#treading on some entirely new ground..... scary

[popper51]

DEFINITELY got past the point where I stopped watching because I do NOT remember the underworld at all

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 19, part one

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Chilling in Yiling

We start off with Wei Wuxian hanging out in a busy area of Yiling, which is a really dumb place to pick for a fugitive rendezvous.  

He's wearing a fashionably distressed brown robe, and a woven disguise hat, that makes him invisible to his enemies until the moment he takes it off, kinda like the mask he wears in his second life. Unfortunately he is a polite boi so he takes off the disguise hat when he goes indoors to get a bite to eat, and promptly gets smacked down by Wen Zhuliu. 

Xiao Zhan's stunt double is really good at this wire-pull+table-smash move; this is the second time Wei Wuxian goes crashing through a table (the first one being when Yu Ziyuan was beating him). This time he clutches his now core-less abdomen, in a move we're going to be seeing a lot of, going forward. Abdominal surgery is a bitch. OP can personally attest to this.

Wen Zhuliu provides some comic relief by looking at his hand in puzzlement; he clearly can tell Wei Wuxian has no golden core, but he isn't going to bother telling Wen Chao that.

Wen Chao gloats and steps on Wei Wuxian's hand while Wei Wuxian stares at his shoe and OP wonders, not for the first time, how they make rubberized zig-zag treads in Ancient Fantasy China.

(more after the cut)

This is all happening in the Yiling Wine house where Wei Wuxian will later share the most important meal of his life, the one in which A-Yuan lays claim to Lan Wangji, ultimately giving LWJ a reason to live long enough for Wei Wuxian to be resurrected. If that doesn’t deserve a good Yelp review, nothing does. 

Dream a Little Dream of Me

While Wei Wuxian gets ready for his big whump scene, Jiang Cheng is dreaming, and looking absolutely breathtaking in this deceptively simple robe, that's made of a really complex fabric, that catches the light all over its surface.  The lighting here is warm and romantic, giving everything a nostalgic glow.

He looks around the courtyard in his dream, and sees Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian come running in the gate carrying kites. 

A child fetching a kite was the first casualty of the Wen attack on Lotus Pier, so this image may already be a little fraught for Jiang Cheng. In this initial image of his family, Jiang Cheng isn't present as a child, but then his junior self comes running up, to be warmly greeted by his mother.

Jiang Cheng's reaction to the scene playing out in front of him is not a simple one. We've seen him externally expressing his trauma at the fate of Lotus Pier and his family - his anger and his despair - and this dream shows us his private, interior trauma. 

His body has been repaired by Wei Wuxian and the Wens, but his psyche has not.

This family interaction can't possibly be one that ever happened. It's too lively, too affectionate, too comfortable. The family he was part of as a young adult was cold, angry, cracked.  Families don't change that much in 10 years, unless there's a major trauma that alters things in a fundamental way.

Even the glimpses we got of his childhood contradict this image. This warm group is not the family of "I sent your dogs away" or "wait in the cold until Jiang Cheng lets you in" or "I won't tell Clan Leader Jiang what happened" or "I'm only 11 but I'm in charge of soup and bedtime already"

Jiang Cheng smiles at the affection he sees enacted in front of him, but quickly moves to grief. When a toxic person dies, you don't just lose the relationship you had with them; you lose the hope for a better relationship. Perhaps Jiang Cheng has always imagined this version of his family; now nothing like it can ever come to be.

The pleasant scene vanishes into nightmare, as his mother starts bleeding from her eyes, ew. This is like Nie Mingjue when he qi deviates, but dream Yu Ziyuan is perfectly chill about it. 

Jiang Cheng is not perfectly chill about it. 

He turns around to see Lotus Pier burning. When he turns back, his family has been replaced with Wen Zhuliu, who is particularly gleeful as he reaches into Jiang Cheng's chest and melts his core.

Jiang Cheng wakes up on the mountain, alone (as far as he knows), and quickly stands and boots up his new golden core.

It's purple, because of course it is. King. The nightmare is gone and he smiles, maybe for the first time since the attack on the pier.

In a moment that is probably going to feel really embarrassing in hindsight, he kneels and bows toward the mountaintops to thank Baoshan Sanren, who is totally not there. 

Wen Ning, on the other hand, is there, although we only see a little bit of his belt and robe as Jiang Cheng walks off to Yiling to meet his brother.  This entire plotline walks a very weird line in which the audience is told just enough about what’s really happening to be confused, but not surprised.

Do the Whumpty Whump

After some initial roughing up, Wen Chao has his dudes stand Wei Wuxian up so he can question him without actually getting any information out of him at all. They take turns calling each other dogs, with Wei Wuxian saying that when Wen Chao talks he just hears a dog barking. (Of course if he really heard a dog barking he'd be terrified) 

Then he says "isn't that right" to Wang Lingjiao, and Wen Chao gets super pissed; don't disrespect me to my woman. 

He has his minions do a Nancy Kerrigan to Wei Wuxian's knee and then kick him for a while.

Then they kick the shit out of the camera operator.

Wen Chao is really not about fighting his own fights.  He also keeps threatening to have Wen Zhuliu melt Wei Wuxian's core, and Wen Zhuliu keeps popping up his hand and then putting it back when Wen Chao changes his mind, which gets more hilarious every time I watch it. Feng Mingjing’s physical embodiment of Wen Zhuliu is endlessly entertaining, even in scenes where he has literally no lines. 

I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghost

Wei Wuxian continues to goad Wen Chao, telling him that more torture is good because then he'll die with loads of resentment. He says that after he dies, he will come back as a ferocious ghost, which is...almost exactly what happens, except he stays alive for the ferocious part. 

They go back and forth about the feasibility of this whole haunting plan. Wang Lingjiao is the voice of reason, for once, arguing the "ghosts aren't real and anyway fuck this guy" position.

Wen Chao thinks that he can’t haunt them because of cultivator security hardening procedures soul-calming rituals, but Wei Wuxian wasn't born into a gentry family so didn't have the anti-fierce-ghost treatment that other cultivators get.

This is the only time in the whole of the show when Wei Wuxian says, himself, that he's the son of a servant. He's using his reputation as a commoner to bolster his threats. 

Wei Wuxian is working hard to put on a scary-guy persona, which works pretty well on Wang Lingjiao but not as much on the rest of the group. Three months from this time, however, he will have become the scary, vengeful creature he's currently spitballing about.  He will also become way, way better at torture than the people who are currently mistreating him. 

Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao go through a whole sequence of ideas about what to do with him. For whatever reason Wang Lingjiao doesn't insist on chopping his arm off even though she's been craving it for ages. 

She does gleefully burn his burn some more, causing it to bleed directly into the giant obvious bag he has hanging from his belt leaking resentful energy. Which the Wens do not take away or search.

Wen Chao, incidentally, starts calling him Wei Ying during this encounter, which is rude of him. Tch.  Finally Wen Chao decides on a plan, which involves sword-flying effects so terrible that no soul can survive them.

Jiang Cheng is looking for Wei Wuxian in town, wearing a woven hat like Wei Wuxian’s.  This...is not a disguise. If you want to be inconspicuous, maybe take that giant piece of silver off of your head.

He hears random people talking about the Wens being in town, and then he apparently looks up at the sky and sees the Wen dudes flying on their swords with Wei Wuxian, but it looks so ridiculous that Jiang Cheng's mind cannot process what he is seeing.

While they "fly," Wen Chao delivers a massive brick of exposition about the burial mounds, while Wei Wuxian looks genuinely frightened. The VFX of random, undifferentiated mountaintops and clouds do nothing to sell this menace, but the exposition is actually pretty good, creating a real sense of disturbance and threat.

Then they toss him in, and we go from the terrible VFX of sword flying to a visual effect that they mercifully did really well throughout the show - the black resentment smoke. This time it catches Wei Wuxian and holds him for a few moments, before dropping him the rest of the way to the ground. It also apparently pulls the turtle sword out of his belt bag, but we don't see that part.

They Say That Every Man Must Fall

Having seen Wei Wuxian at his lowest point (so far) and dream Jiang Cheng also in deep distress, we go to the Dafan Wen sibs, who have also reached a breaking point. Because they helped Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, they are traitors to their clan - unquestionably so - and are being punished for it, with Wen Ning having been tortured in addition to being locked up.

I see my light come shining From the west down to the east Any day now, any day now I shall be released

You know how Lan Xichen successfully argued for Wen-Clan-Member Meng Yao's life and status, because Meng Yao betrayed Wen Ruohan to help them? Even though Meng Yao killed a bunch of Nie guys? Wen Ning and Wen Qing also betrayed Wen Ruohan and helped the Sunshot Campaign, without killing a bunch of guys. They should have been treated as allies by the four other clans, but they got diddly.  

I’ve Been Dead Once

We return to Wei Wuxian in the burial grounds, where he's lying on the ground surrounded by resentful energy and by strained, desperate voices calling his name. This whole sequence is remarkable, since it effectively communicates the horror he's experiencing, through little more than Xiao Zhan's face and good sound design.

I hang around dying to be tortured  You'll never be alone in the bone orchard

The voices call four versions of his name. A variety of voices call him Wei Wuxian, Wei Gongzi, and Shixiong, which (I think) is what the young Jiang disciples would have called him. And in the midst of those voices, Lan Wangji's voice, low and calm, saying "Wei Ying." Upon hearing that Wei Wuxian starts to drag himself up.

For a show with definitely no zombies in it, they sure do use the visual language of zombie films for Wei Wuxian's first motions after hitting the ground. Starting with twitching fingers, then gradually pulling himself halfway up and crawling, lurching across the ground. Wei Wuxian comes slowly back to life, the very first member of his army of the dead.

He makes his way across the ground toward the floating turtle sword. Along the way he accidentally grabs the world's most bowlegged thigh bone; the lack of sunshine in the burial mounds puts the skeletons at risk for rickets.  All of the skeletons in the show are exactly what you would expect from the practical effects team that made the demon hand and the animatronic dog.

The turtle sword is roiling with resentful energy, and is talking to Wei Wuxian as he crawls toward it, asking if he wants revenge. And what a coincidence, he DOES want revenge. 

He grabs the sword and plunges it into the ground in an explosion of resentful energy. (Ground: why you gotta take it out on me?)

The sequence ends with the most compelling, ominous shot of Wei Wuxian's face...a new man. 

Soundtrack: 1. I Shall Be Released by Bob Dylan 2. Beyond Belief by Elvis Costello  

Writing Prompt: The Day Wei Wuxian arrived, from the POV of a Burial Mounds ghost. 

[mst3kproject]

The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues

I found this movie online while looking for From Hell It Came (which I haven’t yet found – someday I will and then you’ll all be sorry) and it looked bad, so I checked out the details.  Turns out it stars Kent Taylor from The Crawling Hand, Cathy Downs from The Amazing Colossal Man, and was written by Lou Rusoff, who was behind It Conquered the World, The She-Creature, and… oh god, he also wrote Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.  This is gonna suck goat nads.  I must watch it right away.

You shouldn’t picture me groaning when I write stuff like that, by the way.  You should picture me giggling like a maniac and rubbing my hands together with glee.

A monster is killing people at sea near an incredibly bleak and depressing California college town, and the bodies and wrecked boats it leaves in its wake are scorched by radioactivity! Washington sends Agent Grant to find out what’s going on, and he soon discovers that the Pacific College of Oceanography is positively overflowing with suspicious characters.  There’s the reclusive and paranoid Professor King, who is working on weird experiments in his locked laboratory.  There’s King’s assistant George, who follows him around and hides in the bushes to watch what he’s doing.  King’s secretary Ethel blames the professor for the death of her son and wants revenge, and George’s girlfriend Wanda is a foreign agent.  Not to mention the visiting Dr. Stevens, a radiation expert with an unsettling habit of turning up just in time to discover the bodies.  Someone among this motley crew has created a sea monster… and someone else is planning to sell it to the highest bidder!

You know how some movies save their monsters until the last minute, in order to build suspense?  Or because what we imagine is always scarier than what we actually see?  Or because the monster sucks and they’re ashamed of it?  Or some combination of the above?

Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not one of those movies.  Before we’re even a full minute into it, the monster has appeared on screen in all its ridiculous glory.  Stevens calls it a hideous beast that defies description but I think I can make an attempt.  It looks sort of like the lovechild of a saber-toothed tiger and the Horror of Party Beach.  There’s a ridge down its head and back like an iguana and a poorly-camouflaged window in its neck so the dude inside can see what he’s doing.  The whole costume is also rather buoyant, and the actor is having to work hard to stay underwater.  Sadly, this beast remains lurking in the depths and never shambles out onto the beach to menace sunbathers, which is the only thing it would have needed to make it a perfect bad movie monster.

The creature is not the only nuclear threat in this movie… or even the silliest one!  During an investigatory dive, Stevens discovers a glowing patch on the seafloor which he says represents an ‘activated’ uranium deposit with the potential to form a naturally-occurring death ray!  We finally get to see this in action when stock footage of a ship passes over it – and turns into a different ship that immediately blows up! I’m just sad this only happens once. The glowing stone itself is represented by a mirror with a light shining on it in underwater shots, and by the reflection of the sun when seen from the surface.

So the effects are not special and make an already silly threat even more hilarious.  What about the story?  Like all cheap monster movies, the focus of The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not the creature killing people but the investigation into it.  There’s a large number of potential monster-makers here, which could have made the movie a bit messy – but by the time the words The End appear, we know who all these people are, how they’re involved, and what they hope to accomplish.  Even the women are given distinct motivations and personalities, although those fall neatly into the ‘maiden, mother and whore’ tropes I’ve discussed in the past. The dialogue is not exactly subtle, but it seems like I can’t wholly blame Lou Rousoff for Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.

It’s also nice that, despite the preponderance of White Men In Suits (Stevens and Grant both walk along the beach in suits and ties at all hours of the day and night), the characters all look different enough that I can tell them apart!  None of the cast are great actors, with a lot of stilted or awkward line deliveries, but then, a lot of the things they’re saying are completely ridiculous, so I probably can’t lay that entirely at their feet.

Unfortunately, the plot of Phantom From 10 000 Leagues is rather unfocused, and like so many of these films it’s not sure who its main character is.  It seems like either Agent Grant or Dr. Stevens, who are each conducting some kind of investigation into the goings-on, ought to be the protagonist… but both are introduced in contexts that make them seem potentially suspicious.  Dr. Stevens is actually significantly more suspicious than Grant, because when he first turns up he gives a fake name, and later proves to have actually performed experiments with mutating sea life in the past.  Yet for much of the movie, it’s Stevens we’re watching, as he cozies up to Professor King and flirts with King’s daughter Lois.  He actually gets far more screen time than Grant, with the latter sometimes being out of the movie for long enough that the audience kind of forgets he’s there.

Stevens and Lois’ love story is, as is probably inevitable for a movie of this kind, completely bland.  Kent Taylor and Cathy Downs have no appreciable spark between them, and one gets the uncomfortable impression that he’s about twice her age. The movie never offers even an approximate age for either character, but Lois is still unmarried and living with her father, which in the 1950s suggests she’s in her early twenties.  King describes Stevens as a ‘young man’ but between his appearance and his impressive academic credentials he’s obviously not, and when I looked up the actors I learned that Taylor was forty-eight when The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues was made, while Downs was twenty-nine.  That’s… well, they’re both adults, but he’s still old enough to be her father, and the younger we assume they both are, the worse the two decade gap gets.

Once we actually get to know the characters, the solution to the mysteries is fairly obvious, but this lets us spend some actual time with these men and find out what they think about the situation.  Stevens, who’s been down this road before, wants these terrible experiments to stop before any more people get hurt.  King, hearing about it for the first time, is more excited about what he might be able to learn by building on Stevens’ work. This represents an interesting inversion because if you’ll recall, King is supposed to be significantly older than Stevens (though actor Michael Whelan was actually born only five years before Taylor).

Usually knowledge and wisdom are both associated with age.  This is a very old trope and has some fairly sound logic behind it: the elderly have had longer to learn and to experience.  In Phantom from 10 000 Leagues, however, we have the older Professor King excited by the ground-breaking discoveries made by a younger scientist and wanting to learn more about them, even when the (supposedly) younger Stevens warns him about Tampering in God’s Domain.  Each assumes the role their ages might make us expect of the other.

This is reflected in their respective fields: depending on how you define it, oceanography is as old as mankind.  Humanity has been mapping the seas for as long as we’ve known how to sail across them, and marveling at the monsters we pull from its depths for as long as we’ve been catching fish.  That is the Professor King’s domain. Stevens, on the other hand, is a specifically nuclear scientist. Nuclear physics technically begins with the discovery of radioactivity in the 1890’s, but it seemed like a new and scary field in the 1950s, as the development of atomic weapons forced scientists to take a closer look at the phenomenon’s effect on living tissues. To King, who is an expert in another field, the possibilities of this relatively new work outweigh the potential consequences.

As sloppy and poorly-made as Phantom from 10 000 Leagues can be, this contrast between Stevens and King does make it a movie with something to say.  It of course has the standard moral for a fifties atomic monster piece, about paths science is not meant to tread, but it also wants us to think about that connection between age and wisdom.  On the one hand, King’s interest in Stevens’ work tells us that you’re never too old to learn something new.  On the other, just because somebody is young doesn’t mean they have nothing to teach. If King had taken in Stevens’ wisdom along with his knowledge, a lot of suffering need not have happened.

Even if you’re not into that, the crappy monster, the bad acting, the ridiculous science, and all the sneaking around and backstabbing that goes on makes Phantom from 10 000 Leagues plenty of fun watch.  It’s much like Beginning of the End in that it ticks all the MST3K boxes, while remaining coherent enough that you can enjoy the actual story along with the badness.

[izzielizzie]

it's crazy that so many of the songs from Maisie Peter's last soundtrack fits a lot of the oou couples

yes!! a bunch of analyses below for natewyn, maeve/luis, cooper/kris, addy/keely, and phoebe and knox lol

Neck of the Woods:

Falling asleep in a hospital waiting room 'Stead of holding it over my head Baby, you held me instead

That's such a Maeve and Luis line. Maeve was so worried about her relationship with Luis, and after the bomb went off, all he did was hold her, be her safe place, so she could sleep.

I'm scared but I'm never alone And I'd swim to your call on my phone

Maeve hates beaches but Luis is so important to her that she's willing to overlook that (see: kayaking)

Millhouse

Cup of coffee spilling over, oh, cleaning all my cuts

When they cut class to get coffee, Phoebe definitely realized she had a crush on Knox

'Cause you deserve it and we're somewhat decent people Or at least trying to be

That's so Phoebe and Knox. Phoebe says she's trying to be a better person and Knox well... he already deserves the world.

Funeral

I want you to know that the past is past That everything changed when I heard you laugh

This screams Maeve and Luis. She had a hard childhood and he’s just a goofball and she absolutely adores that he’s so laidback, and she’s learning to let go of her past to be with him. 

And I can't blame you for things you haven't done yеt Even if I'm scared you will

Maeve spent the entire book hearing about how Luis cheated on the girls he dated, and she is secretly scared that he will do the same to her, but she’s caught in the limbo because he hasn’t actually done anything. It’s terrifying for her, but she’s also learning to love him.

I'd pin all of my hopes to your handlebars

Every time I hear this I think about Luis trying to convince Maeve to ride on the handlebars of his bike (after they start dating it’s basically the only mode of transportation she has)

Happy Hunting Ground

Now interlaced, for worse or for better My bird of a feather

Cooper and Kris have had their lives intertwined now, and they’re so lucky that they love each other. 

So don't take it for granted I love you, don't take advantage

Maeve really, really loves Luis, and she’s so scared that everything will implode, and the vulnerability is very obvious in the lines

So careful where your boots tread Oh, protect the love that you get

This entire song is about loving someone so badly you’re scared they’ll hurt you, and Bronwyn is handing Nate her heart, and even though he’s broken it before, she’s letting him know that she’ll still be here.

And we got way too much to lose here, don't you think so? It's too good, yeah, just to let it slip on by without a pause And we've been stacking up the boxes trying to reach for what we wanted 

This is so Phoebe and Knox. They’ve got so many hard things in their lives and their friendship and subsequent relationship is something they’ve both unconsciously agreed is worth preserving and fighting for.   

I Want You to Change (Because You Want to Change)

I'm not a movie hero, just a guy you say you love Lyin', you say it's fine, you're lyin' But how am I supposed to know that? I can't read that stuff

It feels like sometimes Bronwyn has a lot of expectations for Nate, and it can be overwhelming for him.

Tryin' doesn't mean it's better Doesn't mean you're magically the pеrson that I want from you Tryin' doesn't make you perfеct

I don’t really have a reason for this, but I get Cooper and Kris vibes. Cooper is trying to learn how to live in a world where he can be with Kris, but Kris is already there. It probably causes some tension between them, but they also love each other and know that it will work out. 

The Party

I know I'm a piece of work But I wanna make it work with you

Again, Maeve and Luis. Maeve has never willingly given someone control of her heart - even Bronwyn had to force her way into Maeve’s heart. So she’s really trying to love Luis and let him love her.

I'll take your chaos and your crooked in a heartbeat Heart beats louder, I'm gonna make you proud of me

This is so Addy and Keely. Keely would probably be annoyed with how chaotic Addy is, but she lover her either way, and Addy just wants Keely to love her and be proud of her.

People ask how long have I loved you, no comment 'Cause probably since I was seven and you were eight We didn't know each other, but baby, it was fate

There’s something appealing about the age of seven, because that was the year Maeve was diagnosed with cancer. The idea that there was some eight year old boy - a boy who loved to cook and play with his baby brothers - waiting to grow up and fall in love with the broken girl at his lunch table is so damn romantic to me. 

Your friends think I'm bad news and a part of you believes them I understand, I know how lucky I am

Luis loves Maeve, and people don’t think they’ll work well together, but he loves her. And he understands how lucky he is to be able to love her.

You mouthed, "Babe, you look beautiful" From across the room, grin in your eyes And I tell the group, "Look that's my guy"

The fact that Cooper can tell people that Kris is his boyfriend probably makes him so happy and bubbly and all kinds of excited and it’s just so cute to imagine him just pointing out Kris to people like Addy and Bronwyn who pretend they’ve never seen him because Cooper looks so happy

Glowing Review

This year's a plot twist 'Cause I'm not the sort to be certain a lot

I love the idea that over a year Keely and Addy start falling in love with each other and they’re just really surprised.

You are better than you know yourself I found you off the highest shelf

Maeve very clearly has a very poor view of herself, so Luis takes it upon himself to build her up every moment he gets. Also, Bronwyn does the same for Nate.

Baby nothing much has changed, I guess your buzzcut, it grew But I'm still the girl with the blush, giving a glowing review

Phoebe made some offhand comment about how hot Knox would be if he grew his hair out, and I can imagine her in the future just staring at him, wondering how she got so lucky to end up with someone like him. 

Maybe it's perfect, maybe it's incredibly flawed It doesn't matter I'm happy honey, I'm locking the door

Bronwyn and Nate’s relationship is flawed and broken and scary, but they really are each other’s homes. They really love each other.

Blood moons, skylarks My baby's out the ball park

Ballpark? Baseball? Maeve/Luis and Cooper/Kris??

Life without ya, I never wanna find out You're scared, me too I won't leave you

Again, Bronwyn and Nate’s relationship is so scary but they love each other so much

Lunar Years

I know something that you don't know Scathing down the landline, I still kind of love you And I'm four steps forward in my plimsolls But I still wanna stab any girl that wants to touch you

This feels like Bronwyn after she broke up with Nate. Like, she’s not his but she still feels like she is.

And no one wants to kiss a bad sport So I keep my head high, wave at all your family

Nate had so much respect for the Rojas that he took care of Maeve, even though he wasn’t Bronwyn’s boyfriend. And also this screams Cooper and Kris because Kris is so polite to the Clay family even though they hate him. Mostly.

You got good, I got better But I still care about you, and I think I'll care forevеr

Nate and Bronwyn still love each other, no matter how many times they break up

I know something that you don't know These days all our friends think you're kind of an arsehole

Were there moments where people hated Luis because of the way he treated girls and was now, in their mind, moving on to Maeve? Yes. 

And I'm glad we got to do All those perfect, ugly, almost priceless Lost and lovely lunar years together

This is kind of for all five couples. They had their struggles and things were impossible sometimes, but they got to do everything together. 

[vanilla-blessing]

Stray; or, The Paradise and The Palisades

A personal essay about Wolf’s Rain by Karin Malady (@SweetNAwful)

Rewatching a series has always spoken to my sense of time. Most of the time it seemed pointless - why watch something again when I could experience something new. To me, it was more exciting that way than going through the same emotional loop. Repeating a series over and over was the same as being trapped in the past. But, over time, I lightened up on that. I watched some of my favorite series a second time, often with a friend who hadn’t seen it before. Not only did having a fresh pair of eyes expand my view of the work but so did my accumulated experiences. After years had gone by, I’d realized I was a different person than when I first saw it. I had more of a grounding point for my experiences and knowledge. So, I was getting to see something I loved in new ways, which was important to me in itself. Last year, one of my girlfriends and I were trying to think of things to do to spend time together, as we were separated from each other by distance and a pandemic. This led to a weekly anime night of ours where we started by making our way through some of the Adult Swim sci-fi and cyberpunk shows. We started with Ghost in the Shell and moved on from there. A lot of these shows I only remembered in flashes - glimpses of random episodes fluttering through my childhood memories. I didn’t really understand how much of a connection I had with Wolf’s Rain until we got to it.

There was always something mysterious about the Adult Swim anime block. The promotion of these shows often involved cryptic phrases and stylish clips. When I was around ten, I would watch random episodes of things with my dad. I would see bits of Fooly Cooly, Inuyasha, Wolf’s Rain, Cowboy Bebop, and so many others out of context. I was deeply drawn in by the style of it all. The sense of space and action. The skeletal remains of Toga, Inuyasha’s father, loomed over the landscape much like mine did over me - giant. He was very important to me at that time in my life, even though he was someone who often scared me. My mom had just been in an accident and came back different. Something - maybe the result of an injury - changed and she didn’t seem like the same person anymore. It scared me, I felt like I lost her. So my dad got a lot of my attention - he was a jolly, funny, talkative. But he could also take things seriously and talk about deeper subjects. Not that it was all good times with him but he was more familiar. It didn’t make me sad in the same way. When my brother and I were allowed to stay up late, we watched Wolf’s Rain with him.

This is basically my father.

There was something about Wolf’s Rain that drew my dad into it. His eyes lit up so much more when he was explaining the story compared to Inuyasha or other anime. A pack of wolves wandering a desolate future, searching for Paradise - a place foretold in myth where all wolves will be free. I honestly don’t know why that idea appealed to him so much. Was he also a wounded wolf looking for Paradise? His life was told to me through a series of bar fights and near arrests. His actual arrest, his childhood, these are huge blanks in the story he told about himself. All I can really be certain is that he hurt a lot and that he never learned what to do with it. When Wolf’s Rain ended, he was disappointed with it. I don’t think he wanted the finality of death from the show. It could be because that hurt he carried was a threat to his life. I can never really know at this point in time. As I got older, our relationship got worse and recognized his abuse. I stopped talking to him after my parents got divorced and long before I started transitioning. Sometimes, however, I think back on the strange and mysterious feeling of watching Wolf’s Rain with him. There was something about the glow of the screen late at night, my dad sitting in his La-Z-Boy as a giant, lit by the blue of the TV screen.

Naturally, this means that revisiting something you’ve already seen is a form of time travel. Just thinking about the first time I experienced this anime has pulled me back into the past. But it also creates a bridge to the present as well. On my second watch, I was struck by the ways the anime could also relate to queerness. The way they form a pack and have to pass as humans to survive gave me a sense of found family and transness. And obviously Tsume is a leather daddy. We don’t see this directly in the story, of course. But, there is a possibility space where I can allow these characters to become queer. The way they are rejected can become my rejection and the way their search for safety, for a world that accepts them, can become my very same search.

Nothing will ever convince me he is straight.

Quent Yaiden stumbles around a broken world drunk and hateful. He is a bastard carried by sentimentality alone. This is a man who hunts wolves for revenge, after he believed a pack of wolves set his home town on fire and killed his family. A fire that was actually caused by the Noble’s soldiers. He spends his days wallowing in his pain, ignorant to the truth. However, he isn’t entirely alone as his trusty pet dog, Blue, guides him. It is because of him, people like him, that even brief visitations to the past become scary. If I linger here too long, I might become him. Of course, most people don’t want to become their parents. I see through Quent the ways my father had been swallowed by the world and how he could be a person who hurt me as much as he did. The truth of Quent’s tragedy isn’t the only thing obscured from him - Blue herself is half wolf. She gets scared he might find out and hid a precious part of herself from someone she cared deeply for, out of the fear that he would reject her if discovered. And he does - but this rejection is replaced by acceptance on his deathbed. I don’t know if it’s possible for me to forgive my father. Again and again, we’re told Paradise is for wolves. And Quent isn’t a wolf.

He is much better at drinking than he is hunting.

What does Paradise mean for me? Would it be a happy family, to correct my past? Or would it be something I built for myself? What Paradise was my father looking for? I’m glad that I can acknowledge his pain better, and see who he was a little clearer, even if I don’t like that person. Yet, at the same time, I don’t feel any closer to any answers. Maybe if I replayed the events again and again I could come to some new conclusion? Perhaps - and I say this treading the fear of revelation - perhaps he has already been trapped in his past, behind a palisade, and inventing a Paradise was simply the way he could escape from that. I’m not sure I will ever know. The most I can do is try to imagine a world in which people can heal and in which I can heal, and then hope to find my True Paradise. 

[moonlightheretic]

Chapter still unknown FULL (or is it?) WIP NSFW (it gets dark ya’ll)

“Where are we?” I struggled to find my bearings in this dark tunnel. The ground seemed unstable, pebbles shifting underfoot. My hands reached out in a blind haste for something solid to guide me through the dark. The walls practically disintegrated at my touch and nearly caved inwards. I did not feel safe. This place was one wrong step away from total collapse. I stumbled, my feet slipping into the rock ridden path, his hand caught my arm.

“You do not need to know.” He answered simply, pulling me to my feet.

It was becoming his go-to reply for everything I asked. I wasn’t satisfied with it. He watched my struggle and called flame to his hand, the hollowed cave’s secrets scattered into the shadows cast by the wiggling ignition. “You have stripped me of my weapons and most of my dignity. Do you mean to strip me of basic information as well? Am I so scary to you, Dread Wolf?” I challenged. Bitterness chewing through my words.

“They elected you as Inquisitor, not for your skill in battle alone. You are formidable. In any case, there is no benefit in informing you, it will make little difference. You will activate this one, as done previously.” His voice dipped into the octaves of an order.

“Where are we?” I pressed. “I want to know what you will destroy.” I stood firm, shoulders squared, refusing to tread further. He turned to face me, the blaze in his hand distorting the shadows across the planes of his face.

“When has any truth of my plans comforted you? Or perhaps, any truth at all? You live, stuck in a halcyon that never existed and you yearn for its return.”

“And who painted that pretty picture for me? This impressive hiraeth? A lie built on lies, a tower, and then brick by brick, a rotunda, and finally, a castle! What a beautiful empire you raised. Such an artist as you perhaps, should have erected that on Skyhold’s walls.”

We dove into a thick silence, neither of us giving in. I could almost see him biting his tongue, any remark quelled by fledgling self-control. He took a breath and smiled.

“You evade blame almost as skillfully as you evaded me, ah, but then again, where are you now?” He tilted his head, his left brow raised. “I wonder, what more dances have you that I not discovered yet?”

“I believe it was you who taught me to dance, Solas. I cannot take credit for my skills, when I have the master in front of me.” I gestured to him.

A muscle in his neck twitched and the fire cradled in his fingers strengthened significantly, staining his skin red.

“There is work to be done. Enough.” Even though the fire was causing us both to sweat in this enclosed space, his words were of pure ice.

We advanced upon this hovel, a crumbling crooked crevice of rock and stalagmites, dripping with Maker knows what. His steps were full of confidence and prior knowledge, muscle attuned with memory. He maneuvered past the tight angles with experience. He had been here before, perhaps?

“Whose bright idea was to locate an artifact in this dreadful place?” I snapped, as I was compelled to duck when a bat screeched by my head. Ah, but if a bat made its home here, surely there was an additional entrance to this hollowed nightmare.

He answered me with a chuckle and then reassured, “It isn’t far. Have patience, Inquisitor.” Ah, so he was no longer angered by my words, or had he folded the displeasure up and saved it for later?

I grabbed his illuminated jaw and snapped his head towards me. “Patience? I waited for you! With each year passing no more than a decade of drought! I have been patient, Solas.”  I wasn’t expecting a simple comment to provoke such raw emotion into my words, but there I was, fingers digging into the flesh of his jaw.

Solas’s eyes crept over my face, tracing every detail with his heavy gaze. “And so you have me.” He remarked gruffly and shrugged me off. A small draft tingled against my skin, the blooming flame flickered and listed, perhaps a vein in this stone body led to freedom, after all. But, I could only see what his flaming palm afforded me.

I felt it before I saw it. The anchor reacted, fizzling, smoke-like, and churning the air around it a greenish hue. My first reaction was to recoil and hide it within my cloak. Solas’s armored arm slithered into the fold of my cloak, the fabric hissing against his metal arm guards. He held onto my throbbing hand, pulling it from its hiding place, cool fingers calming my shivering ones, he presented it to the artifact before us.  Mist entrapped light uncoiled around the artifact, as if we had woken it from a long slumber, its light stretched and billowed in flight, like a flag caught in the wind and it rippled and convulsed, as if it was rejoicing. A warm welcome, indeed. A statue loomed behind, a winged and headless figure of a woman. Mythal. She was immured in this foul place, a feeling of sorrow washed over me.

“We are within the Vimmark Mountains.” He informed, sullen and remorseful, his eyes lingering on the statue.

A mountain chain, opportunity screamed into my mind. Then we could be in the vicinity of Kirkwall or even Ostwick, or rather, it was also possible we were somewhere in between. What mattered the most was the very fact that we were under a mountain.

“Surely, this place has significance.” I argued, playing along, with my eyes following his.

“Indeed.” He whispered.

Solas closed his palm and in doing so, snuffed out his flame. We were bathed in a greenish and golden light, I stole a glance, his mouth set in a hard line, eyes devoid of emotion, and in doing so, he gave me nothing. Unreadable. He was skilled not only in magic, but also, in masking his intentions. He was undeniably powerful, but so was I.

My heart hammered in my chest, possibly my only chance at stopping the Dread Wolf lay within these simple and faulty rock walls, carved out by water. Maybe, I did not need my little dagger, for it, could not compare with a mountain.

The next set of actions were to be done without instruction, as they were no different than the times prior. But this time, everything would be different. Hesitation would no longer best me.

I neared the artifact, Solas stepped behind me and observed. I lifted my hand and waited, the artifact pulsated with green waves of light surging upwards, and revealing thousands of tiny eyes glaring back at us in this aphotic sanctuary. Fucking bats.

I felt my release and I moved closer to it, the lights brightened in response, and I wondered, could I not only activate the artifact with the anchor, but also destroy it? Hell, I could bring this entire cave down and trap him in, weaponize our very surroundings…and so I did. I had only used the anchor’s power as much as I required of it, in the past, I was too careful to abuse it. That some calamity might befall myself and others if I used it for anything but its intended purpose, but what I needed most was in fact, calamity, itself.

I opened a rift right into the very center of the artifact. In less than a blink of an eye, it exploded into a shower of glass and stone, its ancient powers reveling in the new found freedom. In an instant, the small pocket of this mountain, shuddered and began to collapse, as the rift twisted it into its own shape, pulling and knotting, then thrusting and flailing. The bats flew to an escape as dust, stalagmites and murky water rained down, then chunks of rock plummeted downwards until the very ceiling threatened to fold in like a deck of cards. I tried to avoid the falling debris as the area shook, thunderous and vengeful. I could hear the bats, screeching in terror and I made my way to follow them.

“Moon’Hwa!” Solas roared. Eyes lit, his hands invoked a barrier, though as the mountain piled high, he was struggling to hold it. He gritted his teeth and grunted under the weight, too preoccupied to stop me, for if he let go, we would surely be buried. So this was his limit. I crawled along the ground, my back was pelted with rocks and earth. I covered my head with one hand and dug through debris with the other. He fell to his knee behind me, his gaze burning a hole in my back. The consequences of my actions stopped ricocheting from my body, I peered upwards to realize that his barrier was stretching, enveloping me within its safety.

My heart clenched and I dared to look back at his face. The barrier wavered and he gasped, rocks shimmied through, bouncing off of his pauldrons. His eyes squinting, and I thought I saw the shimmer of tears catching on his lashes, the veins under the skin of his neck and face enlarged as he strained to keep the barrier solid. A stalagmite jabbed into his cheek, drawing a bloody trail down his face. I comforted myself as guilt pulled at my sleeve. I needed to be ruthless, the world depended on it. He saw me as an asset. An important one, if not for the anchor, would he not let me drown in stone and earth? I steeled myself within this resolve. Thus, I needed to get the anchor as far away from him as possible. I pushed onwards and the barrier flickered as it followed me, or rather, it kept one step ahead, an encouragement to go further. Guilt sent its timely reminder and I bit into my lip to keep from turning back. You are leaving him to die. An enormous section of rock slammed into the barrier, it blocked where the humble draft of air whistled through. That meant, the only way out was the Eluvian. I gulped hard, facing disappointment. It would have to do.  Dal’nim will lose her father.

“Be quiet!” I seethed, shaking my head in an attempt to be rid of its voice.

It was becoming hard to breathe, the same air I breathed before filtered into my lungs and I quickened to the eluvian, a beacon in this turbulent darkness. Bats dropped to the barrier, sliding around me in a freefalling current of death. I inched closer, my fingers breaching its fluid reflection, the barrier wavered and as I pulled myself in, the tiny collapsing cavern was blasted with blinding blue light. The noise was…indescribable. My ears rang and ached as I was pushed into the eluvian by the blast, flying head first into the sanctum. I was followed by pieces of rubble, stalagmites, and a multitude of dead bats. The eluvian grumbled and screeched against the green tile as it too was shoved forward, denting it in the process.

I scrambled to stand, collecting my wobbly legs and propelling them to move, I clutched onto the eluvian, and with all my strength I heaved my weight into it, I screamed as the heavy golden oculus resisted my nefarious machinations. With one last heave, I pushed it into the bat littered floor and it shattered as if it were glass. The pieces flung everywhere, slicing my face and hands, the twinkling shards then seemed to dissolve, pooling into a clear and shimmering liquid at my feet. I did not wait around to discover what would happen next. My feet pummeled against the same elaborate green tile, I did not know where I was going, and I only knew that in this matter, distance was a friend. It was blur of gold and green, this place, I threw myself into eluvian after eluvian, until I could find something with the semblance of familiarity. I needed to find Dal’nim. She and I could be free of this place. I could contact Iron Bull, we could go to Rivain. The anchor will kill you. A sobering reminder. All hope gained, was lost in an instant. I…could cut it off, but, my eyes glow with its power, its infection could be septic? Oh, what was I going to do? There was so little I knew. My left fizzled and sparked emerald, free of Solas’s control.

I picked eluvians randomly, changing directions at will, his agents stopped and stared, I charged into them, not caring who I knocked over. It seemed that they simply did not know what to do with me. Perhaps, I had even been veiled as a secret from them. In any case their reaction time was cut short, because once I was within eyesight, I was already gone. I stopped to catch my breath, my chest heaving. This labyrinth was endless, eternal even. My palms stuck to my knees as sweat dripped from my face, not only sweat, no, but tears. They poured from my eyes, a deep mournful cry belted from my stomach. My fists clenched into the fabric of my trousers. I had more than likely killed him. No! I couldn’t stop to grieve. I had to leave! I needed to find Dal’nim! Priority reminded me.  I stood straight and stepped forward, I nearly tripped as my foot caught the edge of sunken tile.

The tile beneath my feet waned, breaking off and splintering into the damp soil. A large gust nearly wiped me from my feet and howled in my ears, I held on to the fragment of a statue to my right for dear life and my hands slipped against its wet surface. Cool droplets coated my face and hair and I turned to see what commanded such a force. A siege of water surfed upon the wind, upwards, over the edge of the cliff side before me, like a waterfall in reverse. A perpetual haze clung to the air, broken pillars and archways framed this place, half shrouded by the mist. This area felt wrong, like I wasn’t supposed to be here, let alone know of it. Old Oaks careened off the cliff, hanging by their roots, as if they, themselves, wished to be elsewhere. Otherwise, this space was devoid of life, but it did not feel empty. This island in the sky, a mere token of a once larger chain, wasn’t particularly large, its counterparts were scattered elsewhere, dipping into the horizon as black dots. Perhaps it was meant to be forgotten? My eyes completed a wide sweep of the island. There was no other eluvian than the one I emerged from. Was this a dead end? My only hope was in the distance, an area still mysterious, as it was outstanding in comparison to everything else this place offered.

A crypt nearly swallowed by erosion and mist, dwelled behind archways and pillars. My steps were chosen carefully, and I swapped from pillar to pillar leading into it, hanging on with all my might when the windy tsunami blew into me. Perhaps there was an eluvian lurking inside? I looked behind me before entering into this forbidden dwelling of the dead, a chill slithered into my bones, every muscle screaming I turn around, flee from this miserable place. But my desire to escape compelled me to ignore those sensations. Torches blazed upon my entry and I nearly jumped out of my skin, bravery almost forgotten. The braziers illuminated the stairway that descended into the depths of the unknown. My only companions were the buoyant echoes that bounced from my steps. My palms sliding flat along the golden walls, a steady reminder of what surrounded me, solid and strong, I could lean my weight into them without worry.

The braziers ignited as I passed by, this place was slowly drawn back to life. With each step taken, a noise loudened just a bit more, a wailing. Though, it did not originate as the result of the wind that labored against the crypt’s exterior. Odd. The landing of the stairs opened into a single room, it was unremarkable, except for the eluvian placed in the center and an exquisite golden recurve bow and full quiver leaning against it. But this reflection, this swirling picture it painted was not of me, nor was it of the room that sheltered it. I approached it, curiosity luring me in no different than a moth to flame. My fingers brushed its liquid like appearance, causing it to ripple, its image stayed the same. A thrashing figure, whom appeared to be female was tied to a massive tree, yet her head was…distorted. As if she wore some type of gargantuan crown that all but consumed her head. Her screams reached me and a gasp erupted from my throat when realization slammed into me.

Those were arrows. Countless arrows driven into her skull. She seemed to be trapped in unfathomable agony. I could not even see her face, for there were so many. How she managed to still live was …disturbing more than it was remarkable. She was a living pin cushion. She squirmed, her legs twisting in the grass, her head rolled from side to side, searching for a release from the pain and she wailed into the void, a haunting noise that echoed throughout the room. She should die. She deserves to die. It was like watching my mother all over again. I felt sick, what was this horrifying depiction? I was entranced, empathy surging like a rapid. I pulled my dagger from my boot and stepped in, gooseflesh punctuated my skin and my hair stood tall. Wait—

Blue light engulfed the humble room, and the taste of blood pricked at my tongue. I was thrown, a force splitting me from the suffering sight before me and I landed in a heap, limbs locked in place, I was physically held to the floor by an unseen force. The air knocked from my lungs, I found it challenging to breathe, and I stained against the invisible chokehold. The anchor’s light vanished as it was sealed.  

“S-Solas!” I winced, air pushing out of my lips with a wheeze.

“Inquisitor, I must thank you.” His voice rang overly cheerful, pulsing with falsehood, his expression read differently. Eyes alit, sharp and unashamedly bright, the blue light trailed him as he turned to face me.

“You were most forthcoming with your intentions for me. I gave you the floor and your performance was…inspiring.” He shook his head, his face embellished with drying blood and dirt. “If my hands weren’t preoccupied with saving you, I would have clapped. A pity that your plan ultimately failed.” His words ending with the cold tone of finality.

I faced my defeat with a retort and growled despite my predicament, “How did it feel to have a mountain fall on you, Solas?” My emotions swirling in an unending whirlpool of despair for my failure and…relief, shameful relief.

“How did it feel? Ask the mountain. Although, you would face a difficult time finding it. I believe as of now, it stands below sea level.” He smirked and faced the eluvian.

He picked up the ostentatious bow and a single arrow from the quiver ruled in shadow, there was a slight shake to his hands, besides his haggard dirt/blood stained face and rock pelted armor, it was the only evidence that hinted at the event that befell him earlier.

“You left me to die when Corypheus besieged Haven! I was YOUR scapegoat! You are nothing but a coward.” The memory, along with rage found me, my mind fumbling with excuses.

“You’ve sacrificed more for the greater good of your cause, have you not? Your rage is misplaced, Vhenan. At one time, you were gladly complicit!" Solas argued, "As I am sure you are starting to remember." "Yes, at one time, I was gladly stupid." I retorted. "I thrived off of your praise alone, the Inquisition taught me I didn't need it."

“Yes, the same Inquisition that now terrorizes Ferelden and the Free Marches, searching for you. How wonderful of a teacher.”

“As were you, if my memory serves me right.” I seethed. “Though, I cannot claim to know what is real anymore.”

His left arm held the bow aloft and he seemed to ignore me, the light from his eyes illuminating its exquisite carvings and jeweled features, I had honestly never seen a bow so beautiful. It looked like it didn’t belong here, like it didn’t belong to this time. Solas nocked an arrow onto it, then to my horror, he took aim at the tortured woman, his right eye closing as he concentrated. He pulled back, deliberate and graceful. The arrow took flight, into the eluvian. I gasped when I heard the impact, I wished I could have covered my ears when her cries of agony hit me. I couldn’t understand how the poor female had any available space left on her head.

“Inquisitor, I must warn you not to wander in this place, for there are areas you may not return from, much like these arrows." He instructed.

“Who is she? What did she do?” I asked panicking, dismissing his warning.

“She numbers among they who killed Mythal. A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment.” He reached for another arrow. “They? Have you more prisoners? Why not kill them?” I reasoned.

“The first of my people do not die so easily, as you can see.” Another arrow flew coupled with another cry of agony. He navigated around my question, I knew not to ask more on the subject. This man had more walls than a gated palace.

“I assume that applies to you as well.” I pried, agitation digging in.

His smirk returned for the briefest of moments, before a deep melancholy was ushered in by his dipped brows and frown. He observed the bow in his hand, his fingers gripping it until his knuckles nearly turned white. “Andruil killed her with this bow. A fine gift, bestowed upon her by Mythal, herself. Yet, it ended in an act of greed, further sullied by lust for blood and power.” His head shook gently and he set the bow down, leaning it against the eluvian.

“When the veil is torn down…wont the Old Gods be freed?” Panic rose in my throat like bile.

“I have plans.” He pulled his hands behind his back and watched the suffering Andruil before him, eyes glassy and reflecting the writhing figure in his view.

“I-I didn’t think you were…I never thought you were capable of-“ I stuttered, the weight of his words plunging me into a deep ocean of fear. Did he imprison the other Old Gods in their own chambers of agony? Just who was Fen’Harel?

Andruils anguished cries bled through the eluvian, and staring into it was a God in the figure of a man whose eyes were gleaming with pride.

Last line credit goes to my friend AYSIA

Yeah I realize its not done. Like there needs to be a flashback for the opening yada yada. 

[theramseyloft]

What are some basics of pigeon boy language and how do you teach them to interact with humans?

This is a really broad question. It’s a lot easier for me to interperet individual signals than try to think of as many as possible with their translations, especially with out visual aids to share.

Our Youtube Channel (We are The Ramsey Loft there too), especially in the broader hanging out with birds videos, I translate the social behaviors of the flock.

Teaching pigeons to interact with humans is built entirely off of showing the birds first that you are not a threat, and then that you recognize when they are nervous, and they can trust you to be aware of and respect their comfort levels.

Watch their hackles, like you would a dog. A pigeon’s are on its rump, just above their tail feathers.

Raised hackles are an excited tell, not necessarily aggressive, but aggressive more often than not. 

A cock will also raise his hackles during the sweeping charge, which is part of his courtship dance that involves charging forward and cooing with his hackles up and his tail sweeping the ground,

It’s meant to intimidate other cocks and impress the hens.

Wing twitching while crouched and cooing is an invitation for the object of that individual’s affection to join him in the nest he’s picked out.

A hen crouched and twitching away from the nest is asking very sweetly to be tread by her mate.

Nodding their head is sort of the pigeon version of extending the olive branch. It is not necessarily a part of courtship, though it can be.

A nodding pigeon is expressing, from a respectful distance, their willingness to be companionable.

This prevents them from triggering hostility by breaching the personal space of another pigeon.

That nod translates directly, meaning that a pigeon will receive the same message from you nodding your head at them that they would from another pigeon, so nodding your head to a distant flock or your closed fist to an individual that has ventured close is a good way to convey that you are not hostile.

Personal space is a status symbol among pigeons. The wider the berth a bird is given, the higher their status.

Entering that personal space uninvited is a supremely insulting challenge that means you are either a predator trying to eat them, or a rival trying to pick a fight.

Always let the pigeons come to you. 

You don’t have to be quiet. They are not wild animals, and it will help to desensitize them to your voice if you greet and talk to them every time you see them, but make no other move to approach.

Let their natural curiosity get the better of them, and then reward it with treats like safflower seeds.

Keep in mind that they have likely learned to be afraid of people, and that you are helping them learn that you, specifically, are safe.

If we are talking about socializing a nestling, think of it like a puppy.

You do not have to take puppies away from their dam to make them friendly. They are born that way.

So you just handle them gently and often and expose them to as much as you can, gently and patiently, making sure to remove them from the situation if it gets scary or uncomfortable.

Pigeon peeps freeze and hunker when frightened, and people often mistake that for calm.

If the peep goes dead still with its wings tight to its side, head down, floofed up, or breathing slightly open mouthed with a blushing wattle and bobbing tail, it is stressed and what ever is happening needs to stop.

A contented baby will be interested in their surroundings, looking around at anything new, preening themselves, or relaxing. They may nap, and you can tell they are not distressed if their wings are loose against their sides.

I can go more into baby training in another post, if you like.

[onceuponaloonatic]

Sai jumping off the balcony of their new house balcony into the pool scaring the crap out of her moms when they catch her mid jump- 🍕

When they were first told they were moving, Sai was a bit apprehensive about it. She had lived in their old house her entire life and to just move and uproot her whole life was a bit scary for her. But nevertheless, she went along with it. Having to share a room scared her even more than a new house. Sai hated sharing, and sharing a room would probably drive her crazy.

When she saw the new house, her attitude changed. It was a huge size upgrade and there were lots of new things for her to be excited about. Their old house’s backyard was tiny, and most of the space was taken up by their playground Sai had gotten as a third birthday present. The playground was brought over, for the triplets and for the new baby when she was old enough, but it no longer dominated the backyard. There was plenty of space for the playground. And they even had a huge pool. Sai was really excited about the pool.

Her room was much bigger too. Her and Saya were told they were going to have to move downstairs, but they were both okay with it. Their rooms were far away from the baby’s room, and far away from their parents. They also had a huge playroom in their new house, which was a huge upgrade of the living room being their playground. The playroom had a balcony attached to it, and the balcony overlooked the pool. One of the first things Sai’s brain went to when standing on top of the balcony was if she could jump off the balcony into the pool.

She didn’t do it though. At least, until Saya dared her too.

“I dare you to jump into the pool from the balcony.” Saya dared her sister. Sai was never one to back down from a dare, plus it seemed fun.

“Okay. I’ll go put my swimsuit on.” Saya was a bit shocked she said yes and followed her to her room as she changed into her swimsuit. Their moms were busy in the baby’s room setting some stuff up, while Saki was at science club and Sae was at ballet class. It was the perfect time for an impulse swim.

Sai climbed to the other side of the railing, looking down at the pool. If she was afraid of heights she would probably be too scared to do this, but thankfully she wasn’t scared.

“Go Unnie!” Saya cheered.

“One, two, three!” Sai giggled as she jumped. What she didn’t count on was her mom’s hearing the commotion, they had left the balcony door open and the nursery door had been left open for them earlier.

“Sai!” Her parents screamed when they saw her mid jump. All three of their hearts dropped to their feet as they watched their daughter fly through the air. They were all beyond relieved when they saw Sai safely land in the pool. All the kids could swim, so they weren’t worried about her once she was in the water.

“Myoui-Chou Sai!” Mina yelled at her daughter as her little head popped up as she treaded water.

“Oh hi Ka-san!” Sai giggled, still exhilarated from the jump.

“Why did you do that?!”

“Cause Saya dared me too.” Sai explained, ducking herhead underwater and swimming to the pool steps.

“Saya!” Sana turned to her daughter.

“I didn’t think she would actually do it…” Saya explained.

“That doesn’t mean you're in any less trouble. Both of you, inside now.” Tzuyu had to yell it to Sai, who was out of the pool and looking to see if someone had left a towel out by accident she could use.

Sana brought her a towel, wrapping her up in it and kissing her forehead and saying “Never scare mommy like that again.” Both of them were grounded for two weeks, but both thought it was worth it.

[playingwiththeunknown]

My Birthday Reading

So I'm following this:

I drew this:

Celebrate: Reverse Two of Sea:

The meaning in my book doesn't make sense in the context. I'm thinking, from looking at the card, that this year I'm celebrating the ending of some relationships in my life and looking forward to new relationships.

Lesson: Consequences:

Oh I've definitely learned from my consequences this year. This entire year has been one long learning experience. This card is so accurate for this that it's scary.

Theme: Cat Magic:

This card is actually the magician in a regular deck. I've been exploring a lot of divination and magic lately and I believe that I will continue to do so this year. It also means believe in yourself according to my book. So mood.

Relationships: Sea Tom:

To me this card means trust. A cat exposing it's belly has trust. My book says it could mean opportunities and new relationships which I know there will be since I have a new job.

Work: Moon:

I should tread carefully at my current job and this new job.

Health: Reverse Three of Fire:

"Look before you leap" um. I have no idea what that means in terms of my Health. The cat is looking up in a very focused way so maybe I need to be watching my health this upcoming year. My brother reminded me that I'm approaching 30 in a couple of years. Thanks bro.

Spirituality: Fire Kitten:

I'm very curious and new to everything I'm doing. I need to watch for burns but know that I'll learn faster that way.

Now to draw from some of my other decks. I wanted to be thorough so I could look back on this throughout the year.

Aaand my charms for this year:

So new beginnings and that's obvious since I have a new job lined up. Riches and adventure. New job pays more, makes sense. There's a new cycle coming, clearly. I will make a commitment, maybe in my job or a new relationship. The graduation charm is upside down so I asked my spirit guide, Serah, what that means and she said I'll go back to school. Interesting. Something I hadn't considered yet. There are going to be people talking about me, but I'm strong against it. Family and religion are going to keep me grounded. Or maybe that's family that's going to be gossiping about me. The charm with uncle on it is my family charm. I see conflict touching the improvement in health. So maybe if I don't work on my health, I could be in trouble. That goes along with my tarot reading. Religion is going to lead me. An increase in technology, I feel that's related to work. I'm on a new path and I have protection, yep. Things improving spiritually will be the key to my happiness. The infinity sign is upside down and touching the prosperity and increased wealth charms so increased riches won't be forever or won't last long. So I need to save. I will need my mom a lot this year. The coin on heads is a yes tons question I didn't ask. I'll have a better year this year.

[mrsjihyunkim]

🌹Flowers & Ink🌹Ch 1

Ok so this was inspired by @v-dcc​ of V as a tattoo artist. Like I’m so in love with this that I made it my desktop. Any way here is the first chapter and I hope I do this art justice. Definitely going to be more to come of this story! Also this is pretty long so I put a cut in it and the story tag is going to be F&I 

       The sun shined in the window and spilled onto V's face. He groaned and threw and extra pillow at the window. This only knocked down the blinds and V put his head under the last pillow. If there was one thing he disdained more than women it was mornings. He was at the shop until like three in the morning working on a cherry blossom piece. The girl had done nothing but flirt with him the entire time so by the end of it he was in a sour mood. Now that he was up it was pointless to try and sleep. So after getting dressed and grabbing his coffee, he headed to his shop. As he was unlocking the door to the shop he noticed that people were moving stuff into the shop next to his. It peaked his curiosity but he'd see it eventually so he just went about business as usual. He only had four appointments today but that's usually how it was. V liked to get to know the person he was working so he could make sure they got the best tattoo. He went to the back and saw his apprentice struggling to make coffee. "Do you still not know how to use the coffee machine Yoosung?" The blonde boy put down the pot and threw his hands up.

"It's not my fault you have such a stupid fancy coffee maker! Like I don't even get why you have it cause you never use it." V handed him thermos of coffee and Yoosung snatched it. "Why accept the gift if you're not going to use it?" Yoosung drunk the coffee and sighed.

"I accepted it because it was the only way to get that woman to leave me alone." Yoosung shrugged.

"Yeah she was persistent. I still don't understand why you just didn't go out with her." V shot him a look and Yoosung dropped it.

"Anyway, did you sleep here last night?" Yoosung was still wearing his clothes from yesterday and he blushed a little.

"Yeah but only because that session lasted so long. I would of just had to come back here by the time I got home, so I slept in the back." V rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Well go on and head home, and shower. The first appointment isn't until noon so I don't need you right now. And you know you don't have to be here every morning before me right?" Yoosung nodded at him and smiled.

"Yeah but I like to cause I can get some practice in before you take over." Yoosung was beaming with pride and it made V smile. Yoosung’s energy was sometimes annoying but he was hard working and that’s all that mattered to V.

"Whatever. Just go home and get cleaned up. This maybe a tattoo shop but we still have an imagine to maintain." As Yoosung was leaving he saw Vanderwood coming in.

"Careful Vandy he's a bit cranky." Yoosung passed by Vanderwood and out the door before he could be asked anything. So Vanderwood walked in and treaded carefully. V had on his glasses and was nose deep in a notebook when Vanderwood found him.

"Why is Yoosung leaving? Are you not opening the shop today?" V barely looked up from his notebook.

"He slept here last night so I sent him home to get cleaned up. Why are you here?"

"Damn dude. You really are a sour puss today." Vanderwood set a white paper bag on the table. "I brought you some breakfast. Maybe that will put you in a better mood." V glared at him but sighed. He set down the notebook and took his glasses off. They clattered against his dog tag necklace as he grabbed the bag. "So what's got you in a sour mood granny?"

"I told you not to call me that, and I'm not in a bad mood. I'm just tired." V took the doughnut out of the bag and Vanderwood just shrugged.

"Could of fooled me. And if you don’t want to be called that then don’t wear a granny chain." Vanderwood had known V since he opened the shop. Not only was Vanderwood the one who sold it to him but owned the car garage at the end of the block. So he knew when V was in a grumpy mood. "Let me guess. Someone flirted with you and all you did was get annoyed." V shot him a look and Vanderwood felt a chill go down his spine. "That's a yes. Excuse me for not giving you an sympathy. Most guys would love being such a chick magnet." V tossed the rest of his doughnut in the trash and got up. Vanderwood sighed and decided to drop the subject.

"Don't you have your own shop to open? I'll walk you out." V headed for the front and Vanderwood followed. He knew better to fight V when he was in a mood. When they got outside the shop V noticed a car full of flowers parked next door. While Vanderwood continued to babble V looked at the car and noticed how the light reflected inside the car and he could see the depth of it. Without even thinking he walked over to the car and peered inside. Every seat except for the driver was covered in flowers. There were daffodils, roses, lilies, even succulents and cacti. There were probably more but he couldn't tell. He was so busy looking at the flowers that he didn't notice the brown haired woman standing behind him tapping her foot.

"Excuse me but do you mind? I need to get in there." V turned around and saw a woman in khaki pants and black tank top standing behind him. He moved out of her way and she opened the car door. She grabbed an arm full of flowers and V could see her struggling. Normally V avoided getting into other people's business but the flowers had him curious.

"Do you need any help?" The woman stared at him and raised an eyebrow. To V she almost seemed suspicious and he regretted ever asking. "Or not. Just thought you had a lot in there and would want some help." He shrugged and put a hand through his hair.

"Oh thanks but it's ok. I have a cart to use inside but these already cut and need to be in some water. Putting them on the cart would only smash them." She turned on her heel and headed back into her shop. V for better lack of words was stunned. She didn't try to hit on him or anything, and she just flat out refused him. He walked back to his shop and just completely ignored the smile on Vanderwood's face. When he got back inside he grabbed his notebook and went to sit outside. His brain was just telling him to stop but he really wanted to draw the flowers. So he watched and drew as his new neighbor set up flowers and paid him no mind. At least that's what V thought but MC was very much aware. In fact she was so aware that she was arranging the flowers in the best way for him to draw. She was a little creeped out by it at first but didn't mind when she realized that he was drawing the flowers. Time flew by as V did sketch after sketch of the different arrangements and before he knew it he saw his first client coming up to the shop. MC watched as her new neighbor greeted a tall slender guy with long grey hair. They went back into the shop and MC sighed in relief. She was turning around when she ran smack into a younger blonde boy. They both crashed to the ground and MC's watering can spilled all over her.

"Oh my gosh! I am so sorry! I'm running late and you turned around so fast that I couldn't get out of the way. Are you ok?" MC looked at the blonde boy and really wanted to cuss him out but she could he was just a kid, and he looked like he was about to cry. She let out a sigh and stood up.

"It's alright. Spilling water comes with the job." She smiled at him and that only made Yoosung feel worse.

"My name's Yoosung Kim. I work at the tattoo shop next door. You've probably already met my boss V. He's the guy with the blue hair" Yoosung seemed so proud of the fact that he knew him. It made MC curious though because V seemed like a giant ass but Yoosung seemed like an innocent little kid. Maybe she had misjudged V.

"I'm MC. I just opened my flower shop here." She gestured to the building beside her and Yoosung smiled. He was about to say something when V's voice called out his name.

"Shit. Gotta go. Nice to meet you MC!" Yoosung called as he ran to the tattoo shop. V watched as Yoosung ran over this way and noticed that the girl was soaking wet. Once they were inside Yoosung began to talk really fast. "Sorry I'm late V. I accidently knocked down MC and she got soaked." V pretended not to care but he was a little happy to know her name now.

"You're still late and Hyun's already here." When they got to the back the man with long silver hair was sitting at a table looking through some sketches. He looked up and smiled at the two.

"Hey Yoosung! What's up?" Yoosung gave him a high five and started getting V's equipment out.

"Hey Zen. Not much really. I did get to meet the cute florist next door so that was exciting." Zen's eyes looked up from the sketches in surprise.

"Really now? Did you get her number?" Yoosung blushed and shook his head. "You're killing me man! You know I gotta live vicariously through others. I'd do it through V but he treats women like the plague." V rolled his eyes pulled his hair into a messy ponytail.

"Did you decide which design you want Hyun?" Frowning at V's lack of a reaction Zen nodded.

"Yeah I want this one. It has the romantic feel I'm going for." He handed V a sketch and it was one he had done of MC's roses earlier. As V transferred it to the stencil he couldn't help but smile. As V worked Zen turned his attention back to Yoosung. "So why didn't you get her number Yoosung?" He just shrugged as he got the rubbing alcohol and began to prep where Zen wanted the tattoo.

"Well for one I completely knocked her on her ass and she spilled water all over her. I didn't think that would be the best time to hit on her. Plus she seems like one of those people who is nice but also scary. Like when I crashed into her I thought she was going to cuss the shit out of me. Even though she smiled I could tell that she was pissed." V was listening to Yoosung's every word despite telling himself that he didn't care. There was something about MC that bugged him but he couldn't figure it out. She definitely wasn't like women that he was used to but that really didn't mean anything to him, or did it. Either way right now he needed to focus and do his job.

"Alright Hyun. You ready?" Zen nodded and V began his work. He worked for almost three hours before feeling satisfied to stop for the day. He had done the basic outline of the piece and some shading. V cleaned off the tattoo and smiled at Zen. "What do you think?" Zen hopped off the table and went over to the mirror. He twisted so that he could see the roses and vines on his ribcage. There was a mirror, microphone, and a stack of paper all inbedded in the vines.

"It's awesome V! This just might be my favorite one now." V rolled his eyes but smiled.

"You say that every time." V took his gloves off and threw them in the trash.

"Well that's cause you do fucking kick ass work!" He slapped V's hand they slid into a fist bump. "Alright I'm gonna home and take some new selfies. Take care guys!" He left just as V's next client was coming in. After Zen V's appointments seemed to go by pretty fast and before he knew it he was on the last one. It was a smaller piece. The woman had wanted a cancer ribbon and a few flowers in honor of her mother who just passed away. When it was done she cried and V felt his heart lift at her joy. Once she was gone V sat down and sighed. He was so beat that he might sleep here tonight.

"Hey Yoosung." The blondes head popped in the door way. He almost reminded V of a puppy. "Go ahead and go home. I'll clean up tonight. Also make sure you practice tonight. You've got an appointment tomorrow." Yoosung eyes lit up like fireworks and he was barely stopping himself from bouncing up and down.

"Are you for real? I actually get to work on someone tomorrow?" V nodded and Yoosung squealed. "I won't let you down boss!" V waved his hand toward him and Yoosung took off. Once V heard the jingle of the doorbell he got up and started cleaning. He changed all the trash and wiped down all the tables. Just as he was about to start cleaning his tattoo gun he heard the doorbell.

"Sorry we're closed now." He said as he made his way to the front. When he got there he found MC standing there. She looked tired and V wondered what she was still doing here so late. "I hope you don't want a tattoo cause we're closed." She seemed dazed but her eyes snapped open when he was done talking.

"Oh no. I figured you were closed but I was hoping that you had a first aid kit." V looked closer now and noticed that she had a towel wrapped around her hand. She also had red smears on her smock.

"Yeah just a second. Try not to bleed on the floor ok." V turned his back to her and she just frowned. He sounded like an asshole but MC wasn't surprised. Most men were assholes, especially when they were that good looking. V came back and handed her a first aid kit. "So what happened?" V's question surprised her because he didn't really seem to care about anything.

"Oh. I tripped over a box and fell down with a bunch of vases. Talk about an omen." She let out a small laugh but V could tell that she was upset. "Anyway, thanks for the first aid kit. I'll bring it back over tomorrow." She smiled and turned around to leave and V saw some red seeping through the side of her shirt. Before he could stop himself he was reaching out for her and grabbing her shoulder. MC stopped and looked back at him, clearly shocked.

"I'll come with you. I'd feel guilty if you got clumsy again and bled out." He pushed her out of the shop and locked his door.

"It's ok really. I mostly got it cleaned up. I just needed some bandages." She tried her best to convince him but it seemed like he wasn't even listening. They got to her shop and she sighed. V looked around the shop once he was inside and it honestly looked like an indoor garden. "I fell down over there." She pointed over toward a fridge with a glass door. V grabbed a broom that was next to the counter.

"Alright just sit down and take care of those cuts." MC nodded and V walked over to the fridge. He noticed that she had in fact moved all of the glass into a pile. Using the broom he swept the glass into an empty box and carried it up to the front. MC seemed completely spaced out and seemed a little pale. V looked at the towel she had wrapped her hand in. There was a lot more blood than he expected and wondered if she was ok. He was honestly surprised by his concern and didn't really know what to do. "Hey are you sure you're ok? Is there someone that you need me to call or anything?" MC had been feeling a bit dizzy but V's voice helped her snap out of it.

"Oh no I texted my roommate and their on their way over. She just had to finish work so she should be here soon. Thank you for your help though. I hope it wasn't a bother." V just shrugged and MC went to hand him back the first aid kit.

"Keep it. We have more at the shop. Plus you obviously need it more than I do." She huffed out a breath and V just turned around a left. Something about that girl made him act weird and he didn't like it. The last thing he needed was more complicated feelings. MC watched him leave and she was still angry at his implications. This guy was definitely an asshole and nothing could change her mind.

[light-of-being]

05.02.19 (treading tentatively forward)

Today was good. Long, exhausting, but good.

Last year was really hard for me and I spent pretty much all of it in survival mode, which is kind of just a sad way to live and was bad for my academics, leadership roles, etc, although I accept that there was no other way at the time. I can confidently say that I’m probably a lot better at coping now than I was before. But I wanted to take a more proactive approach this year -- to live more...intentionally, so to speak. To kinda build a life beyond just survival.

My main concerns were around energy and being able to do this without just collapsing entirely. I find it hard to imagine successfully sustaining studies, health and household tasks simultaneously. But perhaps I’m just being excessively miserly with my energy and I should just allow myself to be tired, to do things beyond the point of exhaustion, and then rest. I’ve been afraid that the rest wouldn’t help, that the exhaustion would become paralysing, as it often has. But the truth is, I haven’t allowed myself to reach that point in a long time because I’ve been afraid, so I don’t actually know whether that still holds at all. I might just be able to be achy and tired, get a really good sleep, and then get up and live another full day. I’m going to experiment with that, let’s see how that goes.

I got books from the library last week, but I didn’t get very far with reading them (probably coz they were slightly dense and not-so-slightly boring and depressing). So I returned those today, and got new ones that I’m actually excited about, intend to, and actually expect to read. I made deliberate efforts to pick out those that are accessible and/or noncommittal, such as a collection of short pieces that I can approach and abandon easily while still having appreciable gains.

I spoke to a therapist while on campus about problems in the general direction of this post. It was actually quite fruitful. I expressed a lot of concern about disintegration/falling apart/losing control that comes with the swamp of uncertainty surrounding my dissociation and my history of experiencing such. The sense of stumbling in the dark. I won’t pretend that I feel any more confident in being able to hold it together, but I do feel more willing to have faith. I’m slowly becoming more comfortable with the idea that I’ve rarely actually put shit behind me, but rather fled from them, that I still carry the corpses of all of myself that I’ve killed. She said we need to explore that and the past more the next time. I agree, I think. I’m still not sure what that’s meant to achieve, but I’m slightly less sure it’d be a waste of time. She says I need to put down the corpses to make space for those I’ll collect in the future, if I think that’s going to happen. Which seems fair, although I’m not certain speaking about them will put them down any better.

I took some time out yesterday to exercise (active) self-compassion. Most of my recollections and thoughts of the past had been so tainted by the visceralness, terror of recurrence and uncanny sense of similar-but-other, that I’d never bothered to look back at those stranger selves as people of their own right. I mean, if they were actually strangers, I would probably have responded to them with empathy and support, but all I was doing to myself was recoiling. So I extended to them an olive branch of sorts. Forgave them for not making it through, appreciated them for doing their best nevertheless. Promised kindness and greater support henceforth. Which was, in turn, inductively comforting to me.

But I was also angry. Very angry. At my parents, my bullies, everything that had put me in these positions. People whom I’d thought I’d long forgiven, although I’d never even properly given myself a chance to be angry at them. I’d jumped to “they did their best and didn’t know any better” type of thinking and knew I couldn’t reeeally blame them for it if I was applying my own approaches consistently. Never mind that I’d only just grokked after yeeears that this hadn’t been my fault, that it wasn’t due to anything being fundamentally wrong and horrible about me, that they were just...fucked up, and were in fact doing this to everyone. That this was wrong.

I felt, last night, the same kind of mental shift I did long ago when I moved from “slavery was 30 years ago we need to move on coz it doesn’t matter anymore” to “wow no this is still affecting every part of people’s lives and will continue to, we can’t just ignore it”. The same kind of bitterness I see when people talk about how a lot of  white people in this country never apologised, still look back to apartheid nostalgically, don’t begin to accept any responsibility or even understanding of the harm they caused...and yet we’ve “forgiven” them and “reconciled”.

Idk. I’ma write out a lengthy exposition of exactly what they did and how it affected me at some stage. I wanted to send it to my mother, or even my father, but sensibly, I probably won’t. It won’t have any productive benefit: while I’d really like them to understand and accept responsibility, I’ll almost certainly get only invalidation and hostility. Soo I’ll probably just write it for my own sanity and hopefully at some point (actually) let go.

So yeah. I’m working on things. This morning I also joined tai chi again, conditional upon being able to opt out of physical contact and social chit-chat things. I bought pretty candles that I look forward to using for meditation things and general niceness. I finally got around to buying a lace curtain so I can open the dark ones without rendering my entire room exposed to the fkin street, and I swear, the outside light transforms the ambience. It’s the best thing. I like light, a lot. I’ve set up my journal for this month, and it’s very pretty and welcoming. My bursars emailed today confirming that they’ll fund me again for this year, which although was expected from the T&Cs, brought a huge sense of relief for my financial state.

Classes start on Monday. I’m very slightly anxious about the workload and the fact that it’s final year and everything counts A Great Deal, but the content seems really cool. I dropped my maths course last year because I was overwhelmed by my own head, and I think that contributed to reduced stability and grounding. I’ma be doing it this year, which is nice. Algebra was pretty cool while I was doing it before I dropped, and Discrete Maths has always been exciting.

Applied cognitive psychology seems overall like a very exciting course. It covers stuff including neural networks, decision making, memory in forensics, clinical cognition and evolutionary cognitive psychology. There’s also an Actual Research Project done in groups: complete with research proposal and poster, and the power to grant kids course credits for partaking...which is in equal parts extremely fkin cool and absolutely terrifying.

Computer science has been said to be challenging, which is probably nice (and also, again, slightly scary). We’re doing more in-depth and probably more complex things like networks and operating systems, which is cool and superior to the largely superficial programming stuff we’ve spent so long on. I enjoyed last semester (concurrency, computer architecture, etc -- conceptual things) so this should probably be good as well.

I’m looking forward to the structure of lectures and the purposefulness of having assignments etc to do. I’ve also been reminded (again today) how much I like my (very beautiful) campus and how it brings me a sense of peace and belonging (generally when there’s nobody else there, not when scared new first years are anxiously attending everything...but anyway).

Things are, for now...okay. I’ve always liked beginnings. I’m willing to try. I’m holding out a tentative hope.

[ruminativerabbi]

Hatred, Fear, Hope

Like most Jewish Americans, I was caught off-guard back in 2017 by the sight of white supremacists marching in Charlottesville, Virginia, and carrying aloft the flags of the Confederate States of America and Nazi Germany. (That they were also carrying the so-called Gadsden Flag that was originally used by the Continental Marines during the American Revolution—the one designed back in 1775 by Christopher Gadsden featuring the words “Don’t Tread on Me” beneath a coiled-up, scary-looking rattlesnake—struck me primarily as a sign of how little these people know about the values upon which the nation was founded in the first place.) The sight of those flags being held aloft proudly and defiantly was beyond upsetting, but not particularly confusing. But what was confusing—to me and I suspect to most—was the chant “Jews will not replace us,” which I hadn’t ever heard before and which I now realize I misunderstood, taking it to mean something entirely different than what it apparently does mean.

Taking the slogan at what I thought was face value, I understood the marchers to be declaring their determination not to allow themselves to be replaced by Jews eager to take over their jobs and leave them without work and eventually destitute.  In other words, I imagined this somehow to be tied to the marchers’ skittishness about the job market and their need to find someone to blame in advance for losing jobs they fear they only haven’t lost yet and in which they fear they will eventually, to use their own word, be “replaced.” It hardly seems like a rational fear, but that’s what it felt like it had to mean, and so I ended up taking it as just so much craziness rooted not in anything corresponding to actual reality but in the malign fantasy that, left unchecked, we Jewish people will somehow take over the world and install our own people in whatever jobs we wish without regard to where such a move would leave the people currently holding them. And that is what I sense most Jewish people—and maybe even most Americans—hearing this chant took it to mean.

But now that I’ve read more, I see that that is specifically not what “Jews will not replace us” means and that the slogan specifically is not about Jews replacing Christians at work at all. Instead, the chant encapsulates the marchers’ fear that we Jews are working not to take over their jobs ourselves but to replace them at work with third-party others chosen specifically to deprive them of their livelihoods and their places in society. And who might these other people be? That, it turns out, is where anti-Semitism and racism meet: the hordes of jobseekers the marchers fear turn out not to be Jews at all, but hordes of dark-skinned immigrants feared already to be pouring over our borders and insinuating themselves into an already-tight job market. And it is those people who, because they are presumed ready to work at even the most menial jobs for mere pennies, are imagined to be threatening the white (i.e., non-immigrant) people who currently hold those jobs and who earn the American-sized salaries they use to support themselves and their families.

To say this is crazy stuff is really to say nothing at all. Yes, we have a huge and so-far-unresolved issue in this country with illegal aliens living in our midst and I’m sure that those people do take jobs that legal residents might otherwise have. And lots of non-crazy people, myself definitely included, are eager to find a way out of this morass that we ourselves have created by failing to police our borders adequately and by allowing the number of undocumented illegals in our midst to grow from a mere 760,000 or so in 1975 to something like 12.5 million today with no obvious solution in sight.

So wanting a reasonable solution to be found—one that is fully grounded both in settled U.S. law and in our national inclination to be just, fair, kind, and generous, and one that doesn’t make after-the-fact chumps out of all those countless millions of people who followed all the rules and immigrated here fully legally—is not crazy at all. What is crazy is the fantasy that Jewish Americans somehow possess the secret power to order Walmart’s and Costco and every other American business to fire specific employees and replace them with pre-selected others regardless of whether those others are or are not here legally. Crazier still is the contention that American Jews somehow control American immigration policy, and that we are somehow able imperiously to issue instructions that must be obeyed both to Democratic and Republican administrations. But craziest of all is the belief that, precisely because American Jews are so supremely powerful, we must be attacked violently before we order the administration to let even more immigrants into our nation. That, after all, was the specific reason the Pittsburgh shooter gave for his savagery in a comment posted online just before the attack: to give the officers of HIAS pause for thought before they work to bring in any more “invaders [to] kill our people.” My post-Pittsburgh proposal is that we stop dismissing that line of thinking as aberrant looniness that no normal person could actually embrace and start taking it far more seriously.

It feels natural to consider the various kinds of prejudice that characterize our society as variations on a common theme. And in a certain sense, I suppose, that is true. But these pernicious attitudes are also distinct and different, both in terms of their root causes and the specific way they manifest themselves in the world: misogyny, racism, and homophobia, for example, are similar in certain cosmetic ways, but differ dramatically in terms of the specific malign fantasies that inspire them and thus should (and even probably must) be addressed in different ways as well. And we should also bring that line of thinking to bear in considering anti-Jewish prejudice: similar in some ways to other forms of prejudice, anti-Semitism also has unique aspects that it specifically does not share with other forms of bigotry. Indeed, the fact that the anti-Semitism put on public display in Charlottesville was rooted in the haters’ groundless yet powerful fantasy about the almost limitless power imagined somehow to have wound up in the hands of the hated is all by itself enough to distinguish anti-Semitism from other kinds of prejudice. And not at all irrelevant is that it appears not to matter at all how impossible it feels to square that fantasy about Jewish powerfulness with the degree to which powerless Jews have suffered at the hands of their foes over the centuries, and particularly in the last one. In that regard, I would like to recommend a very interesting essay by Scott A. Shay, the author and Jewish activist, that was published in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette a few days after the shooting at Tree of Life Synagogue and which readers viewing this electronically can access by clicking here.

Nor is this a problem solely of one extreme end of the political spectrum. In the wake of Pittsburgh, the spotlight is on the anti-Semitism that characterizes the extreme right, but the same light could be shone just as brightly on the anti-Semitism of the extreme left…and particularly when it promotes hostility toward Israel’s very right to exist and to defend itself against its enemies. Indeed, the assumption that Israel—instead of being perceived as an outpost of democracy smaller than New Jersey trying to survive in a region in which it must deal with nations and political terror groups that openly express their hope to see Israel and its Jewish population annihilated—is perceived as an all-powerful Goliath seeking to eradicate its innocent opponents militarily rather than to negotiate fairly or justly with them, is part and parcel of this fantasy regarding the power of the Jewish people. Coming the week after Hamas fired over five hundred missiles at civilian targets in Israel, each capable of killing countless civilian souls on the ground, the image of Israel as the aggressor in its ongoing conflict with Hamas sounds laughable and naïve. But maybe we should stop laughing long enough to ask ourselves how this myth of Jewish power—whether focused on American Jews imagined to be in control of American foreign policy or Israeli Jews imagined to be intent on crushing their innocent victims for no rational reason at all—perhaps we should ask ourselves how we might address, not this or that symptom of the disease, but the disease itself.

Distinct (at least in my mind) from theological anti-Semitism rooted in the supersessionist worldview promoted for so long by so many different Christian denominations, this specific variety of anti-Semitism seems rooted not in messianic fervor but in fear. And that, I think, is probably how to go about addressing it the most effectively: by pulling that fear out into the light and exposing it as a fantasy no less malign than inane. By forcing young people drawn to the alt-right to look at pictures of the innocents murdered in Pittsburgh and to ask themselves if they truly have it in them to believe that U.S. government policy was until two weeks ago being dictated by 97-year-old Rose Mallinger or by Cecil or David Rosenthal, both gentle, disabled types whose lives were built around service to their house of worship. By forcing young people poisoned with irrational hatred of Israel to look at the portraits of the 1,343 civilians murdered by Palestinian terrorists since 2000 and to see, not predators or fiends, but innocent victims of mindless violence. By insisting that young people drawn to fear Jews and Judaism be exposed to the stories of Shoah victims—and, if possible, to surviving survivors themselves—and through that experience to understand where groundless prejudice can lead if left unchecked and unaddressed.

To hope that no one is drawn to extremism is entirely rational, but it really can’t be enough. Just as young people who seem drawn to a racist worldview should be forced—by their parents and their teachers in school, or by society itself—to look into the eyes of those poor souls gunned down in the Emanuel A.M.E. church in Charleston on June 17, 2015, after welcoming their murderer into their midst for an hour of Bible study, so should society itself rescue young people from themselves once they are perceived to be embracing the kind of anti-Semitism that led directly to Pittsburgh…and be forced to confront the bleak hatred that has taken  root in their hearts and to see it for what it is: a fantasy rooted in fear that can be overcome and eradicated by anyone truly willing to try.

[aplaceofstone]

AO3: faceofstone

(with treats enabled!)

Dear Yuletide Writer,

thank you for offering one of the small surreal-ish fandoms of my heart and I hope you will have fun writing for it. Anything can happen! Symbols! Meaningful non sequiturs! Things! Stuff!

All prompts and ideas are just suggestions, if you are the kind of Yuletide writer who likes to follow them. If not, cool, they are certainly not the end-all of what I love about these fandoms and characters.

If you like visual prompts, this entire blog is 20% recipes and 80% aesthetics that mostly fit my requested fandoms…

I like found families, oddball friendships, sympathy toward outcasts, characters who fully embrace being outcasts, melancholy, a sense of place, bittersweet accomplishments, and a stubborn flicker of hope in an overall bleak world. Dreamlike atmospheres that aren’t necessarily scary, some sort of reassurance that can be found in the weird and the profoundly unnatural.

Myst - worldbuilding (badum tsssssss)

This went too well last year not to ask for it again ç^ç Worldbuilding as an expansion of any of the Ages we don't know too much about - Eder Gira's huts in the distance, Tay stuff inside the hive a/o above the cliffs, Myst's underground rooms, strange sightings on Todelmer, you name 'em. But also world-building as in good old-fashioned focus on the Art, whether it's about a canon Age (anyone else think about instancing too much and get a headache, for one? I think Relto and the instanced Cavern itself are fertile ground for dreamy-weird-spooky fic...) or a made-up Age.

I love the whole cast, so feel free to pin that worldbuilding to any era of canon, following pretty much anyone. I nominated Atrus, Catherine and Yeesha because I love them so much and they all have interesting approaches to Writing, but if your idea works better with, idk, Ri'neref or the Watcher or Gehn or Esher or Zandi or Nelah or some schmuck on Releeshahn or whatever, go for it! I am not particularly well-versed in pre-Fall D'ni shenanigans - I'd be interested in reading something set anywhere in those millennia, just please write it assuming that your reader may not be already up to speed on what was going on historically at the time.

Twin Peaks - Tammy Preston

I see a Twin Peaks character, I want to see them face the unknown, cross a threshold, tread into a different world, have a terrifying epiphany. You know, as they do. Tammy, though, more so than Albert, has a way of being down to earth as we see in the books, and she's got some breathing space between herself and the trauma that keeps propagating itself through Blue Rose on one side (the loss of Phil, of Chet, Sam, Coop) and the town of Twin Peaks on the other (Laura, Maddie, Annie, Audrey, gonna go out on a limb and say Donna and Harry too). Does shooting Diane shift something in her? Or does she remain a potential anchor for others who are adrift? Cynthia could be a fun partner for supernatural casefic, shippy or not. She's the Air Force side of Blue Rose to Tammy's FBI, like Milford and Gordon in The Secret History, and later Garland and Cooper... we don't know much about her but I love her attitude, I think they'd be a formidable team. ...or they could simply go out one night in Buckhorn before Cynthia flies back. And find a ghost or something. There was an old interview where CB was asked whether she felt that Tammy was “the new Cooper” and she said no but Tammy is trying her best!!! And that Coop is more open to the unknown, and Tammy is only just starting. As I think that Cooper's failures are a big part of the narrative, I'm not sure anyone should aspire to be the new Cooper, but anyway, I've been wondering about these two characters interacting (in dreams?) ever since. Reaching out to her as the new Blue Rose agent and/or as someone who is just starting to peek 'between two worlds', warning her, teaching her, getting to know her and even seeing shades of Albert and Gordon in her. And what would she think of him? And maybe Laura is with him, or maybe it's just Laura and Tammy, secrets whispered to her ear, a world just for them. Maybe Laura could be a better teacher. She knows the darkness. Or maybe she would be too intense.

Codex Seraphinianus - worldbuilding

Take a page, any page, and tell me more about it! The rainbows thing, the potted deer, the swimming trees, the literally any illustration in here, look at them, they're great. Translate the text! Connect... things? Are there narrative paths through this copious amount of nonsense? Go fake academia on this - considering the text a total cipher or pretending we can read it? If you want to get philosophical, metaphysical and/or high concept in any other way, go for it! As long as it's all weird.

I have the recent edition with the extra pages; it's easy to find low-res pdfs around the internet or random pages via image search! Here’s a few:

[jhope-seok]

chiaroscuro | Part 3

chi·a·ro·scu·ro (n.) /kyärəˈsk(y)o͝orō/: an effect of contrasted light and shadow (used in art); Italian, from chiaro light + oscuro dark

Disclaimer: All of the things mentioned in this story are all works of fiction and have been made up by me, the author.  I did not intend to make anything based on real life, and any coincidences to real life are purely coincidences.

AU/Genre: Mafia x Cop AU // Fluff, possible smut in future chapters

Warnings: swearing

Members: Jungkook x Reader (ft. original characters)

Length: 1,973 words

Masterlist | <previous : next>

It never fails to amaze you how infuriating your younger sisters can be. You thought you were being a good older sister by going down to visit them on your day off. There were no shipments coming in that you had to oversee, no meetings between business partners that you needed to attend, and yet, all your younger sisters can offer you is annoyance and bickering.

"You don't know how hard it is for us!" Rina yells at you from her kitchen.

You stare at the back of her head, as she stares into her fridge. "Excuse me?" you deadpan, trying not to let the seething fury you feel pumping through your veins into your voice.

Your youngest sister turns to face you. "You heard me! You're off running the family business now, leaving all of the difficult stuff for me and Mona."

"Difficult stuff? Are you saying what I'm doing is not difficult?" Your anger is leaking onto your tongue, lashing out in your words.

"Not as difficult as what me and Mona are dealing with here at home with Mom and Dad.”

"Why don't you enlighten me?" You can feel the rage in every inch of your body now. Creeping down your spine, tingling in your toes. It's taking everything you have to stand your ground and listen to the bullshit spilling out of your sister's mouth.

"We have to deal with Dad's illness why you go sporting around with your bodyguards in your fancy cars. We have to deal with making sure Mom is being taken care of while Dad is basically incapacitated. We have to clean up after you. We have to be their caretakers, while you're out galavanting around town flaunting your new position. All the while doing our own parts for the company." Her eyes are steely as she glares at you across her kitchen island.

You turn to your middle sister, who has been watching everything unfold from the living room couch, eyebrow cocked and tongue ready to lash out at her too. "And you? Do you feel the same way?"

Mona shifts uncomfortably in her seat, averting her eyes from yours, and scratches the back of her neck. "Um...."

She can't even get out a sentence before you're grabbing your purse off the table and storming out of Rina's apartment, but not before yelling out a last, "I can't believe my own sisters have turned against me. Fuck you guys!"

You're seething with hatred as you punch the elevator button, calling it up to take you back to your floor. Once it arrives you take several steadying breaths, before it reaches your floor. The short ride has calmed you significantly but you can no longer stand the thought of being separated by your sisters by mere boards in the floor. Once the doors open on your floor you're yelling at your bodyguards to get in. "You have five seconds to get on the elevator or I'm taking the car by myself."

You've never seen them move faster in your life, which brings slight enjoyment back into your sour mood. As the doors shut you punch the button for the basement garage, ignoring the stares from the men besides you. They don't dare speak to you, sensing the heat emanating from your body during the painfully long ride down. It isn't until you're inside your family’s Bentley that they utter their first word to you.

"Y/N?"

"What?" you snap back.

"Where are we going?" the one in the driver's seat asks hesitantly.

This is the first thing that breaks through the haze of infuriation that shrouds your body. You realize that the sun through the front windshield as he idles at the edge of the street is hurting your eyes, and as you move your hand to cover them you mumble, "I don't...really know. I guess I could use some coffee?"

You take another deep breath, trying to calm yourself down as the car turns down several streets, and the buildings pass by outside your windows. You open up your phone, hoping to see an apologetic text from your sister, but all you're greeted with is endless amounts of unanswered emails. It's still quite early in the day, and you're wondering how so many people have already managed to clutter up your inbox. You begin to scroll through them to occupy your mind of things other than the tense situation you left behind at your home.

Before you can even begin to sort through which emails require your attention, the car stops and your eyes jerk up to the men in front of you.

"We're here," one of them gruffs, and you turn to your side to see the ever-enticing siren staring back at you.

"Oh. Okay. I'll only be a minute," you whisper, the softness in your voice such a change of pace that neither of them think to argue with you, skipping the lecture on the dangers of public places for the day.

You don’t expect such a long line for the middle of the morning, but you figure it best to use this time to answer the mass amount of emails in your inbox. You skip replying to the ones forwarded to you by your sisters, not yet healed from the fight this morning, so you skip to the ones from suppliers, asking about new shipments and routes to run in the area. You’re fully engrossed in the details of your replies until you hear your name being called by the barista.

“Y/N, Venti cold brew with soy milk.”

Your eyes snap up, as confusion clouds your mind. You stare at the people in front of you in line, wondering how they managed to already have your order ready even though there are still several bodies waiting to even order. Glancing over the people waiting by the counter, you think maybe there happens to be someone in the store who happened to have the same name as you and perhaps enjoyed the same beverage as you. But, when no one approaches the counter, even after they repeat the order, you excuse yourself past the other people in line and approach the counter. Sure enough, there sits your exact order, with your name emblazoned on it as if the baristas read your mind.

While you could very easily write this off, thinking to yourself that even though you very well have enough money to pay for the entire store, you feel a slight pang of guilt for taking the coffee without paying for it. So, you clear your throat and try to wave the barista over.

“Excuse me,” you call out to the one nearest to you. “I didn’t pay for this.”

The barista turns his head slightly, a confused glint in his eye. “Yes, ma’am? Did you need something?”

You pick up what you’re assuming to be your drink off of the counter and point at it. “I didn’t pay for this.”

“Oh, um…” the young boy looks panicked, like he’s not sure how to handle this situation. But before he can do something he’s probably not allowed to do, someone behind you speaks up.

“It’s okay. I did,” a low voice sounds over your shoulder.

You spin on your heel, facing the man generous enough to buy your coffee. You’re not sure who would’ve gone through the trouble of doing so, but when you come face-to-face with Jungkook, a smile breaks out involuntarily on your lips.

“Ah, Officer. Hello,” your eyes trail over his outfit of the day, no longer decked out in full police uniform, although you still catch a glimpse of the holster attached to his belt. You wonder to yourself if this is his day off. “How did you even…?”

“I saw you in line when you came in. Well, actually I heard your car before I saw you. Everyone in the store did actually. But, you were too busy on your phone to notice me when you came in. Either way, I thought I’d do my good deed for the day.” His smile is mischievous, relishing in your surprise at his gesture.

“You really didn’t have to,” your voice is stern, trying to hide how his small gesture has brightened your already shitty day.

“I did, though.” His smile is gentle, but there lies something behind his eyes that you can’t place.

“No, trust me,” the laugh in your voice is stiff. You’re trying not to brag about the sheer amount of money you have to your bank account, but it’s hard to refrain when he’s treating you like a damsel in distress he just saved by buying a cup of coffee. You set down your drink again, and rummage in your purse to try and find some loose change to repay the man as you huff out, “You really did not.”

“If I didn’t, how else was I going to get to talk to you?” Your eyes jerk up to his, hand frozen inside your bag, the mischief clear behind his eyes. You think to yourself that age has made the once shy boy you barely remember from middle school into a very handsome young man, who is getting deep into waters he shouldn’t be treading in.

You breathe out what sounds like a laugh, but is traced with the signs of a disapproving sigh. “Officer,” you clear your throat. “Jungkook. That really was unnecessary. I am very--”

He cuts you off, mid sentence. A show of dominance you’re not too keen about. “It worked though. Didn’t it?”

His smirk is testing your last string of patience, which is surprising that he’s managed to boil you down to this so quickly, and so early in the day at that. You sigh, defeated. “If you wanted to talk to me--want to talk to me,” you correct yourself, “you should really think about being more...confident. I’m not that scary, am I?” You raise your eyebrow at him, wishing someone had been there to capture the shit-eating grin that spread across your face as his cocky smirk is wiped clean off his face.

“I--” he clears his throat. His mouth opens and clothes several times, and you can hear him take and let go of several breaths before he gives up and looks down at the coffee on the counter.

“It’s okay,” you almost reach out and pat his shoulder affectionately, but refrain at the last second. You grab a pen out of your purse and reach for the cup that’s in his hand, the liquid inside still warm enough to heat your palm. You quickly scribble your phone number on the side of his coffee and hand it back to him, your hand lingering on his as you speak. “Now if you feel so inclined to talk to me, you don’t have to go so out of your way anymore.”

You take your coffee off the counter, making sure not to turn your back to him until you’ve put several feet between you and him. “See you around, Officer.” You throw him a wink before you push through the door, pulling your purse up your shoulder, and stepping back into your car.

As Jungkook stares down at his cup he can’t help but think about how different you are compared to his memories of you. Then again, he reminds himself that he never really knew who you were before. And, he knows you know nothing about him, except what you’ve gathered from his uniform. As he reaches for his phone, punching in the numbers on his cup he is certain that meeting you twice like this has to mean something, and he’s ready to finally get to know the mystery woman that plagued his mind as a child. The woman that plagues his mind, even now.

feedback is always welcome! please feel free to leave some here!

[moonlightheretic]

WIP Wednesday The Heretic: Chapter Unknown

“Where are we?” I struggled to find my bearings in this dark tunnel. The ground seemed unstable, pebbles shifting underfoot. My hands reached out in a blind haste for something solid to guide me through the dark. The walls practically disintegrated at my touch and nearly caved inwards. I did not feel safe. This place was one wrong step away from total collapse. I stumbled, my feet slipping into the rock ridden path, his hand caught my arm.

“You do not need to know.” He answered simply, pulling me to my feet.

It was becoming his go-to reply for everything I asked. I wasn’t satisfied with it. He watched my struggle and called flame to his hand, the hollowed cave’s secrets scattered into the shadows cast by the wiggling ignition. “You have stripped me of my weapons and most of my dignity. Do you mean to strip me of basic information as well? Am I so scary to you, Dread Wolf?” I challenged. Bitterness chewing through my words.

“They elected you as Inquisitor, not for your skill in battle alone. You are formidable. In any case, there is no benefit in informing you, it will make little difference. You will activate this one, as done previously.” His voice dipped into the octaves of an order.

“Where are we?” I pressed. “I want to know what you will destroy.” I stood firm, shoulders squared, refusing to tread further. He turned to face me, the blaze in his hand distorting the shadows across the planes of his face.

“When has any truth of my plans comforted you? Or perhaps, any truth at all? You live, stuck in a halcyon that never existed and you yearn for its return.”

“And who painted that pretty picture for me? This impressive hiraeth? A lie built on lies, a tower, and then brick by brick, a rotunda, and finally, a castle! What a beautiful empire you raised. Such an artist as you perhaps, should have erected that on Skyhold’s walls.”

We dove into a thick silence, neither of us giving in. I could almost see him biting his tongue, any remark quelled by fledgling self-control. He took a breath and smiled.

“You evade blame almost as skillfully as you evaded me, ah, but then again, where are you know?” He tilted his head, his left brow raised. “I wonder, what more dances have you that I not discovered yet?”

“I believe it was you who taught me to dance, Solas. I cannot take credit for my skills, when I have the master in front of me.” I gestured to him.

A muscle in his neck twitched and the fire cradled in his fingers strengthened significantly, staining his skin red.

“There is work to be done. Enough.” Even though the fire was causing us both to sweat in this enclosed space, his words were of pure ice.

We advanced upon this hovel, a crumbling crooked crevice of rock and stalagmites, dripping with Maker knows what. His steps were full of confidence and prior knowledge, muscle attuned with memory. He maneuvered past the tight angles with experience. He had been here before, perhaps?

“Whose bright idea was to locate an artifact in this dreadful place?” I snapped, as I was compelled to duck when a bat screeched by my head. Ah, but if a bat made its home here, surely there was an additional entrance to this hollowed nightmare.

He answered me with a chuckle and then reassured, “It isn’t far. Have patience, Inquisitor.” Ah, so he was no longer angered by my words, or had he folded the displeasure up and saved it for later?

I grabbed his illuminated jaw and snapped his head towards me. “Patience? I waited for you! With each year passing no more than a decade of drought! I have been patient, Solas.”  I wasn’t expecting a simple comment to provoke such raw emotion into my words, but there I was, fingers digging into the flesh of his jaw.

Solas’s eyes crept over my face, tracing every detail with his heavy gaze. “And so you have me.” He remarked gruffly and shrugged me off. A small draft tingled against my skin, the blooming flame flickered and listed, perhaps a vein in this stone body led to freedom, after all. But, I could only see what his flaming palm afforded me.

I felt it before I saw it. The anchor reacted, fizzling, smoke-like, and churning the air around it a greenish hue. My first reaction was to recoil and hide it within my cloak. Solas’s armored arm slithered into the fold of my cloak, the fabric hissing against his metal arm guards. He held onto my throbbing hand, pulling it from its hiding place, cool fingers calming my shivering ones, he presented it to the artifact before us.  Mist entrapped light uncoiled around the artifact, as if we had woken it from a long slumber, its light stretched and billowed in flight, like a flag caught in the wind and it rippled and convulsed, as if it was rejoicing. A warm welcome, indeed. A statue loomed behind, a winged and headless figure of a woman. Mythal. She was immured in this foul place, a feeling of sorrow washed over me.

“We are within the Vimmark Mountains.” He informed, sullen and remorseful, his eyes lingering on the statue.

A mountain chain, opportunity screamed into my mind. Then we could be in the vicinity of Kirkwall or even Ostwick, or rather, it was also possible we were somewhere in between. What mattered the most was the very fact that we were under a mountain.

“Surely, this place has significance.” I argued, playing along, with my eyes following his.

“Indeed.” He whispered.

Solas closed his palm and in doing so, snuffed out his flame. We were bathed in a greenish and golden light, I stole a glance, his mouth set in a hard line, eyes devoid of emotion, and in doing so, he gave me nothing. Unreadable. He was skilled not only in magic, but also, in masking his intentions. He was undeniably powerful, but so was I.

My heart hammered in my chest, possibly my only chance at stopping the Dread Wolf lay within these simple and faulty rock walls, carved out by water. Maybe, I did not need my little dagger, for it, could not compare with a mountain.

The next set of actions were to be done without instruction, as they were no different than the times prior. But this time, everything would be different. Hesitation would no longer best me.

I neared the artifact, Solas stepped behind me and observed. I lifted my hand and waited, the artifact pulsated with green waves of light surging upwards, and revealing thousands of tiny eyes glaring back at us in this aphotic sanctuary. Fucking bats.

I felt my release and I moved closer to it, the lights brightened in response, and I wondered, could I not only activate the artifact with the anchor, but also destroy it? Hell, I could bring this entire cave down and trap him in, weaponize our very surroundings…and so I did. I had only used the anchor’s power as much as I required of it, in the past, I was too careful to abuse it. That some calamity might befall myself and others if I used it for anything but its intended purpose, but what I needed most was in fact, calamity, itself.

I opened a rift right into the very center of the artifact. In less than a blink of an eye, it exploded into a shower of glass and stone, its ancient powers reveling in the new found freedom. In an instant, the small pocket of this mountain, shuddered and began to collapse, as the rift twisted it into its own shape, pulling and knotting, then thrusting and flailing. The bats flew to an escape as dust, stalagmites and murky water rained down, then chunks of rock plummeted downwards until the very ceiling threatened to fold in like a deck of cards. I tried to avoid the falling debris as the area shook, thunderous and vengeful. I could hear the bats, screeching in terror and I made my way to follow them.

“Moon’Hwa!” Solas roared. Eyes lit, his hands invoked a barrier, though as the mountain piled high, he was struggling to hold it. He gritted his teeth and grunted under the weight, too preoccupied to stop me, for if he let go, we would surely be buried. So this was his limit. I crawled along the ground, my back was pelted with rocks and earth. I covered my head with one hand and dug through debris with the other. He fell to his knee behind me, his gaze burning a hole in my back. The consequences of my actions stopped ricocheting from my body, I peered upwards to realize that his barrier was stretching, enveloping me within its safety.-----------------

So I am not sure where this chapter is going to end up...as in numerically where it will sit. It is not done yet...but it is further along then what I posted. I fear it will be too long to post here in full. 

@followingthewolf | @noire-pandora | @kita-lavellan | @jarakrisafis @stratsome-jack | @musetta3 | @weird-in-thedas | @eccentriccoffeebird | @5lazarus | @shadowcrow @anavakarian | @mrstethras | @silvanils @sratsome-jack 

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 10

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 10: Icarus

Warning: This chapter contains references to graphic violence and derogatory homophobic slurs and prejudice. Please tread with caution.

After the whole ‘moving 505 to his new room and trying to keep Black Hat from killing us both’ fiasco, Flug was entirely prepared to sit in the security room watching security feed of the two most secure cells for the rest of the night, sleep be damned. He’d already set himself up in one of the desk chairs, with paperwork, a decent neck pillow and at least 1,500 grams of nonperishable foods. This was mostly thanks to his sudden, bizarre camaraderie with Lucas – and Ben, to a lesser extent – who gave him access to the screens and got the other guards off his back.

He had finally gotten comfortable in the swivel chair, armed with a granola bar and a formal request for time off for that EPPA convention in a month, with his legs propped up and his bag snugly fit against the pillow, when one of his phones buzzed. It was the one in his left coat pocket, which signaled a personal message instead of a work one from the phone stuck in his right. Flug grumbled to himself and shifted to reach for it, and found an email for the arrival of an order of cosmetics from the website recommended to him from the nurse.

That order had been fairly expensive, and the last thing he needed was for it to sit unguarded at the local post office for who knew how long.

Despite his severe misgivings, the psychiatrist was forced out of his vigilant post and away from the security feeds, taking his provisions with him. He knocked on the doorframe to get the closest guard’s attention, explaining the situation and asking for a temporary fill-in while he went to retrieve his package.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” she batted her lashes at him, “I’ll do anything for you.”

It didn’t really make him feel better.

On the way out of the lobby, Flug was so stuck in his worries that he nearly collided with a nurse carrying a large bundle of standard patient uniforms. Clothes fluttered to the ground in heaps and left the poor girl with only a single pair of pants in her grasp.

“Oh, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so,” he crouched at the same time she did and they collided heads, causing both to fall back on their butts and rub their new respective bumps. “Owww…”

“Nnngh,” the nurse’s eyes were barely visible past her dreadlocks, which cascaded down to her chest. She lifted her head to look up at him and recognized his face at the same time he read her nametag.

It was Susie, the quiet nurse he had given 505’s prescription to nearly a week ago. It felt like much, much longer. They sat awkwardly across from each other with large eyes, then simultaneously realized the uniforms were still on the floor. The girl hastily made to pick them up and Flug wasted no time in joining her, grateful for something else to distract him.

“I’m – I’m really sorry about that.” He offered meekly, keeping his head down and away from her. If he’d looked up he would have noticed she was doing the same.

“No, no it’s no trouble,” Susie mumbled, embarrassment present in the red flush across her dark warm cheeks. “I should have watched where I was going.”

“Ah, m-me too.” They got all the fallen clothes together and began the tedious process of folding and stacking each pair. Flug was painfully aware of the large metal clock ticking away above the entrance. As soon as the last shirt was placed on top of the pile he scrambled to his feet, sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.

“Thank you,” the nurse carefully hefted the uniforms as she stood up, putting one hand on top to keep it steady. She looked more closely at him. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, Dr. Slys. Are – are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve been j-just great,” the psychiatrist resisted the childish urge to tap his foot. “A lot on my plate with a new p-patient, that’s all. Everything’s great.”

“That’s good.” Susie shuffled, a bit more relaxed now. “We’ve all been worried about you, Doctor. That crim – that new inmate, Black Hat, all the nurses avoid his room and I don’t know how you can do it. How are you so brave?”

“I’m not, um, I’m not brave. Not that brave. It’s just my job.” Flug brushed out his lab coat, head ducked. “I appreciate your c-concern, really, but I’m fine. Nothing I can’t survive – handle! Nothing I can’t handle,” he amended quickly at her pinched face.

“Okay…” the nurse bit her lip. “That’s…good to hear, Dr. Slys. But we’re here to help – the nurses. If you need anything. Please don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I won’t,” the words were sincere. “Thank you and…” he gestured jerkily at the clothing, “I’m so sorry about that.”

Susie shook her head, grateful smile dimpling her face. “No, it happens. They’re dirty anyway.”

They parted ways a little less awkwardly than they had met, and Flug felt relatively happy until he caught a glimpse of the clock and nearly had an aneurysm. Sprinting down the building steps and into the parking lot, the psychiatrist reached his reserved parking space in the span of fifteen seconds and had to take a quick breather against his car.

It was a silver Chevrolet Cobalt, modeled in 2008 and in good condition. Wasn’t fancy, wasn’t what most of his staff had, but it got the job done and he was going to use it for all it was worth before getting anything else. Besides, no one suspected someone of his occupation drove anything like this. Better for avoiding media after a press conference or whatever else.

Better for keeping a low profile. It kept him safe.

The post office was almost completely void of people, thank god, and Flug waited as patiently as he could while the postal worker checked through his ID and verified the transaction. The package wasn’t too big to fit in his arms, but the skewed weight had him juggling it clumsily as he strode briskly back to his car. He stuck it in the passenger seat and buckled it up for good measure. Safety first and all that.

Instead of taking it back to his apartment, he made an executive decision to just drop it off in his office before resuming his watch of 505’s situation. That decision was regretted quite a bit when he was halfway down the hall and turned the corner only to stare at the barrel chest of Dr. Bautista.

His luck really sucked sometimes.

The other psychiatrist looked down his nose as if the doctor wasn’t worth his head turn, but then his eyes lighted on the box in Flug’s hands and did a double take.

“Make-up? You bought make-up?” He sneered in a way that had Flug gritting his teeth. “I didn’t know you were that kind, Dr. Slys.”

“Excuse me,” the psychiatrist tried to walk around, but Bautista matched his step backwards and folded his arms, making it nearly impossible to move forward without brushing into him. “Please, Doctor, I really need to get through.”

“Is that why you had me kicked off the inmate’s case? Scared I’d see this?” The larger man stabbed an angry finger into the package, almost knocking Flug off balance with the force of the tap. “Is this what’s under that dumb bag? Shit like this?”

“I d-don’t need to explain anything to you. A-And I asked you to move.” He tried to shove past but was stopped again. The box creaked a little under his grip. “Dr. Bautista, please, I talked to the director a-and she approved my request, th-that’s all there is to it. She wants us t-to work out our differences and I can’t do that if you won’t let me through!”

There was a tense moment of standoff, but Flug was sick of this day and sick of bullies with names of the letter B and he refused to be the first to crack. His coworker’s hard gaze trailed down to the box again, a defeat hidden behind contempt.

“Is this why you wanted my intern, too? Gonna make him dress up like those freaks on TV? Turn him into a queer, like you?”

‘you’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer?’

Flug sucked in a breath and Bautista realized in that instance what he’d said, what he was doing. The bigger man metaphorically backpedaled and looked nervously around for any sign of other employees.

“Forget it, forget what I said. Do whatever the hell you want, he’s your intern now anyway, he’s not worth my time. And neither are you.” The psychiatrist pivoted on his heel and stalked away, eyeing nearby closed doors apprehensively as he went.

Left behind was a psychiatrist struggling to keep himself from falling apart right there in the hall.

He booked it for his office, hands shaking so much that the box’s contents rattled haphazardly. The moment he reached his little sanctuary and the door was shut Flug collapsed to his knees, hunched over the package and headwear pressed into its top.

This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to have moved past this, give or take a paper bag and some shaky stuttering. He had moved past it, hadn’t had such a bad episode since before the Institute, before restraining scary inmates and psycho patients and dealing with…whatever Black Hat was.

But the memory bubbled up in familiar sickness and the doctor had just enough sense to reach up and lock the handle above him, fingers trembling with the effort. His hand dropped, boneless in his lap, and Flug stared in horrified awe as the yellow glove disappeared, the white lab coat disappeared. In its place was exposed pale skin, with the red overcoat clashing terribly with the icy ground and the snowy air. He couldn’t feel the cold, but it was right there, right there and he was back he was –

A cough made him look up.

 It was a group of five men, all their heads shaved to the bone and with near-matching tattoos right at the nape of their necks – barely visible from the high-collared heavy blue jackets they shared. He was not one of them, had never seen them before and hoped never to again, but a job was a job and he wasn’t going to complain, especially not here. They were mostly ignoring him anyway, grumbling to themselves about the frigid wind as they all waited behind that warehouse.

Their hit wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes at least, however, and he could sense their restlessness even as he pulled and twitched at his coat. He hadn’t had the chance to do his good-luck straighten-up routine when he’d left this morning, and it was filling him with irrational, irritating dread.

One of the smaller skinheads finally got bored enough to look his way, and he bit his tongue and kept his expression carefully neutral as the man approached.

“So you’re, like, really the guy helpin’ us out here?” It was said nonchalantly, in the tone of someone who very literally had nothing else better to do.

“That’s right,” he replied, eyes landing somewhere just under the other’s gaze. Directness was dangerous, was seen as challenge, but avoiding the face altogether was often seen as an insult. He’d toed this beam plenty of times and was well-versed in the physical whisperings of others.

The man scrubbed at the thick line of stubble under his jaw, itchy and miserable from the cold. “So what’s your deal, then? She said you were German, like honest to god bloodline and everything.”

He stilled the movements of his hands. “Yes, I am. My name was on the contract, if I remember right.”

“Oh, yeah,” more scratching, “that’s right, I saw your name, yeah. That really was German, huh. You ever think about joinin’ one of us ‘stead of her? Less rules and shit.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” he glanced over at the rest. One or two were starting to pay attention. “It’s really good pay, I guess. And she lets me use her lab, I can build whatever I want, whenever I want. It’s hard to leave a setup like that, you know?”

“Sure,” the skinhead reached a scarred hand to his neck and rubbed aggressively at the inflamed skin under his swastika. It was very recent, possibly within the last few days if his math was right.

“Stop fuckin’ with it,” gruffed one of the largest members, who stood and stretched before stepping heavily to join the two. “It’ll get infected and then you’re gonna cry like a bitch for weeks.”

“I ain’t gonna cry like no bitch,” the obvious newbie snarled, agitated by the cold and the teasing. “Only bitches here are all of you, huddled together over there for warmth. It’s pathetic.”

“Mm,” the older, larger man looked over the non-member with a skeptical look to his eye. “You’re kinda scrawny for your age, aren’t you? For your work?”

He kept his face clear, going for a simple shrug of shoulders and a slight fiddle of his coat zipper. It wasn’t the first time hearing this question doubting his appearance, but he had come prepared and equipped and demonstration would persuade these men much more than words. If only the damn target would show up.

“He kinda looks like a queer.”

The suggestion was much more unexpected and he stiffened up, eyes moving very slowly to look at the newbie, who sneered and stared at him with newfound amusement.

“Izzat true? You a queer?”

“No,” he said, firm and strong and leaving no room for suspicion. “I’m a scientist.”

The bigger, older man gave a few deep, rumbling chuckles and nudged his irritated companion. “That was a good one, come on.”

“Wasn’t nothing,” the younger one responded, shadowed face getting darker every second. “It wasn’t even an answer. I thought he’d at least give me an answer. You afraid of something, kid? Got something to hide?”

“Don’t call him kid, you’re barely growing pubes, idiot.”

The two skinheads started slinging insults at each other, and the rest of the gang was perking up at the sight. In the meantime he edged away, very slowly and as quiet as he could be in the snow. His sense for danger was always reliable and it was telling him that if their hit didn’t arrive soon, something was going to happen.

Something very, very bad.

Of course, he was only about a meter further from the verbal brawl before the newbie turned angrily back to him and spat at the ground.

“Just answer the fucking’ question, Aryan. You gay or not?”

“I’m not gay,” he insisted, but this question was not one he had mastered a safe answer to, had never had to before, and something must have shown on his face, in his voice, in his words maybe – because the larger, older man straightened up abruptly with practiced ease. The gaze of the young new one became sharp and predatory and hovered somewhere between eagerness and loathing.

It wasn’t until all five began to circle him that he realized he was hitting the cold back of the warehouse.

“Repeat that for me,” said the older, larger skinhead, and he was starting to think this one was the leader, the way he seemed to tower above them all and demanded respect, and an honest answer.

“I’m not – gay!” He insisted again, words slipping only because of the sudden closeness of one man to his right. It startled him into a voice crack and that was all the prompting they needed. He was pinned to the wall by three different pairs of hands and his head smacked painfully against the metal.

“Hang on, hang on guys,” hissed a voice belonging to one pair of grasping hands. “We gotta do the job first, right? She’s not gonna pay us if we don’t do the job.”

“I’m not working with a fucking fag,” hissed another. “Got enough of that shit in the world already, it doesn’t belong here with real people. It’ll taint us all if we don’t stop it.”

“But I’m not – I’m not…!” He tried to cry out just as a gloved hand slapped him hard and stung worse than the cold ever could.

“Shut up.” It was the newbie, eyes blazing and manic. “You’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer? Bet you’ve been wanting to fuck all of us this whole time, huh. Bet it really gets you off bein’ around real men for once.”

“What should we do with him?” Asked the hesitant one again. “You know she’ll put a hit out on us if we kill him, you – you guys know that.”

“I know,” rumbled the larger, older man quietly. He was standing behind them all, overseeing as was his position, but his gaze had landed on the back of the newbie’s neck. Something passed his visage, and for one moment there was no white in his eyes. “Pin him to the ground, on his back.”

They complied eagerly and he fought for every centimeter of height lost until someone got impatient and punched him hard in the stomach. He collapsed immediately, gasping for breath even as they stretched his arms out and sat on his legs.

“Chase, give me your cigarette.”

“What?! Why the hell –”

“Just fucking give it to me!” The tone left no room for argument and he watched in stuck terror as a half-used cigarette traded hands to the older, larger skinhead, who walked around and crouched right above his head.

He stared, pleading and cold and hurting and asking for a single shred of mercy. But they had both played this game for a long while and thus both knew there would be none.

“I think,” the soulless black look was back. “The best way to do this,” a giant, meaty hand gripped painfully in his hair and stilled his shaking head. “Is to show our employer exactly what we think of little creatures like you poisoning our perfect race.”

The burning tip hovered a millimeter from his wet right cheek.

“You said you’re German. I think it’s time to embrace your roots.”

The tip came down.

And Flug cried silently into his square paper mask.

Hey guys, this one was a heavy one and I apologize for it. If it triggered or upset anyone, please let me know and I’ll give more warning in the beginning of the chapter. Please keep in mind that this story as a whole will continue to deal with heavy topics like this, but it isn’t my intention to sugarcoat these things or paint them as insignificant. 

Thanks for listening. Last chapter is tomorrow and then we’ll be all caught up. Hope you all have a good one.