#upon further reflection it might have something to do with the void issue

[inzanitie]

I had a dream

In this dream was the entire Divine Warriors crew, including Shad (not evil) and his daughter, they were all immortal like Irene (she has portal magic). So instead of slowly moving through time, they chose to seal themselves in magic icicles in a large, secluded, and deep underground cavern. Together they crafted an item to create the magic ice, closed the cavern from the inside, and one by one they sealed away their bodies in magic ice (Shad and his daughter went together).

Fast forward to MCD, Aphmau (she has healing magic) still does her thing, and events proceed as they would. The big bad threat is a demon claiming to be Shad who has warped the history books. The ice on a few Warriors thaw (don't remember who), they help kill the demon, and then go back into hibernation.

Fast forward to 'present day' MYS and all the Warriors thaw and they need to figure out why. Irene organizes discovery parties that she sends out into the world.

Then I woke up . . . do with this what you will

[system-of-a-feather]

Honestly, I was talking to my sister who was a teacher in the Bronx about some cultural respect / nuanced discourse topics from a multicultural and intersectional lens since I had questions that I felt really was out of my range of experiences as it pertained to afrolatine individuals from the inner city and low socioeconomic status and I will be 100% honest, the amount of individuals I have in my "regular talking group" that are of african descent, latine descent and of more lower-economic status inner city backgrounds are pretty low - really only having one individual from the "lower-economic status inner city background" in the people I talk to regularly and it was a really interesting and insightful conversation that helped me develop and see further depth and complexity into topics that - as an outsider that has just been told how to not be racist - always thought of in a very simple single faceted lens.

And me and my sister like to just talk about these things and she called it "theory" when we were closing up cause she was like "Yeah during summer I absolutely do not want to talk about kids and children in any regard cause its trauma (/hj, worker rights is garbo but she likes what she does)" and it made me think today

A lot of people look at discussions around "internet topics" as some sort of "not productive, too online" sort of conversation, a waste of time more or less because you aren't "really going to change much"

And to some level I agree (and to some level I also disagree), but I think one of the perspectives that might be a large difference between the rhetoric and aggression I see in #syscourse VS the atmosphere of the people i talk to in and around #sysconversation and just people I like to actually talk to is a LARGE perspective and intent change between "I want to make a difference and change how things are" and "I want to understand and learn more about the human condition because I either enjoy it, it makes me a better person, it helps me understand the world, and/or it helps me understand myself and others better"

Because as much as I like the intent and sentiment of the first (and I was also very much there), I find that it is 1) not really congruent with the method of delivery as it is often not the right target and the online environment is not a really good depiction of the real off-line environment and 2) it is focused on trying to control and dictate behavior and experiences of others without spending much time to actually reflect on your place and role in all of everything that is going on.

It's good to want to make a difference and change how things are, but its really important to know that the only person you can realistically control is yourself and trying to exert that energy onto others is throwing your energy into a void; most importantly, I find that for every topic that needs improvement, there is not a single person who is completely innocent in being a COMPLETELY uninvolved in the system that keeps it up. And that ISNT bad, it's just a statement of realistic, honest, cultural humility. Every social issue, every social topic, is multilayered and multifaceted involving multiple people with multiple traits that are undeniably intertwined to the point that you can't really say "okay but this is ONLY about this" - and in every social issue, with how many layers there are to it, there is always going to be something you have relative privileged over others with; and that's something very important and helpful to analyze and reflect upon because you can control how that privileged affects your views, your actions and the way you handle these complex discussions.

If we are talking on an explicitly online environment, then one of the best ways you can make an ACTIVE change that you can ACTIVELY see in the world, it is to look at yourself and see what you can do to make a productive change towards your goal

((And its also helpful to actually sit and think about the change you want to see and reflect upon what your stances / arguments that are the 'hills you will die on' and see if the core values and changes you'd like to see are in line with those values))

[rcsetorn]

📧 Funky Fella in the Inbox Hours

It would have been nothing beyond an ordinary “day off,” leisurely strolling the streets of Alexandria before nightfall... however, as he rounded the corner, he was met by a familiar and ever auspicious sight. Recognizing those distinct brunette curls and, well, everything else about the lovely lady who now strode ahead of him, deep doe eyes dazzled - unrealistically so.

Lorien smiled to himself like a hopeless fool. Oh, but what could he say to her? Just another little hello? What manner of excuse did he have to catch up to her this time? He was going to have to think fast, her walk already seemed somewhat brisk. In fact, it was as if she was specifically keen on losing a pursuer… huh.

Maybe it was only his imagination. Even so, it got the better of him. Briefly, he glanced about the area to see if he could spot the possible culprit. If there was one... (He doesn’t know.)

╼ ༺ :||          Spotting that violinist along the path spurred a little detour as to avoid an irritant fawning session and ultimately spare him whatever harsh words that would eventually fall from her tongue. This wasn't an evening for sour dealings.

It was to be a night of calm solace by the docks for gentle waves against the harbor and the distinct scent of sea salt wafting through the air...

Firstly, she had to get through this patrol without hinderance. Personally seeing unto the townspeople concerning any harassment issues of outsiders was the evening's sole objective. Or rather... had been. Upon a avian whistle reverberating across decorative stonework, it was distinct enough through calculative scrutiny that her pacing slowed. And were it not for an out of season bird, she may have ran blindly into whatever trap lay ahead.

Beatrix made use of the admiring citizens spotting their famous General, smiling fondly at them with reverent bow one of her standing might offer in service- as if this was something she meant to do all along. For them, she would not give altercation. This may have been her beloved city, filled with devotees of every size and species, but with the final touching of rebuilding drawing to a close, there were still those visiting from beyond Alexandrian territory which held a more personal grudge for their destroyer kingdom. Namely its hailed champion, the merciless killer ...not that she could blame them. It was for the city's sake she not stain its reputation further with any retribution liken unto her past self would exact.

Lingering within reflection gave the golden child plenty of time to close the distance previously made.

While she wasn't entirely thrilled, no time was wasted grabbing Lorien's arm when he finally did waltz up that Beatrix promptly began dragging the musician back the way they previous came. Heel turning with retreating footfalls, the wide-eyed townspeople said nothing where they knew it was better than raise question. Thankfully, too, for a dusk painted face void of emotion refused to presently elaborate this sudden action.

Tsk.

It merely pained her to flee. But as if a gentle reminder, Save the Queen weighed heavy at her waist, begging draw.

[astrologanize]

2021 for the ascendants 

aries ascendant: man, it’s like you’ve forgotten what you want for the past few years but you’ve been trying with all your might to run through a list of desires with the hope that eventually something will provide you with contentment. worry not, you will be met with situations that highlight your principles so that you are able to decipher what it is that brings you oneness. ask yourself if the company you keep is meeting expectations and if there are behaviors you’ve been allowing, but more importantly, ask yourself if you are leading by example and what you are leading with. this is a time for you to make sure that you are taking the proper initiative towards your own fulfillment, if you’re feeling a disconnect then maybe you should seek for an understanding of the objective; how can you expect others to meet expectations if you aren’t doing the same for yourself? why are you tolerating what you shouldn’t have to? it’s time to up your ambition and strive for resolution by making sure that you are setting yourself up for greatness. “if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything” 

taurus ascendant: life has been a slippery slope for the past couple of years, the way life can change in the blink of an eye and the way we can get carried away without intending to is something you’re awfully familiar with by now. you’ll feel like you’re getting somewhere, you figure things are on the up ya know, and then of course something totally stops you in your tracks and it makes you question yourself - which has only made your taurus ascendant self clam up harder buuuut you’ve been trying to process it. you will be met with situations that allow you to reap the benefit of your efforts. it is time for you to go after what you want, this is prime manifestation time so if you are desiring change to circumstances make sure you are working towards it and utilizing the power of affirmation. if you don’t have a job then i would strongly advise this as a time to obtain one or attempt to obtain one; if you do have a job/are in a career then expect there to be change that is ultimately positive for you even if it may not seem like it at the time. 

gemini ascendant: you guys have been on a mission of self-discovery through the numerous voids we utilize to dissolving other parts of ourselves, i’m getting very “cranes in the sky” by solange - “i tried to drink it away, i tried to put one in the air, i tried to dance it away, i tried to change it with my hair” (etc. read the rest of the lyrics if you’d like!) sometimes in us getting caught up in excessive behavior we’re able to understand that there’s a bigger issue at play and we’re acting from a place that is without authenticity. you will be met with situations that reveal the answers that you’ve been searching for and your perspective will begin to breakdown and reform. this year you should try to think before you speak, in fact, let your actions speak for themselves so that you don’t have to start running off at the mouth. absorb and filter through the information that you have so that you are leading with the facts; no more following unreliable curiosities, bouncing back & forth, and wallowing in careless behavior. 

cancer ascendant: for a while you’ve had to take a hard look at family, support systems, what you bring the to the table, and how you can find liberation for yourself in relation to these things. it’s been easier for you to fall into a pity party because you’ve had to deal with and be met with responsibility in a new way, a way that has showed you where you’re needing to grow up, and this can make you want to sink further into your shell with all your vices of comfort (those ‘security blankets’ can be so pesky). you will be met with situations that can soften out your old ways and in doing so provide you with a chance to have a legitimate regeneration. finding acceptance and embracing vulnerability at it’s most candid is how you will find your footing. this is a time to try to re-evaluate your patterns of behavior so that you can work on creating new, healthier habits for yourself so that you are able to lay down those roots of security that you long for. you have been receiving the tools you need and all you have to do is utilize them instead of trying to shield up and be overly defensive. 

leo ascendant: i feel like life for you has kind of felt like someone took you out of your home, drove you to a forest in the middle of nowhere and dropped you off with the bare necessities and said, “okay, now figure out your way back.” thankfully you are getting a groove back for yourself and taking on a new outlook of the hindrances in your life. you will be met with situations that make you reconsider the way you’ve been carrying yourself, what you’ve been allowing, and the situations that you have been placing yourself in. it’s time for you to be more selective and imagine what you want for your life, what is your ‘dream life’? - answer this question and start taking the steps to getting there, decide what isn’t aligning with this dream, what you need to pull back from, and what is worth the effort. if you have family or a support system then examine your relationship with them - are they holding you back or are they willing to work on things with you and vice versa because it could be you who is needing to be more deliberate with people. if your home (life) isn’t ideal then find a way of to move elsewhere or renovate your space by getting rid of what has no use in your life so that you can add or rearrange accordingly. 

virgo ascendant: ah, attachments and feeling withdrawn, dissatisfied, ineffective are issues that you have been dealing with but this year you will be tending to the source of this by learning how to keep momentum. though you have been putting in effort, it’s you working harder and not smarter because you’re working from a place of inadequacy instead of working from a place of ingenuity. along with working harder and putting in unnecessary effort is you nitpicking to the very last crumb when really this is you just, again, being dissatisfied with where you are in life. you will be met with situations that force you back down to earth and emphasize what it is that you have been evading or how you’ve been evading. this is a time to make the transitions that you’ve been yearning for, this is not a time for waiting things out, if you want something then you need to act on it. you’ve been in your head in a very unhelpful way, you’re like “nope, this won’t work for me because xyz, i can’t do that because of abc, this is too wrong, this isn’t lmnop enough, blah blah blah” and it’s been excuse after excuse. get out of your own way and revise!!! make the best with what you have!!!

libra ascendant: gosh, why has everything felt like it’s been crumbling away? things are supposed to come together, not fall apart, right? as of late your efforts have felt as though they’ve been in vain - other people aren’t taking to you, you’re not attracting what you want, and everything has felt unfair. this balance beam has been feeling anything but balanced! you will be met with situations that bring you back to the notion that what we attract is based around what we’re putting forth. have you ever pointed the finger at yourself? are there any issues that could be stemming for you? maybe it’s you who is needing to learn how to keep yourself in check. after all this crumbling away you should be able to start piecing together the leftover fragments to gather an understanding of what life has come to be. omg i just envisioned the mulan scene: “when will my reflection show who i am inside” - this is your mulan moment!!! negativity has clung and been projected from you in recent years and it’s on you to mend those behaviors and in doing so your paths will narrow down, the indecision will cease, and you’ll see where you can go, where you’d want to go.  

scorpio ascendant: feeling as though you’ve missed something is not something you’re that familiar with because you like to think you have awareness but unfortunately recognition has not been your strong suit as of late. you’ve reached that “who am i?” stage of rock-bottom and the “what in the hell am i even doing?” but what a year 2021 will be for you in terms of being able to end certain cycles, which is a pretty major thing for your ascendant. you will be met with situations that force you to gather your bearings and revise your demeanor, which can be a nerve-wracking thing for someone who doesn’t like to adhere to what they would consider the follies of others. it’s a time for openness so lessen your grip and consider the possibilities rather than feeding into your sensitivities and fixations. how can you transform if you’re too busy digging yourself in deeper? the way scorpio is able to bring together both boldness and vulnerability is what you should be striving for, the self-sabotaging is for the other birds - you’re a Phoenix! 

sagittarius ascendant: i extend my deepest condolences for the past couple of years but you’re starting to get a better idea about the part that you play in matters and what you’re needing to improve upon so that you can find a direction, or better direction, in your life. hopefully you have been paying heed to the areas in your life that have accumulated to the point of no return and are planning a big ol’ yard sale because it is time to bring back some decency. you will be met with situations that test your ability to make the right choices/decisions by infringing upon your lifestyle. this is a time to explore inwardly and address the emotions that you’ve kept tucked away, seeing as your decisions are too often dictated by these unturned emotions. you’ve done enough wandering by now, these upcoming days should be about you tying up loose ends and bettering the circumstances you currently have so that you don’t feel the need to flee. don’t let things go unexpressed this year because this baggage is what is hindering you and freeing yourself of this as much you possibly can would be in your best interest. 

capricorn ascendant: ah, those dark feelings of being misunderstood and having a chip on your shoulder because let’s be honest, you’ve been having an identity crisis and haven’t been the most reassuring person to have around. all i’m hearing is “it’s my life!” and envisioning a person who is refusing to be told what to do, we get it - you think you’re above cooperation. you will be met with situations that challenge the security within yourself and in your life through having to face your own inability to properly articulate yourself to others. it’s time for you to take on the mindset of a novice. everything you’ve established or think that you’ve established? yeah, leave it at the door. try your best to pretend that you know nothing and that the world is brand new because it’s your own preconceived notions that are clamming you up. other people won’t be receptive to you if you’re not being receptive to them. not everything is about standing on the mountain or being ready to die on a hill, you should be enjoying the process and experimenting and considering alternatives because that’s how you find what works. 

aquarius ascendant: so you guys have totally recoiled into yourselves to the point of being lost within, huh? i just know y’all have been going full weirdo and doing shit that probably even you can’t grasp because it’s been coming from such a subconscious place. once you’ve hit a low point it’s easy to become a bitter betty and partake in not the greatest of coping mechanisms because you’re feeling alienated from yourself. there is a reason for this though - you have unacknowledged feelings! have you had any regrets or lingering emotion towards people or towards situations? perhaps these are stifling your ability to feel present. you will be met with situations that turn you inside out by taking away the option of preparing yourself so that there’s no time to go robotic about it. this is a time for you to revel in activity, get out of your ~woe is me, nobody wants what i have to offer~ and start showcasing your abundance! give for the sake of giving, have fun with your generosity, try to tap into that aquarius energy of playful but well-intentioned nonchalance. 

pisces ascendant: well, you have been trying to work on your celestial flow and have dove deeper into your visions and idealisms for life but your moods have never been more easily swayed. these have not been the sort of tides that you have cared to ride because they don’t lead anywhere! they crash and dissolve, crash and dissolve, crash and dissolve - when will they carry you somewhere you’d like to go? your escapisms and illusions have been getting the better of you and floating is a pretty accurate way to describe where you’re at. you will be met with situations that question/alter your reality and reveal to you what you’ve been overlooking. i imagine it as your *record scratch* *freeze frame* “yup. that's me. so you're probably wondering how I got myself into this situation.” moment. it’s time for you to gently pull back and take note of what you’re investing your energy into and what this has been producing in return. your energy is best left being funneled into yourself this year so that you can thoroughly examine where you’ve been pigeonholing yourself; in you examining such you will be able to tap into your intuition in a way that you have not been able to before, it’ll be like unlocking a new level of your own consciousness. 

[baya-ni]

The Queer Appeal of Sk8

Recently @mulberrymelancholy reblogged a post of mine with a truly galaxy brain take about how Sk8 “is a show made for queer fans” and generally how sports anime often depicts love and relationships in a way that’s more accessible and relatable to ace/arospec people than other mainstream media does.

Just, *chef’s kiss* fucking brilliant. I urge you to read their post here (note I’m referring to the reblog not the actual post).

And basically, it got me thinking about this concept of Sk8 as a Queer Show, and the kinds of stories and dynamics that tend to attract queer audiences in droves, regardless of whether its queerness is made explicit or hell, whether that queerness was intended.

And that’s what I’ve been pondering: What are the cues, markers, or coding, in Sk8 that set off the community’s collective gaydar?

I obviously can’t speak for the community. So here’s what aspects of the show intrigued me and what, for me, marks Sk8 as a Queer Show beyond the subtextual queer romances: a punk/alternative aesthetic, Found Family, Shadow as a drag persona, and The Hands.

1.) The Punk Aesthetic

All three of the above screenshots are taken from Ep 1, and every single one of them depicts background characters. They’re nameless and ultimately unimportant characters, yet each of them designed so distinctly and so unique from one another, one could mistake each of them for the main character(s) of another story.

Of what little I know about Punk subculture, I do know this: that the ethos of Punk is heavily built around a celebration of individuality and non-conformity. Sk8 seems to have incorporated this ethos into the very fabric its worldbuilding, and the aesthetics and culture upon which it takes inspiration appeals specifically to a queer audience.

I don’t really need to explain why Punk has such deep ties with the queer community. For decades, queer people have found community and acceptance within punk spaces, and punk ideology is something that I think is just ingrained in the queer consciousness as both lived experience and a survival tactic.

Therefore, a show that adopts punk aesthetics is, by association, already paying homage to Queer culture, intentional or not.

Queer fans notice this- like recognizes like.

2.) Found Family

This also needs little explanation.

Too often, queer individuals cannot rely on their “born into” families for support and acceptance. Too often, we are abused, neglected, and abandoned by those who we were taught would “always be there for us.”

And so, a universal experience for queer people has been redefining the meaning of Family, having to build our families from scratch, finding brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers in people with whom we have no blood relation, and forming communities tied together by shared lived experience rather than shared genetics.

And this idea of Found Family is also built into Sk8′s narrative.

Like, for example, the way that Reki promises MIYA that he and Langa will “never disappear from [his] sight,” filling the void that MIYA felt after his friends abandoned him.

And in the way that JOE becomes a paternal figure for Reki, teaching him ways to improve in skateboarding, and ensuring that Reki doesn’t self isolate when he’s feeling insecure.

And in the whole Ep 6 business with Hiromi acting as babysitter to the Gang.

Hell, even ADAM (derogatory) is associated with this trope. Abused as a child, he finds solace in an underground skateboarding community and culture he helped create- his own found family (or some powertrippy version of it anyway).

Again, queer fans see themselves depicted in the show, but this time in the way that the show gives importance to Found Family relationships between its characters.

3.) Shadow and Drag

This is one that’s more of an association that I personally made. But I was intrigued by the way that Hiromi adopts his SHADOW persona. He wears SHADOW like a mask, and adopts a personality seemingly so opposite to his day-to-day behavior.

Further, the theatricality and general “gender fuckery” of his SHADOW persona, to me, just seemed so similar to a the characteristics of a drag persona (I don’t know a whole lot about drag but enough that I’m drawing superficial similarities).

There’s also this aspect of a “double life” that he, and actually all the other adult characters of the show, have to adopt, which is a way of living that I’m sure a lot of queer viewers see themselves reflected in.

4.) The Hands

Ohhhh the Hands.

One of the things I noticed very early on is the way the show constantly draws our attention to Reki’s hands, which I thought was a little strange for an anime about skating. After all, skating doesn’t really involve the hands, or at least the show doesn’t really draw attention to hands within the context of skating.

I count 3 times so far between Eps 1-9 in which hands are the focus of the frame.

First, when Reki teaches Langa how to fist pump after Langa lands his first ollie, second, when Reki and Langa make their Promise, and finally, when Langa saves Reki from falling off his board.

And you know what they say, twice is a coincidence but thrice is a motif (no one else actually says this I think I’m the only one who says this lol).

I’m not really certain why hands seem to be such a shared fixation among queer people (at least among those I interact with). All I know is that gay people are just fucking obsessed with them.

I have a Theory as to why, and at this point I’d love for other people to chime in and “compare notes” if you will, but I think it basically has to do with repression. And in the same way that queer people have had to redefine the meaning of family, we’ve also had to redefine intimacy.

Being overtly physically affectionate with someone of the same sex, even if they’re your significant other, or often specifically BECAUSE they’re your significant other, can still be dangerous, even now despite the “progression” of society. Queer people know this, this vigilant surveillance of our environment and ourselves, always asking ourselves, “Am I safe enough to be myself?”

Already, Western culture is pretty touch-averse. That is, it’s considered taboo to touch someone unless they’re a family member or a romantic partner. And to touch a person of the same sex in any way that could be misconstrued as romantic (which is most things tbh) is a big no no.

There’s just A Lot to unpack there.

But basically I think that queer people, by necessity, have had to learn to romanticize mundane or unconventional ways of being physically intimate so that we can continue to be romantic with one another without “being caught” so to speak.

Kissing and hugging is too obvious. But a handshake that lingers for just a second too long is much more likely to go unnoticed, braiding someone’s hair can easily be explained away as just lending a helping hand, touching palms to “compare hand sizes” is just good fun.

But for queer people, these brief and seemingly insignificant touches hold greater meaning, because it’s all we are allowed, and all we allow ourselves, to exchange with others.

God, I’ve gone off and rambled again. What’s my point? Basically that the way the show draws attention to Reki’s hands, and specifically how they’re so often framed with Langa’s hands, is one of the major reasons why I clocked Sk8 as a Queer. It’s just something that resonated with me and my own experience of queerness, and I know that I’m not the only one who noticed either.

~

So in conclusion, uhhhh yeah Sk8 the Infinity is just a super gay show, and it’s not even because of the homo-romantic subtext (that at this point is really just Text).

Because what’s important to understand is that Queerness isn’t just about same-sex romance.

Queer Love isn’t just shared between wives/girlfriends, husbands/boyfriends, and all their in-betweens. Queer Love can be two best friends who come out together, queer siblings who rely and support one another, a gay teacher who helps guide one of their questioning students, a queer community pitching in to help a struggling member.

And that all ties with another important thing to consider, that what we refer to as the “queer experience” or “queer culture” isn’t universal. In fact, it wrongly lumps together the unique experiences and struggles of queer BIPOC all under one umbrella that’s primary White and middle class.

So I think what drives a lot of my frustration about labeling a show like Sk8 as Queerbait is this very issue of considering queerness and queer representation within such narrow standards, and mandating that a show must pass a certain threshold of explicit queerness to be considered good representation.

I get that someone might only feel represented by an indisputable canonization of a same-sex couple. That’s fine. But labeling Sk8 as Queerbait for that reason alone ignores the vast array of other queer experiences.

The aspects of Sk8 that resonate most deeply with my own experiences of queerness is in the way that Reki and Langa share intimacy through skating (intricate rituals heyo). For me, them officially getting together ultimately doesn’t matter- I’ll consider Sk8 a Queer show regardless.

Similarly, @mulberrymelancholy​ finds ace/arospec representation in that very absence of an on-screen kiss. A bisexual man might find representation in Reki, not because he enters a canon relationship, but in the depiction of Reki’s coming of age, growing up and navigating adolescent relationships. A non-binary person might feel represented through CHERRY’s androgyny.

That’s the thing, I don’t know how this show will resonate with other members of the queer community, and it’d be wrong to make a judgement on Sk8′s queer representation based on my experiences alone.

That being said, Straight people definitely don’t get to judge Sk8 as Queerbait. Y’all can watch and enjoy the show, we WANT you to enjoy these kinds of shows, and we want you to share these shows and contribute to the normalization and celebration of these kinds of narratives.

But understand that you don’t have a right to tell us whether or not Sk8 has good or bad queer representation.

And even members of the queer community are on thin ice. Your experience of queerness is not universal. Listen to the other members of your community, and respect that what you might find lacking in this show may be the exact representation that someone else needs.

[iamtheotherdarkknight]

Make Right (BruDick RP)

In Response to “It’s Killing Him” 

@notyouraveragedickgrayson

If Bruce had to choose a moment when things really started to fall apart, he’d say was the day he pulled Jason’s still, broken body from the rubble of that abandoned warehouse. That surreal, numbness lifting as Bruce peeled away Jason’s mask to see his face for the last time.

That’s when the pain really hit him.

It was just like watching his mother and father bleed out in an alley - except it hurt so much worse. Maybe it was because parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children… And blood or no blood, Jason was his first child.

Watching strangers lower his boy – his son – into the ground that day is what finally broke him. By the end of the funeral service, it was just him and Alfred. Like it’s always been. And perhaps that has been Bruce’s mistake – maybe this is the way things were supposed to be. Maybe this cruel act was the universe’s way of reminding him of his place. It didn’t matter how long he trained, how much he learned or how many resources he devoted to his mission, he had to walk this path in solitude. ‘… or else…’

That night, Bruce stopped fighting the darkness - the Batman consumed him.

The carnage that followed Jason’s death couldn’t be called justice. Just needless bloodshed that falling short of killing. Violence that knew no shame. Batman wanted the Joker and he didn’t care what he had to do to get him. Batman had to make him hurt the way Bruce hurt. Torture him the way he tortured Jason. And the darkness only crept in further the longer Joker hid. There was nothing left to separate Bruce from the Bat anymore, no anchor. Just all-encompassing rage and an empty pain he prayed never went away. He needed that ache more than he needed food or air; it was the only thing getting him out of bed anymore.

Bruce couldn’t blame Dick for staying away. He deserved better than an emotionally crippled, hypocrite. How could he dare hold Dick accountable for his actions towards Zucco? Bruce knew full well what would happen when he finally found Joker. Arkham wasn’t enough. Blackgate wasn’t enough. Bruce knew that, and still couldn’t stop himself. That was until a young Timothy Jackson Drake appeared at his door, venti Americano in one hand and a tablet with a litany of evidence of Bruce’s double life in the other. More than that, the kid deduced Dick and Jason’s identities as Robins.

It was strange. All the information the young man had amassed over what had to be years – the eerily familiar singlemindedness Tim displayed in his pursuit. And all he wanted to do with it was convince Dick to become Robin again. “Because Gotham needs Batman. And Batman needs Robin.” The words rolled off the boys’ lips like an obvious truth he repeated one to many times. Like all whole world’s issues were nothing more than an uncomplicated problem to be solved over a cup of coffee and a few strokes of the keys.

A petty part of Bruce expected Tim to fall apart after failing to reunite the ‘Dynamic Duo’, Nightwing making it clear that he could never take the Robin mantle again. Imagine the Wayne’s rare look of shock when Tim came down the stairs of the cave, fully fitted in an altered Robin’s uniform. And when Bruce tried to protest, Tim simply shrugged it off and told him it was Nightwing who suggested he take the uniform. Tim would just have to do until Bruce found an adequate replacement… And if he resisted Tim’s help, he’d blow Bruce’s cover right out of the water.

It’s been years since that fateful day. Bruce would have loved to say that in that, he’s gotten better over time. That he had found a way to overcome the wounded savagery that overwhelmed him. That he didn’t slip back into those dark moods and was learning to be whole after having his heart picked apart, racked with guilt, shame and fear he concealed in anger. But that would be a blatant lie and nights like this he just didn’t care enough to keep up the front.

Tonight’s patrol had been taxing for the Bats.

The night ended early with the successful sabotage of Black Mask’s weapon shipment, but the win didn’t come without a fight. Batman had no idea where Sionis found the revenue to hire the mercs he had, but there was no way the people he and Robin encountered on that freight were anything ex-military. If it weren’t for his own decades of experience and Red Robin’s help tonight, the mission would have failed.

Damien left the fight with a concussion, Bruce ordering the boy go upstairs and rest. Tim, per usual, proved more resistant to his first dismissal, but his cracked ribs and broken arm and leg won out in the end. Between that and the three days Tim spent without sleep, operating the Bat near impossible. Not at Bruce was fairing much better. By the time they returned to the cave, the man sported several burns, bruises, and gashes from the explosion. The only way Alfred could get Bruce that stay still long enough to clean and dress the wounds when Bruce was sitting at the computer, typing up the reports for tonight. That was when Bruce saw the comm flash on his screen. The call came from Dick’s encrypted number.

… But he could feel ice in his veins when he heard the voice on the call.

“It’s me.”

And Bruce knew that voice anywhere.

It was a sad fact, but because couldn’t bring himself to open-up to Tim or Damien the way he had with Jason. Bruce had let his guard down with the young man and let himself be a father to him – something he could never bare to be to Dick. He could never presume to fill the void John Grayson left in Dick’s heart when he passed. Seeing Jason grow as an individual and Robin, principled and proud in the face of adversity. It always filled Bruce with pride… Perhaps that’s why seeing Red Hood stand over a fresh corpse, baring the face long dead son left him numb. Seeing that viciousness in Jason, felt like a cruel sick joke. Bruce’s only solace in Jason death was knowing the boy he cared for so much left this world with cleaner hands then him. But seeing Jason returned from the dead to become what felt like a reflection of Bruce’s darkest hours.

I was like he failed to save him all over again.

“Where is he?” Bruce demanded, his voice low and fierce. The logical part of his brain knew better than to think Jason would hurt Dick. In fact, the only person Red Hood hadn’t reconciled with was Batman. But Bruce didn’t always think rationally when it can to his first ward. Jason knew that better than anyone….

“With me and doesn’t wanna talk.” He clarified, adjust his hold Dick’s shaking form. “I’m calling a truce, old man. Let us in.” There was the briefest pause before Bruce overrode the security protocols and allow Jason to enter the cave. Bruce didn’t know could have happen to have Jason, of all people, to knock on his door and call for a truce, but he would be prepared it all the same. In the five minutes in took Jason to traverse the tunnels to central area, Bruce had covered his injuries and erased at trace of weakness. Not that it mattered once Jason ascended the steps to his platform.

Bruce’s stoic façade fell apart the minute his eyes came upon a harrowed Dick, bundled up in Jason’s arms. It’d been months since the he last saw his former ward – the two of them not necessarily on speaking terms. In fact, he and Dick had been on the outs ever since Bruce budded in a case in in Blüdhaven, stating under no uncertain terms what he thought of his ‘partner’, Catalina Flores. The actively avoided one another ever since.

Before Bruce could demand an explanation, Jason locked his green-blue eyes with his silently warning. It was always amazing how the two of them could communicate with out uttering a single word. It was part of the reason they worked so well together. So, when Jason eyes narrowed and gestured past Bruce, the man stepped aside and waited for him on the other side of the room. Once Jason was finished propping Dick in the same chair Bruce had occupied before their arrival. Despite Jason’s best effort, Dick still slumped over the edge like a ragdoll. And he was coming apart at the seams. It’s all Bruce can do, his brain running through every possible scenario, trying to deduce a reason for Dick’s state. Jason could come to him soon enough.

“He a panic attack.” Jason finally explained, his pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, but not reaching for his zippo yet. A nervous tick, just wanting something to chew on while he organized his thoughts.

“…What triggered it?” His mentor asked cautiously, trying to understand. His former ward had attack in the past. Bruce would care for Dick through the worse of them in the beginning, whenever the boy would have a nightmare or close call. But this was the first he’s ever seen the Dick since he became an adult. He was practically catatonic.

“You.” Jason spat out, as if to apply it was obvious. “Like it or not, all of this,” Jason gestured toward Dick. “Is on you.”

Without give Bruce an inch, Jason unloaded, recounting all that Dick confided in him. The young man’s mental health was in shambles and Bruce, whether he realized it or not, had only made it worse pushing Dick away. Especially when Bruce fired Dick. The older man had to admit, he was blinded with anger the night he fired Dick and all but kicked him out of the manor. Anger, and if he were being totally honest, fear. Fear of the unknown as Dick grew into the man, he was becoming, fear for the way he was started to see Dick. Because in all the years he raised Dick, he couldn’t see him as a son. And that terrified him to the core. Bruce had only realized the terrible mistake he made when the heard the Dick pulling out of the driveway for the last time.

And then Jason and the bomb happened…

“Pull your head out of your ass, old man. Your hot-and-cold attitude might work for the ladies, but that man behind me, feels fucked up enough about wanting you without your mile-thick wall of bullshit. And I know you heard me. Now, something has to change because I am not kidding around when I say that this situation, this denial, whatever ego or pride is in the way of you two... its killing him”.

Bruce was at a loss. Looking at Dick again, he felt a surge guilt run through him. Was it his fault that Dick developed this infatuation with him? Did he somehow poison the younger man’s mind and manipulated him -

“Stop, I know what you’re thinking old man. Stop making this about you and just make this right. If either of you were as sick as you think, you won’t be so scared of this.” Jason hissed, making his way to the stairs from where he came. “He’s in your care. Make it right, Bruce.” Jason repeated, warning the older man.

Bruce waited until he couldn’t hear Jason’s footsteps, steeling himself before approaching Dick for the first time in so long. He looked so out of it. Depressed and tired and just… gone. Bruce would have given anything wrap his arm around him like he had back when his thoughts towards Dick were innocent. But right now, it wasn’t about what Bruce wanted. It was about what Dick needed.  So he knelt down on the ground before Dick so they were at eye level. Dicks eyes were downcast, but Bruce didn’t make a thing of it. Just spoke in the clearest voice he could manage, hoping that Dick would respond to him.

“Dick. Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

[robbyrobinson]

OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS XVII: 

“Grrr....what happened? Where are we?”  

Amity’s eyes were caressed with the sudden brightness of the sun. Something felt odd about the situation she found herself in, but she could not put her finger on it. Blaring sounds made her ears tremble. Around her were odd structures extending from the ground and nearly the sky. Her hand probed its surroundings. She had fallen on some hard, rocky material. The fall had kicked the wind out of her lungs, but she trudged forward to get on her legs.  

Even then, her legs felt peculiar. Her knees wobbled and became interlocked. She looked around to see if Luz landed somewhere close to her. “Luz?”  

Beep, beep.

Before Amity could realize it, a red car was blaring right into her direction. Amity’s legs locked up and she froze there like a deer caught in headlights. More cars were coming down on both sides of what Amity could now see was the road. Amity held her hands up to summon magic from her bile sac, but it was of no use.  

“Amity! Look out!”  

Amity was tackled and pushed off the road just in the nick of time. The driver of the red vehicle temporarily stopped and shook his fist angrily at Amity. “Watch where you’re going, ya fool!”  

Black, suffocating smoke seeped through his exhaust pipe when he slammed on the gas break. His tires left a long, continuous streak of black lines. Amity opened her eyes again seeing that she was now being carried in the arms of another girl. She had braided, black hair, golden eyes, and a green jacket. She grinned, revealing that there was a gap between her teeth. “You don’t run into traffic like that, Amity.”  

“How do you know my name?” Amity asked. She couldn’t help but feel that the voice sounded eerily similar.  

“It’s me, Luz, silly,” the woman replied.  

Amity looked down at her hands finally seeing that she was in a different body as well. She jumped out of Luz’s arms and made a dash towards one of the windows of a building. Fully expectant of seeing her own reflection, instead, her eyes were taking mental notes of a girl with short brown hair, glasses, and a yellow skirt and white top. “Who’s that supposed to be, Luz?”  

“It’s you,” Luz noted.

“How is this possible?” Amity asked.

“When we fell, our souls must have gotten into some bodies.” Luz darted her eyes in different directions. “Hypnos said that he would get the rat for us, but where is he?”  

Amity shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we’ll have to find him.”  

The two took hold of a hand and walked together. Vehicles bolted down the road accompanied by people chatting away about different, mundane topics or just about anything to keep the discussion going without hitch. Much like back in Bonesborough, there were a few stands with considerably odd products. Amity stopped in front of a food stand and stared at the strange delicacies. Blood red fruit; yellowish, pill-like serpentines. A sweet-smelling scent of hairy fruits. A nectarine aura radiated from them. Amity’s stomach growled. Just looking at the odd fruits was enough to make her hungry.

“Hungry, aren’t ya?”  

Amity covered her stomach in embarrassment. “No, I’m not.”

Luz chuckled and reached for one of the hairy fruits. “This is a real juicy one right here.”  

“What is it?” Amity inquired. Luz and the owner of the stand looked her over in bewilderment. “Anyway, I’ll take two of these.”  

The owner nodded and wrapped the two fruits in plastic before placing them in a bag. He then figured out the amount for the produce with the tax. Luz felt around in the back of the woman’s pocket and pulled out a wallet. Opening it, she retrieved the money for the two fruits and gave it to the man.  

“Thanks for doing business,” the man said, “but be sure to keep that friend of hers from getting run over.”  

Luz and Amity trudged their way a few more meters before making a stop at a bench. Luz motioned for the witch girl to sit down which she does on instinct. Luz opened the bag and reached in to produce one of the fruits. “I know you don’t have these on the Boiling Isles.”  

��What is this thing?” Amity inquired. She held the odd fruit in front of her face and sniffed it. “Smells good too.”  

“That, my dear friend, is a peach,” Luz explained, “it’s hairy, but it is a really sweet fruit.”

Amity eyeballed the fruit curiously before taking a bite from it. The nectar-like juices dripped down from her mouth. “You’re right; this is good.”  

Luz took a napkin and wiped Amity’s mouth. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”  

“T-thanks,” Amity blushed. She took her eyes off Luz and scanned the surroundings. “So, this is the human world.”  

Luz’s eyes sparkled. “I’m sure you’ll love it here. Why not after we take down Nyarlathotep and Belos we could have a sleepover with my Mami?”  

Amity with Luz? Spending a night together? In cute pajamas? Cuddling? Steam fizzled from Amity’s ears. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty. “So....is the Earth safe?”  

Luz raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”  

“Just that...I was always taught that the people of Earth were savage, merciless heathens who would wage war on each other over the most trivial of plights. Humans were these disease-ridden rats who would turn on each other for profit and were never meant to learn magic as it would only further their mindless heathenism and violence.”  

Luz felt her chest tense up from the sensation of being stabbed with an invisible knife. “Wow...that’s deep.”  

Amity looked at Luz with surprise. “So that is true?”  

Luz rubbed the back of her head. “Well, on the most technical of terms..but there are also instances of human kindness and understanding.”  

“I see.” Amity turned away. “The Emperor had always told us that humans were warmongers that could not be trusted. I guess some of that did manifest when I challenged you back at the witch convention.”  

“Don’t worry, Amity,” Luz assured her, “I don’t take any personal offense towards your assumptions. Lilith pretty much had to learn that lesson as well after she had become a roommate.”  

Amity sighed in relief that Luz was not offended by the conditioned prejudices she was indoctrinated with. “I do have to say that there are so many interesting sights here; no wonder Eda collected all this stuff.”  

Luz smiled. “Y’know, I did see a shop close to the park.”  

“You did?”  

“Yeah; something tells me that Hypnos is there.” Luz shrugged. “It kind of fits his mysterious aura.”  

Amity nodded. “Yeah; the strange magic man might have already felt we forgot about him.”  

They threw the seeds of the peaches into a trash can and walk in the direction of the store. Sure enough, it was exactly how Luz described it: it was a small, square store decorated with an eerie green paint which was chipping away in flakes exposing the splintery wooden boards underneath. The shop was placed impossibly between two large buildings. Grass grew around it into long, spindling strands that wedged into the foundation of the shop. A fern tree covered the roof to form a canopy. From the tiny specks of light, they could make out a few letters.  

“Is this the right one?” Amity asked.

“Well, it said that it was located on 1300 Arkham Drive,” Luz clarified, “so it must be.”  

They cautiously walked through the large columns of grass to get to the door. Inside of the workshop, it was impressively massive and grandiose. Much like the void they had entered through astral traveling, there were doors upon doors throughout the building. Doors of various sizes aligned the walls. On top of those passages were more doors. Along the staircases and the ceiling. Doors, doors. In every hard spot was one. To where the doors led they could not tell. After their trip through the void, they would rather leave it that way.  

“About time you made it!”  

They both turned their heads in shock and stared at a small man. His eyes were the size of dinner plates. He tilted his head making it apparent that it was the only comfortable way he could handle his large organs. His forehead was deeply filled with wrinkles upon wrinkles especially around his eyes. His hair was short and unkempt with its whiteness. The whiskers of his mustache curled in an upward spiral. His beard was long enough to reach the floor. He held up his wrinkled hand and skinny, bony fingers. He held a bust in his other hand. It greatly resembled him to some degree.

“Hypnos? Is that you?” Luz asked.

“In the flesh,” he chuckled, “well, this is my actual body.”  

Amity crouched down. “But what about all that power you demonstrated?”  

“Like I said, I jumped out of my body the moment I sensed Nyarlathotep’s return. But I had to keep the old man from getting eroded. Or eaten.”  

As he said that, a small humanoid shape took form and walked on all fours from one of the doors. Its face was bereft of any describable orifices aside from the flashes of yellow, jagged teeth. For all intents and purposes, it made no sound even when its large, bat-like wings fluttered. Two horns pointed inward towards its head. Amity quickly shielded herself and Luz from the bat beast. “Step back, monster!”  

Hypnos laughed until he felt himself wheezing. “Nekron, heel.”  

Before the two girls’ confused eyes, the creature responded and sat down without issue on the ground. It wagged its barbed tail and its paws made a pitter-pattering sound on the floor. Hypnos took his hand and rubbed the side of the creature’s body. It had a slick, rubbery complexion to it. They could see now that the beast was smiling. A horrid, maniacal smile at that, but at the least it diminished a bit of the preexisting notions the girls had on it.  

“What is he?” Amity inquired.  

“A nightgaunt, my girl,” Hypnos replied, “a runt of the litter, really, but he is loyal.”  

After petting Nekron, the nightgaunt stood up on its hind legs beside its master. Hypnos opened a small door to withdraw a tentacle. It was still moving about violently despite long being separated from its owner. Suction cups clicked on each other; slime trickled down his arm when he presented it to his pet. “Take.”  

The nightgaunt obliged and grabbed the tentacle between its teeth before bolting past Hypnos and into one of the doors. Orange light emitted through the door and the nightgaunt disappeared. Hypnos directed the two girls to one of the other doors. This time, it was a large door of indescribable geometry. “Here is my actual workshop.”  

Opening the door, they saw shelves containing jars. Each jar was filled with a yellow substance to preserve its contents. Eyes of different species and sizes; claws and teeth; ancient documents even. Hypnos took one of the jars and presented it to Amity and Luz. There was a brain inside of it.  

“This contains the mind of what came to be called the Great Race of Yith. They were a race of aliens who could travel through all-time by swapping their minds with another race. They could project their consciousness through all space so they could learn about what other races did.”  

He put the brain back on the shelf and withdrew another jar. It contained a small, amoeba creature. It was amorphous in appearance, but it changed its body accordingly to match the jar it was inside. It had roiling eyes and mouths alongside its pseudopodia. The hair on the back of Luz’s neck recoiled which made sense because the creature was focusing its many eyes on her.  

“A shoggoth,” Hypnos answered, “started off as a servant-race created by another species to act as servants, but they turned against their masters.”  

“You know, on the Boiling Isles we have servants too,” Amity pointed out.  

“And what are they called?” Hypnos asked. He was mostly asking for the sake of asking without expecting an answer.  

“Abominations,” Amity replied, “but they are made to never want to go against orders.”  

Hypnos scratched his beard. “Who knows? Maybe some of those aliens discovered your world and subtly mixed their technology with your magic and those abominations you speak of could have been the descendants of this process.”  

“This is all interesting and all, but please tell me that you did get the rat,” Luz said.

Hypnos smiled. “Of course; look on my desk.”  

The human-faced rat was trapped underneath a small birdcage. The horn fracture it had stolen was on a far side of the desk. “It must have been stuck in the void for who knows how long.”  

The two girls walked to the desk and observed the rodent. It shook its tail wildly whilst trying to figure out a method of escape. Hypnos grabbed a shriveled arm and held it over the cage. Wrapping his fingers around the wrist, blood trickled down from the base of the arm. The rat got up on its hind legs and greedily licked at the red liquid. It messily licked the blood from the corners of its mouth and continued to do so until it had its fill.  

“That is gross,” Luz declared.  

“Oh, it was just hungry is all,” Hypnos noted, “it eats witch blood.”  

“W-witch blood!?” Amity screamed. She backed away from the rodent. “That thing could’ve bitten me and Luz back there.”  

“The rat used to be a familiar that belonged to a witch, but it seems that the witch is long gone. But I did manage to get that horn it stole from you two.”  

“We didn’t just come for the horn,” Amity added, “you know where that book is?”  

“Yes, the Necronomicon, of course,” Hypnos replied, “I will fetch it for you two.”  

He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a large book laced with a thickly-tacked on leathery material. “The original Necronomicon; the one that your ancestor, Luz, wrote all those years ago.”  

He handed it to Luz. Luz looked it over sensing some dark presence within it. It came to her in the form of a whispery hiss spewing malicious intent. The book was heavily drenched in only the darkest and most unholy of dark spells that was likely inaccessible to the children of the Isles. This book, with its inhuman spirit and secrets, was not just evil: it was evil in its most pure, and incorruptible of forms.  

“Does this book contain something on how we could kill Nyarlathotep or any god for that matter?” Luz asked.

“I would advise not looking into the contents of the accursed book,” Hypnos bluntly stated, “it contains information on not just the gods, but secrets of the universe itself.”  

“If Nyarlathotep gets a hold of it, what then?”  

“The Necronomicon was never meant to be read by anyone of this mortal plane; information on dark spells and how to cast them; bringing back the dead to act as your servants; sacrifices to the Old Ones and where these gods of old will once again return. The book must be destroyed at all costs.”  

“That’s a good strategy,” Amity noted, “with no book, Nyarlathotep would still be without powers, so perhaps we can take him down.”  

Hypnos nodded. “Luz, you are familiar with the old ways that magic was done on the Isles I presume?”  

Luz nodded.  

“Through those glyphs, the first witches were able to perform magic. Will you use them to destroy the book?”  

Luz scratched her chin. It was a hard gamble: while it would be easier to read the book to figure out a way to kill Nyarlathotep, with no book at all, Nyarlathotep would still be at a disadvantage. If anything, they could temporarily block Nyarlathotep from enacting the rest of his plan until they could get him weakened enough to banish him. Luz shook her head.  

“Of course.”  

“How are we going to destroy it?” Amity tapped her foot to contemplate. “Well, we could burn it; do you have glyphs for fire, Luz?”  

“That’s genius, Amity!” Luz proclaimed. “Hypnos, do you have some paper I could borrow?”  

"Yes, this is Channel 8 News, and we have a story for you,” an anchorwoman announced.  

Above the city, an insidious rip began to tear into the fabric of reality. The sky fell away in flakes as it widened further. Witnesses of the event stopped in their tracks to record what they were seeing to their social media accounts. Flaming balls descended from the rip and onto the buildings and vehicles.  

“At approximately 3 in the afternoon, a large rip appeared over the sky, and now it appears that meteorites had fallen to the Earth. From what I am hearing, some of our top researchers had speculated that these meteorites could have come here through a ‘wormhole’ if you would call it as such.”  

The balls were dispensed in highly populated areas. Smoke was bouncing off the odd balls emphasizing how intense the heat was around them. Much like any meteorite, the balls slammed into the earth’s crust and created craters around themselves. Much like before, bystanders were casually streaming live videos on the mysterious objects. A man with glasses knelt down at one of the craters.  

“If you take notice of these meticulous details, this metal is unlike any I have seen before in my life.”  

Despite protests from some of the surrounding people, the man leaned in closer for a better look. The ball glowed an ominous red and dematerialized. Before he could react, the ball became a metallic suit of armor and dragged him into the hole. The other balls followed suit and attacked the bystanders. The armor suits lumbered along, each painstaking step after painstaking step. They grabbed ahold of people and tossed them around with little thought of whether they were the targets they were after.

Vehicles were seized by the armor and smashed to miniscule, insignificant pieces. Attacks were launched at buildings with chunks of debris falling to the ground and onto people desperately trying to escape the damaged buildings. Soon legions of armored assailants made the ground quake. Small fires broke out converting the city into a wasteland. From the destruction wrought on the city, Odalia made her entrance. A large, black knight suit carried her weakened son in its arms. She looked into the staff’s gem for a message. Sure enough, the cloudy mist inside of the gem gave way to reveal Nyarlathotep in his Black Pharaoh form.  

“Very excellent work, Odalia,” Nyarlathotep said.  

Odalia felt her satisfaction bubble up her throat. “Yes, my lord; this is the place where the Necronomicon is located?”  

“Aye, it is; in this city, your insolent child is trying to assist that human girl. They have a helper as well.”  

Odalia smiled whilst clutching the staff in her hand. “I will give her a strong thrashing so that she could be of more use to you, Dweller in the Darkness.”  

“I knew that I had selected the right vict-I mean servant,” Nyarlathotep replied, “once you retrieve the book and the girls, I will provide you the means of return.”  

Nyarlathotep disappeared in the mist once the connection was cut off. She directed her attention towards the armor suits recklessly pulverizing the streets without rhyme nor reason.  

“Lord Nyarlathotep had confirmed that we are in the right place! I don’t care if you have to tear this pathetic rock apart or crush a few rats underfoot: this is the beginning of a new age.”  

[theorynexus]

42: Don’t look for the Meaning of Life here. Monty Python’s circus has flown elsewhere.

This is so cute. It’s almost not fair. ;w;

***a sudden flurry of shout poles emerge above my head***   Well... this was unexpected.   To some extent, it makes sense, considering the complicated nature of Cherubs and their mating. It further makes sense in the light of Calmasis, who seemed to be a-gendered in Calliope’s fanfiction/stories (if I am remembering things correctly), which I suppose might to some extent have been projecting the subtleties of her desire, will, and nature in more ways than one.

I am just as stunned by the Narrator, but at the same time, I am so amused by their reaction that it’s hard to actually take in the gravity of what Roxy’s saying, and to think about it in light of Roxy’s history+character, generally.    Wow. Honestly, I am a little overwhelmed by that revelation, and I think I’m going to have to return to it at a later time other than one little dalliance into a statement of curiosity: Is this related in some way to her Void Aspect?

Haaaaahhh. This shrieks of sudden insecurity. This is particularly interesting in light of the presumed Heart Aspect that is floating around in the Narrator’s existence because of the seeming Dirk dominance that’s going on (made more obvious as they’ve been dwelling on the stuff in Universe C, and become more casual in their narration, in this last bit).  If that insecurity is in fact a thing, it could speak to potential internal exertion on Rose’s part upon Dirk’s otherwise firm and very self-knowing psyche. Something to think about.

“Allow it.”   Pffft.  (I wonder if this is representing the Narrator loosening their reigns on things a little bit, relatively speaking, or if it’s simply a matter of the aura of Void surrounding Roxy that’s interfering with things, just as with Mom’s own Void messing with Rose’s ability to detect her in Act 2.) Related:  I do in fact think that the Narrator might secretly be uncertain about/have difficulty wrapping their head(s) around the concept of non-binary and/or a-gendered existence, especially since they conflate the two, and obviously are projecting insecurity about the use of “they/them” to reference either/both of them.   (Honestly, it’ll take me a while to not constantly try to apply a “she/her” to either of them, probably. It is very surprising, especially for Roxy.)

Yeah, I guess dealing with an alien race that presumably has at least sequential hermaphrodity as their norm, and which may determine their sex purely based on mating outcomes, rather than anything beforehand (yet while still presumably retaining their gender/lack thereof) prooobably naturally would bring up questions like that.  It’s definitely a complex topic, and I’m sure aliens being added to the mix would make things even more complicated for humans in real life when it comes to the discussion than it is as of now.

Indeed, “Reasonable thoughts,” compounded with Jade’s confused, uncertain reaction (which reads similar in tone to a stereotypical parental, “Have you tried to stop being gay?” reaction, at least to me) and the Narrator’s refusal to deal with it again afterward suggest that they are being quite judgmental about it, probably due to their mechanistic and highly Light-emphatic views of reality engendering them with a desire to categorize and concretize everything. This desire likely makes them struggle not to reject anything they can’t quite get a proper grasp of due to the barriers of void surrounding it (as is, to some extent, the matter with issues of gender, I suppose this story is suggesting, and as is the case especially with the nature of the MSPA Reader, who the Narrator clearly rejects and dismisses as important because they can’t peer beyond the indistinguishability of all of us from an insider’s perspective).

I mean... yes and no?  Gender roles and whatnot are definitely constructed socially and only distantly relate to biological features of the sexes, but gender identity, broadly, generally comes with being human, I should think (regardless of what you identify as, including a-gender identities).  Obviously, gender is a slippery concept, but I would suggest it’s not one that is completely baseless or undeserving of acknowledgment like that.  It’s just a matter of individual identities being more nuanced than the traditional male/female divide with its cultural baggage might suggest to those that don’t recognize that some of what goes into defining gender comes from biased sources of tradition and law which affect the way one thinks of it. To summarize what could be a very long and controversial/awkward conversation, I would suggest this:  Gender is something of an inherent part of the ego, related to but not fully requiring or dependent upon the various group identities one will take in the process of going through life. Such a kernel of self-identification will naturally build up through one’s development as a child as one begins to develop a more solid sense of self and a reflective understanding of the separations existing between one’s self and others. Obviously, this will be very malleable, early on, which is probably related to why many/most societies begin to attempt to ingrain concepts of gender roles into individuals early on. Regardless of whether one agrees with the idea of pushing such ideas on a child or not, the development of gender identity ought to be regarded as superseding this interference, and overall an innocuous part of what it is to be a human. (That said, with factual matters out of the way, I understand why Roxy would want to get away from the idea of gender as understood/developed in our own history, given how close she is [fudge] they are with Calliope, and how she they think of themself. It is not wrong of her to desire to dismiss such things as wholly constructed beasts.)

***snickers***    Screwed up on the tense of that verb, there, after you messed up on their gender, Narrator.   ;3

Ahaaa. I had suspected this might be the case, but hesitated because I thought Callioped must have taken to gendering themselves first.  Caliborn seemed to be a bit slow with most things he interacted with/adopted, so that didn’t seem like a good assumption to make.  I guess enthusiasm doesn’t necessarily predict chronological placement, but still, it makes it seem like Calliope did this later than him. Hmmm.

In this sense, gender roles definitely seem to have a strangely influenced path through Paradox Space. How curious. Roxy’s following summation of/declaration concerning the idea was quite humorous, as well.

Not something I knew/remembered about her.  On the other hand: THERE WERE STILL CHESS PEOPLE!!!  D:

Is this meant to suggest that Jade is more comfortable with her gender, now (if so, why?  Dog body/hormones?), or is it meant to suggest that the narrator thinks that being non-binary is immature/a fad that Roxy will grow out of?

Hehehe~  Ectobiology is fun.

Now, this is certainly a fun and interesting extension of the connection between individual versions of a being with a single oversoul that I didn’t suspect would be possible.  I wonder if it’s because of the lessened relevance that was mentioned concerning those in Universe C that Rose mentioned near the beginning of the Epilogue.

[rukafais]

lucid veins

The Nightmare King slumbers, and dreams. His visions, his memories, are visceral and haunting.

Occasionally, his vessel explores them in the eternity of sleep, attempting to understand the god that is and is not himself, the existence intertwined.

[ao3 mirror]

Content warnings: Body horror, injury, self-injury, death (mentioned, depicted, but not permanent)

"For what might be hours, you listen to the beating of your heart. A kind of phantasmagoria comes upon you. Your body is a stranger to you." - Black Crown Project

Dreams are light and sky and open water; void is a dreamless sea, deep enough to rest, to drown, to keep what it takes. Where no light from the surface can ever reach.

Nightmares are soft velvet darkness and twisting corridors, claustrophobia and fear. Deep tunnels and winding passages, the patterns of veins and life sunk deep into the earth. Red as blood.

He breathes deep, even though he doesn’t need to. The air tastes of smoke and fire, acrid and dry. Here, it always does.

The god breathes deep and tastes blood, or something like it.

The texture on his back, his arms, is an unbearable reminder. It crawls on him, grey and clinging; wings he can no longer use. No more dreams of flying. No more wind-touched journeys through clouded skies. No more.

His body is too heavy, too painful, too aching. A mass of pain that slows his thoughts to crawling, that leaves him sluggish and desperate. He trembles, crushed with agony under his own weight.

He needs to be smaller - he has to be smaller, or he won’t survive - he splits open gaping wounds and spills blood that burns red-hot and finishes what his sister started. He rends himself to pieces in frantic metamorphosis, the desperate act of prey in a trap. Tearing off limbs in a furious effort to escape.

Surrounded by the ruins of a larger shell, his heart remains, and what little of him left untouched inside.

Exhausted by the act, shielded by his own shed corpse, he sleeps.

He wakes, still breathing deep, dream inside a dream. Hands running furtively over his own chest, his own body, to check for scars, though he knows innately that it will always heal. No wound will ever mark him eternally; flame will spill from the injuries to punish the aggressor; in time the scars will fade as if they were never there.

It is an apology for the burden, or maybe an attempt at sparing themselves-himself further agony, or simply how it is to be a kind of divinity. Maybe it is all of those things at once.

The tunnels wind endlessly, a maze of entrances and exits that feed into each other. Anyone else would be lost.

He is not. No matter how far he goes, he knows where is; he cannot be lost inside himself, though at times it certainly feels that way. In his attempts to understand, he feels like an intruder inside his own body, like these visions are not meant for him, like they are something too unbearable and ancient for him to witness.

If the Nightmare King had wished it, he could have locked these memories away forever. But he does not, will not, forget. The ache he slumbers to have respite from will never fade.

Unlike mortals, whose wounds heal, a god’s does not. That ancient pain is part of him now, for better or worse.

The tunnels descend into deep darkness, a silence without end. The heat is less here; a chill prickles over his shell. A phantom wind scrapes across his face, harsh and merciless. His heartbeat is distant and far away.

It’s so cold.

He breathes in and tastes ash.

He coughs endlessly, unable to stop. Out of blood to spill, what issues from his rubbed-raw throat is only the remains of fire, of life. His heart drums frantically.

The panicked sound, pervasive, insistent, loud, fills his entire world.

It’s so cold. He’s never been cold before, not like this. Invisible claws scrape and crush against him in a maddening, frightening frenzy, unstoppable, unrelenting. It steals warmth from him, little by little.

He runs his fingers through the dull embers, the fragments of his own power, gathered inside the Heart. He cannot be here, exposed, defenseless, dying. Nor can he stay inside that protective cocoon forever and stagnate; that too is death.

He can no longer change.

But something else, someone else...

He rakes together the coals of himself and makes a choice that will define the future.

Burn the father, feed the child --

The spark ignites, the flames leap to life. Weak and frail though they are, they are new.

His last breath is his vessel’s first.

He breathes out, and the taste of a fire’s death lingers. Hand against his chest, to ensure his heart still beats; deep breaths cycling through, to prove he can, to prove the memory (their memory his memory) has not mastered him.

No matter how many times he sees these things and lives them, the physical sensations are what comes to him first and foremost. He feels old wounds as if they are his own; the pain lingers. But the emotions are lost.

He wonders if the god remembers (he wonders if he has forgotten) the way he felt, or if those things are no longer necessary (if he has deliberately cast them away, too painful to relive). Or, perhaps, even he is barred from experiencing it.

Are you so eager to feel that sadness in death? says the voice (he thinks), sparking embers on the wind, warming the air.

He admits that he is not. Though the thought does not come again, the warmth remains; a welcome shield against the cold, a second cloak settled around his shoulders by invisible hands.

He climbs out of the cold and into warmth once more, into those tangled red corridors. He moves on.

His wanderings take him to a chamber he has been many times before; it resembles, organically, in its twists and turns and echoing sounds, what he imagines the interior of a heart to look like.

It is warm here (for any intruder, this heat would be sweltering, unbearable, a raging inferno). But this fire is no stranger to him; it welcomes him home, a traveler weary from a long journey, a lost child finally safe in their parent’s arms. It wraps him like a blanket, easing that deep and ancient weariness in him.

The lifeblood of the Heart is white-hot, blue and red intermingled, incandescent and beautiful. It, too, is a sea, hidden deep underground. The nightmares of hundreds of bugs, the ends of hundreds of kingdoms - all burned for kindling, consumed for peace of mind. He never tires of watching it, of breathing it in (it tastes like fire on his tongue, pure fire, too hot to give off smoke, too undying for ash).

Creatures of dream, not yet consumed and not yet born, swim in the flame as flame themselves. One moment there, the next not. They are beautiful, fleeting things; their shapes crumble and decay to horrors, as nightmares do, but he is the master, and he is not afraid - and he finds them beautiful still.

He listens to the heartbeat that matches his own and feels at peace.

The god whispers Child, come to me, and he does.

(Or maybe it is the flames that turn to hands and pull him down into the fire, and he does not resist. Or there is no such thing, and it is his own thoughts that guide him into the current.)

Little by little, the fire consumes him. It takes fingers, hands, legs and limbs, organs and chitin; replaces sensation with pain and then quickly numbness. He watches himself crumble in the flame with a strange, soft detachment, like this body is not his, like it never was.

The fire eats him alive. He doesn’t mind.

The fire holds the recollection of every incarnation that was burned to create it, every feeling, every individuality. Their physical forms are gone, the vessel burned - but still, here in memory, they remain.

Music, sound, light and flame and laughter; failure, sorrow, tragedy and triumph, bittersweet victory. The bright and simple happiness of childhood, the first sting of sadness and the ashen taste of failure, the joy and sorrow of countless lives. He sees shards of what he’s seen and done reflected in theirs, but some things are all his own, and that too is a treasure to be preserved when the time comes.

They sleep in the Heart, becoming a part of it; there they stay until the world ends.

Old pain....old scars...does not fade, murmurs the god, and the voice comes from everywhere and inside his head, too.

The striking, crimson reflection of him (not quite the same; longer horns and a more tattered, feathery cape, reminiscent of the wings he-they once had) shimmers like an illusion in his sight.

But this...too...does not.

The Nightmare King’s normally impassive, eerie expression changes. A slight crinkle of the eyes, a slight lift of the chin; a small and subtle smile.

It is...enough.

The god rends him to pieces to wake him, but nightmares are as good dreams to the god-as-vessel, vessel-as-god, so neither of them mind. Ribbons of himself fall away into that endless fire, and he thinks little of it.

Destruction, rebirth. Endless songs and endless change.

He stirs, silent in contemplation. Familiar music is playing, somewhere. He hangs there and listens, letting it wash over him.

The god is quiet, pain briefly forgotten.

Grimm stretches and yawns, languidly, and feels refreshed.

Once again, he is himself, and his body is his own, and he is satisfied.

[wisdomrays]

Chastity of Thoughts

QUESTION: Could you please elucidate the phrases “purity of ideas” or “chastity of thoughts” which you draw upon from time to time?

ANSWER: Thought and action are the two most important dynamics that show us the way to truly exist, help us stay as ourselves in the face of fierce storms, and help us change ourselves in the progressive sense. Although thought in its general meaning comes before actions, a certain thought with its intricate and detailed meanings develops within the very process of (putting it into) action. That is, a person can concentrate on a certain subject first, give much thought to it, and try to fathom it correctly. However, only after putting the issue into real life practice will one gain further insight into it, accept and accommodate themselves to it, and found it on a sound basis. This is because implementing what one has thought about will make one face some new situations which will, in turn, lead to deeper thoughts on the issue, and thus the general ideas at the beginning will rest upon unshakable grounds. So be it in a general context or a specific one with lots of details, the most important essential we need to pursue in all of our intentions and thoughts is “purity of ideas.” In this respect, we need to remain faithful to the purity of ideas, seeing it as part of our very character, and protect it under our wings against all odds.

Sound thoughts produce sound conduct

It is possible that some people may adopt negative opinion and attitudes toward us, but others’ wrong attitudes should never lead us to reflect back a similar sort of attitude. Wherever we stand with respect to our essential values, we need to stand our ground against all odds. Otherwise, once our thoughts and feelings begin to waver according to others’ attitudes and behaviors, the wavering will continue and eventually take us off the righteous course. What we need to do, however, is not even let others distract and keep us busy—let alone taking us off course—and try to keep away from every kind of influence that might serve as a provocative factor against our course and our stream of thought. We should know that the real purpose of provocations is to avert the volunteers devoted to high ideals from their path and make them change course, not with the purpose of achieving something else but for achieving this very end.

For this reason, representatives of sound thinking should never change in the face of the inconsistent and baseless claims made by others—of course with the exception of making legal claims by appealing and refuting in order to protect one’s reputation against defamation and using their lawful right to sue them for slander and other violation of rights—and always try to keep up their purity and innocence. We need to think straight at all the times so that the actions we are to build on those thoughts are right and straight. Otherwise, if we move away to one side with every storming wind, we might lose track, fall to other trails, becoming adrift in the end.

Those who think positively take delight in their lives

The Messenger of God, peace and blessings be upon him, once stated that a believer’s silence should be reflection (tafakkur) and his speaking should be wisdom.” Taking this radiant statement into consideration, we can say that thinking, imagining, and shooting for good things will be counted as worship for a believer. Even though busying ourselves with seemingly impossible thoughts normally means wasting our energy, if a person cherishes a wish to transform the color and pattern of the world into a more beautiful and vivid one, I think even the dreams and imaginings of that person will take on a hue of worship. Thus, what befalls on believers is to become oriented to such beautiful considerations and lead their lives accordingly. In one of the epigrams at the end of The Letters, Bediüzzaman states: “Those who attend to the good side of everything contemplate the good; those who contemplate the good enjoy life.” Therefore, someone’s turning his life into a delightful melody and spending his life as if he were walking through the corridors of Paradise depends on his thinking beautifully. However, one’s thoughts also could take people to negative ways, such as hedonism and bohemianism, unless he uses it in a positive way. Also, even imaginings and conceptions that are not channeled toward goodness can make one face such negativities. For this reason, believers must continuously be preoccupied with thoughts that take root in their values, overflow with them, continuously read and think, and feed on their essential sources without leaving any voids in their life. At the same time, they must give their willpower its due to such an extent that they always remain close to the feelings and thoughts that are not granted a visa by their pure conscience. If they are prone to negative winds in spite of all their efforts, they should—as advised by the Messenger of God—try to free themselves from that atmosphere immediately. Otherwise, a person who sets sail into dreams that might corrupt the purity of his mind sometimes may go too far and not have the opportunity to return to the shore (of safety). Therefore, if one does not control the feelings of grudge, hatred, vengeance, and lust, they might break down barriers and thereby cause them to take wrong decisions and commit evil acts. One must give their willpower its due on one hand and ask protection from God on the other. Those who can achieve this will lead their lives in a greenhouse of Divine protection. But still one should never forget that even the most upright people might topple over, and thus we must never give up our vigilance. When we stumble and lose our balance, we must turn to our Lord and ardently pray like our forefather Prophet Adam did: “Our Lord! We have wronged ourselves, and if You do not forgive us and do not have mercy on us, we will surely be among those who have lost” (al-A’raf 7:23) then straighten up, and turn toward Him again.

Desires and fancies in guise of ideas

Another point to raise in terms of chastity of thoughts is that there is always the possibility of desires and fancies masquerading as ideas to misguide a person. The touchstone to distinguish desires and fancies from true ideas is the religious criteria. For example, if you feel enraged when someone’s words and attitudes bother you, you first need to determine whether there is anything that goes against the Truth. If this is not the case, it means that you are getting angry in the name of your carnal self, which shows that the angered reaction stems from personal desires and fancies. The criterion to use in the face of evil as decreed in the Qur’an is to “repel evil with what is better (or best)” (Fussilat 41:34). Accordingly, if someone does evil to you, the primary response towards him or her must be a smiling face intended to defuse the intensity of their strong dislike and malice. But if the evil in question is directly related to sacred values or public interest, as an individual, we do not have the right to forgive his or her act; one can only forgive and show tolerance towards violations against his or her personal rights. God Almighty did not assign anybody as a substitute authorized to forgive violations of His rights. No one should dare make such claims, which are clearly disrespectful of God’s rights.

Getting back to our main subject, desires and fancies with no sound base sometimes present themselves in the guise of ideas and try to misguide people, in cooperation with the devil and our carnal soul. One might commit certain wrongs in consequence. You can clearly see this on some debate programs where people try to outwit one another. As if they are fixed on controversy, they always try to say the opposite of what the people before them say, not caring whether it is right or wrong. Let us suppose that one of the people with whom such a person argues says, “Now I am going to show you, by God’s grace and permission, a way directly leading to Paradise.” If the gates of Paradise miraculously and suddenly appear wide open before him and enable him to see the wonderful blessings beyond imagination, he will still say, “No, we do not want to enter Paradise. We are trying to win here, and you are trying to stop us and push us to inactivity.” That is, such a person will try to respond with demagogy even against the most plausible words and thoughts. Such words actually stem from one’s desires and fancies and are uttered under the influence of the devil. However, people mistake all of them as stemming from their own thoughts and ideas.

Sometimes, people from among believers can also fall for this trap of the devil and carnal soul. When you ask help from such a person, he might say that he needs to stay where he is so that he can guide many others, attempting to hide his desire for spending more time with his family and enjoying worldly life under the guise of altruism. However, a sincere believer burns with a desire for reunion with God, overflows with a desire for meeting the noble Prophet, and wishes to sit at the table of the Rightly Guided Caliphs and share their atmosphere. In spite of these feelings, a sincere believer watches his step and says: “My God, I do not know whether I served my time in this world or not. Therefore, I am afraid of committing disrespect towards You.” The conscience is a very important reference point here. For this reason, one must always judge the words one utters with his or her conscience and seek its righteous counseling at every choice and decision made. If someone can achieve this, he or she will be saved from confusing fancies with guidance and carnal desires with commonsense.

[foxofthedesert]

Arrow FF | DinahSiren | Dears

Blame this on me recently discovering a certain singer from Kazahkstan who abso-fucking-lutely blew me away.  Like, seriously.  I wanted to stop singing forever when I heard him for the first time.  And then I just wanted more and more and more.  He is...transcendent.  And I love him.  And if you are a fan of singing in general, do yourself a favor and dive down the rabbit hole that is Dimash Kudaibergen videos on YouTube.  You can thank me later.

Now, onto the DinahSiren goodness....

Lower back aching from a long day hunched over her desk, Dinah trudges up the hallway toward her apartment upon leaden feet.  

With quarterly reports due in less than three days, she spent the better part of eight hours slaving over them to prevent disaster.  She cannot afford to turn them in late.  To make matters worse, she had spent the previous four hours attending to one crisis after another at the precinct, including a potentially explosive personnel issue that required direct intervention.  Slogging through mounds of paperwork after such an exciting morning made for a tedious, boring, aggravating, seemingly endless afternoon.  

Sadly she really didn’t have any other choice but to grit her way through it.  Can’t give the Brass any more reason to ride her ass over relatively inconsequential issues just because they don’t approve of her affiliation with certain independent policing elements that dared skip out on earning their badges through the soul-crushing mill that is the Star City Police Academy.  So while dotting every I and crossing every T to appease her imperious, condescending, intolerant overlords is not her ideal of efficient law enforcement, she put her nose to the grinder like the good soldier the Marine Corps so methodically produced and got the damn job done.  Or at least enough so that she could cut in time to at least spend five minutes with her fiancee before flopping face first into bed.

It was nearly a quarter past ten when Dinah finally peeled out of the parking lot.  Irritation warred with anticipation as she pushed the pristine, all matching numbers, 427 cubic inch motor on her precious baby girl – a glossy black ‘68 Stingray Coupe Laurel helped her finance as an engagement present – as hard as she could while maintaining safe control.  As it tends to, the gorgeous purr of the engine in fourth gear soothes away some of her frustration.  Some being the operative word since she can’t help but dwell on what she will have to forgo due to the late hour.  A nice, relaxing evening binging Killjoys with her other half would have been far preferable to the scant half hour of snuggling on the couch they would be afforded between Dinah needing to eat something, take a shower, and then decompress from the stress of the day with a bit of meditation.  But...any time with Laurel is better than nothing, so she pressed the gas pedal down a little harder and resolved to make the best of her circumstances just like her Nana taught her.  

Back in the present, thoughts of Laurel cause a crooked smile to slowly light up Dinah’s weary features.  Talk about a wonderful handful of seductive danger, bossy attitude, and limitless passion wrapped in a lithe frame and alluringly decorated with shimmering green eyes and irresistible dimples.  There isn’t much Dinah doesn’t love about the whole package that is Laurel Lance, which goes a long way toward explaining why she puts up with so much trouble and sass on a daily basis.  Sure, she doesn’t take any shit without standing up for herself, but she has never been under any illusion as to who wears the pants in their relationship.  Which is perfectly fine with her. For Laurel, she is happy to slip on the daisy dukes, so to speak.    

Several of their friends think it’s hilarious, and a bit confusing, that she can be such an assertive hardass at work then immediately turn into an enormous gooey marshmallow the second she gets home.  To be honest, Dinah would be a bit confused as well at the diametric shift in her attitude between her public and private personas if she could be bothered to care.  Ten years ago she probably would never have allowed herself to be so soft for any romantic partner, let alone someone as abrasive as Laurel can be, but ten years ago she was a different person altogether.  Instead of hardening her heart, the many losses she has suffered in the interim have taught her to appreciate the fragility of life and to never take for granted how precious love is.  

If there is one thing in her life she is absolutely sure of, it is that she loves Laurel Lance with all that she is and all that she has. And that she can say with equal confidence that sentiment is fully reciprocated only strengthens her resolve to not give a damn what anyone else thinks about the peculiar dynamics of their relationship. So what if she is teasingly referred to as a bottom for the rest of her life?  If that means she’s still with Laurel when she’s old and gray, she’ll wear that label with pride.  External opinions are irrelevant when no one has ever made her feel as safe and happy and fulfilled – and perpetually challenged – as Laurel has and does.        

Ready to melt into strong arms that never fail to soothe away the troubles of a long day, Dinah makes fast work both of fetching her keys from the outer pocket of her suit jacket and unlocking the door.  Once inside the apartment she has shared with Laurel for almost three years now, she tosses the keys in the little ceramic bowl kept on top of a coat wrack just inside for that exact purpose.  Upon surveying the living room, she expects to find Laurel on the couch reading a book while nursing a glass of red wine or watching MMA or British Soap Operas.  Her brows furrow in disappointment upon finding the living room conspicuously vacant.  A cursory glance around the rest of the apartment reveals their bedroom door is open, lights off inside, with a soft blue light flickering in the darkness indicating the room is occupied.  

Worry blossoms unbidden in the back of Dinah’s mind.  Why hadn’t Laurel waited up on her as she normally would?  And why was she sequestered in their bedroom with the lights off doing God knows what?  All sorts of scenarios to explain the oddities fill the void of uncertainty. Is she sick?  Did something bad happen today?  Is she in one of her depressive spells?  Unable to curtail her anxiety, especially over the last possibility, Dinah hastily toes her heels off, removes her jacket and belt, then loosens her tie enough that she can easily slip it over her head without having to retie it.  Freed of those restrictive items, she untucks her button up shirt and deposits the jacket, belt, and tie on the back of the couch on her way to the bedroom.  She’ll tidy up in the morning.  Right now, checking on Laurel is her number one priority.

Arriving at the door, Dinah pauses, bracing for the worst.  Muffled, hiccuping sobs from within send her heart plummeting directly into her boots. Few things in this world are capable of making Laurel Lance cry, most of which are not good at all.  

Oh, God.  Something is actually wrong.      

Rather than burst in and risk scaring and further upsetting Laurel, she first peeks around the door frame only to be surprised, and immensely relieved, to find her worries were completely unfounded.  Instead of being curled up in a ball under the covers and an oppressive cloud of sadness, Laurel is propped against the headboard in her pajamas with her MacBook resting upon a pillow in her lap.  Dinah can tell from the reflection in her black-framed glasses that she is watching a video that is evidently the cause of her currently overflowing emotions.  Annoyingly, Laurel is wearing headphones or else Dinah might be able to ascertain the root of Laurel’s abnormal weepiness.

It is to the backdrop of Laurel sniffling around a plaintive almost mewling cry that she finally steps into the bedroom.  Bloodshot green eyes dart in her direction that tell the tale of a woman whose heart has not been touched by anguish but by something beautiful, something magical, something angelic.  Or rather someone.

Realization dawns on Dinah within seconds and she heaves a dramatic sigh.  

“Are you watching Dimash videos again?” she asks, unable to hide the hint of humor in her voice.  

Ever since Laurel discovered the astounding Kazahk singer, she has been spiraling down a rabbit hole of obsession that is predominantly adorable.  She even joined the official fan club!  And bought them tickets to a concert in LA next three months from now.  Hell, she even ordered a Dears coffee mug and an “I Heart Dimash” t-shirt that she wears in public! Often!  

Frankly Dinah would have been worried about the fanaticism if Laurel wasn’t singing around the house more than she ever has, the sound of which fills Dinah with indescribable joy.  Or if she wasn’t halfway on the bandwagon herself.  Popera is not her cup of tea, but hot damn that kid can sing.  And his stage presence…?  Jesus.  Simply unreal.  

Eyes still streaming tears, hand covering her mouth to contain the cutest little squeaks, Laurel can only nod in response to the question.  The sight of her so affected by the purity and passion behind the music melts away any remaining tension from Dinah’s frame.  

Needing to be close to Laurel, she pushes away from the door and pads in the direction of their bed.  After making her way over, she perches on the side close enough to easily reach Laurel.  

“Babe,” she says, reaching out to brush the tears from Laurel’s damp, flushed cheeks.  “I know you love him.  But why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“I can’t help it.  Just look at him, Dinah,” Laurel replies, pointing animatedly at the screen.  Dropping her hand between them, Dinah follows a slender finger to the screen where Dimash, resplendent in a sharp tuxedo, is totally owning the stage and the crowd like he was born for it.  She recognizes the performance instantly as one of her personal favorites.  “He’s an angel.  An actual fucking real life angel come down to earth.  And then he opens his mouth and the literal sounds of heaven come out.  I just...I just can’t….”  

In her peripheral vision, Dinah catches the moment Dimash explodes into a segment where he belts with all the gusto and passion of Pavarotti. Almost immediately Laurel dissolves into another round of overwhelmed tears.

Dinah chuckles, slightly amused and entirely besotted.  To offer some comfort she knows will be appreciated, she slides further up on the bed and arranges herself so that Laurel can tuck into her side.  

“C’mere,” she says, patting her lap to give an invitation that is not refused. After pausing the video, Laurel scoots over until she is halfway in Dinah’s lap, reclining against her chest, head resting against Dinah’s shoulder.  Once she is all settled in and both of them are comfy, Dinah nabs one of the earbuds from Laurel’s ear and sticks it into hers before looping an arm around her trembling fiancee.  She pulls Laurel tight against her for good measure and then presses a kiss into her hair.

“Now then.  We can watch the rest together.  And maybe a few more after if that’s alright with you?”  A dimpled smile is her reward.

“More than okay.  Love you,” Laurel says, then tilts her head to press a sweet kiss to Dinah’s lips before returning her attention to the MacBook and Dimash.

A press of a button later, rich baritone crooning in Russian tickles Dinah’s ears.  Her eyes slide shut involuntarily as the melody washes over her and the otherworldly tone of Dimash’s singing transports her into a realm of pure aural bliss.  All too soon she becomes lost in a haze of profound musical magnificence that reminds her there is beauty in the world worth appreciating, worth savoring, worth sharing with the person she loves above all else.  So that’s precisely what she does.

And what do you know.  By the time the song is over, Dinah is crying, too.  

[fuzzybearings]

Tree of Masteries

Tree of Masteries is just a cool way to say Talent Tree or Skill Tree. The term is by no means new but I'd like to step back and think about it more broadly. I'd like to consider how one might apply this concept to any activity, sport, or job. You might wonder what does it mean, Masteries? And what is a tree?

Trees

In this context, a tree is a data structure - a hierarchy of parent and child nodes that resembles an upside-down triangle. The nodes at the very bottom of the tree have no children and as such, are called leaf nodes. For simplicity, we'll call all of the nodes with both children and parents "inner" nodes, and then finally, if a node has no parent, it is "top-most".

topmost

inner

leaf

Consider a video game like Tekken or Street Fighter. The various kicks and punches are leaf nodes. In terms of skills, I like to call these primitives. Primitives define the basis around which the entire game's skillsets build.

When a player strings together a series of primitives in just the right way, they form a combo! Combos are represented by the inner nodes. Combos are important to learn because (a) they are specific to each character and (b) they deliver more power and impact than were a player to simply invoke primitives one after another. The result of a combo is much greater than the sum of its parts.

At some point, combos are combos of combos and primitives. So, a player could invoke combo1 (combo), side-step (primitive), and then finish with combo2 (combo). Once might think of these high-order combos as plays. Plays equate to top-most nodes.

plays

combos

primitives

Breadth and Depth (and Opacity)

So then, if we understand what a tree is, what do we mean by Masteries and how do we map those to trees?

The size of the tree (number of nodes) represents the breadth of skills. Let's revisit this tree of primitives, combos, and plays. Is it fair to say that a new player is likely unaware of all the available primitives, combos, and plays available to them? Let's attribute that aspect of the issue to breadth. The new player doesn't have quite the breadth of understanding that a senior player has. We say that "a new player isn't aware of all the primitives, combos, and plays" that are available to them.

On the other hand, what separates players that DO have awareness of primitives, combos, and plays. Assuming roughly equivalent awareness, depth represents how well a player can apply a primitive, combo, or play. In terms of our tree, depth is represented by the opacity of any given node. The darker the opacity, the more expert a player is at the skill represented by said node.

And so there you have it. The size of a player's tree (how many nodes are on the tree) reflects their awareness - their breadth of understanding while the opacity of each node reflects their expertise or mastery of a given node. And yes, notice I said "a player's tree". You can overlay a player's tree on some sort of ultimate tree and you'd be able to evaluate the player's tree by considering how many nodes the player has confused (nodes that do not exist on the ultimate tree), is missing (nodes that do exist in the ultimate tree), or lacks expertise at (opacity of each node from both trees).

A Visual

So then, consider, in your mind or on paper, some representation of your tree of masteries for a given game. How many nodes you have reflects your breadth of understanding and how darkly you color the nodes in reflects the depth of your ability at executing that specific node. So size reflects breadth and opacity reflects ability at a specifc node.

Lucky Number 7

So then, how does one climb this tree? Hopefully you're familiar with the magic number 7 and it's relationship to short-term memory. Consider a new player's tree, fairly small with most nodes void of any color. If we imagine the player can only work on 7 of these nodes at a time then in this case, those nodes will likely be primitives, leaf nodes. Punching, kicking, shooting, aiming ... whatever the game, it must have some bare bones primitive mechanics upon which the game is built.

As the player begins to get the hang of the primitives, they will naturally start to think about basic combinations of those primitives. And again, as player's start to get the hang of those low level combos, they will start to think about higher order combinations. In fact, players will start to thinking about combinations long before they've mastered the nodes beneath them. Visualize this. Imagine a tree where in general, the lower nodes are darker than the nodes above them.

So, with this visual then, you should be able to see how every player envisions a different tree of masteries (breadth) and has varying levels of skill across the nodes they happen to include (depth). No wonder we have such a variety of player skills! To take this one step further, consider that leveling up does not have a 1:1 correspondence with expanded breadth or deeper depth. A game like VALORANT depicts levels as ranks. It isn't a perfect system because it is based on game outcomes and not raw talent but it provides some aspirational guidance as to how one may want to move through their talent tree. What to work on next? Go deeper? Learn about more possibilities? Focus on lineups or master counter-strafing?

Direction

Understanding a game in terms of trees and masteries enables me to formalize my progress to becoming a better player. Sure, one can play games without applying this framework but for me, falling back on this framework helps explain things away and provide direction on what should work on next.

Application in Context

Something else not really touched on here is application in context. This is yet a different skill that glues the Tree of Masteries to the game. Even if a player has a huge tree of opaque nodes, how quickly and how well suited their next pick is ... is important. But that is an entirely different topic better suited for another day.

[waitingrose]

Show Me

Mikh'a watched her with crimson gaze, watched the way those void dark eyes seemed to catch the light of the skies and smiled as she spoke on painting the world, "What colors would you paint the mountains that would fit them better? See the stripes of the land in the mountains? They speak of ages past. Some old man once told me that each stripe is a layer of time dating back further than history itself. When we get home... I'd like to see how you would repaint this view." It was genuine, he really wanted to see what dreams she had for the mountains and landscape, what things her eyes could bring to life along the dull browns and tans. He scooted a bit closer to her then leaned over to take her chin with a thumb, tilting her head towards him, and placing soft kisses over her eyes then pulling back a fraction to gaze at her, "The way you see the world is a gift and don't let anyone tell you otherwise." Silone closed her eyes as he gave his affections to her gaze and then set back. There was no stiff response to being taken up by his touch. There was only the softer sheen across those sable hues that once looked to him like prey long past. Her tones dropped to softer volumes then and she searched the crimson that gave her back that sense of comfort. “I may never understand what your draw to me is but…I won’t question it anymore.” Mikh'a stared at her for a long moment. Each word she spoke seemed to only set something in his mind. Crimson hues sparked brightly like the flames of their campfire that had been filled with warmth. He took both her hands and stood up, pulling her up with him and taking her lips for a long moment in a kiss that was both loving and held a hint of the fire that burned there. When he finally pulled away he gazed into obsidian hues and spoke in a quiet, but confident tone, "Silone... -that- is what your draw is. It is that you are the most magnificent woman I have met in all my days, and that you do not see it. You wear confidence like a cloak, but when someone points out how amazing you are you seem baffled. You see the world with the eyes of an artist and a heart filled with passion. You fight against the ways of the world, are indignant to the suffering that others accept without blinking. Your wit could fell the brightest scholars, and your heart could calm the wildest of beasts. Do you think that Mana has ever taken to anyone the way she does you? She bows to your whims in ways she has never done with anyone except for me." He shifted on the stones, taking a single step back from her, but not letting go of her hands. Small bits of stone fell away from the edge, but even with the small shifts there was no fear of the structure crumbling. A hand came up to brush along her cheek, "You do not fear the dark, no... you revel in it, but you have also learned to walk the grey area and in the light when needed." If only she had the hearing that he did, she would hear his heart skip in his chest, "You are beautiful inside and outside. You are elegant, graceful, kind, and courageous. Each step you take is deliberate, and even when you are caught off guard the poise that you hold is second to none. You hold every trait that a Queen should hold. You are loving and honest with those that deserve it. You are ruthless to those that deserve to burn in the seven hells. It is a balance that would bring any King to his knees... as it does me." 

There atop the world, where they could see for miles around he did the one thing he had never done in front of her. He bowed to her, knelt to her, and gave to her. Where normally he was unbending and fierce, now he brought himself down to someone he saw as his equal. A hand slipped into his pocket and he pulled something out, though she couldn't see it, "So I ask you now Silone... Exactly how many of your daggers would I find in my person... if I asked you to marry me." The object he had pulled out from his pocket was now visible, a ring made of some rare metal that gleamed black in the light with blood red diamonds set along the band that reached an apex guarded by lions that held up a gleaming blood red diamond, that if she looked at closely enough she would find a  spider etched inside of. Silone stood staring at him. Not once did she fight him in the way he moved to lift her up on her feet or embrace her in any way. No challenge was issued, no want to stop him. She simply gave to him without want. It wasn’t until he dropped down did everything in her still and those lips part away from one another. Shock registered first; her features a perfect reflection of her mind. It was the very last motion she thought he would make and yet she didn’t reach for her dagger. Just yet. Her hand twitched at her side right before he presented the ring to her and those onyx hues flickered down to it. Any words she might have had in that moment were gone. It was the reflection of them in a perfect way. The spider amidst the jewel was still ever close to the lions like the one on his arm. Crimson like his gaze, like the taste that lingered her tongue, like the shade of her lips. The metal of it the world she knew, and he was wrapped up in it. Once again, her hand twitched and with it came the settled hold of her features. Ever the canvas of herself, she gave him nothing to work from at first. She too much at once was rushing by but her skin flushed with the heavy thud of her chest; which he likely heard. And her fingers curled in slightly. Teeth dug against the inside of her cheek and where she would have drawn that copper to the surface, she stopped. She always ran in this. Always. But she didn’t. “Mikh’a” His name was a sonnet spoken in secret and tasted on the tip of her tongue. Forward, she took a step and put the curve of her touch to run his cheek and those red marks that accented him so perfectly. “None.” Eyes shimmered a moment as she felt herself falling again. Out the dagger came in a flash and it was pointed right over where his heart sat beating for her. “But run yourself…upon this right now…if you ever plan to go back on this.”   Mikh'a took in the way each thought played across her features, the shock register, then the way her hand twitched down towards her comfort. Each skip and beat of her heart echoed in his ears against the sharp sense. His own heart raced along nearly drowning out hers and when she spoke he felt it stop in his chest. No outward sign would give away her response until the words fell from her lips. His heart leaped and he nearly stood before there was a blade pointed at his heart and he stopped still and looked up at her with confidence and determination, "Silone, if I ever have the foolish thought to go back on this... You have my permission to flay me and skin me alive. I can see no point ever that would deter me. The only thing that would is if you started seeing another man, as I am not one to share, or if you wanted your freedom from me." A hand reached up to take the one that pressed a dagger to his chest and once again he took a dagger from her, though this time it was slow and deliberate, and instead he replaced it with the ring for her finger.

"There is no one in this world that could compare. You have all of my heart except that which is reserved for my children, and even there you are welcome to tread." Silone swallowed as the sharp edge was removed from her to be replaced with the ring tucked into her hold. She looked to it again and listened to him; letting out a slow breath through thin lips. Carefully, she handed it back to him and remained quiet enough to let their racing hearts thrum harshly through his ears. “Then my answer…is yes.” Her left hand was held out for him to put the ring to as she felt knots twist and turn through her chest and lungs; threatening to overtake her. { @wicked-virtue // Mikh’a }

[solisluccile]

Save Marriage Tips Top Unique Ideas

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What Can I Do To Prevent Divorce

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How To Save Marriage Relationship

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[ceaac]

Drawing into Ecology?

Jul 26th, 2020

In the image are two highlighted features found in certain moments of elated fancy – or as I might like to call them: visions. There is the highlight of the shadow cast of the cars and a telephone pole with its wires. At a particular time; they looked like the teeth of something eating the world of artificial colouring – amongst the disturbingly beautiful deadness of the telephone pole – besides the other forms of a contradictory and complementary nature lining the street under a blazing corona sky; the blue of empty summers, planeless and ancient. For a moment was I noticing a swerving of sorts, a blend of imaginings? Do these ‘visions’ that come with a mild intensity of a hypnotic fancy stare at the tightrope of ecology?

Maybe a distressing apparition, but these are witnessed from a transience sense of neutrality; my fear is only reflected by the inseparability to the situation. This interest has also led me to look out of my window, notice the wonder of the clouds; striking, crystallised and golden. Like clockwork I watch the starlings hop from antenna to gutter to wall to feed, together with a carefulness of each others surroundings. Poking heads left to right, up-down, stepping, contracting little treads and relaxing muscles so delicately small, hop to scurry away. Flying, between the wires and right angles embedded in architecture. Their movements across this landscape makes me feel as if a different world enters our all too ordinary one; the paralleling shadows of repeating structural design; the tiles are disturbed by a flurrying of twisting living silhouettes. I guess somewhere in this sensation is the same kick as what birdwatchers get? I had begun to notice their timings, but after overhearing talk of financial stress, the neighbours have since left with the bird feed – the starlings are rarely seen again with such differing encounterance of their eager and keen gatherings.

Seeing ecology in this way as a warping fluid and static communicative experience is paradoxical, but it is no different as looking around the forests or skies and witnessing the insects and birds exchange between each other amongst the landscape they reside. It is like observing habitats, but it is trying to include everything; the impression of the shadows against the temperament of the cars and their situation, the telephone pole with its drooping wires reminiscing the threads of webbed leads of docility – and of course my present mood between the lot. As soon as one sets foot into it, its fleeting and ever passing, hard to capture, to hold still, I scribble in marks before closing the book. Walking home or to the studio; travelling like in a dream – a wandering one of waking tremors. The growing, moving discourse of nature – things emerge as points on the horizon with the gargantuan bulges of shaped texture scatter itself in propensity to the central point of the image – the gravity of it. I fall off losing myself to realise it, I find myself exploring to witnessing the situation then realising the image once more, falling off again then exploring, finding, falling etc.

In trying to describe the subject of ecology, I am at a loss as to how to cohesively capture this and these sorts of sensations in paint, from my understandings of it. Things are one thing, imaginings are another. Definitely more experimentation is required in regards to the latter – as the above statement inquires in descriptive poetic terms; an attempt at searching into it. However the actual thing of paint have had me impulsed to resource from raw material. To grow the plants, press the seeds, refine, source and mine the necessary ingredients’ required to make oil paint. It is quite the venture I assume a relaxed role to build it, for now. I hope to live to see some fruition of the sensation in the years to come; I wish to live a long life with a rich garden that sustains me.

By doing this I will feel, hold and handle the stuff of seeds, soil and water, between the pottedness of plastic and ceramic order – at least some part of my practice will seems more ‘ecological’ by rearing the materials needed from the land of my garden. Making my own paint, all grown and sourced - though this is an ambitious undertaking, amongst all the other matters in life. With that said ecology plays out an impulse in me to behave and interact with the world. The word ‘ecology’ I am using it in an interchangeable and general sense drawing upon the activities of the land, with all its plants, bodies of water and animals, and between ourselves as acting individuals within communities, the buildings they emerge from, and our institutional and political systems tied into them. An expanding situation emerges whereby looking at trained and learned material processes such as permaculture that hold relationship with the term ecology may offer insight: Drawing and the Twelve Principles of Permaculture.

I want to paint my environments with this in mind, in doing so I hope to find a means of expression that inhabits something worthwhile to those engaged with the art. But painting for me provides an anchor of experience for visual digression. Writing on the other hand demands much more of a different sort of cognitive process; getting to the point. Whilst I find performance a much broader field to apply into day-to-day experience – and in my opinion it offers possibly the most applicable of artform’s within communities – when working supposedly ecologically.

This might be a time to write about Vega to draw upon what I might mean by that. At least for the first time liberating a definition of it outside of an application form. Vega is a collaborative project including myself, Thomas Parker and Adam Ekin. It has been an organic process (as with all art) – but what interests me with this project as opposed to my painting or writing is the attitude it adopts towards adaptation – Vega is always changing and may possibly never find fixture. The project is as much an external affair as an internal creative disposition – you could see the project as an attempt at mediating circumstances in and around it – like a heart would beat faster or slower depending on ones current situation, whilst providing the necessary flow of blood to all the bits of the body. And Vega would be incomplete without the humanity to undergo it. That said the project spills with connections, in all walks of life.

Vega is organic; and like all organics it embodies certain rules, (eating, shitting, sleeping, growing etc.) that has until presently enough, kept the project going still venturing into a void of creative platforming. What have been the rules of Vega thus far?

We accept all contributions – integrating content into the wider narrative. In integrating content artists remain sensitive to the other components of the narrative and the situations outside of it. This hasn’t been so much of a problem as the story is about a giant living spaceship sailing the dying days of the universe’s decay. A relatively open book in terms of imaginative fancy. The issue has been in writing, whilst collection remains a performative exercise (even this blog post may find entry into the world of Vega - from a performative position; an ego of mine trying to analyse the artist inside). The process of writing Vega serves to delve in the products of the art for commission or need for creative application and we piece together the connections between them.

I am pleased to say a number of ours efforts has attracted some attention; we have been invited to interviews to discuss our ideas further or shared them with interested parties. Our proposals are prepared with a practice to integrate and adapt, we have often been unable to allude a ‘concrete’ idea or that due to the high number of applicants they have been unable to provide feedback, or non at all. This has fostered some animosity to aspects of the organisational fabric of the arts and I am sure I am not the only one. Therefore, I have come to a conclusion that there is an attitude within the infrastructure concerned with dead ideas, at least you can mark a grave stone by them (and a ticket price). Though our undertakings of preparing applications and their received feedback has offered support, insofar has helped provide an internal framework for Vega to apply itself into a real-world context. Therein Vega functions as it always has, as an archive, supporting its many layers – until the next opportunity.

It has been the case that Vega thrives in conversation; it is a communal context, not an applicant. Whether working between collaborating artists or with those we’ve been offered a platform with - by mutual partners; it provides us the means to actively perform the work thus understand and develop it’s ideas further. Layered into it are the elementary parts of the story alongside the situations that the art needed to resolve (such as a project proposal or invitation to talk) – this has required Vega to become a multi-disciplinary interface generally focused towards finding the next platform that may lead on to more platforms. Vega is a void of exposition.

Working in this way is highly interactive, encouraging within practice as much outside participation as possible, including responses and impulses – recording the attitudes and opinions of those engaged. Drawing upon a diverse range of ideas the project forms a complex web of parts encased within the Vega package – so to speak. As mentioned it is the artist’s job to adhere the seemingly unrelated into a cohesive whole. In doing so artists practice a form of letting go of the confines of the narrative alongside others to find a renewed sense of meaning and direction, without killing the idea.

I believe here lies the concept of artist as community mediator – a catalogue of others. But with this I bare a warning of a purest pursuit; for one would be engaged in turning themselves inside out! To what end if not to make a living. In this sense the artist functions as a sort of traveling merchant, exchanging the goods of ideas primarily above the modern doctrines of economics. Perhaps a visual analogy of travel could be understood in this: The Zig Zag. Engage with communities like an electrical charge, but what is the voltage?

Appendixes:

Barker, G. (2020) Drawing and the Twelve Principles of Permaculture. Available at: https://fineartdrawinglca.blogspot.com/2020/05/drawing-and-twelve-principles-of.html (Accessed: 25, Jul, 2020)

Barker, G. (2020) The zig-zag. Available at: https://fineartdrawinglca.blogspot.com/2020/05/the-zig-zag.html (Accessed: 25, Jul, 2020)

[colourimetric]

Colours are actions of the light

To answer the question “what colour is a mirror”, raised by BBC One on Twitter today (x), we need to talk about something more fundamental first:

What is colour?

Even if we use this word everyday - and in some languages don’t even differentiate further between “colour”, “dye”, “ink”, etc (German, for example) - there is still debate over the exact definition of this term. 

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe described “colours” as “actions / deeds of the light” (x) - which is in fact already a so much better approach than so many other definitions out there. 

If now you’re like, “why bother about the light”, just think about how shopping centres and stores use certain coloured lights in order to make specific articles “pop” (redder light for meat, etc.) or how it is different to match the colour of your tie to the colour of the socks you want to buy under artificial light, in a store vs. under daylight, outside.

(If you never had thought of this as a problem until now, you’re welcome.)

Without making this post too long - believe me, I could - for now I’d like you to believe me that the light source has a great influence on how the colour of any given object is perceived.

So, why do we describe an object as “red”?

What makes the colour of an object are the specific wavelengths of the light reflected by that object.

Because, this is what all objects do. They might be part reflectors, but mostly absorbers of specific wavelengths of the light that falls upon them (= incident light). The remaining light still gets reflected and therefore can get processed by our eyes and then interpreted by our brain as, for example, “red”, are exactly the wavelengths of the light that would be defined as having a red colour. 

The spectrum of the visible light goes from 380 - 730nm. 

Everything below is ultra-violet (UV) or infra-red (”heat”), going up into all the frequencies that we can hear (microwaves, radiowaves, etc.) and then eventually see again, because: TV transmission signals!

Everything below UV-level suddenly and gradually starts to kill you, because now we are talking about X-rays and gamma rays.

My point being: As soon as we start to feel, hear or getting killed by the electromagnetic spectrum, we can’t see it anymore. (x)

So, a red balloon for example, would absorb all the light that is not what makes this specific shade of red, so a lot of greens, some blues, possibly no or few reds... Therefore we can perceive it the way we do under the exact light conditions that we are in right now.

Objects are “absorbers” of light.

What is a mirror?

A perfect mirror would be a perfect “reflector” of light. That means, a perfect mirror would just reflect anything 1:1.

So, in a perfect world, a perfect mirror would reflect a perfect light source (= a perfect white) as perfect white and therefore simply be white - IF there is no “image” for it to reflect.

(An “image” being, for example, an object that already filtered the light and only reflects a certain colour, like our bright red balloon, or any other rainbow colour.)

However, we are not living in a perfect world, and if you were to reflect an image from one mirror, and this reflected image from another mirror, and so on, the image would gradually get “darker” = less bright, because the mirror reflects the light in all directions and not only into the direction where the next mirror is standing, so some light gets lost.

That means, not all of the reflected light from the first mirror reaches the next mirror, and so forth - until there is nothing more but the black, dark void...

Oh, right, got it. The colour of a mirror is silver / grey!

Yeah, grey is in fact a darker version of white, and silver is only a sparkly, reflective version of grey, so you’re not that wrong.

But, remember what I said earlier about how colours are actions of the light...

Not all the light sources have equal amounts of each wavelength (”colours”) of light.

Examples of different LED lights! (x)

And, to make things even more complicated: Because we are human, we are more sensitive for specific wavelengths of light, especially for green - you know, nature, trees, grass, leaves, there was a lot of green surrounding our ancestors when nature made the decision that we would need the ability to differentiate between many, many shades of them. (x) (x)

Again: What is the colour of an object... ?

Not arguing about the fact that a “perfect” reflector (mirror) wouldn’t have a colour, the colour of an object is defined by the part of the spectrum of the light which was not absorbed by the object and we therefore can see and interpret subjectively, including all the mentioned flaws and evolutionary issues and all the other “it is what it is”s.

So, if you give two mirrors nothing else to reflect but each other, the resulting image = the remaining wavelengths, or = the “colour” of the mirror, after many many reflections, is going to become gradually darker and... (x)

Green. 

(Ish.)