t sleep with me anymore,’ which made your relationship sound vastly different than what it actually was.

Bucky smiled for the first time in days. “Go on.”

“No way. Mad Max himself couldn’t drag it from me.”

“I think I saw that one,” he said, swiping a precious candy bar from the special stash and sitting on a stack of pallets. “Sand and cars?”

You choke out a laugh. “If any of the filmmakers are still alive, can you even imagine--”

“They probably murder anyone that brings it up.” Bucky wrapped up the rest of the candy bar and held it up like he was about to toss it to you. “Tell me.”

Your chest felt like you’d swallowed lighter fluid. He looked happier than he had in days, and you had no idea if telling him the truth would toss a match or douse it.

Well, you lived with enough fear as it is.

“Fine,” you said with fake annoyance. “I was going to say that it’s hard to sleep without you breathing on my neck and hogging the blanket.” The plan was to be flippant, to avoid seeing his response, but an arsonist can never look away from their own blaze.

Bucky was still sitting the way he had been before, but you could see the tension ebbing from his shoulders. His metal hand relaxed its grip on the pallet with the same slow relief as the growing smug look on his face.

“Yeah?” he asked, impudent and inflammatory.

“Yeah. Give me the candy bar.”

“Oh, I will,” Bucky grinned. He stood up with the kind of confident menace that had sold many an action movie ticket.

“Oh my god, turn that off!” you yelped, poised to run. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Sand,” he said. You bit your lip as he continued, “I can use it to shore up-- Never mind.”

Bucky’s gaze was intent as he started walking in your direction. It was the same kind of focus he used to defend your lives, with only difference being the impudent light in his eyes. You backed away (never turn your back on a predator) as swiftly as you could, heart pounding in your delighted chest.

Seconds later you realize he’d herded you against a dividing wall and he was still advancing. It was absurd, sexy as hell, and the aforementioned lighter fluid had completely replaced your blood volume. One touch and you’d be aflame.

Bucky didn’t touch you.

He stopped mere breaths away, leaning his metal forearm on the wall. Bucky brought the half-wrapped candy bar up where you could see it and then ripped away the wrapping with his teeth, his eyes glittering with challenge. Holding your gaze, he brought it to your mouth.

You were breathing so heavily your breasts grazed his chest, sparking brushfires each time. Still, this was a contest of sorts, and you had precious few chances to go toe to toe with this man. You waited until the heat of your mouth smeared the chocolate on your lower lip, and only then did you move--shoving his hand to the side and arching up to kiss him.

His groan ignited something in both of you. He pulled you close with a rough hand at your thigh, curving your leg around him and taking charge of the kiss. It was exhilarating, full of the heat of something long-desired. You grabbed at the fabric of his shirt, dug your fingernails into his hair, your other hand skating over the bare metal of his arm.

Suddenly he pushed back on the wall behind you with enough force to shake the cinderblocks, eyes wild, hands at the hem of his tank top. You nodded, scraping your elbows in your haste to strip off your clothes. It took just seconds before you were on each other again, Bucky half carrying you to the corner of the warehouse where you’d piled up your bedding. He was already pumping his fingers in and out, sucking a brutal kiss on your neck even as he knelt on the pile of ragged quilts.

“You are so fucking strong-- yes, like that,” you gasped out with your eyes screwed so tightly you saw a spray of sparks. The white-hot pleasure practically rang in your ears, and then he was there, splitting you apart and putting you back together, with the taste of him healing the gaps.

“You smell just like every morning I wanted to do this,” Bucky growled into your skin. The pinpoint pain of his fingertips digging into your hip was so real, so him that you were speechless. All you could do was drag your lips across every inch you could reach, arching your back to drive the two of you toward the wreckage of your former selves.

When release came it was a second nuclear event, him panting into the join of your neck and shoulder, your hands buried in his hair.

now

There is a luxury to darkness and patience, one you never would have guessed at in the Time Before.

Bucky doesn’t have to see the ecstasy on your face to know his expert caresses are sending you skyward. You don’t have to watch him throw his head back to know he’s about to come apart inside you.

He’s seen the silhouette of your body backlit by the sunset as you ride him.

You’ve watched the lethargy of pleasure-bought peace lift months of his guilt.

Things will never go back to the way they used to be, but just as you’ve learned to navigate the chaos of the current world, you’ve also learned the comfort of being truly known.

Tomorrow, Bucky will head up the mountain to build one piece of a larger device various Avengers have been constructing across the world. Stark had called it a cosmic smoke signal, a last-ditch effort to call for rescue. After all this time, you’re not sure your heart is in it anymore. It’s engaged elsewhere; you haven’t just learned to adapt, you’ve learned to thrive with Bucky at your side.

Still, the others are counting on the two of you, and it’s all about balance. Whether the next mission is a fiery trip to the stars or the steady puff of a hand-built cookstove, you’re ready for what comes next.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #angst #romance #smut #post-apocalyptic AU #bucky barnes imagine #building up enough bucky fic to make him his own masterlist!#ARGH TUMBLR DO NOT REMOVE MY CUT WHEN I EDIT WTF

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thebreakfastgenie · 3 months ago

Note

this is one (1) redeemable voucher to complain about AO3's tagging system (if you like)

Thanks for the voucher!

I probably should have phrased that post differently because upon reflection what I hate is more downstream of AO3's tagging system. The system itself does what it's supposed to do: it organizes the archive. Of course, users get cutesy with it (and I'm guilty of this myself) and other users will use inaccurate tags on purpose to get more attention (this is not acceptable behavior), but neither of those things are the system's fault.

But because the tagging system is so robust and fics are tagged based on tropes, this culture has developed of hyper-curated, trope-based reading habits. This didn't exist before AO3 because it just wasn't possible to filter fics to that extent. Some of my favorite fic reading experiences have been fics that I stumbled across by mistake because I didn't know what they were or because I had to comb through broader categories.

And this is where I start sounding like Ted Gup. Ted Gup wrote this essay in the late 90s called The End of Serendipity about how computers being so efficient at retrieving information was going to bring about the end of people stumbling upon topics they wouldn't have otherwise explored. I had to read and respond to this essay in English class in middle school and I raked Ted Gup over the coals, because I was writing on my laptop with dozens of open tabs. I still think I was right to point out Ted Gup's failure to foresee the wiki walk, but now that I'm older and technology has developed more over the last fifteen years, I'm starting to think he had something of a point.

I was thinking about this in a fanfiction and fandom context because I recalled a post I reblogged recently saying (paraphrased) "I have nothing against shipping but some of you are too focused on shipping to the exclusion of everything else." I agree with that post, but for me part of the problem isn't even the focus on shipping, it's that the shipping content is often so formulaic. Fandom talks a big game about diversity and creativity in fanworks, but a lot of the actual output I see is incredibly formulaic. In my opinion that's related to the extreme focus on tropes. Tropes are great, but if you're only looking at fic as a list of tropes you're taking a very narrow view. I don't know what the direction of causality is here, if there even is one, but I think the tagging system and the way the tagging system is used facilitate this reductive trope-based outlook.

I'm from the fanfiction.net era and I find the character and relationship tagging on AO3 useful, but I don't really care for the additional tags. I had to train myself to even read them. I prefer to select fics based on titles and summaries, because those are created by the author. Obviously writing a summary is very different than writing a story (and in fact it's a different skill and it's hard!) but a summary is still written by the author, so it gives me some sense of their writing style. When authors actually include an excerpt in the summary it does that even more. Tags can be useful in conjunction with a summary, because well-selected tags make me curious how all the elements listed in the tags fit together. But I don't want to sort by Enemies to Lovers or whatever.

I don't expect everyone to read like I do, this is nothing more than one crank's ramblings about my personal dissatisfaction with the current state of fandom. Maybe it resonates with someone, and if it does they're welcome to reblog it, but I'm not trying to do social commentary here. Maybe it doesn't, and that's okay too.

I also don't know if the trope focus on booktok and in the traditional publishing world comes out of fanfiction or not but it's even more distressing to me there and I think it bothers me in the fanfiction sphere because of the possibility that fanfiction is contributing to that trend.

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felassan · 9 months ago

Text

Image credits: David Gaider [source link below]

Article: 'Who is qualified to make a world? In search of the magic of maps'

"You're travelling with your imagination..."

An extensive feature article about maps, map creation and world-building. It refers to David Gaider and the team's early world-building and early-days process of creating the universe that would become Dragon Age. It includes this early series of original sketches of the map of Thedas through time that Gaider drew when the world was being created.

Excerpts under the cut (due to length):

"Dragon Age. That's the game Gaider was working on - or rather, it was the world he would dream up. Ideas had been swirling about what Dragon Age would be for a few months. The team knew it would be like D&D but would not be actual D&D, because BioWare was sick of licensed games at the time. They knew they were going for Tolkien rather than Conan or Diablo. "We definitely had at least some idea of the kind of RPG this was going to be," Gaider tells me when in a video call. But BioWare didn't have a world. One day, Gaider was handed a historical atlas of Europe and tasked with going away and coming up with a fantasy world for players to explore. And almost immediately, he sketched a map." - "What is it about a map that gives it magical powers to bind us and pull us in? I wanted to know more, and through talking to David Gaider and learning about his creation of the map for Dragon Age, I hoped I might find out." - "In fact, he corrects me, "I sketched a lot of maps." But they were the same map, replicated over and over, because in order for a world to make sense to Gaider, it needed history. "I drew this coastline and then made a bunch of photocopies of it," he says, "and did this series of sketches, like, 'Okay in this era, this is where people lived and where they migrated and created different cultures,' and those cultures changed over time as they got conquered. Much like the book of European maps I had, I was doing it in eras and forming an idea in my mind about how these groups all mingled together. David Gaider was kind enough to share his original sketches of the Dragon Age world with me, and in them, you can see an emerging flow of history. You can see the spread of the Tevinter Empire as the race of Men lands in the north and then begins to spread out. You can see, in the earliest images, there's still a kingdom of Elves in the forest of Arlathan, nearby. Then, they are forced out by the growing Tevinter Empire, south to the Dales, where we encounter them in the Dragon Age games, subjugated to being a kind of slave race. Tribes give way to kingdoms, and names we're familiar with begin to appear." - Caption on the sketches: "David Gaider's original sketches of the Dragon Age world. Wherever you see a name typed in, it's because it was changed by EA's in-house sensitivity team, which cross-checked place names with real-world names in case there was a clash. The area of Antiva, for example, used to be called Calabria, but Calabria is the name of a region in southern Italy. "Well, if you do something with the Calabrians that real Calabrians don't like, they might get upset," the sensitivity department at EA told Gaider. "So I was like, 'Oh fine, I'll change it,'" he says." - ""My feeling on history when it comes to worlds," Gaider says, "is that you need to have a lot of it." Without it, he says a world will feel like a facade. "Sometimes you'll see worlds where they've made only what is needed for their current story, and it's like an old Western set: it feels right, it looks right, but then you slowly get a sense of, 'Oh, there's nothing behind those doors.' Before he sat down to draw, Gaider already knew some of the geographical elements he wanted. He knew he wanted a topsy-turvy 'South was cold and North was hot' idea for the continent, to play with people's expectations, and he knew he wanted a large waterway - that he likens to the Mediterranean - carving its way far inland. Today, we know this as the Waking Sea, and it's an incredibly important feature in the Dragon Age games. Gaider also knew he wanted islands far up in the north, from which an unknown race could invade. "I knew that I wanted an 'other' race that would come along," he says, "which ended up being the Qunari." Gaider also knew he wanted untouched areas for adventure, like forests and mountains, just in case the game would need them. "I didn't want every place to be so civilised that when it came time for 'we need ruins' or 'we need massive wilderness', we've got nowhere to go because I've civilised the entire thing," he says."

"Because remember, the team didn't yet know where the game they were making would be set. That's why so much of the continent you see in the sketches is as yet unused in Dragon Age games - the series hasn't needed all of it by this point. Continents are vast, after all, and realising them in 3D for players to explore is a mighty task. "I guess in my head," Gaider says, "we would be probably either on the north of Ferelden, on what became the Free Marches, or maybe off in the west more towards the Tirashan Forest or the Hunterhorns. That was a very wild area and I was like, 'That's a good place for an adventure to be.' Atlas at hand, photocopies in front of him, Gaider set about his work of growing a game world from a bunch of maps, and with not a small amount of trepidation. There was a lot riding on the world after all; it was a far cry from the worlds he'd created and freely abandoned as a teenager. "This is going to form the foundation, ideally, for a lot of games," he says, "and a lot of people are going to do work [on it]. And the trepidation is like, 'I don't know what I'm doing.' I'm essentially the equivalent of a 13-year-old just going, 'La la la, I'm going to call this Ferelden!'" - "Some things bother David Gaider about the Dragon Age 1 map, still, and they occurred when artists prettied his sketches without his involvement. "Oh," he said awkwardly when they were presented to him. "I didn't want it to look like this, exactly." He says they added a lot more rivers and mountains, and flipping between his sketches and the Dragon Age: Origins map, you can see some have moved around, or gained prominence, and places like Redcliffe have shifted. Apparently people would take to the BioWare forums after the game came out to complain about the map's geography. "And I'm like, 'You know what? You got a point,'" Gaider says. This is mostly anger at himself, though, for not doing more about it. Similarly, he wishes he'd been able to sit down with artists and work out what the rest of the continent you don't see in his sketches looked like, so they didn't have to have "the continent just keeps going..."-like messages at the edge of it. "But to where?" Gaider says. But it speaks to something he's noticed in his decades working in games about artists and writers. "They really speak two different languages," he tells me. They process things differently and they tend to care about different things. There were reams of history and lore written in a "world bible" for the Dragon Age team, but getting artists to read it was another matter. They wanted clear visual cues, not piles of backstory. Dragon Age: Origins eventually found its setting in Ferelden, the kingdom in the bottom right bulge of the sketches, so it left a huge portion of the sketched world unused, which the team presumed no one would ever see. "We thought that was going to be the only one," he says of Dragon Age: Origins. "That's why when you get to the end of Origins, there's so many epilogues that cast off far into the future, which, if we'd known that we were going to keep going and keep going with history, we wouldn't have said, 'Oh, in fifty and one hundred years, this is going to happen.' I think we would have played our cards a little closer to our chest. EA apparently found the game very old-fashioned and thought no one wanted turn-based role-playing games like that any more, which of course now seems ridiculous given the success of Baldur's Gate 3. "Baldur's Gate just goes to show how wrong people are when it comes to industry wisdom," Gaider says."

"Nevertheless, when Dragon Age 2 eventually was green-lit, the scope of it, and the focus of it, would completely change. With it, BioWare and EA would push towards a console RPG experience that stopped and started less, and had more action-packed combat. And EA only gave BioWare 18 months to make it, so BioWare decided to make a much smaller, more tightly focused game. It seemed like a good idea at the time. "People at BioWare convinced themselves that the fans would be okay - it'll be fine if it's a smaller game," Gaider says. "And I don't know why we thought that was the case, but for a moment there in time, we were like, 'Yeah, sure, it'll be fine.'" As for the mapping, a tighter focus meant centering on one place rather than a whole region, so the city of Kirkwall on the Waking Sea became the heart of the game, and BioWare developed a time-jumping idea for the game so you could see it at various different points in your character's lifetime, which I still think is really neat. And because there wasn't a large region to explore, the game didn't need a sprawling map, so BioWare turned the map on its side to give Kirkwall some height and majesty instead. It wasn't particularly memorable, but it looked nice. The game didn't go down well. "Its highs were really high, and its lows were really low," Gaider says now. "It was very unpolished. If it even got six months more polish, I think the reception would have been a lot different." More importantly, it meant everything would need to change again for Dragon Age 3." - "In Dragon Age: Inquisition, the third game in the series, the map plays a starring role. It's built into the game world specifically so you and your Inquisition advisors can gather around it and push pieces about as you choose where to go next. Thematically, this fits neatly with the theme of running an organisation like the Inquisition, but the map was also required to cover a lot of ground. One thing BioWare knew the moment it started making the game was that it needed to be bigger than DA2. This time, the game would spread across areas of Ferelden we hadn't been to as well as some we had; up to Kirkwall and into surrounding Free Marches, and then west to the city of Orlais and onwards until it reached past the Waking Sea and arid desert land. But the sense of scale was an illusion. Dragon Age: Inquisition wasn't a continuous, open world, but a fragmented one, made up of a few open-world-like zones, some small parts of cities, and many 'you can't actually explore there, but you can read about it' text-window interactions. Again, this was Gaider's idea, to give the game "a feeling of breadth" without needing the art department to render it all in 3D. By the time Inquisition came out in 2014, the world of Thedas - the name an amalgamation of "the" and "Dragon Age Setting" by the way - had been reinterpreted for three games and touched by many pairs of hands. Gaider's writing team had plugged the holes he, as a single writer, couldn't fill, and the art team had shown us what the world looked like. There was even, fittingly, a Dragon Age encyclopaedia released, compiling the teetering piles of lore and backstory, and maps and imagery that BioWare created for it. People were now joining the team who were already fans of the series. This was no longer an imaginary world; Thedas felt real. And perhaps it no longer needed Gaider to steer it."

- "So Gaider left BioWare in 2016, having worked there for 17 years, most of it spent on Dragon Age. Really, he'd had enough of wizards and demons, and Anthem wasn't the tonic he sought. Eventually, he'd move all the way from Canada to Australia for a fresh start, where he'd start Summerfall Studios and make a role-playing musical called Stray Gods, which was released last year. That game, incidentally, only featured a small map for travelling between city locations. Today, he awaits the arrival of a new Dragon Age game - Dragon Age: Dreadwolf - like the rest of us, having had no direct input. It's an anxious wait, as you can imagine. "I was Mr Dragon Age for ten years," he says, "so there is a certain amount of attachment. I'm not sure how I will feel when Dragon Age 4 comes out. I have a hard time believing that if I play it, I won't spend a lot of the time second guessing any choices I see, like, 'Oh, hmm, I wouldn't have done that.' What if they bring back some characters that I wrote? They're going to Tevinter so what if Dorian's there? Gah! I don't know; I am of two minds as to whether or not I will even play it." "It makes me wonder about these people who create worlds, who draw them into existence - whether that's in a preliminary sketch or a lavish piece of artwork - and whether there's always a point where success comes with the consequence of ceding control. Had Gaider kept the world of Dragon Age to himself, a photocopied map, folded and stuffed in a back pocket, we'd never have played it. And had millions of people not played and enjoyed it, I wouldn't be writing about it now and have that feeling when I look at an image of one of Gaider's photocopies, that I'm in the presence of something special, something powerful. But it's no longer Gaider's map, and no longer Gaider's world. It's all of ours."" - "For Gaider, maps are snapshots of history, photocopied slideshows explaining how places came to be. And of course they are, because he was thinking about Dragon Age when he started in on maps, which meant that he was thinking about geography, sure, but also the passing of time, and the way the latter affects the former."

[source and full article]

#dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #longpost #long post #anthem

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arcadia-of-pluto · 3 months ago

Text

Excerpt/Teaser for "Storge Love"

Storge; one of the eight forms of Greek love, meaning "a protective, loyal, and selfless type of love".

Paring(s); LADS Zayne x reader

Word count; 922 (for the teaser)

Themes; brother's best friend trope, small age gap (of 5 years, reader will be 23 and Zayne will be 28)

Warnings; none, but it will be 18+ with mature content

Characters included(in the full one-shot); brother! Caleb, grandma josephine, Tara, Yvonne, Greyson, Jeremiah, and slight mention of the other male leads

Notes; Hey guys! I feel weird not posting anything at all, so even if it's short...I want to post a little bit from my Zayne x reader that's a part of my Trope's one-shot series. I'm currently writing this one and my Rafayel one at the same time (both are at 2k words currently)– and I would be working on Sylus's too, but his trope is still currently being voted on.

Anyways, this one-shot is probably going to feel really disjointed and rushed, just because I want to skip through the years quickly to get to present day reader and Zayne. I don't want to spend too long in the past, but that's where this excerpt begins!

For as long as you can remember, Zayne has been a constant in your life. He and Caleb first met in middle school when you were eight, but your first meeting with Zayne was a different story.

You, a quiet yet hyperactive nine year old, were excited to play a game with your brother and his friends. It was his thirteenth birthday and you all decided to play hide-in-go seek at one of Linkon's many parks. Your grandma was seated at a picnic table, not too far away, and waves at you with a bright smile as you went to go play. She was obviously worried about you, seeing as you're a relatively quiet child– you don't try to seek out others, but you crave the attention. You never wanted to get close to anyone, but cried whenever you were alone. She knew you were a bit different since adopting you, but she tried to accommodate for you as best she could.

“Hey, Caleb!” One of your brother's friends whispers something in his ear and Caleb nods his head. “Alright, pipsqueak, you're it first!” Your brother says to you and a frown ghosts across your lips. Really…? That's…not fun. You're not good at finding people, but…he's the birthday boy and grandma always says that “when it's your birthday, what you say goes.” But you're not sure if that only applied to you or Caleb as well..

“Oh, alright..” You sigh before turning around to rest your forehead against a nearby tree. “How high do I need to count to?” “Hmmm…five bazillion!” One of Caleb's many guy friends laughs before it all goes silent. You decide to close your eyes and give them one minute. Sixty seconds…

It was still quiet, save for the wind and the parents talking amongst themselves, whenever you opened your eyes and you looked around, noticing that they really did all leave to hide. “This is so…fun.” You mutter to yourself with a deep sigh, kicking a pebble before beginning your search.

You found half of the dumb fourteen year old boys because they started laughing as soon as you got close, some even making fart noises. Real mature…

“Hey Y/n, I remember seeing Caleb go down there!” Caleb's blonde friend, who seems pretty nice, points toward the woods. “Grandma said we shouldn't go past the gazebo.” You tilt your head to the side before nodding it. You wave back as you run off. “I'll go get him! Thanks for telling me.”

“Caleb!” You cup your tiny hands over your mouth as you yell; looking up at the trees, inside of fallen trunks, through bushes. You wince as a thorn cuts your finger and you can't help the small sniffle that escapes your shaky lips. Your glassy eyes looking up at the sky, noticing it was a pretty shade of pink– well, it would've been pretty if that colour didn't mean that the sun was setting. The sun was setting and you realized you were lost.

Was…Caleb even out here? No. That boy had no reason to lie to you! Besides, if Caleb is really out here, he's probably lost just like you. He'll find you…probably.

But your optimistic demeanor fades rather quickly. You sit down at the base of a tree, picking at the loose threads on your skirt while your other arm hugs your legging-clad knees to your chest.

You take a few shallow breaths, trying to calm yourself down. It was difficult though. You were terrified of being alone, scared of the dark. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your forehead against your knees. “I wanna go home…” you sniffle, trying your best to not completely break down.

“Hello?”

A shout shrieks past your lips and you quickly look around with wide eyes, suddenly feeling more scared at the thought of a disembodied voice talking to you. “W-who's there?” Your hand pats around until it wraps around a twig and you hold it to your chest as protection.

“Oh, Caleb's sister…how'd you get out here?” You finally spot a head of black hair as a boy walks up to you. “I-” You want to say more, but the overwhelming feeling of relief washes over you and you finally allow your tears to escape. “One of C-Caleb's stupid friends told me he was out here, and I got lost, and scared…and–” you wipe your face with your sleeve.

“Uh…” The boy is seemingly uncomfortable for a moment and pushes his glasses up before blurting out, “Do you want some ice cream?”

Your tears instantly dry up and you tilt your head to the side. “Are you trying to kidnap me? I'll have you know that my grandma and big brother both said that it's not worth it to kidnap me because the kidnapper would want to bring me back almost immediately.”

I'm not too sure when I'll post the full thing for this and Rafayel's "Ludus Love" but I just wanted to post a teaser to give yall something to read while waiting for 'Twist of Fate'!

I also really wanted to get to Zayne's one-shot because I recently fell in love with him because of his birthday 5 star card. (It took me 80 long, agonizing draws but I finally pulled him 😭)

#lads #love and deepspace #lads zayne #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace zayne #teaser #lnds x reader #lnds zayne #lnds zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lads x reader

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saintmeghanmarkle · 3 months ago

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Two things we know about Meghan: she never misses a chance to play the victim and she practically wrote Spare. There must be a reason these parts of the book were so vague. by u/so_fkn_dn

Two things we know about Meghan: she never misses a chance to play the victim, and she practically wrote Spare. There must be a reason these parts of the book were so vague. I haven't read Spare first hand, but I recall these two excerpts both including accusations/insults against Meghan but stopping short of saying exactly what they were. My guess is there was truth in those insults, and she purposely kept them hidden to cover her ass while maintaining her victimhood.1. The argument that got Harry to seek therapy"Maybe the wine went to my head. Maybe the weeks of battling the press had worn me down. For some reason, when the conversation took an unexpected turn, I became touchy. Then angry. Disproportionately, sloppily angry. Meg said something I took the wrong way. It was partly a cultural difference, partly a language barrier, but I was also just over-sensitive that night. I thought: Why's she having a go at me? I snapped at her, spoke to her harshly—cruelly. As the words left my mouth, I could feel everything in the room come to a stop [...] She was calm, but said in a quiet, level tone that she would never stand for being spoken to like that. I nodded. She wanted to know where it came from. 'I don't know.' 'Where did you ever hear a man speak like that to a woman? Did you overhear adults speak that way when you were growing up?' I cleared my throat, looked away, 'Yes.'"My take: Since Harry mentioned the press wearing him down, and Meghan asking where he heard a man speaking like that to a woman, I'm guessing something about her past (or a rumour about it) bothered him. Whatever it is, either there's some truth to it, or Harry's not such a feminist ally after all.2. Charles banning Meghan from the Queen's deathbed"Then came another call from Pa. He said I was welcome at Balmoral, but he didn't want…her. He started to lay out his reason, which was nonsensical, and disrespectful, and I wasn't having it. 'Don’t ever speak about my wife that way.' He stammered, apologetic, saying he simply didn't want a lot of people around. No other wives were coming, Kate wasn't coming, he said, therefore Meg shouldn't. 'Then that's all you needed to say.'"My take: Charles accused Meghan of wearing a mic, or something equally shady.For a book that detailed decades-old conversations verbatim, I'd say these omissions are very telling. post link: https://ift.tt/AQ6OjpB author: so_fkn_dn submitted: August 24, 2024 at 10:11AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

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clove-pinks · 5 months ago

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I finally finished this documentary-drama series from 2013, and I highly recommend it, if you have any interest in the War of 1812. Commentary from a diverse group of historians representing Canadian and US perspectives (including Indigenous historians) is interspliced with reenactments of events on the western frontier of Upper Canada. They didn't have the biggest budget, but it's as close as you can get to a War of 1812 movie.

The focus of the three-episode series is on the suffering of ordinary people in the region, who wanted nothing to do with the war but found themselves in a war zone. Clockwise from top left, three of the actors in the series are portraying Duncan McArthur, who was a commander of the U.S. Army of the Northwest and later governor of Ohio, Brother Denke of the Moravian religious community, who repeatedly relocated to escape the war, and Andrew Westbrook, "the traitor Westbrook" who supported the invading Americans despite being a descendant of Loyalists in Upper Canada.

I watched the first two episodes thinking that the title referred to growing cultural and ideological differences caused by the War of 1812 pitting neighbor against neighbor, but there was a significant Title Drop moment in the last episode when it was revealed to be a phrase used in a letter by Michigan territory governor Lewis Cass. Cass was advocating for the complete devastation of Upper Canada to create "a desert between us and them" that could not feed or support British troops and their Indigenous allies.

Look—I love my country, but there's just no getting around the fact that the USA is the villain in the War of 1812. We invaded Canada on flimsy pretences for a landgrab and caused incredible devastation to specifically civilian areas (e.g. the Burning of York); it was even worse on the frontier. It also does not reflect well on us that the British had planned for years to exploit the many discontents in the territories of the United States: enslaved people who would eagerly work against their enslavers, and Indigenous people who had been exploited and attacked after multiple violated treaties and military incursions.

Almost needless to say, both of these groups fought for the British in the War of 1812. (Black and Indigenous veterans on the US side were poorly treated, despite their loyalty). The War of 1812 ultimately expanded slavery in North America, and it's directly connected to imperialist ideas of Manifest Destiny that saw the US turn to western expansion and the forced removal of Indigenous residents. The more you examine the beliefs of the War Hawks the worse we look!

Even knowing all this, A Desert Between Us and Them made me reconsider some of the narratives I've read about the War of 1812 in Upper Canada (the part of modern-day Ontario between all of the Great Lakes). I have read several academic articles and books recently that were critical of the Kentucky Militia, but they didn't say anything about their terrorism of Upper Canada! They're a lot less sympathetic in this account.

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(This YouTube channel has many excerpts from A Desert Between Us and Them)

McArthur's raids are part of a more brutal phase in the War of 1812. They really did use Napoleonic era total war strategy, and the towns of Upper Canada's western reaches were depopulated for years. I appreciated how A Desert Between Us and Them explored some of the political intrigue and personal rivalries between all of the militia and community leaders in the Old Northwest/Upper Canada region at the time.

The trailer is worth a watch! (link if embedded video doesn't work).

youtube

#war of 1812 #documentary #military history #canadian history #us history #a desert between us and them #the guy playing duncan mcarthur is one thousand times hotter than the real guy #they have a decent sir isaac brock #one hundred fixed typos later #i published this by accident while editing

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burningvelvet · 11 months ago

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My analysis on Heathcliff and his relationships, and some interesting excerpts from Juliet McMaster's "The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery" via JSTOR (TW: abuse, sa/sexual violence, generally graphic and potentially triggering content)

*note: I've had half of this in my drafts for a while. My last reblog, which discusses Heathcliff's lack of attraction to Cathy II, inspired me to finally expand on & post it. That reblog is here: https://www.tumblr.com/burningvelvet/738896230943522816

Cathy II is one of my favorite characters and I think her dynamic with Heathcliff is fascinating. I would say that while he may not be attracted to her (indeed, he sometimes seems repulsed by her) his behavior toward her IS explicitly predatory as it includes lying to her, manipulating her, physically abusing her, kidnapping her, and forcing her into a marriage in which he helped to seduce her with love letters under his son's name.

Combine this with his behavior toward his wife Isabella, in which sexual violence may be easily inferred as he says Isabella hated him a day into their marriage (and sure, some people conceive on the first try, but what are the odds? and the concept of marital rape didn't legally exist back then) — not to mention Heathcliff calling her a slut (sexually violent epithet* *editing this post to say that "slut" was a mainly gendered term, but in Brontë's time it didn't have today's more sexualized meaning; for most of history it primarily meant "slovenly" aka messy/careless), and both of them vaguely referring to heinous abuses she undergoes in private (and what could be worse than what we already know about his treatment of his subordinates). With how determined he was to get a male heir, and that being the whole reason why he married her, it is not much of a stretch to assume that he bedded her multiple times until she showed signs of pregnancy. It is a very easy thing to infer actually.

He was probably as insulting and as violent (or at the very least, cold) with her in bed as he always was in every other aspect from the very start of their relationship. As they both confirm that she receives his abuse openly (until her escape), and as she wishes to be a "good wife," she likely did not struggle to avoid her "marital duties," but again, she clearly hates him for most of her marriage, and we learn that she despises him immediately after their marriage when the veil finally fully drops. And with how upfront with her he initially was about his intentions, and how his own verbal admissions + outright verbal abuse failed to quell her desire for him initially, what more than physical and especially sexual violence could have led Isabella to despise him so soon after their consummation? Their sexual experiences couldn't have gone splendidly for her, and for him it was likely a mechanical chore he likely resented and was therefore probably not delicate with (he hates delicacy anyway).

Yet, while Heathcliff is violent and predatory (in the colloquial as well as the primal, animalistic sense, as he is always related to nature even in his very name), he also contains hints of a long-buried goodness, as we all know, and this is what makes him a fascinating protagonist. He has a capacity for strong feeling, a deliberate if not faulty moral code, and he sometimes shows kindness accidentally.

This is why Heathcliff catching baby Hareton is such a pivotal moment in the story, because it is only after he saves his life that he actually realizes what he's done and then muses that he should've let the child die. This scene shows that his natural subconscious instinct is actually good, and that his external situations are what have shaped his darker impulses on the conscious level. In other words, he causes us to examine the nature vs nurture debate.

Despite later abusing him, Heathcliff sees Hareton as a son-like figure in his own twisted way, and in the end as he loses his life forces, he gives Hareton and Cathy II his blessings like a father would — he essentially is Hareton's father, and he is legally Cathy II's father-in-law, first through his son Linton and then we could say through his unofficial adoption of Hareton, who he says he would have preferred as a son. So Cathy II has Heathcliff as a sort of double father figure, though of course she would never accept this.

At one point, Heathcliff notes that he takes good care not to do anything that could be proven to be criminal or illegal. In his usual exactness, he was pretty much right. He is always tip-toeing the line of immorality: in the gothic literary tradition, his relationship with Cathy I has incestuous undertones, but they are not legally or biologically related, and so he skates by.

He declares that he has no regrets and that he's done nothing wrong by technical standards. Manipulating, lying, mental and physical abuse of one's financial dependents, and marital rape (hypothetical or not) were all within legal bounds for the most part, and even the forced marriage of Linton H./Cathy II was done through the process of emotional blackmail (and physical evidence in the form of her love letters) so that in his mind, he wasn't actually responsible.

However, Heathcliff may have reasoned that sexually abusing one's daughter-in-law in revenge may be in violation of the law; that he would gain severe detraction from his "slaves" Nelly, Hareton, even Joseph; and that if such a huge scandal broke out, he would have a harder time finding tenants, etc. — also, I don't think Heathcliff would have felt like he "needed" to sexually abuse Cathy II to get revenge against her/her family, because as he says, at that point he already has his revenge and his victory; he already has her lands, and degrades her every day by forcing her to be a servant and a slave, and by abusing her in every other way. Sexually abusing her would be an extra effort on his part.

And I don't think he would gain anything out of it aside from revenge. I don't really think Heathcliff has much sexual interest in anyone at all, probably not due to inborn asexuality but due to his depression, trauma, emotional repression, and general issues. Although he and Cathy I have an extremely passionate spiritual relationship, I can't say that I believe he ever experienced fully actualized/conscious sexual feelings even for her. Considering their youth and rocky position when he leaves her for his hiatus, and the very brief period of their reunion, their relationship was likely never "consummated" — or at least I see no hard textual evidence to suggest that it was, although I'm sure many people could probably argue against this. And regardless of whether or not he and Cathy I ever had a physically sexual relationship, I don't think he could ever really be seriously attracted to anyone but her.

But in order to get his revenge, he did bed Isabella likely multiple times until her pregnancy. And as McMaster demonstrates below, by encouraging Cathy II to marry his son — and quite literally seducing her himself by writing love letters to her under his son's name — Heathcliff essentially beds her by proxy, if not in actuality. He wants her property, and he wants her, and because his son is the same age as her and dying, he decides to use him as the perfect pawn to access her by

If Linton H. died before he could be married to Cathy II, would Heathcliff have attempted to marry Cathy II on his own? I think this is a fascinating topic to theorize about, and I can only assume the answer would be yes, because Hareton wouldn't have worked as a pawn, though perhaps Heathcliff would have simply manipulated Hareton to sign over Cathy II's inheritance to him instead (as the laws of marital coverture meant husbands were entitled to 100% of their wives money/property/inheritance). But at that point Heathcliff was still looking for revenge (and therefore may not have been adverse to getting it like he did in his first marriage with Isabella), and he may not have wanted to be financially responsible for the newly weds and their potential offspring, or to suffer legal repercussions if Cathy II or someone else convinced Hareton to hire a lawyer lol. But I digress.

And as the last quote in the following list demonstrates, I think it was not only a touch of the gothic incest theme that Emily was going for by having Lockwood assume Cathy II is Heathcliff's wife, but that it was intentionally symbolic of how weird and difficult-to-define their relationship is: they don't act like father and daughter in-laws, but he is legally her provider and in-house patriarch, and she is the lady of the house, and she is the closest thing to her mother he has. I could write whole essays about that last point & the similarities of both Catherines, such as their fearlessness, particularly toward Heathcliff (and I believe this makes him uncomfortable and even scares him at times).

---

Excerpts from Juliet McMaster's "The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery" via JSTOR:

"Linton is called at one point 'only a feeble tool to his father' (205). In the sexual context he becomes a sort of human dildo, which his father uses to rape and degrade the second Catherine, the child bride whose birth caused the death of the Catherine whom Heathcliff loved."

"'Making love in play, eh?' says Heathcliff of the young couple, with grim jocularity (188). And that is the way in which Bronte develops this courtship of juveniles."

"Heathcliff even writes half of Linton's love letters for him, so that they turn out 'singularly odd compounds of ardour and flatness,' 'copious love letters, foolish as the age of the writer rendered natural, yet with touches, here and there, which I thought were borrowed from a more experienced source' (182), records Nelly. Catherine is being wooed by son and father together. And when the time comes, the marriage is consummated by the same team."

"[Linton] takes his pleasure, when Catherine pushes him off, in summoning his father and in witnessing the physical domination of his bride [..]"

"After Heathcliff abducts and incarcerates young Catherine and her attendant, he keeps our narrator, Nelly, imprisoned for 'five nights and four days' (220). Meanwhile the marriage ceremony is performed, but we have no one to describe it for us."

"'She's not to go; we won't let her' [..] Now more than ever Linton's life and opinions are ruled by his father: he can do little more than parrot what 'he says.' If Linton's satisfied mein suggests the happy bridegroom, his role as husband, lord and master is shared with his father."

"Heathcliff testifies, 'I heard him draw a pleasant picture to Zillah of what he would do [to Catherine], if he were as strong as I. The inclination is there' (228). Linton evidently has a conception of himself and his father as complementary in this sexual context, part of a team."

"Heathcliff's appropriation of the property and physical abuse of the bride leaves her in effect deflowered. His brutal blow that makes the blood flow recalls his symbolic defloration of Isabella, Linton's mother, when he hurls the knife."

"[Heathcliff] won't listen to Nelly's pleas that since he hates the young couple he may as well let them stay at the Grange. 'I want my children about me, to be sure,' he answers with chilling irony; '—besides, that lass owes me her services for her bread' (227). One wonders what sort of 'services' he has in mind. He apparently intends to prolong the honeymoon at which he has assisted. And as he takes her away, there is some doubt, as in Lockwood's mind at the beginning of the novel, whether Catherine is Heathcliff's daughter-in-law or his bride [..]"

Source: McMaster, Juliet. “The Courtship and Honeymoon of Mr. and Mrs. Linton Heathcliff: Emily Brontë's Sexual Imagery.” Victorian Review, vol. 18, no. 1, 1992, pp. 1–12. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/27794707.

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4dkellysworld · 1 year ago

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Why clear the subconscious to realise Self

I hope this helps people who are struggling with trauma/deeply rooted wounds and are looking for a way to reconcile this with their goal of self-realisation 💕

Context:

The prime obstacle we meet in seeking this unlimited being is the subconscious mind. It is full of thoughts of limitations which propel us every day and they do so automatically. We have made these habits of subconscious thoughts so strong that even when we recognize the direction we would like to go in, the subconscious thoughts keep directing us for quite some time (sometimes lifetimes) until we finally succeed in overcoming them. We overcome them with thoughts of what we really want to do in life, and in that way we become master over the mind, controlling and eliminating the thoughts until only the thoughts we want determine our behavior. Then we’re in a position where we can do something about the mind. We can start to transcend the mind, rising above it and dropping it. In short we let it go! And when we do we find ourselves this pure, infinite, limitless, totally free Being that we naturally are. Then happiness is complete. from Session 9: Mastering Mind and Matter of Keys to the Ultimate Freedom - Lester Levenson

The following excerpt illustrates Lester Levenson's own journey to self-realisation: he actually cleared a chunk of his own subconscious thoughts first before going onto self-inquiry. This would have allowed for a much quieter mind than if he just dived into self-inquiry without it.

I began correcting all my thoughts and feelings in that direction from that of wanting to be loved, to that of loving. And in that process, I discovered another major thing that kind of shocked me. I saw that I wanted to change this entire world, and that was the cause of my ulcers — or one of the major causes. In realizing how much I wanted to change things in this world, I saw how it made me a slave of this world, I made the decision to reverse that. And in the process of following out these two directions — actually unloading all the sub-conscious concepts and pressures in those directions — I discovered I was getting happier, freer, lighter, and feeling better in general. As I saw this direction was good, I made the decision that if a slice of pie tasted this good, I wanted the whole pie. And I decided not to let go of this direction until I got that entire pie of happiness, and with it the answer to “What am I? What is this life, and what is my relationship to it?” This decision allowed me, as I claim, to get the answer to life itself in a matter of only three months. I believe if I can do it, anyone can do it if they have that much “want to”. In that three month period, all the ailments I had in my physical body corrected. All my miseries dropped away. And I ended up in a place in which I was happy all the time, without sorrow. Not that the world stopped pushing against me —it continued — but I was at a place where I could resolve things almost immediately. Having cleared out the negative fears, all the negative “I can not’s,” I would focus right on the answer to every problem, and get it very quickly. And so, my whole life turned around from being depressed and sick, to being happy all the time, and being in perfect health all the time. from About the Author of another version of Keys to the Ultimate Freedom, also probably in his autobiography No Attachments, No Aversions

I'm not sure why some of the digital versions of Lester's Keys to The Ultimate Freedom didn't include this final session 37 because it's in a scanned copy of a 1993 version (1 year before he died). He had spoken on the importance of clearing subconscious thoughts first to quiet the mind but this was watered down in the 109 page digital version and even overlooked in Session 1 where he says it's "not necessary to dig up this unconscious mind, in fact it's much better to try to quiet the mind." (the wording was changed in other versions to highlight clearing subconscious thoughts first). Depending on the individual ego's own history of trauma, limiting/negative beliefs, tendencies, habits etc (aka samskaras in Hindu philosophy), they may or may not be able to easily quiet their mind to see their Self (the main goal) if they keep getting bombarded with thoughts they can't control despite their best efforts to disidentify/drop/ignore/meditate/control it.

I also believe this is the missing piece and answer to dealing with trauma in a practical and appropriate way on the path to self-realisation. Any good therapy also ultimately concludes with releasing & letting go so it no longer affects the person anymore; this is the true essence of healing. I've personally found a lot of benefit and peace from clearing subconscious thoughts on my own journey and Lester did this too and benefited a lot - he didn't jump straight to self-inquiry (Ramana Maharshi considered self-inquiry to be a practice for 'ripe souls' and recommended other methods for aspirants first depending on their state of mind (to clear and quiet their mind in preparation for self-inquiry)).

So we are all going through the same trip of trying to discover what is this all about, where is my happiness, and when we stop chasing after it out there and we turn inward, we discover that all these hard negative, terrible feelings are only a feeling. And that it is possible to get rid of these feelings by releasing them. All these feelings are subconscious programs — every bit of them put in as pro survival — it's not only fear, but survival. All our feelings have been programmed in to automatically keep us surviving. They keep looking out there, trying to survive, keeping our minds active subconsciously 24 hours a day, so never do we stop to think and discover what we are. So what is it that is keeping us from being in the most delectable state that there is? Simply the accumulated programs called feelings, all these negative feelings have us constantly struggling to survive, having us constantly looking away from this tremendous thing that we are, and all we need to do is quiet that mind and become self-obvious to ourselves of this tremendous being that we are. How do we do it? I say it’s simple. The Release Technique*. It happens to be the fastest, the most effective way there is to achieve this high state of being. When we are in total control of our universe, where every moment is a wonderful, wonderful moment, it is impossible to be unhappy. And I say that is our natural state when these negative feelings are released. So I urge you to learn this technique. It’s a tool, and in one week's time, there will be a big change in you for the better, and from there on, you will continue to get better and better, lighter and lighter, happier and happier. from Session 37: Release your Loving Nature - Keys to the Ultimate Freedom *The appendix describing this technique refers to a whole book called The Sedona Method (written by one of Lester's students) and it was too damn long & boring for me to read lol. (If you're interested in the book, you can download it from my Google Drive) The basic instructions is to bring subconscious thoughts to the conscious so they can be dropped: Feel all the thoughts/emotions (if any) and imagine them leaving your being, acknowledge them then consciously choose to release & let them go now so they no longer have a hold on you.

So clearing a chunk of subconscious thoughts first (not aiming for perfection, just clearing the major roadblocks - in particular the ones that keep causing intrusive/compulsive thoughts no matter how much you ignore them) will help a lot in quieting the mind and then you can more easily do the other practices such as meditate/do self-inquiry/self-surrender with a quiet mind to see & know the Infinite Being you are.

Remember that there is no "one size fits all" approach to self-realisation because everyone has different history, traumas, mental/emotional/spiritual maturity, temperament etc (this is a reminder to let your Self be your main guide & guru and do what's appropriate for your own journey, you don't have to follow any guidance/practices/teachings that don't resonate with you even if others are saying something is this way or that way). Even Ramana Maharshi acknowledged this:

When asked once by Swami Yogananda, a Swami with a large following in America, what spiritual instruction should be given to the people for their uplift, Ramana Maharshi replied: “It depends on the temperament and spiritual maturity of the individual. There can be no mass instruction.”

Obligatory disclaimer that this post does not constitute as medical advice as I am not a therapist, this is based on my own understanding of non-duality as well as my personal ego experiences both on this journey and prior to. If there are major traumas that you feel you need to release first in order to quiet the mind, I would actually recommend finding a competent and trustworthy professional to help you unless you already have experience going through therapy and know how to dig into your own subconscious and release things on your own properly (going to therapy in the past gave me the understanding and experience to do this on my own now). I emphasize on the *properly* part because if you attempt to bring up major traumas from the subconscious without knowing how to properly deal with them, it could actually cause more harm to the psyche so be careful on this please.

So I actually do think therapy and trauma healing has a place on this path to self-realisation and this is where my beliefs deviate from 4dbarbie a bit (I still agree with leaving the mind alone but again, clearing the major subconscious traumas/wounds/blockages first has been immensely beneficial and effective in quieting the mind to make it easier to let go of/disidentify from ego and abide as Self). Everything that I share on this blog are intended to be pointers, suggestions and helpful tips for people on the same journey. If you resonate with it, feel free to explore it further and if it doesn't, you can disregard it :)

#writings #lester levenson #keys to ultimate freedom #ramana maharshi #practical #exercise #releasing

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veryace-ficrecs · 4 months ago

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Twisters Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

cross your fingers by plastiswafers - Rated T

“Don’t get it twisted,” he murmurs into Kate’s ear. She can feel his words in his chest and a smile in his voice. “I’m doing this all for me. I just experienced something very traumatic, and I could use a hug. You’re the only huggable thing around.” - missing scene, right after the rodeo tornado

Chasing it by PrincessAmonRae - Rated T

Tyler is pretty sure that Kate has no idea that she has a death grip on his wrist after they climb out of the swimming pool in Stillwater. But he isn’t going to say anything because she clearly needs it, has a wild haunted look in her eyes from more than just riding out a tornado clutching a metal pole and her breathing is just the right side of erratic. “Y’alright?” He asks gently, feeling a little bit like he’s approaching a spooked horse, when the ambulance pulls up and they both point at the mom and her daughter in sync. Kate blinks up at him before she shudders in a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds and releases his wrist when she exhales.

this is gonna be one of those things by KelseyO - Rated T

Tyler cranes his neck to get a better look at Kate’s face. “Hear that, city girl? Nothin’ to worry about.”

Kate nods, but grimaces through the movement and presses her palm to her bandaged forehead. “Tyler,” she whispers, hoarse and exhausted, “can you take me home?”

“Yes ma’am,” he confirms with a sincere wink, and she holds out her arms as best she can, and Tyler scoops her up again like he’s been doing it his whole life.

Tipsy by crier_emperor - Rated T

Kate knew other storm chasers were probably speaking, but she ignored their murky, muffled conversation, reaching out to tug on the sleeve of Tyler’s soaked flannel with insistent excitement. “Ty, did you see it?” She ignored the tang of metal in her mouth and the uncooperative sluggishness of her tongue, dark eyes wide with elation. “Did you see? It worked.“ ~ Or: Kate is a little more beat up after driving into a tornado.

Whirlwind (of comments) by One_Real_Wrimonkey - Rated G

TornadoWrangerOfficial: *Photo of the Wranger team in El Reno in front of the upside down truck. Lily and Ben to the left, Javi, Tyler and Boone in the middle, Dexter and Dani on the right. All Thumbs up.* Caption: team all accounted for after a monster F5 here in El Reno. Donations page for the survivors linked in bio. cirrusclouds4ever Hell yes I knew Javi would join the light eventually He was too crazy for those stuffy storm par peeps. BallOutFoy Can't wait for this episode. Gonna be a wild one. . Aka- social media perspective of the Wranglers gaining some new crew

someday comes one day at a time by littleghost - Rated G

Kate returns to New York, restarts her PhD research, and goes back home. Ahead of her is a summer filled with storm chasing and Tyler Owens.

just keep your hand in mine by fishingclocks - Rated T

The scar was Kate's reminder that she was a murderer. That even though the news and the cops and her therapist didn't have the guts to come out and say it, she had led three people she loved to their deaths. It was penance. Tyler touching her there... Maybe it reminded her that she'd probably kill him too. So yeah. It was a good thing that she was having this little episode by herself. (Kate's scar is acting up for the first time in a while. Tyler helps her through it.)

Updraft by sattlerdearing (leviosaphoenix) - Rated G

Fans of Tornado Wrangler Tyler Owens think he might be hiding something, as told through various social media excerpts and comments.

but i'm tellin' myself 'cause i know damn well that this ain't hell (it's just high water) by kal25 - Not Rated

Kate loved the rain, and she loved when dark clouds circled above and dimmed the sun's light. They’d open up and let water cascade downward, familiar rumbles of thunder finding their way deep into Kate’s chest. She’d go outside, stand with her face tilted upward, and she’d let the droplets roll down her face. It was always better when there was a breeze, something to thrill Kate as the wind's chill hit her wet skin and sent a shiver through her that reminded her that she was irrevocably alive. It was a mistake, though, that she was alive. She didn’t deserve to make it out of the tornado that had torn open her leg and left her broken and scarred. Today was one of her worse days. It was one of the days where her scar sent bright searing pain through her leg with no explanation. She tried to separate Kate now from Kate then, promising herself that she’d moved on and was whole again, but days like this blurred the line and she couldn’t tell what was now and what was then. Or, Kate has a Bad Day and Tyler helps. Kate learns how to let herself be loved again, and Tyler loves Kate Carter very, very much.

#veryace recs #twisters movie #twisters 2024 #tyler owens #kate carter #javi twisters #lily twisters #dexter twisters #boone twisters #twisters fanfic #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #ao3

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maniculum · 1 year ago

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Bestiaryposting Plan

So the poll is still running, but I think I'm safe in saying there's sufficient interest, so I'm going ahead and typing up a "how we're going to do this" thing, which I will schedule to post after the poll ends properly. As of the time I'm writing this, over 500 people have voted for the "yes I want to draw things" option, and I had been expecting to get maybe a dozen, so we definitely have enough participants. Let's get started then:

Our Source

I had originally planned to translate an Old or Middle English bestiary, but haven't been able to find a good one -- the best option I was able to dig up only has thirteen critters, which I feel like isn't enough to really have fun with. I was debating the idea of translating a Latin one -- this would have been far more time-consuming since my Latin is terrible, but also I do need to practice it, so I figured it evens out -- when I found a solution that doesn't involve me spending hours and hours on translating.

It seems that when Aberdeen University created their digitized version of the famous Aberdeen Bestiary, they released it under a Creative Commons license. (Assuming I'm reading their copyright policy correctly; I'm not a lawyer.) It does not seem to specify whether the transcriptions and translations they attach to the scanned images are also covered by Creative Commons, but since all of those are already freely available online through their website, I can't imagine they would have a problem with me posting them here as long as I provide attribution (which I am hereby doing right here on this post) and am not using it for commercial purposes (which I am not).

The Aberdeen Bestiary is missing a few pages, but there exists a very similar manuscript, the Ashmole Bestiary (they're sometimes called "sister" manuscripts), which is not missing those pages. And I happen to have a translation of the Ashmole Bestiary in hardcopy on my bookshelf, so I can just use it to fill in the gaps. Edit: whoops, the one I have is the Bodley Bestiary. They are in the same bestiary "family", though, so it still works well enough. (I think that should qualify as "fair use", since I'm only taking excerpts and not using them commercially.)

The upside of using the Aberdeen Bestiary is that it means when I round up all the art of each critter, I can include their very nice illustrations alongside the reveal of what animal was being described.

The downside of using the Aberdeen Bestiary is that since it already is free online, people might be tempted to "cheat" by looking up the entries and finding out what animal they describe. For that, please see the next section...

Guessing the Animal

Guessing what animal is being described is not the point of the exercise. (Feel free to have theories and whatnot, but please keep them to yourself so as not to influence the artists.) If you see an entry and think, e.g., "oh that's describing a raccoon"*, and then you create a picture of a raccoon... well, you could have done a perfectly good raccoon at any point and didn't need this framework to do it. So just don't worry about what animal is meant, and do your best to draw (or paint or stitch or whatever else) based on the description! You're not getting ranked on accuracy and there are no prizes forthcoming, so... just have fun with it.

*Example chosen as something that will, for obvious reasons, definitely not be in a 13th-century European bestiary.

Edit after starting to type these things up: some of these are going to be super easy to guess, though, to the point where I don't know how possible it'll be to block out prior knowledge. Sorry about that.

General Procedure

I'm going to schedule a post every Monday (I'm thinking of queuing them for 6pm Eastern Time) with a new entry. It will be the translation of an entry from the Aberdeen Bestiary with all references to the animal's name replaced by a randomly-generated nonsense word. (Henceforth to be referred to as "nonsense-names". I'm Googling* each one before using them so I don't accidentally generate one that actually means something.) These posts will all be tagged maniculum bestiaryposting, so you can follow that tag if you want to make sure you see them.'

*Later Note: Did you know that if you search dozens of nonsense words within a short span of time, Google makes you prove you're not a robot? Repeatedly?

Anyone who wants to draw the critter being described should do so. (You are encouraged to describe your thought process re: why you've depicted it the way you have.) You can put it in its own post, or reblog the description with an image, or however you want to do it. Then tag your art with the nonsense-name I've given to the animal.This will let me and others find it. (You should probably employ copy/paste there to make sure the spelling is the same, since nonsense words are hard to spellcheck.)

A week after posting the bestiary entry, I'll go through that tag and round up all of the art contributed. Then I'll put the images in a big post (or series thereof, considering how many people might participate), along with an @ and a link to your original post.

If you want...

to not have your work included in the round-up post

to have only a link to your post included and not an image

to have me include a link to your website / other social media / etsy shop in addition to or instead of your tumblr

to have other information included alongside your work

anything else along those lines

... then just say so in your post and I will follow your instructions to the best of my ability.

I will also include, at the end of the round-up post, an image of the creature as depicted in the Aberdeen Bestiary and what it is actually called.

All posts I make on this will be collected at https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting so that people can look at previous ones without scrolling through the tag.

Various Notes

I'm going to trim out any religious digressions in the original entries -- bestiary authors had a habit of adding stuff like "and the raccoon is symbolic of god in such-and-such fashion, which teaches us...", and I just don't think that's relevant here.

The entries will also be presented in a random order. This is because they're sorted into categories in the original text, so if I don't change the order we're going to get stuck with, e.g., a few months of All Birds All The Time.

You should all be aware that the animals described are not guaranteed to be, you know, real. There are several entries describing animals that straight up do not exist -- some of which are mythical creatures familiar to most people, others of which are extremely obscure.

Explanations of the animal's name within the entries will be redacted.

If other animals are mentioned within the entries, they will not get replaced with nonsense-names. Originally, I was going to make the switch globally, so that if, e.g., the entry for "raccoon" read "a raccoon is about the size of a possum", and the random generator had decided that a raccoon was a balzikhear and a possum was a flunggrish, the "raccoon" entry would now read "a balzikhear is about the size of a flunggrish". However, I decided that it will cause more problems than it solves to obscure any comparisons to other animals -- so the name-switch is now localized only to the specific entry. A possum is a flunggrish only in its own entry, and remains a possum everywhere else.

I was originally going to do one post for every single entry, but there are a lot of them and they vary wildly in length & quality. So I've cut it down to exactly 52 posts, meaning that if I queue them up for once a week, this will run for roughly a full year.

Most of that cutting-down mentioned above was done by combining a bunch of the really short entries into categories -- the last half-dozen posts in this series will be group entries. You can choose to make art of any of them that strike your fancy, or do a group portrait, or just ignore them --I dunno, I'm not a cop, do what you want.

I did also directly cut some, mostly domesticated animals because there's a somewhat different approach to them based on author and audience familiarity.

So yeah, that should cover everything.

#maniculum bestiaryposting

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