#not a part of humanity's hardwired instincts

[followthebluebell]

entirely random question, if you happen to have any thoughts on it: why are cats so terrible at fetch when dogs aren't? even kitties who enjoy the "chase-and-return" concept usually don't actually fully return the toy when it seems like dogs work that part out pretty quick.

Because we bred dogs to do it, basically. A lot of dog breeds are retrievers, which do exactly what it says on the tin: they retrieve things. Teaching my poodle to play fetch didn't require much 'teaching' because those instincts are right there at the surface. He wants to fetch things the same way an artist wants to create. It's what he was born to do.

Even dogs that aren't retrievers are still dogs and are, in general, hardwired to listen and learn from people. People can and will make an argument about 'oh, but this breed is STUBBORN' (ie, huskies, salukis, a lot of hounds tbh, pretty much every primitive breed, etc; I'm not going to sit here and list all the breeds that are deemed 'difficult to train'), but I don't think that's fully accurate. Primitive breeds that are 'hard to train' are STILL going to learn from humans. They just don't always learn the things we're trying to teach them, but that's an entirely different kettle of fish.

I also want to emphasize that I FULLY believe that dogs changed us too. I don't think humans would be what we are today if it wasn't for our fully unique relationship with dogs. There's no other animal that we've domesticated the same way we have dogs, and there never will be. They fulfill so many roles in the development of human kind that it's astonishing. They were our hunting companions, our guardians, our trackers, our food, they even supplied wool (the salish wool dog is an extinct breed that was raised for wool similar to sheep), and our friends. Because of them, we became human. Because of us, they became dogs.

i'm sorry i'm getting really emotional about dogs. It's just that there's such a deep relationship between the species. Over our centuries, dogs became so incredibly attuned to us, to the point where they have the ability to communicate with and understand us more than any other domesticated species and we have the same with them. There's no other species on earth that inherently understands what a human means when we point a finger, but dogs DO.

basically dogs fetch because we bred them to want to retrieve, they want to learn things from us, and we want to teach them. Cats don't have any of these instincts. This doesn't mean they're any lesser or greater. They're just different and that's fantastic.

#dog #hi i really love dogs #i'm very much a cat person #but i love dogs very much

[nhilistcoptimist]

── skyfall!anakin skywalker x reader x obi wan

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: as his padawan, anakin discovers your fling with his old master and cannot accept seeing you with someone else

NOTES: (part one??) based on a theory I had as to why Anakin was so set off when he saw obi wan with padme on mustafar.. it had me rotting in my room putting pieces together

WARNINGS: angst | love triangle trope

So stretched out huge in length, you were run ragged. Exhaustion heaved from your exhales and your arms began to shake from soreness. Each swift movement of your body became an instinct. As if your brain was manually hardwired, a form of technology that no human could ever consume. There was no time for anything else, besides focusing on the glowing blue sword that was inches from your face.

Here, this prison ordained you and wouldn’t allow you to leave until your trainings were complete. With hope to resolve, you debated to bow and sue for failure with a suppliant knee, and deify your young masters wishes— who from the weapon in his arm glowed like the growing empire.

“Again.” He demanded, his tone disguised something more lustful. The corners of his mouth turned upwards into a sinister smile. He wouldn’t end until you beat him. It was almost impossible to raise your arms above your waist, and the wheezing between your exhales became more prominent than before.

But your master— ANAKIN SKYWALKER was determined to create an apprentice as strong as he is.

There was an underlying reason why you were there and not shadowing another Jedi. And it was that, a haunting emotion that clouded his eyes whenever he studied you, burned you like sulphur unconsumed. A want and desire feared you. You had no idea what he was capable of, and it killed you to even imagine what he would do if you betrayed him.

“Don’t you think you’ve exhausted her enough?” That was an understatement, coming from a familiar melody that echoed from the threshold. The outranked Jedi stood, hands on his hips, his dominant hand caressing the strap on his holster. Prepared to wage a guile war for the sake of your wellbeing.

“This doesn’t concern you, OBI-WAN.” Your masters voiced roared, ringing in your ears with a sharp pain. The blue hue diminished from its base, groaning before shutting off completely. A sense of relief soared over you, dropping your weapon at the base of your feet.

“All things concern me when it’s related to this empires future.” Obi wan commented, snaking a comforting arm around your waist. You grew weak to his touch, leaning against him for support. “This is no way to train a padawan.”

“Who are you to lecture my mentoring? She has to be perfect.” Anakin began with a scoff, folding his arms against his clothed chest.

“Control your feelings, Anakin. They cloud your judgement.”

The defending male shot you a glance of reassurance, turning back to his old student with a hardened gaze.

Anakin’s eyes darkened, placing his light saber handle back into its designated place on his hips. “She’s dismissed.”

Obi-wan bowed his head in response, daunting an invoked emotion from the younger male. Something that questioned the meer standards set in place by the Jedi rules. Kenobi knew, you knew what the newly made master had in store. You knew during your teachings with him, he was undressing you with his eyes. Exploring every secret with his abused power to keep you from turning against him.

It was impossible to confide in anyone about your recent discoveries. They would banish you from the capital or worse, wouldn’t believe you.

But it wasn’t until you found comfort in Obi-wan the night before, intertwined in Naboo-silk sheets and a scent of ecstasy hung in the night air. You two lavished in each other, only an act you kept hidden. And as he kissed you slowly, exploring the parts of you hidden beneath the Jedi robes and cloth, you voiced your concerns about is previous student. His reassuring blue eyes and soothing voice ensured you that you’d be safe with him. You had nothing to worry about as long as you stuck to the males side. He comforted you in provocative ways, that crushing burden was swept away once more with seductive energy.

Everything up until that very moment, was leading to what may become. And to the dark energy that flowed from your masters aura became stronger and stronger at the sight of you with your companion. Anakin Skywalker knew everything.

#anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x reader #star wars #anakin smut #obi wan smut #star wars smut #revenge of the sith #minors dni #hayden christensen

[cinnamonest]

This is by far my favourite genshin yan blog, the way you write the characters are so like how i picture them! My question is, of all the mortal genshin boys, other than Razor, which do you see as the top handful of yans being most mentally determined to find you and bring you home if you managed to escape, even across the continent? Like, the LEAST willing to just give up eventually and find a new darling?

Uwahh ty anon <3

I like that you had to specify “other than Razor” lol

Obviously all are gonna be rather determined to find you again, but some in particular that come to mind:

-----

Ayato keeps a fairly humble exterior, but in truth, he has a sense of pride, and when that pride is wounded, it’s not something he can easily forgive.

Of course, he has quite a large amount of resources at his disposal, so he'll likely be able to find you rather quickly, in which case you'll get the cold treatment and quite a firm talking-to, after which the matter will be let go of, albeit gradually. Still, it won't be treated as that big of a deal.

Not that he isn’t attached to you, of course, but that pridefulness is a large part of his motivation in tracking you down. It’s not just ‘how could you leave me,’ but it’s more ‘how dare you leave me.’ It’s offense, anger, bitterness. You don’t get to do that. He’s not about to take such an insult without putting every resource he has at his disposal into correcting what he feels to be a transgression against him.

If, on the other hand, even all the subordinates he has on hand can't find you within a day or so, then it becomes a bigger issue. He initially had a few people sent out to retrieve you, but in this case, he'll instead direct all of the staff he has available to do so.

Over time, though, the longer you stay unfound, the more he begins to lose composure. Becomes more irritable, less emotionally stable, begins to uncharacteristically snap at people and lose his temper. Which he realizes and is self-aware of, often stopping and catching himself mid-sentence and forcing himself to calm down... the realization that he's acting so unusually undignified just drives him to put that much more effort in.

Which is also why, by the time you are finally found, it's far from a warm welcome home. You're treated with a rather cold demeanor, narrowed eyes downcast to look at you with disdain. He treats it as quite the offense, which is why you'll never be given such an opportunity again... and frankly, in part due to the fact that he's worried of what would become of his sanity if that were to ever occur again.

-----

Tighnari is a bit sad to witness, really. It’s yet another instance of the whole “mate for life” thing drives him to find you at all costs, his brain is hardwired to have a ‘one and only’ in a way a human’s brain is not. Life ceases to feel worthwhile, nothing else seems to be of any importance. He’ll forget to eat and sleep.

His mental state will gradually deteriorate the longer you’re gone. It's not a matter of logical reasoning that he's likely to find you, and while despair and longing is certainly a major element in it all, that's still not the root cause. It's a sense of wrongness. His brain is constantly alerting him to a sense of something being wrong and needing immediate resolution, an instinct that's subconscious rather than conscious, like pain or hunger, a sensation that is hardwired into the brain and will not go away until the issue is fixed.

People feel a lot of pity for him. He doesn't eat much, doesn't sleep. He'll go out into the forest, aimlessly wandering around, as if expecting to find something. Constantly searching, often to the point he's at the brink of collapse from exhaustion. He takes trips out into the city, to the desert, everywhere he can think of.

He also, probably more so than any other listed here, undergoes personality change, in which he essentially gradually becomes a hollow shell. Rarely speaks. All his movements become slow and lethargic, he walks around with glazed-over eyes staring out into nothing. It's such an innate instinct, he's essentially incapable of functioning normally, his very body begins to shut down out of grief as he becomes emaciated and dull-eyed.

That being said, pitiful as it is, and as tempted as you may be to feel bad for him, that also means it will be extremely unfortunate for you if you were ever found again. The experience leaves him utterly traumatized, to the extent that if you're found, you can be absolutely certain that you will never have the opportunity to leave ever again, regardless of how extreme the measure to ensure it may be.

-----

Childe is similar to Ayato in that it's partially a pride matter, but it's not a matter of that pride being offended by you running off, so much as it is maintaining it by being able to get you back. That is, he won't see your running off as a slight against him or hold a grudge, but he stakes his confidence in being able to hunt you down with ease.

Far more importantly, however, he likes the challenge of it. It's part of who he is in general, he's the sort of boy that if you say "there's no way you can do that" or the like, it will suddenly become his utmost imperative to do exact the thing in question and not stop until he has accomplished proving you wrong. It's practically compulsive, he has to prove that he is capable of whatever he decides to do, and the thought of being wrong and thus incapable is infuriating. Likewise, you running off is essentially an indirect way of you presenting a challenge to him. How could he ever just sit back and let you go, or not put full effort into finding you?

His attitude changes a bit, though, depending on the duration of time consumed. For the first little while, he treats it sort of like a game, has fun with the whole matter. He doesn't even seem all that upset that you've gotten out; if anything, he's almost excited by it.

Once you've disappeared for some time, though, and he begins to feel like he actually might not be able to find you, that you might get away, his attitude changes. Now he's actually getting nervous, and more importantly, the fact that you successfully hid from him for such a duration of time is... irritating. Basically you getting one over on him, and it feels like you're mocking him... in his head he can practically see you being all smug about it. Makes him grind his teeth, clench his fists.

The angrier he gets, the more frantic and desperate he gets with his search. Normally, he'll be slower about it, likes to see you squirm and finds it cute to see how you will try to hide away somewhere, so he likes to give you enough time to make it to potential "help" and all that, just to see you despair when it all falls apart anyway. But on the rare occasion you hide a little too well, and suddenly he actually can't find you, then it's a problem, and he'll be far stricter and harsher with his searching, and far more emotionally volatile to those around him.

Eventually this can become too much. If it takes too long and he genuinely panics, he'll even drop the usual snarky demeanor after finally finding you, too upset to even mock you, entirely focused on anger and prioritizing taking you back. So if you're finally found, but he's uncharacteristically quiet and cold, it's not a good sign for your immediate future.

-----

Heizou... well, he thinks he can find you, so he sets his mind to it.

He's a much more mentally stable yandere than most, but when it comes to you disappearing, when the situation arises, he has to calm himself down and remind himself that this is basically his specialty, is it not? He's been on plenty of missing persons cases before. He just needs to apply the same methodology he would use for those.

Of course, his personal emotions do get in the way of his efficiency. Due to being very lucid and all, his primary feeling in the moment is intense paranoia and panic that you're going to go to law enforcement. The first thing he does, actually, is head to the station himself, thinking he might catch you there if that is where you decided to go... but then again, you'd probably not do that for obvious reasons. In which case...

He has to calm himself down, but putting his mind to work helps with that process. He goes about it just as he would with anything else, making a mental list of possibilities, narrowing it down and prioritizing the most likely of those possibilities, then gradually begins checking each and using process of elimination. He has to keep his mind distracted, treat it like a case, or else he knows he's going to break down.

But in terms of dedication, he can keep it up for a very, very long time, and puts in every ounce of effort he has, everything he's learned over his years, into seeing it through. This, too, is largely about his own sanity. He focuses his entire mental energy into treating it like a case because he knows he'll fall apart if he doesn't, and thus, he's incredibly dedicated. He has to keep focusing on it, not take his mind off of it. The moment he begins to let himself despair, he'll give into paranoia, and quite possibly fully lose his mind.

Thus, in a way, continuing searching is what keeps him sane. If he stops, he'll be constantly paranoid, constantly panicked, but at least searching for you gives his brain a faux sense of progress, which calms him down... although, given enough time without success, that coping method might start to fail too...

-----

Although what is perhaps the absolute worst isn't immortal nor in any particularly notable position of power.

Kaeya is driven by a lot of things. Love, sure, it's part of it.

But primarily, above all else, when he comes home one day to an empty room, he goes through a few stages. First panic, grief, you know, the expected emotions, the whole process of frantically checking around for you, slowly coming to terms with reality. He then falls into a deep depression, lasting around two or three days, drinks himself to the point of unconsciousness at least twice over.

And then, when he wakes up slumped onto the couch, head pounding and dizzy, staring up at the ceiling, the hurt is quickly overridden by a new sentiment: pure, unadulterated spite.

It's no secret to you, after living with him for so long, that despite the exterior, he's not exactly the most emotionally stable person in the world, that he has quite his fair share of unresolved psychological issues.

It's a bit different from the pridefulness of precious entries. It's an extension of pride, tied to it, but it's more... malicious. Vengeful. Driven by a desire not just to get you back out of love, nor out of desire to restore a sense of pride, but because getting you back is the only way he can ensure you suffer.

Which is why you probably should have known better. You're just inviting the potential consequences. And that spite is one hell of a motivator.

Day in, day out. He takes time away from work, comes up with an excuse about an emergency that must be dealt with. Uses any and every resource at his disposal. Embezzles funds before he departs if necessary.

You think you can just get up and walk off. After everything he's done for you? No, no, you don't get to do that to him. You're not allowed to do that, you don't get to get away with that. It's a bitter, seething feeling, but that sensation just drives him to work harder. It can be easily utilized and converted into energy and dedication, like fuel to an engine.

He doesn't really have any limits to what he's willing to do, either. Unlike some that would still maintain their ethics, if threatening or hurting people is necessary to get information, it's not something he'll hesitate to do.

He may not have what others have — underlings at his command, the animal senses, the professional investigative background, the unlimited lifespan of time, or any of the other advantages that everyone else listed here has — but he gets the top ranking here purely by merit of relentless, boundless, unhinged determination. And, of course, unhesitating use of extreme measures and remarkable willingness for violence doesn't hurt. Quite the force to be reckoned with, and you really don't want to be on the receiving end of the vengefulness fueling it all... not that you have much of a choice, as you will be found eventually, no matter how far.

And yet, despite how unlikely it is, somehow, you know. When you come back one day and notice the lights are all out and door hanging open, you feel dread. When you walk in to a quiet, dark room, walk around the home with trembling footsteps, come to a halt and feel your eyes go wide as you look down to some indistinguishable shapes lying on the floor, you know immediately. Without having to think, without having to wonder, without any clues to go on. You just immediately, instinctively know. Even before you feel a presence right behind you, even before you slowly turn your head over your shoulder...

And you did, in fact, manage to get pretty far. Found some nice people that let you stay with them. How nice of them.

For most people, it would seem like you were in the clear, and even now, whenever you get paranoid, look around with nervous eyes in public and all, people tell you you're letting it get to your head, that there's nothing to worry about. But you can't shake the feeling.

#im not dead #yet #(ily my unhinged baby boy 💕)

[killer-orca-cosplay]

On Pilots: Mono and Multitask

@wealmostaneckbeard (Sorry this took multiple months, but I finally got the insperation for this)

"So...how do you...itch?" Interceptor Razor-5B's eyes tracked to port, slowly, a movement they were unused to doing; normally their eyes did not need to move very much, or were closed if at all possible.

Their eyes were one of the few things remaining of their long-forgotten, long-since discarded and weak Ur-Form. The mechtechs had noted that it was far too complicated to remove the intricate and delicate nerves and muscles from the human skull to replace with something else, and so, they stayed.

Evolution DID do some things right, 5B had often noted. Monotasking was simply the removal of those parts that did not work and replacing them. Enhancement. Efficiency.

Having some more Ur-Parts did come into play occasionally, however. Such as now.

5b's eyes finally stopped, focusing blurry, then precisely, on the speaker on the port rail of their interface-case (what the mechtechs refused to refer to as anything other than a "tomb", no matter what Command and Integrated Combat Organism Control insisted).

Data spooled through their neural-line, as it always did. To unhook was to be unready. To be unready, was to be dead.

The IFF marker indicated the speaker as Pilot David-035, and filled out his (so he still had an ur-gender as well) accomplishments and position.

A multi-task pilot. One of the mid-pointers, closer to 5b and their sibcoh than the "iso-pilots" that were becoming more of the vogue among Annihilation Command.

"We do not itch." The vocalization emerged from the small communication unit attached over 5B's hardwired skull; their mouth had been one of the first things taken, for it was not useful for integration, and unconnected humans had an annoying tendency to break teeth or bite their tongue out of instinct during standard combat operations.

"Did they...remove that too?"

The question was not as abrasive as it might have been coming from someone not a member of Command, let alone a fellow pilot. David-035 was closer to 5B than to either of their ur-forms had been. The data spooling across 5Bs vision noted dozens of individual augmentations, mostly to the limbs, nervous system, and several major organs.

Instillation dates noted a downward transition; David-035 was one of the "volunteer" multitask pilots, then, willingly trading presumably broken and weak flesh of his ur-form for the purity of metal, and the comforting embrace of a Frame.

5B could understand that willingness.

"What little epidermus that still remains is constantly maintained at an efficient level of comfort." They answered, now slowly moving their skull as best they could to properly converse.

It was difficult; not just because of the hardwiring to the interface-case, but also because this was the first time that 5B had been required to interact directly with another sentient being in meatspace.

In truth, it was a nice change of pace. And David-035s list of combat accolades and accomplishments, which continued to spool along their vision even as they were talking (there were QUITE a few important operations there, including several very bloody purges of Phobian recalcitrants) showed that he was one worth conversing with.

Interaction with him could only increase the possibilities of proper cooperation during the upcoming combat drop. There was no downside to "idle chatter" as those not uplifted would call it.

"Any sensation that would cause distraction is filtered by the Lace." The wires and ports hardlinked into 5Bs skull seemed to glow slightly brighter as they spoke of them.

David-035 gave a slight nod, understanding present on what was left of his face. He still had most of his flesh and jaw, but his teeth were gone, replaced with titanium implants and mounting points for a survival system. The gentle "click" of a mechanical tongue was audible with every word he spoke.

"Couldn't scratch it even if it didn't, I figure?"

5B had, indeed, no ur-limbs left; most had been removed for integration, but their starboard arm had originally been retained, until combat damage forced its disposal.

They did not miss it. Its removal had merely made further operation of their own Frame's throttle more efficient, directly linked to their will.

"Neg." They replied, moving what remained of their shoulders to show. After a moment, they kept up their end of the obvious bargan that was a conversation, and asked;

"Does yours?" Indicating without movement the augmentations upon David-035s own iso-form.

"All the damn time." The curse indicated a sensation that was not dulled; a constant problem.

"The mechtech's gave me some cream and a couple of poppers to help, but that stuff's not easy to make, let alone ship. We ran out of it three months ago."

Almost a week into the campaign, then. 5B felt for the still flesh-bearing pilot.

Irritations, major or minor, were something to emphasize with, 5B calculated.

"We...get phantom sensations, occasionally." They admitted. "A need to do things we no longer need to." Like breathing, or eating. Sometimes it got so bad the hardwiring had to be turned on, to calm them down.

"I feel my toes at night." David-035 moved his leg (one of the first of his ur-limbs to have been disposed, 5B noted, and also some of the most detailed prosthetics) and made a slight metallic bang against the side of 5Bs interface-case.

The presence of limbs sparked the sensation of the need to get up and WALK within 5B, but it faded almost instantly as the hardwiring intercepted it.

"Supposedly Command has an answer. It is...merely difficult to implement." Though the voice emitter showed very little difference in tone, the annoyance in 5Bs words was still notable.

"Don't they always?" David-035 laughed, a sharp bark that 5B interpreted as darkly humorous.

"They are...only human." 5B said, finally. For truthfully that was the case; pilots were the only humans among Annihilation Command that received augmentations. The further up the chain of command you went, the fewer and fewer artificial inserts and upgrades.

Supposedly the High Commander herself was 100% flesh and bone; not even a cognitive enhancer or senescence slower.

Neither 5B nor David-035 had ever seen the High Commander of course. No one here had. She was off safe somewhere, well behind battle lines, doing paperwork and ordering pilots like them into the grinder.

"They should come swap out with us for a little bit. See how they like getting shot at for once. Might make em think a bit about what they prioritize sending us."

5B found themselves nodding; or, as much as they could, with the hardwiring.

"They...do not understand." They said finally. "No. No they don't." David-035s voice grew quiet, thoughtful.

The sensors in 5B's interface-case suddenly noted a second IFF nearing. They did not turn to look at this one, as doing so would be arduous and frustrating when they had already moved to look at David-035.

"Holy shit, Dave, is that a monotask?" A female (presumably, pronouns were of course self-determined alongside position within Annihilation Command, and disrespect of them was considered Super High Treason and bounds for various unpleasantness) voice called from below the interface-case, well outside of the natural eyesight of 5Bs remaining flesh.

The case's sensors and cameras worked just fine, however, and so they focused through those onto the figure standing before.

The third of the three types of pilots...how curious.

Second Generation Multitask, or as they were more commonly referred too, "Freeborn". Nowhere near as augmented as either 5B or David-035, but conversely, far less effective and efficent.

Expendable. That was what a Freeborn was, in truth. A baseline ur-human, given just enough augmentations (if any at all) and slammed into a low-quality Frame.

Still worthy of honor and respect, of course. All member of Annihilation Command were.

But they still bore too much of their flesh to truly be considered pilots by most. Some would loose their weakness to war, of course, and slowly evolve into what David-035 was. But that would come later.

Right now, she (her data rolled up as 5B focused upon her, indicating her name to be Hester Sharr, assigned to the 85th Orbital Drop Battalion, "Hell's Riders") was just a human with a neural lace.

"We are Interceptor Razor-5B." 5B directly addressed Sharr, acknowledging her presence. "We are a second wave Monotask Pilot designated for orbital interception and superiority."

"Woah." The sound of human awe was most...unnerving to 5B. They were not used to this level of combined interaction. Had not been, for quite some time.

"I've never seen one of you guys outside of your tombs." Sharr's curiosity showed, and before 5B could comment, she was climbing the interface-case's starboard side, looking in as David-035 did from the port side.

Oddly, 5B found they did not mind. The presence of others soothed an irritation they did not realize they had been feeling.

More human than human...but still, human somewhat. The Frame does not remove everything that makes you that. If it did, you would loose what makes you better than an AI. Thats the line you must stand upon; more human than machine, while being more machine than flesh. Its complicated. But you'll get the hang of it.

A mantra from their trainer, following the first of their surgeries. Still true to this day.

Above them, Sharr and David-035 were starting a conversation; the ease of banter between them was intriguing to 5B. First Generation Multitask Pilots always seemed to find it easier; perhaps the presence of most of their nervous system being intact lead to it.

Content to listen, 5B let them talk; the conversation flowing around them as they settled into their interface-case, similarities between pilots and experiences running through them as the data compiled and expanded.

They watched with pleasure as it went. They had started to close their eyes, when a sudden, brutal interrogative punched through into them.

They seized, the need to speak suddenly so powerful and potent that the strained against the interior of the cockpit.

"Status?" David-035's voice was professional, focused. "Woah, easy there mate! Don't pull that brace out!" More emotion to Sharr's voice, and a surprising amount of care. The vocal emitter crackled as 5B tried to speak, then, finally, spat out; "Acceptance for all, alliance to variation. Annhilation to the phobe and the bigot." The rallying cry of the Annihilation Command. The reason they were all here.

"Annihilation to the non-compliant." David-035 and Sharr said it, simultaneously, overlapping but unified.

No matter the form; no matter the wave, or the Generation...a pilot was a pilot.

Machine and nerve. A weapon.

All as one.

"Pilots." 5B spoke, suddenly...content. A sensation they were far from used too...but not against expereinced.

"Pilots." Sharr said, sofly.

"Pilots." Agreed David-035.

Silence reigned, for a long moment, as each pilot, monotask, First Generation Multitask, and Second Generation Multitask, thought of their purpose, and origin.

It lasted till their vessel dropped out of FTL...and the sound for battle came.

A/N: 5B is one of those mech pilots thats fully plugged into their machine, like a Dreadnought operator from Warhammer 40k or 621 from Armored Core.

David-035 is a cybernetic pilot, similar to Daryl Lorenz from Mobile Suit Gundam, Thunderbolt, or a Halo Spartan operating a Mantis

Hester Sharr is an augmented human, similar to a Titanfall Pilot.

#mecha #fanfiction #original fiction #mech #original writing #pilots #we almost a neckbeard

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Raven! Lemme start out saying that I love your posts, they are really thought out and informative, especially with matters going on in the community. You don’t have to answer this if you're busy,but I have a question. I wanna start a Twist blog, well kinda. I wanna start posting some of my works, and kinda make a blog on my Twist OC, but I don't know where to start. If you have any tips or tricks, that would be helpful l, but if you don't have a direct answer to this, that's fine too anything will help. And another question is, how do you get over to fear of people not liking your works or even OC? I've seen quite a bit of hate in this Fandom, and idk if my sensitive heart can take it. 😅 It's kinda the reason why I've never posted at all. Thanks again.

Hello there ^^ I’m happy that you enjoy my blog and that you find my posts informative!

For general advice on starting and maintaining a writing blog, please see this post. I’m going to use the rest of this response to speak at length about the second question posed by the asker: “how do you get over the fear of people not liking your works or even OC?”

First, let’s get something out of the way: humans are inherently social creatures; therefore, it is in our nature to desire positive attention/approval and to be afraid of rejection and ostracism. There is no shame in wanting validation. It’s a built-in survival mechanism leftover from the past—because when humans band together, they are more likely to thrive. However, I also think that in the modern world, it’s easy to get carried away and care too much about what others will think of you. This is so true in the age of social media, where likes, shares, and even follows and views are quantifiable and thus can be used as a point of comparison to others on the same platform. It’s also easier than ever to connect with others, which can be both a boon (meeting people you otherwise could have never met) and a detriment (internet hate).

Now, as simple as it would be for me to say, “create for yourself rather than seek the approval of others”, that advice doesn’t actually do much for anyone. It's easy to talk the talk, but it's much harder to walk the walk. It’s all about mindset, because in actuality, a very small number of people out of the overall fandom will care about your works enough to actively hate on an individual. The mind seemingly magnifies the number because humans are hardwired to pay more attention to the negative experiences over the positive ones (which, again, is another survival instinct; you pay attention to the bad things to avoid them or to resolve the issues). There goes the saying, “we’re our own worst critics”, and it’s very true here. It’s not just negativity from others you must deal with, but self/doubt snd your own mind perpetuating the belief that the negativity is much worse than it actually is. Of course, there are actual serious cases of hate (harassment, stalking, threats, doxxing, racism, etc), but here I am only referring to general cases of other people “not liking what you make” or saying mean things (such as “you’re a bad writer”).

So how does one improve their mindset? Truth be told, it doesn’t happen overnight. In fact, learning to not care what others think of you is a difficult and lengthy process. It will take time and effort to reach a comfortable state of acceptance (and yes, I’m talking years long here)—but it is possible to grow out of that fixation.

Here are some truths you have to accept if you want to overcome your worries:

In putting your work “out there” in a public space, you will naturally invite feedback, both good and bad. An integral part of creating is, of course, wanting to share one’s creations with others. However, it’s unrealistic to think that you won’t ever get negative feedback or critique. It isn’t always constructive or helpful to you, but you must brace for them to come your way all the same. If you think about it, getting nothing but praise isn’t good either because then it traps you in a cycle of thinking you’re perfect and there’s nothing you need to improve on. It becomes an echo chamber and it can lead to stagnation because you’re already satisfied with your current state instead of thinking about how you can grow. Mixed feedback is important for personal growth.

There may not necessarily be a problem with your content, it could be a matter of differences in circumstances or tastes. You must remember that lack of engagement is not always equivalent to hate. Indifference or not even coming into contact with a post is NOT the same as actively going to post a negative comment or ask. That being said, lack of engagement could be the result of a website’s algorithm working against your favor. Alternatively, it could be that you aren’t hitting a target audience. Like, if you write angst, it may not appeal to a certain subsection of fans. These are factors largely outside of your control, and trying to gain that control would be a fruitless effort.

There’s nothing wrong with blocking, especially if things escalate. I know that on sites like Twitter and Tiktok, blocking people is seen as “taboo” or some kind of hateful social statement when… it’s not. Blocking is a means of curating your space so you can have fun online without worrying about others raining on your parade. If people are giving you a hard time, nothing is stopping you from blocking them (which can be done even with anonymous asks). Don’t give people that send “hate” attention by responding and showing just how upset their comments made you, it only encourages them to continue once they’ve seen how much it affects you.

One instance of “hate” is not representative of the entire fandom’s feelings. This circles back to what I said before; the negative and toxic people in this fandom is actually minuscule when compared to the total number of fans in this space. Instead of letting the few rotten apples define the entire bushel, think about all the positive experiences you’ve had!

You can’t please everyone. As much as you try to, it won’t happen. But you know what is much more feasible of a goal? Pleasing yourself. You know what you like best, and if you’re able to make what makes you happy then you have a 100% chance of satisfying at least one person.

If you feel frustrated, it’s fine!! It’s normal to feel this way when you think a work you shared isn’t getting the kind of exposure you want it to (whether it’s little exposure or negative exposure). We want to feel like our energy and time was put into something worthwhile. Just don’t take it too hard because these things are bound to happen. Not everything you make will be a hit, and your audience may not always be receptive to what you put out.

If you create mainly or solely for the approval of others, you won’t be happy with yourself. Ask yourself why you want to create in the first place. Most likely it’s because you’re passionate about TWST and/or you just wanted to have fun. But when this shifts to a focus on pleasing others, is it really fun anymore? If you’re always chasing trends (which are very transient) or thinking about how you should change your work to have greater mass appeal, is it really “you”, or are you just being what you think people want you to be? It just results in never being satisfied, because you’re aiming for the impossibility of making everyone happy. When you weigh your worth based on others’ perception of you or on engagement, you run the risk of burnout and losing joy in creating.

You’ll have to embrace cringe. When I say “cringe”, I mean it in the sense that you should be comfortable being your authentic self even if you fear people won’t like it. Again, you cannot please everyone—but surely there will be people who will accept you and like you for who you are. Some will vibe with you, some won’t, and that’s a fact.

You won’t be perfect at keeping out negativity from others, and that’s okay. What matters is how you address those instances when they arise. It’s not productive to let negative thoughts stew or hold you back from creating what you want. Instead of letting the thoughts fester, try to redirect your energy to something else.

Additionally, here are some suggestions on what you can do to alleviate your doubts. These methods work for me, but I’m not going to claim they work for everyone; I figured I’d just throw the ideas out there in case they’d be helpful to others.

Isolate yourself from social media for a period of time until you're in a better headspace.

An alternative to social media isolation is looking at other people's creations (but ignoring the numbers, as that can be a basis for comparison)! It may inspire you to make something of your own. For example, sometimes I've been scrolling and I'd see someone's OC in their own outfit for an event like Fairy Gala, and that made me excited to do the same for my own characters.

Another alternative to social media isolation is looking at the positives! Think about the number of people who have supported you or left nice comments and how they outweigh the Negative Nancies. (This is an example of using the numbers to your advantage!) I know of some friends who use a special tag on their blogs to denote "feel good" asks so they can reference these to cheer up when they're feeling discouraged or down.

Rather than comparing yourself to others, compare yourself to... yourself! Treat it like a New Year's resolution: you're looking back at where you started and think considering how you've changed since then.

Do something else you love to get your attention away from your creative endeavors. This could be another hobby or spending time with friends or family.

Speaking of friends and family, talk to them! Let them know how you're feeling and why you're feeling this way. They can offer you support and advice. I find that this is especially helpful when you are able to speak with other content creators, who may be able to empathize with your experiences.

Practice mindfulness and gratitude. Instead of thinking about what you don't have, think about what you do have and be appreciative of it. This helps shift the center away from things out of your control (ie other people) and to something that is within your control (ie yourself).

Minimize taking things personally. This can be especially hard in cases of OCs because creators tend to put a lot of themselves into their OCs (particularly if they are self inserts or Yuusonas)—so when others say they don't like an OC, it can feel like an indirect way of saying "I don't like you, the creator". But rarely is this the intended meaning of a comment. When people say they don't like something, it doesn't always mean they also dislike the creator. Remember that at the end of the day, we're all internet strangers that don't know each other on a deeply personal level (so why should you hinge your self-worth on such a thing?). You can be close with your works and OCs, but don't necessarily think of the works/OCs as a 1:1 extension of yourself. When you think of it like that, it helps to detach yourself from negativity that a work may receive.

Think about what you’re good at and focus on that niche. In this way, you will be able to make what you want while also attracting an audience that also appreciates this niche over time.

Make something for yourself, no posting necessary! Sometimes it can help you air out your feelings if you make a piece (art, writing, etc.) for no one but yourself to see. It’s surprisingly very therapeutic.

With all of that being said, I’d like to close off this post by saying that conquering the fear of others negatively judging your works is something that all creators have to go through. We're at various stages in this process, and we will continue to have our moments of weakness. This is a completely normal thing (though it is perhaps not commonly discussed out in the open) and it should be normalized. Even I go through periods of self-doubt and find myself holding off on posting certain pieces (especially anything that is OC-related) because I overthink how they may be perceived. I know that most of my audience is here for the canon TWST characters, so I worry that posting OC content is self-indulgent, maybe even selfish if I'm feeling particularly mean toward myself on a given day. It's negative self-talk like this that can be detrimental to creators and their enjoyment of their craft; that's why it's important to identify these moments and try to figure out ways to overcome them, even if it's just taking little baby steps. Some progress is better than no progress!

Anyway, I hope that you found this post useful ^^ If you think it may be also be of use to a creator you know, please consider sharing it with them.

#twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland #twst en #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland en #notes from the writing raven #question #advice #disney twisted wonderland #putting this in the main tags in case this advice is found to be useful to other TWST content creators #honestly though this advice applies to creators in ANY fandom #tw // harassment #tw // stalking #tw // doxxing #tw // threats #tw // racism

[aikoiya]

I hate it how some games these days, even after choosing your sex, they still use "they."

Like, if you're not gonna use the damn pronouns, then why ask to begin with???

At that point, there might as well be no option to begin with! We're all just androgynous blobs now. I mean, what even is the point???

I mean, I get that Sandrock has a lot of voiceacting, but Portia actually allowed the main character to speak rather than have information transmitted telepathically & despite allowing you to choose your voice! (Which, is actually something I wish they'd brought back.)

If they can do that, then why can't they have the voice actors repeat a few lines with the 2 original pronouns?

And seriously! Why no change to certain dialogue based on this? Or the way people behave in small or subtle, almost unnoticeable ways?

Like, for instance, if a game has a confirmed straight guy who's a lady's man & my character is female, he should react to that!

Or if there's a down home country boy, he calls me "ma'am" or "miss" or "mrs" & is an utter gentleman to me & very respectful.

Or if some dude is a misogynist, he should initially underestimate me & become not just impressed, but shocked when my character proves him wrong!

Or, if there's a lesbian chick in town, have her subtly flirt until I'm given the option to choose from "interested in girls" or "not interested in girls."

Or when an elder talks to me, why don't they refer to me as a young lady?

Or, when danger comes, something subtle like guys instinctively moving between me & that danger. And if a threat shows themself, dude squares up & stares them down. (Cause, that's just sort of hardwired into a lot of guys. Especially very masculine men with good hearts. ♡) Like, obviously, it's a game where the player is likely to actually be fully capable of protecting herself despite, biologically, being at a disadvantage. However, those sorts of little details are amazing & bring life to characters.

In fact, whenever danger comes around, I love that subtle instinctive movement to protect women & children.

Just little ways to make these games feel more alive. More organic.

The reason being that there are obviously instinctive reactions that we have to the sexes. I know a lot of people are galled by such a thing these days, but honestly, when games don't have those little bits in there, for the sake of "inclusivity" or "equality," it feels sterile. Because these things give it a very human element, that by not having them, it sort of takes me out of the game just a bit.

Because, without those interactions, it tends to feel more like the player character isn't actually part of the world that you're exploring.

Either way, at this point, it feels like being able to choose between male & female is little more than cosmetics.

In the end, men, women, & even many trans individuals are included only superficially.

The only ones who are really, genuinely acknowledged vocally, are nb individuals.

Which feels... excluding...

Random Stuff Masterlist

#my time at sandrock #making me choose my sex #then having the AUDACITY to misgender me! #like I just freaking told you #if you weren't gonna use it #why bother asking??? #i'm mostly joking about the misgendering thing #i'm honestly more confused than angry

[set-phasers-to-whump]

warmth

prompt: water inhalation

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hiii i am back from my trip and back to beating illya up :) hope you enjoy it!

A human being can survive, in theory, for four minutes without air to breathe. Illya has tested and pushed his own limits, but cannot ever seem to make it past two. 

So it is that a clock is ticking at the back of his mind as he struggles with all of his strength against the people holding him under water. 

There are many hands on him, and sometimes he feels one move, a small victory on his part, but he cannot do much more than be a brief inconvenience. There are too many people holding him down and struggling makes his lungs burn more and more. 

He’s getting lightheaded and the numbers stop ticking along. He tries to go limp, to play dead, to see if they will release him. But he lasts all of twenty seconds before he starts struggling again, his body’s hardwired fight instincts winning out over any kind of logic. 

His chest feels like it’s on fire. His limbs are growing weaker, and eventually he once again stops struggling, simply because he lacks the strength for it. 

He will lose consciousness soon, and then he will die. 

Death through capture, through faulty intel, is a hazard of his work. This is just one of many ways he’d imagined he might die. 

He hopes that his capture, his imminent death, will at least allow his partners time to escape. No sense in all three of them dying for this. 

The pressure in his lungs is too great. He has to breathe. 

The cold water burns as it enters his nose, floods his lungs. He starts coughing and choking and gasping for air that is not there and will never be there again. 

The panic is horrific. His eyes fly open and see nothing. He is dying. He is terrified. 

Noise and light. Pain and terror give way to numb oblivion. 

Crashing water, like being at the beach. Something touching him. Hands, arms, embracing his body, dragging him backwards. 

Air. 

He breathes and it burns. The coughing and choking begin anew, water spilling from his mouth in painful waves. 

It hurts. He does not know what is happening. His body is the only thing that exists, and it is running on pure animal instinct. Air. Breath. Pain. Cold. He thinks of nothing, can think of nothing. 

Something touching his back. Solid and warm. An especially harsh cough that brings up several mouthfuls of water. A thumping between his shoulder blades. Noise. 

Bit by bit, he comes back to himself. The coughing slows as more and more water is expelled from his lungs. Then the shivering starts, violent and painful. 

Two bodies pressed to his. The heat from them does nothing, but their presence is steady and grounding. 

He eventually gains enough awareness to know that he is alive and can think. Recalls vaguely what had happened - water, pain, fear. 

The fear returns, now that he remembers it. He latches on to the figure closest to him. Gaby or Solo, he does not know. Possibly both of them. 

They are speaking, he thinks. Quiet words. He does not understand. But they are nice words. Safe. 

The terror ebbs away, and the ache takes over. 

His lungs, his limbs, his eyes, his throat. Everything burns and hurts. He doesn’t like it. Cannot do anything about it. 

Suddenly, he is lifted off of the ground. An arm beneath his knees, behind his shoulders. A broad, warm chest beside him. He settles against it as they begin to move. 

The car. Sitting up, leaning heavily on Solo, coughs tearing their way out of his throat every so often. There is a jacket around him now, Solo’s, warm and smelling of him. He is still cold, but warmer now. The water does not seem so very close. 

He dozes, slipping in and out of consciousness as Gaby speeds down streets he does not recognize. She and Solo are talking softly, and he understands their words now, though he lacks the energy to actually listen. 

He does not realize they are at a hospital until Solo gently jostles his shoulder and he discovers that they have stopped moving. 

He cannot go to a hospital. It is not permitted. He tries to refuse, but his body is slow and his movements are uncoordinated and it is easy for his partners to force him into the sterile waiting room. 

A nurse speaks to him. The words fly right over his head, technical and complicated and alien. Solo translates, but does not know all of the words. Illya tries to make himself understand the complex English, and together they make it so that he comprehends, more or less, what is happening. 

Then doctors. Breathing. Hands all over him. Warmth, but not the kind of warmth that is comforting. Clinical warmth. A bed that is too small and too hard. 

And them. Beside him, protecting him. He has not been alone for a second, never left to fend for himself against this foreign and overwhelming environment. 

They are warm in the comforting way. They are sitting beside him, now, and Gaby is holding his hand and Solo’s fingers are tangled in his hair, which is finally dry, and even though he is in an unfamiliar place, a place that he knows he should not be in, he feels mostly safe. 

They are with him, and he is warm again. 

thanks for reading!!! i hope it was alright, love u guys <3

#whumptober2023 #no.14 #water inhalation #fic #the man from uncle #illya kuryakin #drowning #water #wet #my writing #i say things #hospital #comfort #anyway.. i had an absolutely amazing time on my trip truly one of the best times of my life probably #and now i am back! glad to see all my scheduled posts worked as intended lmao

[brown-little-robin]

44: Chapter One

part one | previous | next | masterlist | ao3 version

Safe.

Safe.

The room where Thad found Joseph is bright, with a skylight like the one in the pool room downstairs, and the light reflects from a white floor, white walls, white ceiling. And paintings. They’re Joseph’s work. Thad knows it instinctively, even before he notices the faces of Joseph’s mother and his former vigilante associates in some of them. It’s the colors that gave it away, Thad thinks, vibrant even in the paintings of dull subject matter. Prosaic pears become golden-green delicacies; skies become blue-green heavens; normal human faces glow with warm red and yellow and shades of purple and blue. Joseph’s work is an effusion of color and light that Thad couldn’t pull from his imagination if his life depended on it.

Thad doesn’t know how he found Joseph. Homing instinct, he supposes. This is what it is to have a lightning rod, he supposes.

He can’t breathe right, his nose is so squashed against Joseph’s chest. He’s just… he’s so relieved.

He clenches his fists in the back of Joseph’s shirt. Never, he thinks, never, never will he betray Joseph.

Joseph squeezes Thad so tight Thad’s ribs hurt. Thad takes a shallow breath, straining his ribcage against Joseph’s hands, and Joseph releases him, steps back and signs, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Thad lets out a big sigh. The tension of the hug goes with it. He’s still a little numb, still what Max would call “shell-shocked”, and he’s trembling a little despite the warmth of this room, but he’s okay. He’s safe here.

“What happened?”

“I ran away.”

Thaddeus pauses for a shocked reaction, an old habit hardwired into him. As he expected, Joseph’s eyes grow wide. It pleases him, in a sick kind of way.

He explains, “I yelled at Max.”

Joseph asks, “It went so badly that you ran away?”

“It wasn’t that bad. The argument. It was about my brothers.”

“Bart?” Joseph spells.

“No, the other… clones,” Thad says with something like distaste. Abruptly, he doesn’t feel like standing anymore. He sits down on the white-tiled floor and clasps his arms around his knee.

Joseph follows him down and leans against one of the cupboards that line the walls of this room. Thad sighs.

Joseph doesn’t seem like he’s going to say anything, so Thad says, “They killed the others. Did you know that?”

Joseph nods.

“It was self-defense,” Thad admits quietly.

He’s sure it was self-defense. That’s… the whole point of Inertia. To force the Flash into lose-lose situations. If the Flash dies, fine, a win for the Thawnes. If Inertia dies, the Flash killed another Thawne, and it’s another grievance against the Flash. Another meaningless reason to be angry.

Thad is angry, but not at Max. Not really. He’s not even angry at the Flash anymore. He’s angry that there’s been so much death for nothing.

Thad digs his fingers into his leg, feeling the denseness of his living muscle. His body is a miracle and he doesn’t know the point of it. The spirit in the speed force sent him back, alive—why?

Beloved.

If he is beloved of the speed force, why didn’t the speed force keep him?

He shuts his eyes. He never met the other clones in the speed force, and he doesn’t know why. He didn’t even get a sense of any presence other than Barry Allen and certain other adult spirits. Maybe the other clones just got absorbed. In which case, why didn’t he? Was he too stubborn? If he’d let the lightning and wind kill him immediately, would there have been peace afterwards? Did the speed force spit him out because he was annoying it, a little knot of anger and selfishness in its vast expanse? But the spirit said beloved, and he got the feeling that it wasn’t speaking on its own behalf.

A snap of fingers brings him out of his miserable reverie. Joseph asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Thad says automatically. Then, “Yes.”

He stops. Joseph waits.

There’s too much to talk about. He can’t get any of it out.

“I’m just… I don’t…” He struggles to find something he could say that would explain this knot of bitterness in him. It’s too complicated. He falls back on an old phrase he used with CRAYDL: “I don’t have enough information to draw conclusions.”

“OK. Do you want a hug?”

Thad laughs. Ridiculous. As if the injustice and confusion of it all could be put off with a hug.

He does kind of want a hug, though.

He nods. Joseph slides over next to him and wraps him up. Thad lets his bodyweight rest limp against Joseph’s shoulder.

It does make him feel better, weirdly enough. The clones are dead at the hands of the Flash, but Thad isn’t in the hands of the Flash anymore.

#yes the title is chapter one. it's chapter one because this was such a huge break for me and it's the beginning of a whole new arc in SR #The Strange Redemption of Thaddeus Thawne

[girl4music]

The character that doesn’t understand human emotion yet is always asking questions so that she can learn. Ironically and satisfyingly, her constant inquisitiveness always made her seem much more human than any character that always was human.

That was always played for laughs until it wasn’t.

WILLOW: “Because it’s not okay for you to be asking these things!”

ANYA: “But I don’t understand!”

So it’s like, in a way, she understood being human better than anyone else did. And that was so clever!

Because with being human there is no answer book to how to live like one. There is only ever constant questions. And navigating is hard. That’s the point.

And it’s always the “non-human” or “not-always-human” protagonist characters that actually act the most human because they’re not hardwired to.

No, of course they don’t understand being a human. But in the same way a baby doesn’t understand being a baby… yet performs like a baby anyway. It’s wisdom! The thing that comes most naturally never needs to be “understood”. It just is instinctively.

The joke is that non-human beings don’t understand being human. But isn’t THAT exactly what makes them perform as human? As supernatural beings, isn’t the understanding of not understanding humanity fundamentally what makes them be human? If they weren’t aware to it,… sure. Then you have an argument that they aren’t or can’t be human. But what if they’re the most self-aware characters? And not only aware of themselves but others as well?

That’s why both Spike and Anya, and yes, even to some degree, Angel are the most human non-human or not-always-human being characters. Because they carry the intuitive wisdom of “I know that I know nothing”. The very same intuitive wisdom a newborn baby has despite all their years and all their experienced history as human and non-human. They understand nothing, That’s precisely the point because at what point does nature understand itself? It doesn’t. Yet it functions perfectly fine anyway. It’s only humanity that thinks and believes that it MUST understand everything. But if they let go, they’d realize that they already do in the way that they always will. By just simply fucking existing. By being as they are. This is partially why I believe identity to be a hinderance more than it is a help. People get too caught up in it. And suddenly it becomes about performing an identity rather than actually being it.

Nature worries about no such nonsense as that. It doesn’t even identify that it NEEDS to worry about it. And like I said - that’s why it functions perfectly fine anyway. There’s no need to be performative.

Anya is most human because she is most naturally being. And part of naturally being is to ask stupid questions and to do the most absurd. To NOT UNDERSTAND everything. Least of all how to behave human when you’ve all but forgotten you once were and only coming to experience humanity again when you’re no longer human. Anya is never in a place or time where it’s easy or simple to be human. That’s why she’s the best at being human.

Suave Xander put it best in ‘The Replacement’.

XANDER: “You haven't been hurt like this since you became human. Maybe it's finally hitting you what being human means.”

ANYA: “No, that's not it.”

XANDER: “Yes, I think it is. You were gonna live for thousands of years. And now you're gonna age and die. That must be terrifying.”

FAITH VICTORIA: “Exactly! The world has always met Anya with "you don't understand" right from her original human life, and Anya has always responded with "so? Explain it to me." One of the only reasons I'm ok with Hells Bells existing is because it leads to in my opinion the second best Anya character study, and her only central episode, Sefless (her first best one is obviously her speech in The Body). Selfless shows that even when she was a human, before, Anya was naturally curious. She didn't understand a lot of the injustice in the world, but she was ready to try and understand it, only nobody explained it to her "take your furs and your literal interpretations to the other side of the river". I mean the girl figures out what selfless love and sacrifice are all on her own with no one's help - Xander is busy arguing with Buffy and Willow, Buffy is clearly exhausted and just wants to eliminate the problem, and Willow tries to reach out but using only her own experience which may not be applicable to Anya. But still, a vengeance demon understood the importance of selfless love, even after getting her heart broken. Which makes her one of the most deeply human characters of them all.”

Couldn’t have put it better. Absolutely agreed. 👍

I think a philosophical debate about what it means to be human in a TV show is a profound choice to make. But what is equally just as, or maybe even more, profound is to show how it is. Theory is great but it doesn’t work alone.

Showing it alongside saying it is what provides a far harder impact. It really hits! And ‘Selfless’ is one of the best episodes in the show, never mind just Season 7. Sadly, the rest of the season lets it down because it doesn’t follow it up with a satisfying conclusive end. Anya has a revelation that fighting like a human is what makes humanity great and worth it. But we never see how she even gets to this revelation.

It’s a shame. I don’t like tell and don’t show types of storytelling. I almost always prefer show alone or show equally alongside tell.

FAITH VICTORIA: “Instead they give her the worst speech of the entire show in Empty Places and then one of the best ones two episodes later "when it's something that really matters, they fight." Confusing to say the least.”

Please don’t get me started on ‘Empty Places’. I’ll be here all fucking day and I have a game to complete.

#buffy the vampire slayer #anya jenkins #emma caulfield #humanity #human condition #marina and the diamonds #oh no! #character study video #faith victoria #Youtube

[blueshiftting-archived]

Why do you fear? 

It was a question that not many people would care to answer. Instinct, rationality, words used by Enyaba, but as for Cordelia—

“Lack of understanding.” 

He cocked a head at her, enough that the moonlight split into halves; pools of it sinking into the floor, as if walking on fresh snow. 

“Oh? Care to explain?” His words pricked at her. He always had a curiosity to him with those around them and their true motivations, it was part of why all the agents either revered him or feared him. 

Cordelia has come to know his innermost thoughts; a psychiatrist without the degree, all due to her Stand. 

She stopped. “Fear is hardwired into human beings, surely. But with that comes having to understand fear – animals, especially people, are told biologically to fear things they do not understand. There’s no backup plan, no advantage, to bankrupt your other emotions.” 

That earned her a hum in response. He ran his fingers through his hair, lips pursed into an impressed smirk. 

“You didn’t fully answer my question, Cordelia. Why do you fear?” 

Now, that was another question entirely. 

“I… don’t have an answer for you. To feel is to be human, and to fear is to continue to be one.” 

#✰ — » ooc. #✰ — » fics. #/ i got bored. #/ it's an older one i wrote a while back ago and never finished and probably never will. ☺️

[dramatisperscnae]

Headcanon - Bucky

Age and Appearance

Bucky Barnes was born in the year 1918, his father a WWI veteran. That makes him roughly 105 now, though he still looks like he’s in his early 30s.

He stands 5’10”, weighing in at 260 lbs; likely 50 lbs of that is due to his left arm.

He favors neutral or darker colors, nothing that stands out too much and blends into a crowd. Preferably clothing that is durable and low-key, stuff that doesn’t show the wear and can be worn for two or three days before it really starts to show. He doesn’t buy new clothing these days; everything he owns came either off someone’s clothes line or from a thrift store. Faded, worn, something no one would look twice at on the street. Which is kind of the entire point.

He tends to avoid short sleeves when it comes to shirts, unless it’s a situation where it’s not going to matter - like a pitched battle, for instance - and generally wears gloves at all times. Cotton and wool are his go-tos when he has the luxury of being picky about material; both of them breathe well, and wool has this amazing property of not staying wet that is incredibly useful.

Generally he wears boots rather than running shoes or other such things; again, durable. Boots tend to last longer than sneakers, and they’re hardier and work better in all weather and on pretty much all terrain.

His hair is brown, shoulder length and generally tucked under a baseball cap or a hood out of grey-hazel eyes.

Said eyes, due to their coloring, can look blue, green, or grey - or any combination thereof - depending on what he’s wearing at the time.

Abilities (taken from 616 Wikia, Comicvine, and Wikipedia)

Bucky’s left arm has been replaced with a fully-functional bionic arm. The arm has superhuman strength, speed, and reflexes, and is fitted with sensors that allow it to pass through metal detectors with ease. It can also shield other metallic objects such as knives or guns.

His arm is capable of releasing bolts of electrical energy or electromagnetic pulses (EMPs) from the palm that can stun opponents or render electronic devices useless.

If necessary, should it become separated from his body, James can control his arm remotely thanks to cybernetic implants received at the same time as the arm.

Bucky is a master martial artist and hand-to-hand combatant, able to go toe-to-toe against the likes of Captain America and Wolverine alone and win, or at the very least hold his own. He is also a skilled acrobat and Olympic-level athlete, his abilities honed first during the war and later by the Russians.

He is an expert marksman, skilled both in sharpshooting and knife throwing, and is one of, perhaps the, most lethal assassin in the Marvel universe.

His body - strength, speed, endurance, agility, etc - is close to, if not at, the peak of possible human condition.

He is an expert spy and advance scout, highly skilled in stealth and concealment as well as covert operations skills such as demolitions, survival, communications, tracking, etc.

Bucky is fluent in English, Russian, German, and Japanese, conversational in Spanish, Portuguese and Latin, and understands a little French.

Personality

He doesn’t talk much these days, answering only with the bare minimum and only explaining when asked.

He tends to avoid people for the most part. SHIELD, or what’s left of it, is probably hunting him, and Hydra, or what’s left of it, would probably like to have its weapon back. He wants no part of it; just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.

Bucky has made a habit out of constantly studying his surroundings and depicting what he can and cannot do in whatever situation he should fall in, scoping out ways of entrance and exit without being detected and the best ways of neutralizing the minimum amount of security necessary to do so.

His fight-or-flight instinct is almost permanently hardwired to fight first, run later. That is to say, if he feels threatened, he will make the first strike and he will strike to incapacitate or kill, and then if he feels he cannot handle the situation alone he will run. If he’s facing SHIELD or Hydra personnel, the strike is most likely going to be to kill, with very few exceptions.

That being said, if he has the opportunity to run, he will. Nearly a century of being used as a weapon has left him with a bad taste in his mouth for killing if he doesn’t have to.

He rarely makes eye contact with anyone, keeping his focus on their chin or their chest.

If told to do something followed by the words ‘that’s an order’ he will do it, or at least move to begin; years of conditioning have left that as a trigger phrase.

When uncomfortable he occasionally mutters to himself in Russian, often nonsense rhymes or the specs of whatever weapon comes to mind first, as a calming and grounding mechanism.

Miscellaneous

He will still occasionally [especially on his bad days] answer to Soldat [the Russian for ‘Soldier’], to Winter or Zima[the Russian for Winter], and occasionally to James(but never to the Russian version of his name). He will also look up at the word ‘asset’, as that was often how he was referred to.

He does have some of his memories back - probably more than he thinks he does - but he’s given most of them up as lost forever due to the extended trauma he went through with Hydra.. The clearest ones are those from his time under Hydra’s control. Especially the people he’s killed under their command.

He’s not as stable as he appears to be. Memories from before Hydra are still sketchy at best; he basically cold-reads whoever he’s talking to – especially Steve – and plays along most days. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t think he ever will actually remember Brooklyn or the pre-war days clearly.

Bucky’s always had a habit of biting his thumbnail if he’s really stuck on a problem. He doesn’t really chew on it or try to shorten it, he just bites at it. Theoretically it helps him think.

#buckycanon

[foundfamilynonsense]

I love zombie stories.

Bc like. Technically they should fit under horror, right? But they don’t. They’re more connected to vampires and werewolves. But why? Most vampire or werewolf stories are about the vampire/werewolf. Whereas zombie stories are not about the zombies. They’re about the humans being plagued by zombies. Just like horror is about humans being plagued by *insert fucked up thing here*

But there’s something obviously different between zombie stories and other horror stories. Like. The fear is different. Zombie stories always end up being more action than horror. Many people who can’t stomach horror can watch zombie movies bc sure it’s scary but like… a different, more manageable kind of scary.

So why are we afraid of things we see in horror films. It’s usually some deeply engrained almost metaphorical reason. Like… fucked up little children or fucked up dolls or fucked up clowns sorta represent the corruption of childhood: something that is supposed to be safe is suddenly dangerous. And paranormal horror or ‘not a deer’ horror is sort of like our fear of the unknown…

But ZOMBIES. We’re not afraid of zombies bc of some metaphorical mumbo jumbo. no. Our fear of zombies stems from somewhere else entirely.

Rabies.

Fear of zombies is literally encoded into us bc of our evolutionary survival instinct against RABIES. We are hardwired to become scared when Steve starts acting weird and tries to bite us. And we’ve discovered this fear and created zombie stories.

This is why zombie stories feel different than other horror. Bc horror doesn’t trigger a fight or flight, it’s whole point is that it kinda tickles the part of the brain that stores the not-real fears. Metaphorical fears. But zombies tickle a real fear. Something we’ve evolved to deal with in real life. Which means our brains are better at handling it.

How fucking cool is that.

#I’ll come back and put sources on this I’m sure I have them somewhere #zombies #writing

[comm-caribou]

Chapter Twenty-Two: Breaking Point

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: PTSD, past trauma, fire, night terrors, blood, gore (let me know if I missed any!)

————

Air escaped his chest seconds after he fell, and all the squad could do was watch. Their squad leader was wheeled off, never to be seen again.

Then the faceless troopers disappeared into vapor as three new troopers charged him. One shoved him into a corner, and they began beating him until he was tasting blood.

It was like he blinked and then they were laughing together, he was feeling safe.

Grit placed a hand on his shoulder, and then in a flash he was out of reach.

Blood and fire filled his nose as Grit burned before his eyes, and a monster charged him, and bit down on his arm.

The inferno-made creature tore into his flesh, thrashing him around as a blaze roasted his side.

Fang cried, screaming out for Coyote.

****

Mirage scooped Fang up like a toddler in a night terror, and carried him down the hall.

Don’t drop him, don’t drop him, don’t drop him…

“I thought we don’t get battle stress!” Cooper exclaimed.

“It’s rare,” Boomerang ran ahead to get the door, “but it does happen. Mostly to defects.”

“That’s not funny,” Coyote snapped.

“It wasn’t a joke.” Boomerang directed him to the bed, “lay him down.”

“Fang’s always had issues,” Cooper muttered.

“Now’s not the time for your observations, Coop,” Boomerang powered up Kit, “even if they’re right.”

Mirage stood back against the wall, holding his head. He decided this time he could blame his headache on being woken up so suddenly.

Not that it mattered, because Mirage had no dreams he could ever remember. It was easy to fall back into the black.

Kit approached Fang, scanning him.

Tracks placed a hand on Mirage’s forehead, reminding him the pilot was there.

“What?” Mirage managed a chuckle, “do I look sick?”

Tracks nodded, tapping the white on his fatigues.

“Do I look pale?” Mirage asked.

Tracks nodded.

Mirage sunk down the wall, “I think I’ll sit then.”

Tracks sat down next to him, offering Mirage his shoulder to rest on.

“Thanks, vod,” Mirage muttered, closing his eyes.

His head was throbbing.

“I’m contacting the General and Commander,” he heard Cooper announce before he dozed off.

****

Monsters with cold eyes, necks the length of trees hovered over him.

He couldn’t move.

He was pinned down by heavy rocks crushing his three remaining limbs.

“Begin.”

The voice was cold, emotionless.

Empty of any sympathy for him.

In their pitch black eyes, he wasn’t human.

Every part of him began to be ripped away.

Piece-by-piece.

One-by-one.

Like a droid being dissembled, and thrown aside for spare parts of a later project.

“Fang?”

The voice of angel called out to him.

“Fang?”

Like a siren’s song calling to him.

The weight on his arm lifted, and he raised his tattered limb as the monsters hovering over him blew away like sand.

He was whole.

****

He opened his eyes for her.

Despite being so sweaty, his skin felt cold and his dark skin was a sickly gray.

“Fang?” Juliette brushed his dark curls back, “what’s wrong, cyar’ika?”

Fang whispered, low enough only her ears could catch, “I think I need a day off.”

Juliette couldn’t help but laugh. She lowered herself down, hugging him tight and kissing his cheek.

His arms wrapped around her, and he sighed.

“How is he?” Hardwire touched her back, “you fix the situation?”

“For now.” Juliette tightened her grip on Fang, “I think a day off will do him good.”

Hardwire gave her a quick pat, then went off to tell the other troops still sleepy and standing around in their matching red and black fatigues.

Juliette tilted Fang’s head to her, “alright, cyar’ika. You want to talk about?”

Fang’s gaze shifted to her mouth, “later?”

“Sure,” she placed a hand on his chest, keeping him at bay. “You kind of interrupted my very late dinner.”

Fang sat up, “let’s go.”

“Go?” Juliette instinctively took his hand.

“Fang, you better take it easy!” Boomerang called after him.

Fang grabbed Coyote by his collar, “yes, sir.”

Then Coyote was being dragged along too.

The look in his blue eyes told Juliette he wasn’t sure what was happening either.

****

It was like floating in a void, until his brothers shook him awake.

Tiredly, Mirage stretched, “I’m up…”

“We’re going to bed now,” Hardwire said.

“Is Fang okay?” Mirage got up, steadying himself on the wall.

“He had a night terror,” Cooper took his arm. “You okay, Raj?”

“Just tired,” Mirage lied, “yesterday was stressful. I honestly don’t blame the kid for freaking out a little.”

“I think it was more than a little.” Cooper countered. “He woke up everyone in the barracks.”

Tracks made a face, almost as if saying it was debatable.

“Either way,” Hardwire squeezed Cooper’s shoulder, “go to bed. I don’t want any of you sleep deprived.”

“Same to you,” Cooper elbowed him.

Mirage’s gaze shifted to Boomerang. Typical of his brother, he was packing and repacking his medical kits again.

“Mirage?”

Hardwire’s voice cut into his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. His brothers were already at the door, ready to leave.

“You okay?” Hardwire waved the other two off.

“Yes,” Mirage walked over to Boomerang, “just going to wait for him.”

Hardwire nodded, then shut the door without a word.

Boomerang looked up, just for a moment, then immediately began unpacking every piece in his bag.

“Doc, why do you do that?” Mirage sat on the exam table, “you know what’s in there already.”

“It calms me,” Boomerang answered, “knowing it’s all there and where exactly it is. Your headaches are getting worse, aren’t they?”

“Only when I haven’t been sleeping well,” Mirage shrugged, “or stressed. Also when I’m hungry.”

Boomerang closed the pack, then grabbed Mirage’s face.

“Doc?”

Boomerang roughly turned Mirage’s head, feeling around his temple.

“Same spot?”

“It’s always the same spot.”

“Can I do a brain scan?”

Mirage groaned, “why? I just want to go to bed.”

“You keep pushing it off,” Boomerang forced Mirage to meet his eye, “it’s like you want me to suffer.”

“Doc, what are you talking about?” Mirage asked, “how is my headaches causing you issues?”

“Because I know something is wrong,” Boomerang declared, “and you’re being stubborn. Let me fix you.”

He’s not going to let this go. Every test on Kamino and all clears from the doctors there mean nothing to him, not until he’s more than a hundred percent sure himself.

Mirage sighed, “fine. If it means I get to go to bed.”

To his surprise, Boomerang actually hugged him; tight enough that he almost couldn’t breathe.

Mirage pat his back, “are you going to fix me, or keep hugging me?”

“Shut up, Pretty Boy,” Boomerang mumbled, hanging on tighter.

****

“Where are we?” Juliette asked, looking at the unfamiliar, dark space behind the mess.

Fang flipped on a light.

She immediately recognized the room, but it was still surprising to see the ship actually had one.

“We have a kitchen?“ Coyote softly gasped.

Fang took their hands, “I ran into Stickler, and he told me we can use this if we want.”

“For what?“ Juliette asked, “do you know how to cook?”

“I’d like to learn,” Fang sat them down at the counter. “So, are you hungry?”

Coyote turned to Juliette, “I can eat.”

“I haven’t eaten in a while,” Juliette giggled.

“Jeez,” Coyote turned to Fang, “feed your girlfriend.”

“I’m working on it,” Fang took stuff out of the fridge, “now don’t judge me too harshly. I’m still learning.”

Coyote turned back to Juliette, “I think we should critique every move he makes.”

“I think so too,” Juliette teased.

Fang turned to her, smiling, “would you like a ration bar?”

Juliette held up her hands in surrender, “keep that disgusting excuse of food away from me.”

Fang walked over to the other side, and kissed her forehead.

Coyote faked a gag, “don’t tell me you dragged me here to watch this.”

“No,” Fang chuckled, “you two chat. I cook.”

Juliette smiled, turning to Coyote, “I think Fang is making sure we’re buddies.”

“I think so,” Coyote agreed.

“I didn’t know we were enemies.”

“You didn’t? I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Fang rolled his eyes, “quit teasing.”

Juliette smiled, he seems a little better.

****

Fang started chopping, listening to his girlfriend and brother talking.

He felt comfortable, and was certain he was okay.

But he still didn’t want to go to bed.

If he went to bed, he was certain he’d have a nightmare again.

He’d see himself and everyone he loves die.

#caribou originals #caribou stories #caribou ocs #star wars #star wars the clone wars #952nd #juliette trix #commander hardwire #sergeant cooper #corporal keks #arc trooper mirage #boomerang #fang #coyote #tracks #cosmos

[yoori-ya]

Your aunt threw herself off a building. What? You didn't know? She had been saddled with too much debt. It was the thirteenth floor--it hadn't been high enough. She survived.

I met this aunt once with my father long ago. I did not know this story when I met her. I don't remember how much of my memory of the meeting is real and how much of it is my imagination. She worked at the department store in Busan, and we met up between some dingey mannequins before heading over to a seafood restaurant nearby. The rest of that night has slipped between the cracks of time.

She survived.

Half her body is reconstructed from metal. I wondered what kind of pain she has to drag around. I wonder about the quality of desperation that drives people to the edge. The basic instinct to survive is hardwired into us. What kind of void swallows it whole.

Throughout the years I've collected scraps about my father's family in passing conversations. One aunt's lost her mind. An uncle's lost himself to alcohol. Another aunt was given up when she was born. There is a lot of misfortune in this family, I pieced together. Some may say my father's escaped, but a part of me doesn't think he's come away unscathed. He lives out his own curse, too, I think--he loves his family, but for the last twenty years, that love's forced him oceans away from us. That's a tragedy.

I remember that night on the pier, D asked me something to the effect of, "What do you think the purpose of life is?" I was quiet for a moment before I replied. "I think we're all born with a chip on our shoulder, and part of living is to try and overcome it." Then I gave a bitter laugh and said, "And then sometimes you just go on collecting more and more chips."

"Stop. That's not funny," he had said sharply. And even through the darkness and haze of alcohol I could tell he seemed upset. I had always wondered why. These days I think I might know.

Maybe we're all born cursed in a way and part of being human is learning how to survive with one's demons. Some we're born with, others we pick up as we stumble down life's twisting road.

[lewepstein]

Fearful: Part 1

“Fearful,”  a simple  adjective meaning, “full of fear,”  evokes in me the image of a child in need of soothing.  At its core fear is a biologically based mind/body experience, a universal human emotion.  It can be a useful signal that calls on us to be vigilant and prepares us to take action.  But In its extremes fear can overwhelm us and of all the many psychiatric disorders, fear-based ones are the most prevalent.  How we manage and handle our individual fears will influence the quality of our lives. How we collectively deal with fear may determine the fate of our planet. The unfortunate results of people being filled with fear when those fears are misunderstood, misinterpreted, misdirected or manipulated can be catastrophic.  

Biologists have shown that we are hardwired to be fearful and that our fight, flight and freeze responses are things we share with other life forms. Our brains and bodies also contain structures like the amygdala that store upsetting events for the purpose of survival.  One resulting problem is that the levels of cortisol and other chemicals that become activated by our nervous systems are better suited for combat than they are for sitting behind desks operating computers.  This survival instinct may also explain what has been called our “negativity bias” - the tendency we have to pass over the good things that occur while easily accessing and focusing on the bad.  Fear can also become “frozen” within our brains and nervous systems, which may explain why we modern humans often carry the effects of trauma throughout our entire lives.  

We are also subject to a more nebulous sense of dread called “anxiety” - a vague but often intense uneasiness without an   identifiable, external danger.  Anxiety can take different forms in different people and our physical constitutions may predispose some more than others to its higher levels.  If we additionally burden our highly reactive nervous systems with a very rapid pace of change, the daily input from social media and the twenty four hour news cycle, it is understandable that we sometimes get hijacked by our fears.  Our sense of danger may even be greater than it has been for earlier generations even though we face fewer daily threats to our survival.  

Understanding the biological basis of our fears and the technologies that exacerbate our anxieties may be useful but it is the fallout from our fears that makes us such a dangerous species.  Both our exaggerated and unrealistic worries about things that could hurt us - but often don’t -  and our attempts to gain control over the inherent uncertainties of life can do great harm to ourselves and others.  There are many parts of the world in which fears about starvation and survival are very real.  But in much of the rest of the world survival fears are being projected onto more benign situations.  From the couples I work with who are arguing with each other during therapy sessions to the political polarizations in society that undercut practical solutions and often lead to violence, the common underlying emotional denominator is fear.  Psychological anxieties having to do with feeling abandoned, annihilated, diminished, disrespected or dismissed form the core of our aggressive behaviors towards others.  Fears around loss of power, prestige and status allow us to be manipulated by political parties and demagogues who present us with a zero sum game - an us versus them paradigm that keeps us divided and fighting with each other.  

The most emotionally abusive husbands and fathers that I have worked with were extremely fearful men beneath their facade of anger.  Attempts to control partners and children were driven by deep, underlying fears about their own adequacy along with feelings of being out of control themselves  Likewise, in the social and political arena an example of fear leading to hatred and violence is the “Great Replacement Theory,” in its various guises.  In this worldview of white nationalists, a plot exists by those in power to encourage non-white “others” to take over white, Christain nations.  This phenomenon in which fear can morph into rage and hatred forms the core of what we call “paranoia,” the irrational projection of inner fears onto the external world.  This is the dominant theme of Dylann Roof’s white nationalist manifesto which led him to massacre nine people in a bible study group at the African Episcopal Church in South Carolina in 2015: extreme fears about being under attack, in this case by dark-skinned people and a “plot” to disempower white people becoming the impetus for his own murderous attack on others.

Dylann Roof’s paranoid assault along with The El Paso massacre in 2018 may seem like the extreme behavior of fanatics but the coded and overt messages of Donald Trump and a portion of the Republican Party today are fear- based with similar tropes.  Roof’s screed is not that far removed from lies about “stolen” elections, “Mexican rapists and murderers at our borders” and “pedophile” Democrats who are about to take away your guns and are conspiring to “groom” your children to be gay.  In the case of Donald Trump and a segment  of the Republican Party, fear has become the great motivator in rallying the masses to their side.  

There is another fear that has emerged around our growing evidence- based understanding of gender: our new knowledge that it is not something that we choose but rather something that chooses us.  Old assumptions and norms are being challenged by truth and lived experience - the fact that people don’t necessarily fit neatly into pre-packaged, binary sexual identities challenges the myths of both organized religion and patriarchal culture.  Because of the ways these fears are being instigated and manipulated, books that include references to gayness are being banned in libraries across the United States and school board members who profess openness in this area have come under attack.  

If we connect some of these dots to the world of national and international politics, the alliances between Vladmir Putin of Russia, Victor Orban of Hungary, Carlos Bolsonaro of Brazil, Marie Le Pen in France and other autocratic regimes and far right parties throughout the world, each one of them promotes fear in the form of extreme nationalism, nativism, mistrust of the feared and hated “others” - mostly immigrants - and a call to “family values,” code for diminishing the human rights won by women and the LGBTQ community.  These autocrats always promise to protect us from external “dangers” but history teaches us that they will use false threats to gain power for their own purposes.   Paradoxically, they are the figures to fear.

On the political left, extreme “wokeness” and the so-called “cancel culture” - intolerance towards those who do not embrace one’s views fully enough tends to produce a fear-based counter-response in those who could be potential allies.  Demanding this kind of “purity” can create its own reign of terror, something that occurred during the Cultural Revolution in China in the 1960s when the Red Guards persecuted the less “woke” professional and middle classes under the banner of promoting Mao’s revolution.    

                                                   -

The central dilemma that we face around fear is that it is both necessary and dangerous.  Fear is a realistic response to a relationship in which someone is being mistreated.  It can mobilize an individual to take action - to leave a toxic or abusive situation. Fear also tends to narrow our focus.  It can make us myopic and reactive at precisely those times that we would benefit from examining a number of alternatives.  In both our personal lives and in our political choices fear can cause us to lose sight of the big picture.  Instead of encouraging nuanced thinking it can produce responses that short circuit our capacity to act wisely and in line with our deeper values.

In the social/political world It makes sense to be fearful about environmental destruction. The consequences of inaction have become existential threats to the world community.  The international attacks on liberal democracy are also to be feared.  They could leave us living in societies with less freedom of expression and an abridged version of the rights that we now take for granted.  How to act judiciously in the face of fear - what actions to take and which ones to avoid - becomes a challenge that each generation is confronted with in some form.

There are no simple answers to the problems that arise from our being a fear-filled species.  People’s day to day lives include understandable, practical concerns and fears about work, finances, health and the multiple needs of family members.  When involving ourselves in national election campaigns or in local politics we are often acting  in what we feel to be our  individual and family’s best interests - to protect what is ours against whatever forces out there seem to be at odds with our safety and well being.  One could also argue that not everyone has the luxury of looking at the “big picture.” - this being one of the rallying points of right wing populism with its attack on the “elites.”  But, fear-based anger that is directed against others without a deeper understanding or analysis is actually a missile directed against ourselves. This type of knee-jerk, short-sighted  politics is in fact unsustainable and is what will end up compromising our freedoms and destroying our planet.  

In Fearful - Part 2, I will examine the specific ways that our relationship with fear needs to change in order to create sustainable personal relationships and political environments - how we and generations to come are being called upon to act in the face of fear to meet the unique personal and political challenges of this era.

[petnews2day]

Researcher Decodes Parrot Songs And Discovers The Sweetest Thing

New Post has been published on https://petnews2day.com/pet-industry-news/pet-travel-news/researcher-decodes-parrot-songs-and-discovers-the-sweetest-thing/

Researcher Decodes Parrot Songs And Discovers The Sweetest Thing

To the untrained ear, the chirps and squawks of a parrot’s call might seem like just a random series of notes amidst the symphony of sounds in the regions where they live. But that’s far from the truth.

Not only do parrots’ calls have meaning — some of those calls couldn’t be more meaningful to them.

It just took a little decoding on the part of humans to find that out.

While it’s long been known that parrots in captivity learn and mimic sounds around them, researcher Dr. Karl Berg set out to study how that process takes place in the wild. In doing so, he set his sights on green-rumped parrotlets, a chatty species of parrot native to the savannas and forests of Venezuela.

What Dr. Berg found was that not only do wild parrots learn new songs and sounds, they appear to acquire one very important sound in particular.

To determine if baby parrots learned sounds from their parents, or if they simply inherited them as instinct, Dr. Berg needed to make blended green-rumped parrotlet families. So, he secretly swapped eggs from nesting boxes used by the wild parrots in his study, effectively making them foster kids.

Then, with recording equipment, Dr. Berg monitored those nesting boxes as the parrot parents hatched, raised and — most importantly of all — sang to their babies.

Interestingly, Dr. Berg found that when the foster babies began singing for themselves, they sounded more like their foster parents than natural ones. They were learning! And more fascinating yet, each baby’s learned song varied slightly from the others, making it a unique identifier.

In other words, the song they learned from their parents was, in essence, their very own name.

These names go on to serve an important role throughout each parrot’s life, both as a way of announcing who they are and to know when another parrot is talking to them.

Unique identifiers do come in handy, after all.

In light of Dr. Berg’s research decoding the calls of these parrots and how they are learned, their songs ringing out in the forests of Venezuela take on new meaning. They are not merely sounds hardwired by instinct, but rather tuneful reflections of the care and affection they received from their parents.

What’s in a name? For green-rumped parrotlets and humans alike, a legacy of love.

#Pet Travel News