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spectrumed · 3 years

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3. sadness

Don’t be like that. Be like this, or be that other thing. Be unique, but don’t be too unique. Fit in, but try to be a rebel. Be a renegade, but don’t rock the boat. Don’t know what you are supposed to be? What? Do you have imposter syndrome or something? Just be yourself, but, y’know, sand down the edges a little bit. Be friendlier. Be the kind of person everyone likes. Be the life of the party! Don’t be some shut-in, some crazy cat-lady with absolutely zero social life. Don’t be sad. Don’t burden others with your sadness. Work to maximise the total happiness of your community. A smile goes a long way. Can’t smile? You really can’t help but being a sourpuss all the time? Well, I guess maybe that if you can’t help but stay in a perpetual bad mood bringing everyone else down… then maybe you should just stay isolated? Better stay alone, away from others. You’re toxic. You’re just so damned sad. You really must be quarantined.

I am sad, a lot of the time. Are you? But, no, you can’t just admit that you are sad. Don’t be a buzzkill, try to inject a little humour into the things you say. You can admit you’re depressed, if you do so with a joke. Don’t let others know you’re being sincere. Ironic jokes work the best, don’t they? They let you confess your secret gloom to everyone around, but they’ll never know just how serious you’re being. With a wink of the eye, any candid expression of your inner turmoil can become a hilarious post-modern gag. Are they or are they not telling the truth? Oh, I’ll never tell! And it will all work out excellent, up until the day you commit suicide. But every comedian’s time in the limelight has to end at some point, right?

This blog is supposed to be about autism spectrum disorder, why am I suddenly discussing depression? Well, I suppose that it is time we bring to the table this little thing called comorbidity. Psychology is messy. Some would argue that it is barely even a real scientific field (I tend to think that it is the best thing we have, but I acknowledge that in places, psychology is fundamentally flawed.) You may have thought that you’d get just one diagnosis. One simple label that you can work through and overcome. You’re bipolar, now go deal with it! But instead, you find yourself with a whole fistful of diagnoses. What to hear my proud list of diagnoses? Oh, please, don’t think because I am listing them this one certain way, I put them in order of relevancy to me. I love all of my diagnoses equally.

My diagnoses are:

Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)

Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Agoraphobia

Possible Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

Asperger syndrome (AS)

No, I was never officially diagnosed with depression, but largely because, at the time I received these diagnoses, my depression was so blatant that it felt as if I was walking around with a cloud of miasma surrounding at all times. Imagine me as Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of being covered in dirt, I was covered in the funk of melancholy. And whatever treatment I would eventually go on to receive (and still am receiving to this day,) would go about treating my anxiety first, and hopefully, the depression would give in alongside the anxiety. It has, for the most part, though, I still feel the presence of that black dog from time to time. I also got only a half-hearted potential diagnosis of OCD, but later, during a trial of an antidepressant that had a freakishly negative impact on my psyche, it blossomed into a fully-grown attention-craving condition. Turns out that OCD can be a real hog for the spotlight, really not allowing any of the other diagnoses to take their turn on stage. Thankfully, when I got off that particular antidepressant, those symptoms stopped, but it has led me to be far more aware of my internal obsessive-compulsive thought patterns. For me, OCD largely lacks physical compulsions, but my mind is ablaze with intrusive thoughts, and I will routinely force myself to repeat certain phrases in my head to make them go away. The funny thing is, I never realised that wasn’t normal.

Diagnoses are an attempt to map out a spiders’ web of problems. Things come hand in hand. While I’m no psychologist, I can speak from the perspective of someone who has been through the psychiatric process, which I suppose, lends me a certain kind of expertise, doesn’t it? Maybe it really doesn’t. Maybe I’m just throwing words out there, thinking that I could serve a good purpose, but instead all I am doing is contributing to this great onslaught of digital disinformation we’re all suffering under. But I’m probably just too doubtful of myself. I am speaking about myself, after all. I’ve got first-hand experience in being myself. I know exactly what it feels like to own this skin, these bones, this heart, and this mushy brain of mine. I’m not claiming to know everything. I’m just claiming to know about this one sad individual writing this hoping it might allow someone to reblog my posts with the hashtag “relatable” one day.

Anxiety runs in my family. The neurosis demon gets passed down from generation to generation, only occasionally skipping a beat. My mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, though, she has for the most part of her life not had it to quite the excessive degree that I have it. I really took that genetic predisposition for anxiety and ran with it. And while I’m the only person in my family to have gotten diagnosed as being “on the spectrum,” there are a few members that I kinda sort of in a way actually quite seriously suspect might also be here somewhere on the spectrum. Still, as always goes with diagnosing, there’s no point in doing it unless the person is in need of some kind of treatment. I wholeheartedly believe that most people on the planet belong to one spectrum, be it an autism spectrum, a bipolar spectrum, a narcissism spectrum, even a schizophrenic spectrum, but diagnoses should be exclusively reserved for those who need psychiatric care. The world is a spectrum, and it’s worth noting that the terms “sane” and “insane” do not alone capture the complexity of the human psyche. A person can appear perfectly sensible, yet at some point in their life, they may have been a real silly little bugger who thought that their pet hamster was the reincarnation of the Buddha. Just as with physical health, one can struggle with one's mental health for one period in their life, only to later on in life feel utterly and entirely mentally healthy. Or, well, sadly in a lot of cases, people who were perfectly mentally healthy may suddenly become diagnosed with dementia. But that’s really sad, so let’s not talk about that.

Is it all genetic? Well, no. Or well, maybe? In regards to autism, I am pretty sure that, yes, it is genetic. While, yes, I do admit that I’m just a dummy on the internet, so what do I really know? And the brain is such a complex bit of mushy meat, so I could always be proven wrong. Though, I tend towards thinking that there most likely is principally a genetic factor to conditions like autism, or attention deficit disorder (and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,) or things like bipolar disorder. But with anxiety, quite frankly, I can’t say how much of it is nurture and how much of it is nature. I mentioned that my mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, so that would imply that there is something in one's genes that can make some more prone to anxiety than others, but my mother does not struggle with agoraphobia, nor does she seem to have any obsessive-compulsive tendencies. In fact, in my family, even those that exhibit some element of heightened anxiety, they don’t seem to show any milder symptoms of this kind. I can’t help but feel as if these conditions I gained through that tortuous period of every boy’s and girl’s (and boy-girl’s) life is called puberty. I hate to conform to stereotypes but I did indeed hate being a teenager. Believe it or not, I wasn’t a jock, and no, I didn’t go to parties. I mostly spent my time crying.

The question that no doubt plagues every movie psychiatrist to no end is what kind of trauma must a person undergo to make them go mad? Abusive parents? Abusive uncles? Abusive teachers? Abusive dogs? Honestly, to be an adult raising a child must be rough, considering how any mistake you make might suddenly turn your little babe into a future serial killer. Now, there’s no doubt that there are some seriously terrible parents out there, and that a lot of people have mental woes that definitely came about due to their parents and their abysmal lack of parental care. But generally, how much can you actually blame on your parents? We know the cliché, let’s go sit down on the sofa and complain to our Freudian hack-shrink all about those times as a kid our dad missed the big game, or that time our mother embarrassed us in front of all of our friends. I have plenty of things to complain about my parents, like I believe we all have. Our parents are flawed, messy human beings, of course they occasionally made mistakes throughout our upbringings. But is that nearly enough to turn a person mentally ill? Putting up with an at times really embarrassing mom? No, I don’t think so. And of course, there are some real awful parents out there, I’m not doubting that. Trust me, I’m a fan of true crime, so I’ve heard some real grizzly stories of what some kids are forced to grow up with. But I am thinking that those instances are more rare than they are common. Most people with mental illnesses can most likely not blame their parents.

How ‘bout bullies? Yes, them bullies. Them awful mean bullies that made all of our lives so painful. It’s funny, it seems like every school had their own fair share of bullies, and yet no-one as an adult ever comes forward to admit that they themselves were the bullies. It’s almost like as if no-one ever thinks of themselves as being a bully, even when they are throwing rocks at that weird chubby kid with blonde hair who happens to be named Fredrik and who just wants to be left alone. Was I bullied? Well… yes. But I can’t say I got the brunt of it. I got bullied, but overall I’d say I only ever had it slightly worse than most people. I was still quite tall, typically taller than my classmates growing up, and for the most part I could roll with the punches. If you really want to talk about a kid I knew growing up that got bullied, let me tell you about this kid who knew all the right dances for all the right Britney Spears songs. He was gay, I think. Not quite old enough to have come out, I suspect, but, well... He liked all the female pop stars, but not in that way of wanting to kiss them and fondle their boobies, but in the “I want to sound just like them when I grow up” sort of way. I don’t know what happened to him (or them, or her, depending on how they identify now,) but that was real bullying. Like most folks, I found myself stuck in that limbo of seeing others get bullied far worse than me and being too cowardly to intervene, in fears that I’d end up taking their place. Yes, isn’t school just a marvellous place? It’s a wonder any of us turn out okay.

No, I think that, fundamentally, the problems I have arose with myself. This, blaming myself, is not something that I am unused to doing. I have a long history of blaming myself, that’s really the problem. As a teenager I knew that I was different, and I was frightened and scared of being exposed. I didn’t even really know what it was that was different about me, I just knew that I didn’t fit in. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to fit in. The older I got, the more intense these feelings got. And I started taking it out on myself. I started hating myself. And I really mean furiously hating myself. It wasn’t some casual self-loathing, it was searing self-hatred. I did not physically hurt myself, but I did engage with self-harm. I kept repeating the mantras of “I hate myself,” and “I am pathetic,” over and over again, with the ultimate goal of making myself cry. For a period, I couldn’t go to bed without making myself cry first. I began taking days off from school, pretending to be sick. Well, I suppose I was ill, but not physically. I began failing most of my classes, I only ended up doing well in art. I stayed away from school for whole weeks at the time. Once, when I shame-facedly returned to school some of the meaner boys came up to me and said that they were surprised to learn that I was still alive. They were surprised, but also a little disappointed.

This was a time in my life when I really needed psychiatric care. This became increasingly obvious to my parents, and my teachers. I was clearly suffering from depression. Not just some teenaged angst, but full-blown, wholly insidious, depression. But, well, I didn’t get the care that I needed. Oh, I did go to see a psychologist a couple of times, but she saw no reason for me to continue seeing her. I don’t know why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help, frankly, I can’t fathom why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help. I suppose I avoided telling her the truth of what went on inside of my head, but I feel like as if any good psychologist would have been able to tell that the kid sitting across from them was clearly suffering from something a tad more intense than just some common concerns about puberty. At most I was able to confess was that I was feeling ashamed over myself for getting so fat, but it should have been clear to anybody that I was only using that as a hook to hang my self-hatred on. There very clearly was some underlying condition that I had that should have gotten addressed. But it went ignored.

At most I can think to explain this is the fact that I wasn’t “problematic.” Not in the way some kids are, when they’re struggling with their mental health. I did not act out, I did not take drugs, and I was certainly not violent. Even to this day, though I have at many times suffered from suicidal ideation, I am a real low-risk for actual suicide considering my intense fear of dying (yes, that’s an odd combo to have.) So, I’ve come to realise that the only way I am getting treatment is if I actually seek out treatment. And back then, I was just as placid as I had previously always been. I was quiet and introverted, just desperate to get back home so I could go and hide in my room. Many teenagers are like that. And it is easy to ignore them, because they want to be ignored. They just don’t want to exist. When you are desperate to be left alone, eventually people will leave you alone. I would go on to receive psychiatric care later on my life, but only after several years passed. I did have a better time living in my later teenage years, but like with a bone that heals wrong, I needed someone to come in and sort me out. I was sad as a teenager, but I would become really sad as a twenty-something. Hopefully my thirties will be jolly.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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piermanwalter · 3 years

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Thief’s Apprentice: More on Magic

Things Involving Souls that Aren’t Technically Magic

According to Sidran magic theory, magic is strictly defined as energy from soul dying outside of the body harnessed for telekinesis of a single material. Anything not fulfilling all these criteria is not magic. Other parts of The World have different classifications, but in Veilheim, most people tend to call everything involving the soul leaving the body magic, and those who use more stringent definitions in normal conversation are considered elitist nerds.

Being Alive

Soul is a quantifiable spiritual substance produced by all living things and also some magically altered dead things. It can only stably exist within bodies and objects, but takes up no physical space. Soul needs to die to provide the impetus for beginning every conscious action. Normally, the amount of soul killed is so small and the rate of soul regeneration is so fast that people can do normal things like walk and talk without lasting effects on their soul. But if the mind, body, and soul are out of balance, normal activity can cause debilitating damage, whether by reducing the soul to the point where the bearer loses the will to live, or by bloating the soul until the bearer becomes dangerously overconfident.

This is one reason why powerful living mages often develop terrible and selfish personalities, which I will go into later. Revenants can deal with having gigantic souls because they are dead and the plague has severed the connection between mind, body, and soul, preventing one part from directly affecting the others.

Every living thing on The World is capable of killing their own souls inside their bodies to achieve otherwise impossible things in life-or-death situations, such as driving chemical reactions backwards to avoid drowning. This is much less efficient than magic, because souls are supposed to live and die in bodies. When soul dies in a body like usual, very little energy can be harnessed to perform magic-like functions, and it can only affect the soul’s body. When someone miraculously survives a disaster, but doesn’t have the will to speak afterwards, it is believed they killed own soul to survive. There is much philosophical debate if all negative emotions in the mind are caused by destruction of the soul, or if negative emotions are caused by the mind itself being destroyed.

Scrying, Astral Projection, and Other Forms of Sending Souls

As you may know, revenants sense their surroundings by breaking off tiny pieces of soul and sending them radiating out of their bodies, feeling substances by how their soul fragments die as they travel through them. Although the soul has left the body and died, this is not strictly magic because the resulting energy dissipates and isn’t used for anything. This can also be done by the living, but they typically can’t handle this level of soul destruction without adverse effects.

Souls can pass through anything except other souls, which allows hiding from projection by being in a crowd, a forest, or giant magic item. A soul in its original living body will override any material sensing and other souls will sense it as its own self image. This means very few people look the same in light the same way as they do from soul sensing, and self esteem has an even greater impact on appearance.

This also means revenants see many dogs as green, because the dogs themselves think they are green. Pragmus of Veilheim is a great curiosity to revenants because he was born blind and has no self image. To revenants, Pragmus appears as a void in the shape of a man. Living people with extreme dysmorphia or intentional self delusion can shapeshift from a revenant’s perspective. Do the Ophtha of Surenia truly have blue hair and massive eyes, or is it a result of internalised cultural identity?

Alchemy

When soul dies outside the body, but the energy dissipates without being harnessed, it has very small and unpredictable effects on its surroundings. Although it can be argued that this is a form of telekinesis, the lack of conscious control and one soul’s effect on all substances means by Sidran theory, alchemy is not magic. Normally this goes unnoticed, but during complex chemical reactions, the presence of dying souls changes the proportions of resulting products, sometimes to the point where impossible side reactions occur for seemingly no reason. Some believe this is a similar to what happens when soul dies in its body. It’s still not understood how this happens, but alchemists use it to their advantage.

To have some level of control over chemical reactions, alchemists detach a large piece of soul to chase away small fragments of soul, then return their soul to their bodies. Alchemists can also deliberately introduce soul into reactions to drive it towards rare products.

Although alchemy is well-studied, many untrained people do it unintentionally by yelling at wet paint and oily sauces until things work themselves out. Alchemy also happens as a side effect of soul sending, and anywhere with an extremely high concentration of people soul sending has a lot of weird shit happen, like paper suddenly bursting into flame, or metal rusting at supernatural speed, or caramel producing long strands of carbon fiber. Some people call this Folk Magic, since it only happens when a lot of folks are around. Preventing unpredictable Folk Magic is why alchemists are vital to quality control for any transformative process.

Alchemists can also forcibly use or disenchant magic and religious items by bullying the other souls out of it.

Things that are Magic

Magic is when soul dies outside the body, and the resulting energy is harnessed to greater and more specific results than everything I just talked about. Magic is separated into genres of materials that can be moved by one person. Each living being can perform a maximum of two magic genres. It still isn’t known why, but many cultures independently developed the theory that the soul is actually composed by two parts, conscious and subconscious, will to act and will to live, central nervous system or peripheral nervous system, human spirit and animal spirit, or whatever you want to call it. One part serves as fuel for higher level thinking and motivation, and the other serves as fuel for simple activities such as breathing or metabolising needed to stay alive. It is believed that each part can separately be killed to produce different genres of magic.

There aren’t strict classifications of magic genres, and a lot of magic genres end up being the same thing at different scales or in different applications. Industrial Magic is fine control of metals, while Doom Magic causes mountains to collapse. Symphonic Magic is fine control of the air to make sounds, while Pirate Magic changes wind direction. People still aren’t sure if Death Magic, control of the dead, and Black Magic, control of soulless products of the living such as hair and dust, are different things.

Magic can only be performed on materials that don’t have soul. Gore Magic is the sole exception. It can only be done on living things containing their own soul. In many cases, magic and alchemy must be combined to purge the soul fragments out of something so it can be moved telekinetically.

Religion

By Sidran theory, since religion is when many souls inhabit the same magic item, and are killed to grant specific prayers, by definition it is magic. If you say this in other parts of The World, you might get killed.

Channelling

Channeling is similar to religion or magic items, in that someone else’s soul is being killed and harnessed by a different person to do magic. The key difference is that the other soul is stored in the user’s body for some time before being killed, which grants finer control and more power. Channellers absorb soul fragments from their surroundings to bolster their own will and do magic. Essentially, channelling is magic when the channelled souls are killed for magic, and channelling is not magic when the channelled souls are killed for other purposes.

Although there are established channelling techniques, anyone can do this unintentionally by encouraging and motivating someone, or by instantly leeching the good vibes out of a room whenever they show up.

The Moon bones, who consume all soul that gets too close to The Moon, are channellers. Revenants are also all technically channellers, but I will get into that later.

Why Aren’t There More Mages?

Given the spectacular power achieved by magic, you’d expect there to be perpetually increasing mage populations, as well as the progressive increase in mage strength over history, but it doesn’t happen because magic has some terrible drawbacks.

Mages typically are humongous assholes because they are expected to burn huge amounts of soul. If moving a giant boulder kills the same amount of soul as finding out your child was murdered, mages often become soul-deprived wrecks and die, or become incredibly callous to tragedy because they feel like this all the time.

Mages also tend to develop all kinds of health problems and mental illnesses, because their minds and bodies are deprived of energy, since too much of it is going to their souls, and also because miraculous reactions from too much soul dying inside the body can warp their bodies to the point where organs start poisoning themselves and conventional medicine stops working.

To avoid soul deprivation, the most healthy and powerful mages have enormous souls, but this causes other problems. Having a bloated soul, as you know, leads to dangerous overconfidence, but also stubbornness, selfishness, and dedication bordering on insanity.

Although society benefits greatly from mages, its best that there are only a few of them. Societies ruled by or composed mostly of mages are always extremely violent and unstable, undergoing rapid cycles of expansion, infighting, and collapse. Gehenna knows this and purposefully instigates succession wars whenever a Pontiff dies to ensure the powerfully magical royal family can function as a just and semi-reasonable ruling body during other times.

Once again, revenants don’t usually have these problems because they are dead and and the plague has severed the connection between mind, body, and soul, preventing one part from directly affecting the others. However, if pursuit of magic power becomes a societal goal, things can get just as bad.

The Necromancer’s Unholy Power

As the most powerful mage on The World, The Necromancer is the embodiment of the worst of magic. A violent, power-hungry society enabled him to invent the plague, and its ideals continue to compel him to lord over and exploit other people despite being completely alienated from the new post-plague society.

All revenants are sustained by The Necromancer’s magic. He constantly radiates countless soul fragments that move all throughout The World and are attracted to plague bacteria. The plague bacteria then act as channellers, using The Necromancer’s soul as fuel to infect people and sever the connection between mind, body, and soul. The plague bacteria sustain the plaguebearer’s mind, letting the body rot and soul grow enormous.

You can think of The Necromancer as an internet service provider, his soul fragments as WiFi, and the plague bacteria as modems. You can also think of vampirism as stealing WiFi.

After 700 years of soul sending, all of The World is blanketed in a thick miasma of The Necromancer’s soul fragments. This revived The Moon bones, and skewed chemical reactions everywhere to the point where many techniques developed before the plague don’t work without alchemy. Without knowing, he also raised the boiling and melting point of water by a few degrees, causing huge ice freezes even at high temperatures, and refuses to let carbonic acid form in the air in any circumstances.

Much of North Beringia is covered by ice, partially because The World is cold to begin with, partially because mass plague death decreased human wood and coal burning, and also because underground revenants attract The Necromancer’s soul fragments. Vast lifeless fields of ice in impossibly warm weather is a sign that revenants will burst from the ground soon.

The more proud of his experiments, the bigger his soul gets, and the bigger his soul gets, the more experiments he can do. The Necromancer would be unstoppable if he wasn’t an easily impressed diva.

#thief's apprentice #magic #worldbuilding #long post #graphic injuries #the necromancer

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tlbodine · 4 years

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A Brief History of the Slasher

Is there a more iconic face for the horror genre than the knife-wielding psychopath? Many would say no. Although the tried-and-true slasher formula is so played out as to be a cliche -- and fresh examples played straight are tough to come by in the modern age -- for many, slasher films are the heart and soul of horror movies.

How did that happen? What do they say about us on a cultural level? And where should you start when it comes to a formal study of the topic? Let’s delve deep and find out!

Murder and mayhem are evergreen topics of fascination for humans, and we’ve been telling stories about murderers since Cain killed Abel. But these stories didn’t become what we would formally call “slashers” until the 1970s.

So what is a slasher?

Slasher films are defined by a few shared characteristics:

A high body count (multiple victims)

Murders are shown on-screen and often from the POV of the killer

The murders happen one by one, incorporating pursuit, struggle, and finally death

The killer may have a supernatural influence, but it will have the physical appearance of a human (and may often simply be a human)

In almost every instance, the killer is portrayed as being insane or rendered deeply troubled by a past trauma which had triggered the murderous impulse. The killer is frequently dehumanized, and the victims are usually young.

Slashers often adhere to their own sort of moral logic, more closely resembling Medieval morality plays than perhaps any other modern genre of storytelling. By utilizing a cast of archetypes, various virtues and flaws can be represented among the victims.

These traits are what differentiate slashers from other murder-focused horror, thriller and mystery tales.

Consider, for example, the narrative structure of an Agatha Christie murder mystery like And Then There Were None. In this book, a group of strangers are brought under mysterious circumstances to a remote location, where they are systematically murdered as an act of vengeance. In concept, this seems like it should be a slasher -- but its execution is quite different. In the book, the murders are a backdrop; the characters (and reader) are confronted with bodies rather than scenes of overt violence.

The First Slasher

In 1974, two films came out that gave birth to the modern slasher.

The first, released in October, was Tobe Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The second, released in the USA in December of that year, was Bob Clark’s Black Christmas.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre tells the story of a group of friends who run afoul of a family of cannibals living in a rural farmhouse. Black Christmas is about the systemic murder of sorority girls during Christmas break. And both left an indelible mark on horror history.

It’s important to put some context on the world these films were created in:

The recent dissolution of the Hays production code meant that movies could be more graphically violent and morally depraved than ever before

The Vietnam war was raging, and for the first time in history, televised footage of the battle was piped into living rooms on the evening news

Multiple serial killers were active in the country, and their exploits also graced the daily newspapers and nightly news to sow terror

Richard Nixon’s presidency was marked by an as-then unprecedented level of corruption and scandal

Gender politics provided both sexual freedom and career ambitions to a generation of women, and the 1973 landmark Roe v. Wade case legalizing abortions played a massive role in both gender relations and the way we would think about life and bodily autonomy.

The 1970s provided, in other words, a perfect storm of circumstances that collided to give birth to slashers, and neither Hooper nor Clark are shy about citing these as their inspiration. Texas Chainsaw was billed in theaters as a true story as an act of political defiance against newscasts that spread misinformation; Black Christmas is at its heart a film about abortion and a woman’s right to leave an abusive relationship. They were undeniably films of their time.

Texas Chainsaw inspired a wave of sensationalist "ripped from the headlines" murder movies loosely based on real killers, such as Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes (1977), which was based on the Sawney Bean legend or Charles B. Pierce's The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976), which was based on the Texarkana Phantom Killer.

And Black Christmas, of course, served as the thematic springboard for a little film called Halloween.

Halloween and the Final Girl

In 1978, a little-known small-time director named John Carpenter was hired to make a movie with the working title, The Babysitter Murders. It would be about -- you guessed it -- babysitters who got murdered. The idea was later adapted to take place on Halloween, likely for commercial reasons: People like watching scary movies in October, so setting a film on Halloween night would surely help with popularity.

John Carpenter certainly did not wholly plagiarize Black Christmas with his holiday-themed slasher, but the earlier film's influence is visible all the same -- from a shared lineage of "the call is coming from inside the house" babysitter folk legend, to the perspective work on establishing shots of the house and the ambiguously bleak ending.

But compared to Black Christmas, Halloween is horror with its edges filed down so it'll be easier to swallow. Both films have predominately female casts, but the sorority girls in Black Christmas have sexual agency and outspoken opinions that are nowhere to be found in Carpenter's work. In fact, Halloween so aggressively fails the Bechdel Test that it seems to do so on purpose -- there is not a single scene with two girls where they are not talking about a boy. And while Black Christmas deals with complex topics like abortion, domestic violence, and the unreliability of the police, Halloween simplifies its formula down to the utterly basic: Michael Myers kills because he is pure evil, and that is simply what evil does.

Despite its flaws -- or perhaps because of them -- Halloween became an immediate and enormous hit. It also introduced several clever storytelling techniques that were crucial to the advancement and development of the slasher genre:

The introduction of a Final Girl, the lone survivor who holds out against the onslaught of terror. (Carpenter denies that Laurie Strode’s virginal innocence has anything to do with her survival, but “final girl as virgin” would persist as a trope for a very long time)

A masked killer. Although we’d seen masked murders in many films before (I’ve talked in the past about the trope of the mask-wearing murderer, and the way it is both thematically and logistically useful in storytelling: https://tlbodine.tumblr.com/post/189658195609/the-masked-knife-wielding-psycho), the “look” of Michael Myers is so iconic that it inspired a need for future killers to have a similarly thoughtful design, decking them out almost like comic book superheroes.

Franchising opportunities. Although earlier movies had spawned sequels, Halloween exploded as a franchise thanks in large part to the iconic design and the simplistic good-vs-evil storytelling formula. Future slashers would latch onto this killer-centric franchise formula for over a decade.

Halloween became the most profitable independent film, holding the record for 16 years, which goes to show just how successful the formula truly was.

The Golden Age of Slashers

As the 1970s gave way to the 1980s, the advent of VHS and Betamax formats created a market for low-budget straight-to-video films. Because slashers are so cheap to make (you don't need any famous actors, can film entirely in one location, and practical effects can be as simple as a few gallons of stage blood), they were ideal candidates for the job. On the big screen, horror was enjoying an unusually high level of popularity, a proven money-maker, simultaneously commercial and subversive in a decade of opulence and social conservativism.

So onto that stage walks Sean S. Cunningham's gory slasher, Friday the 13th, where a group of teenage camp counselors are brutally murdered, frequently wile having sex. The film spawned a widely successful franchise, which swiftly began borrowing elements of Halloween -- a silent and indestructible masked killer, a signature musical score -- to become a pop culture mainstay. The 1983 Robert Hiltzik film, Sleepaway Camp, cashes in on the "death to camp counselor" plot in the same way that Fred Walton's When a Stranger Calls touched on babysitter murders in 1979.

A whole slew of less-successful films would follow, most of them lost to the history books but still living in dollar-bin DVD collections. Some, like Prom Night and My Bloody Valentine, would earn a cult following. One noteworthy cult favorite is Slumber Party Massacre, directed and written by women (Amy Holden Jones and Rita Mae Brown, respectively), which turns some slasher tropes in their head.

A glut of films, most of them instantly forgettable, led to a decline in slasher popularity -- until Wes Craven's A Nightmare on Elm Street in 1984.

Cracking Wise and Slashing Teens

A Nightmare on Elm Street introduces Freddy Krueger, a different sort of horror villain than audiences had seen before. Krueger is a supernatural killer who stalks his victims in their dreams, bringing a fresh supernatural twist to the slasher genre. And, unlike Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees, Freddy is anything but silent. Thanks in part to the charisma of lead actor Robert Englund, the character's darkly comedic personality became utterly riveting.

Plenty of dream-related horrors would follow, none of which would make much of a splash. But one film franchise did latch on to a similar formula: Child's Play, directed by Tom Holland in 1988, introduced another supernatural wisecracking killer in the form of Chucky, a murderous doll possessed by the soul of as serial killer.

These major film franchises -- Halloween, Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and Child’s Play -- would go on to spawn numerous sequels and become such a thoroughly pervasive part of pop culture that you can find their likeness everywhere. But despite the many imitators, there was little in the way of innovation in the genre until the mid 90s.

Do You Like Scary Movies?

Wes Craven toyed with the idea of self-referential horror in New Nightmare, a Freddy Krueger film that was itself a meta-analysis of Freddy Krueger films. But he would revisit the idea with far greater success in 1996 with Scream.

Created by horror lovers, for horror lovers, Scream is designed to be the most quintessential slasher film ever created. Relying on a hip, young cast to draw in a fresh audience, Scream works by combining nostalgia, meta-analysis, humor, and buckets of blood into a single film. The opening scene is a direct homage to When a Stranger Calls, and the masked killer is a deliberate call-back to earlier films.

Unsurprisingly, Scream was a huge hit that ushered in a brief but furious wave of slashers, like the star-studded I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) and Urban Legend (1998), and Scream itself had several sequels and even a TV series. But the 1990s were something of a dark era for the slasher film, seeing the release of some spectacularly lackluster franchise installments. One exception to that was the fan-favorite Freddy vs Jason, which pits the two killers against one another -- a delightful premise, but one that had strayed far from the slasher roots.

Modern Slasher Films

The 1990s slasher reboot was short-lived and mostly forgettable, and by the 2000s filmmakers had mostly turned away from the genre entirely, except for a slew of nostalgia cash-in reboots of every popular franchise.

The one exception was meta-analysis -- building on Scream, these films began to deconstruct the genre in a way that would combine horror, humor, and criticism.

The Final Girls (2015), directed by Todd Strauss-Schulson, takes this sort of meta approach. The Cabin in the Woods (2012), directed by Drew Goddard but bearing the fingerprints of co-writer and producer Joss Whedon, takes it to even further excess, providing both a thorough deconstruction of horror gropes and an entirely new mythos to give it a fresh framework.

But the problem with deconstructions is that, once a few truly successful ones have been made, it becomes essentially impossible to create the original thing in earnest anymore. And so the slasher as a sub-genre has reached its bloody end.

Where Did All The Slashers Go?

With dozens of slashers spanning more than 40 years of film history, it’s pretty hard to create something new with the format. Which is not to say that people aren’t still making them -- they are -- but there is less room to innovate within the notoriously rigid and simplistic slasher formula.

Culturally, we’ve moved on a lot from the 1970s as well. For one, serial killers are no longer the threat they once were. Babysitters and camp counselors are rarely teenagers, either -- in fact, teens aren’t leaving the house as much in general. And a rise in information technology, communications and surveillance has made it harder to isolate victims and commit murders over a long period of time -- our mass murders tend to happen in shooting sprees instead these days. For another, that same information technology has made us extremely jaded and hard to impress with gore.

The 2000s delivered violence at levels utterly beyond anything in history. The rise of the so-called torture porn -- a genre that dispenses with the stalking and killing of multiple victims in favor of lingering on the painful mutilation of a small handful -- delivered gore unlike any seen in earlier slashers. Cable television series like The Walking Dead deliver graphic violence with unprecedented regularity -- you no longer need to pick up a “video nasty” to indulge in some gruesome gore.

And, well, unfortunately, the internet has made it easier than ever to see real violence, from terrorist beheading videos to medical gore to live-streamed murders.

Gore for gore’s sake is simply not as compelling in the 21st century, and that takes away much of the slasher’s appeal.

Slashers have had to morph and adapt to find a foothold for survival. In the 2000s, we saw their metamorphosis in real time: From torture porn to home invasion to a cornucopia of more innovative horrors dwelling on fears both large and small.

We’ve probably seen the last of masked knife-wielding, babysitter-killing psychos...but the horror genre is richer for it.

#horror movies #slahsers #slasher films #horror #horror analysis

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twitchesandstitches · 5 years

Text

The Great Library was a vast enough eldritch realm that there were enough room for smaller pockets for magic to carve out enclaves of spirit sanctuaries within them, and establish little pocket realms loosely tethered to the rest of the Library; close enough, so to speak, that you could walk through a door in the Library and into someone’s personal realm with ease and comfort, but distinct enough that the all seeing eyes of the spirit that commanded the Library had no actual influence or power there.

He probably didn’t care what anyone did, as long as it was not misusing his knowledge or stealing it, but it paid to be cautious around spirits… divorced from understanding of humans, or so Raven understood. Magnus had taught her this with some urgency when she was young; she knew that spirits were more direct than mortals. They were a purpose and domain given its own form, and did not understand the complexities and changes that a human did. Some dealt with this magnanimously, such as spirits of righteous concepts like Valor or Honor. Some, like the great knowledge spirit of this Library, regarded mortals as hopelessly treacherous and insane, as lost as the tides upon the ocean. And he had told her scary bedtime stories about entities like Koh the Face Stealer, and those like him altogether too interested in mortal weakness, taking the faces and perspectives of mortals to experience it for themselves.

Ever since she was small, long before she had ever towered over him and everyone else, Raven had always listened closely to him. One day, a red giant with one eye had taken in a half-demon girl, on perhaps a whim or a stirring of compassion within his heart, and a longing for a father who had long since left into the ether.

To Raven, the demon Trigon was a monster. A nightmare that even the great demonic Who’s Who tomes refused to talk about in detail. Talking grimoires clammed up, stifling their screaming voices, and would say nothing of him. He was many things in her mind; a looming inevitability, something she would have to take care of, a reminder that she had been born wrong. But he was not Father to her.

When Raven thought ‘Father’, she saw a giant of a man, with a great mane of feathered red hair, a single shifting eye. Always a word for the curious, sarcastic snarking for the unwise, and moments of childish pique… but always kind with her, patient and encouraging her talents no matter how they might frighten her, or she frighten others.

The sanctuary of Magnus the Red, his students, and those he had named sons and daughters, they lived within a realm partially modeled after many worlds he had taken a liking to, an ever shifting magical wonderland of infinite possibilities, and the multiverse’s most complicated antique shop. Buildings lay within this realm at odd angles to one another, streets sticking out around invisible trajectories to create mountains of buildings all twisting around one another, and talking raven-spirits flapping about to make sarcastic comments at people.

Presently she and Magnus were within his own sanctum, a place of power to preserve his incorporeal form and make him properly solid for a while and stabilize his powers a bit. It pleased him to follow her whim to make it look like a giant T-letter. Within it, they were having a meeting.

“Sit, my child,” he said, squatting down upon a heavy mat in the fashion of his homeworld from lost antiquity, Prospero. Raven sat in precisely the same way, her gargantuan backside serving the role of a chair. Awkwardly, she pulled her heavy cloak over herself, trying to wear it like he did and she had some trouble. Her chest was getting in the way. Granted, he was quite broad in the chest but not quite in the same way she was.

She was, in every way, a loving daughter who wanted nothing more than to be like her father. Not Trigon. Magnus.

He looked fondly at her, but also sadly.

“There is…” he started, and stopped. He fumbled for the words. “Ah. ...You are well, today? My child?”

Raven nodded demurely. “Yes, father. I am well. The nightmares of…” she shifted anxiously. “Well, you know. I am not dreaming of that anymore. I suppose the medicine worked?”

“That’s good to hear. Yes, good. Er…” he looked awkward again. “I think I know what was causing those nightmares.”

“You do? I thought the general idea was that… he… was growing in power and was attempting to contact me through my dreams.”

“I had thought so too, and that is indeed the case. However… I may have unintentionally given him a route, of sorts.”

Raven’s face, as red as his own, paled into a grayish horror. “You, you what?”

“Not on purpose!” He waved a great hand anxiously. “I was studying a summoning spell for him!”

“Oh dear lord…”

“Not to summon him, not at all! I was simply trying to find out his name!” He sighed. “I don’t want to have to wait for him to make the first move. When we face him, and we will, I swear to you, I want it on our terms. But I needed more information; his name, something to use to track his realms of power or fiendish armies, a way to figure out his cults in the material realm. So I was decoding his summoning spell, working out the programming in it, so to speak.”

Raven calmed down, a bit. A summoning spell ,of the classic ‘call up something into a circle’, was effectively the magical version of messaging someone with the bonus of making them materialize under certain controls. What he was talking about was theoretically possible, and she had no doubt he could do it.

“Then, you have his name?”

Magnus bowed his head. “Yes. I have a name, of great importance to him. The seed of his existence.”

“You do!? What is it?”

He hesitated. “Raven… this is… ah. Look, I called you here to tell you this because we both know the day will soon come when you will have to face him. Sooner or later, he will press that matter, and I intend to see you slay him and take his power for your own. But… now, there is something else. I have to fight him. Not just because I want to, for your sake.”

Raven frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you not have his name?”

“I do. And that is what worries me.” He sighed. “Daughter, you understand that many ages ago, I was… very, very badly hurt.”

She recalled her history lessons. “The Thousand Sons teach that in ages past, your essence was shattered into many shards. Each one containing a portion of yourself.”

“Yes. And in order to retain me, my shards sought each other ought and enough recombined to allow me to keep my mind. And I was badly weakened, as most of my power was scattered. And over time, I found more of them, becoming more whole and powerful… but I never did find them all.”

“The best of you remained as the core aspect, and over time, you found more pieces of yourself,” she said.

“Yes! Very good. Now tell me, how many shards do you think a soul would break into? Bearing in mind that the soul is, by its nature, indivisible and infinite.”

She considered this riddle. “I would think that there is no limit. You could have any number of shards, and since the soul encompasses all you are and COULD be, you might have many, each comprising a minute facet of your being. Is that not so?”

“Indeed. And as I embody the magical potential of humanity as a whole, and therefore multitudes, I could be stretched farther than mortals would be.” Magnus tapped his chest, a nail clicking against one of the spike/horns growing from his chest. “So how many do you think I was reduced to?”

Raven took a guess. “Hrm. A few hundred?”

He winced. “Selling me a bit short there.”

“...A thousand?”

“I wish. More manageable and I enjoy the theming. But no.”

“Father, I don’t know. How many did you break into.”

He looked up, his face weary with an ancient ache. “Trillions. More.”

“Trillions!?”

“I broke apart into so many pieces, each one aware, if barely. Some larger and more powerful. Others less so, but each one an aspect of me. When some of these shards found one another, they fused into what I am now; myself, if not quite whole at least stable. And there were still vast gaps in my being, for eons I searched but never found them all.”

Raven leaned forward, eyes wide and fearful. “Father… do you mean that… oh, are you alright? Are you hurting, even now?!”

“Don’t worry, dear child. I have become whole, over time. The soul is a growing thing, and experience, understanding, growth? I have found all that. I have changed, and so my soul has healed itself. My power is weaker, yes, I would have to fuse with my shards to truly regain my full power, but my being, the essence of what makes me who I am? I have grown into a new Magnus, and made myself whole. I fixed myself, you see.”

Raven sighed, looking relieved. “I was worried there, Father. And, why do you tell me this?”

His single eye narrowed gravely. “You must know that, therefore, many of these shards are still out there. Most are just pockets of raw potentiality, unlikely to do more than exercise random magic. No mind there, just a sense of will. But some, with more essential aspects in the beginning, took on their own life.”

“And, if you grew back into someone…” Raven pondered this. “Then perhaps they have grown into something else as well?”

“You have it! And for the most part, this is not so bad. Some of them are harmless. Others, mutated into dangerous monsters that I must find and slay. But others embodied… terrible aspects of who I was. Spiteful tendencies, vindictiveness, thoughts of wanting to be extremely important, and overwhelming arrogance.”

Raven loved her adoptive father, but she was also realistic. “Thank goodness you left all that behind,” she said sarcastically.

“Yes, it’s rather a good job, isn’t it?” Magnus replied proudly, quite blind to it. “But those parts of myself are still out there. They are still in existence, and over time… I believe they found one another. All the worst in me, coming together without a single aspect of the parts of me that knew compassion… trust, love, the need for other people and a desire to help. Everything, in short, that makes me human.”

Raven frowned. “And those shards might have grown, as you have.”

Magnus’ expression was terribly blank. “This is no hypothetical situation. I can prove it.” He pulled out a roll of parchment, and upon it were many things, but at the bottom:

A summon spell, decoded in messy script, and below it, was the name of Magnus.

“Father?” Raven took it and studied it. “This spell… your name is the central part of it? What is it?”

“A summoning spell for the demon who sired you,” Magnus said grimly. “This is what I’ve been studying, and he used that to try to pinpoint your location. I’ve created wards so he cannot do that now, but I’ve learned his origin.”

Raven tried to work this out. “Okay, but what do you have to do with-”

The shards of myself can grow…

Pieces of myself, the very worst in me, without any shred of humanity or compassion…

Father’s name, on the parchment. On a summoning spell for Trigon.

Evil pieced together, without any room for goodness in there, evolving… growing… and demons, fiends, were just what happened when evil took on a face and a will.

And Trigon looked so very much like Magnus the Red.

Raven paled again. “Oh dear, sweet Primus.”

Magnus shuffled away from her. “Please… Raven. Understand, I am not Trigon! And he is not me! I-”

“But he was made from a piece of you,” she said, understanding dawning. She forced herself to calm down.

This is Father. It has always been Father.

He is not the monster you fear.

She remembered a great red hand, always at her shoulder. Giving her treats. A warm voice, making snide comments at the more fussy Thousand Sons. Always standing up for her, and so kind to her mother…

Father.

Raven tried not to think about the terrible feelings welling up, the confusion and random surges of fear, and silenced them. Deal with them later, she told herself. She wiped away tears. “I’m sorry, Father,” she said meekly. “I.. I don’t… this, this isn’t your fault…!”

What have I done to Father? He must think so terribly of himself…!

Magnus’ face curled in horror. “My fault!? I, no! This isn’t about me, this is about you! The demon that plagues you, he is my fault! Now, more than ever, it is my responsibility to help you end him.”

“Does that mean… you can become more whole by making him fuse with you? Will that help you?”

Magnus shook his head. “No. We’ve been apart for so long that I haven’t the faintest idea what he has become. A fiend, yes, but apart from that? He’s certainly far less human that I ever was, and I suspect he’s evolved into something else entirely. I’m more interested in how you can help yourself by… hrm, how do i put this delicately… ‘absorbing him’, I suppose?”

“You, you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I trust you, daughter. And whatever power he has, I’d rather have you claim it, and make yourself the best you can be.”

“But, it’s your power!”

He didn’t look at her. Just saying ‘I don’t trust myself to stay me after absorbing him’ was out of the question.

Magnus trusted Raven. He did not trust himself.

“We can end him,” he promised. “Whatever happens after that. We are the key to undoing that monster’s evil. I, the remnant of what he once was a part of. You, the person he made as a vessel. We are in a perfect position to ruin his plans, and for you to become something even greater than you already are!”

Raven bowed her head. “I am willing to try, at least.”

Sometime later…

“And that is the situation,” Magnus said to the assembled Thousand Sons, the Blood Ravens, his other orders, and the human wizards and witches that were allied to him. “Are there any questions?”

A Blood Raven raised his hand.

“Yes? Gabriel Angelos!”

“The plan is still to kill this wretched fiend,” Angelos said. “So apart from a technicality, that the fiend was born from pieces of you, has much actually changed?”

“A lot has changed! It’s a lot more personal than it already was, and it was really damn personal to begin with!”

“Doesn’t sound like much has changed.”

“Oh, shut up and let someone else ask something. You! Tall wizard, the one with red hair.”

A human wizard, red-haired and peeking out of the copious masses of Hermione Granger’s hair, had his hand raised. He was called Ron Weasley, and he had a point to make. “So does this make Lady Raven your actual daughter, or what?”

“She already was,” Magnus said flatly. “Next question.”

“No, no! I mean, adopted, yes, but… biologically! Is she your actual daughter!?”

“We have different meanings of ‘actual’. She is my daughter, end of story. Next question?”

“But if she’s Trigon’s daughter, and Trigon is a part of you, is there some kinda, what’s the word, transitive property that make her your kid too?”

“For pity’s sake! No one actually cares!”

Raven raised a hand. “I care, Father.” She smiled at that.

“Oh come on! Don’t tell me you believe that biological parentage is more ‘legitimate’ than adoption!”

“Well, no… but it’s still a nice notion, all the same.”

Magnus sighed. A Thousand Son - Ahriman, perhaps - piped up. “This, I think, makes the Lady Raven Lord Magnus’ first heir!”

“SHE ALREADY WAS!” Magnus bellowed. “It’s even in my completely pointless will!”

“I recommend a grand celebration!” Ahriman continued, ignoring him. “Let us celebrate the downfall of our eldest enemy, and the discovery of a true scion to lead us all!”

“How is he an eldest enemy?” asked a witch; Luna Lovegood, Raven thought. “You’ve only known of his nature for a short while.”

“He is retroactively a greatest enemy,” sad a Blood Raven, with a straight face somehow. “And he was at one point part of Lord Magnus. Everyone knows that Lord Magnus’ greatest enemy is himself.”

“Hey now!” Magnus complained.

“I’m sorry, Father, but they’ve a point,” Raven said.

“Oh gods not you too.”

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shooter-nobunagun · 5 years

Text

Daughter of the Cosmos

//Continuing off where we left, the truth behind the Great Ones and their Kin...

The four trudged into the dark building, Sio still feeling uneasy about the whole thing but it was too late to turn back now. Even though Nostradamus assured them multiple times the Cathedral was quite safe, she’d learned enough to know nothing was ever certain.

“Still, I must say I’m surprised dear friend, that you would choose to join a group of hunters...?” Their guide questioned his friend. “You used to always say numbers create more problems than they solve...”

“Hmm...call it a change of heart. We don’t stay the same forever, Nostradamus.”

“Oui oui, that is true. In more ways than one...indeed.” They were now inside a great hall of sorts, dust covering most of the surfaces and furniture looking like they were one step away from falling apart, but at least there were no creatures wandering about as far as they could see. “Please, have a seat...if you can find one. Although I only anticipated William Tell, I am glad to share my findings with those who are interested. Not many care to learn about our origins anymore, these days...where They came from, our role as hunters in this hunt and our fates in this dream...”

Dream? For some reason that word made Sio shiver, though there shouldn’t have been any reason to. Again a strange feeling that she should know something, but just like whenever she was in the Hunter’s Dream, those thoughts fled the second she tried to focus. “Wait...you know about those things? The monsters that suddenly appeared, after we defeated Rom...and the moon turned red...”

“Ah, the Red Moon...” Though he was blindfolded, it still felt like Nostradamus was looking directly at her. “You, the girl...you had contact with her. The Great One, Rom.”

“Y, Yeah, I did...h-how did you know...”

A tinkling of laughter from Nostradamus; not menacing but still every single hair on the back of her neck stood on end. “Just because my eyes are no longer privy to the world does not mean I do not see, Mademoiselle... in fact I daresay, I can see far more than you, Miss...?”

“Uh, Ogura. Sio Ogura.”

“Mademoiselle Ogura. You came into contact with a Great One. And since your group defeated her, the veil that was cast over this world lifted and now you can see what I’ve long known; the nightmare this world truly is...”

“What...this world truly is? What do you...”

“Those things. The Amygdalas that Vidocq talks about...you mean those, don’t you? We weren’t able to see those abominations until after fighting Rom...” Adam’s gaze narrowed at Nostradamus’ words. “What do you mean by veil...are you implying what we saw, before...was all a lie?”

“Not quite. And you are Monsieur...?”

“Muirhead.” Adam replied bluntly, not keen to give the stranger anymore information than he had to. “Somethin’s changed since then, it’s fairly obvious. But what’s that to do with these Great Ones? Are you saying they’re some sort of beings that can...influence us?”

The Choir member nodded. “In a way. I’m impressed, that a non-Church group like yours has a surprisingly solid grasp on the basics. But the truth, ah...that is always more complex, non?” He strode over to one of the leaning shelves, pulling out a great tome that was set down with a thud on the remaining table, dust rising from its weight. “Please, take a look. It is part of Master Wilhem’s teachings that have been passed down since the founding of the Healing Church—despite our separations.” The page opened to what appeared to be an ancient drawing, the paper yellow and wrinkled and filled with muddled text Sio could not make out, despite her schooling. But the picture and diagrams on the page...

An eerie creature, with a vertical, gaping maw and a monstrous head that seemed to be all brain, covered with countless stalk eyes all over and long tentacle-like wings on its back; around it were drawings of people kneeling or even praying, as if worshiping this creature. Lines with foreign script on them went from the creature to the humans, and Sio noticed with slight horror how some seemed to be deformed, clutching their heads as eyes sprouted out or others that seemed to be screaming in terror.

“Oh...god!” The huntress unconsciously stepped back, squeaking in surprise as she backed into Adam. “Th, that thing...why are they, what is it? Is it one of those...Great Ones you’re talking about?”

“Ebritias, Daughter of the Cosmos. She came down from the heavens, and took pity on us poor humans, a race beneath their level of existence...” Nostradamus slowly turned the page, showing another image of this Ebritias appearing to interact with humans, including some who looked like they were gouging out their own eyes. “We of the Choir learned a great deal from her, in our quest for the Truth; she taught us about the Eldritch Truth, and gave us access to the Old Blood...”

The floor seemed to waver as Sio sat down; though they all suspected it, hearing confirmation from one of the elite members of the Church that there were indeed otherworldly creatures and forces manipulating their lives... “I-I don’t, I don’t get it...what is this ‘Truth’? Why’s it so important? And if this, Ebritias...if she really is just here to give us knowledge, then how come I feel like I’m about to go insane each time one of them tries to communicate with me?!”

“It is because most humans lack the ability to commune with them. To understand the Truth, and gain more Insight...” Gloved fingers paused on the drawing of a skull on the page. “Making contact with eldritch wisdom is a blessing, for even if it drives one mad, it allows one to serve a grander purpose, for posterity.”

“...Okay, that’s great and all, but what if I don’t want to? Besides, what’s the point if I’m just going to go insane...” Sio muttered, wondering if Nostradamus himself wasn’t more than a little loopy after spending all this time around the Great Ones. At least she finally knew why she always went into a frenzy when fighting those creatures, but it didn’t help mitigate the problem itself.

“Seeking the Truth is not for everybody; I admit that. However, I am afraid us humans...do not have much of a choice.” Nostradamus gently closed the tome and returned it to the shelf. “I have chosen to dedicate my life in hopes of understanding the knowledge of the Great Ones, and perhaps even make contact with them, eventually. Though, it is not without risks, even to me; there were once other members who sought to commune with them at any means, even if it meant sacrificing their sanity... the School of Mensis, they are an example of what happens when humans foolishly overstep their boundaries. However, that is not to say there are some small...beneficial effects. For example, Mademoiselle Ogura, you suffer the blood sickness, do you not? Have you wondered why you haven’t succumb to the scourge yet, despite your ashen blood?”

Sio flinched at the mention of her condition. “Y-You, don’t mean to say...this, ‘insight’...”

“It counteracts the effects of beasthood. In other words, you may be risking your sanity, yes, but it is also probably the only thing from keeping you from turning into a full-fledged beast,” Nostradamus answered for her softly. “Not what you want to hear I’m sure, but...”

She only heard the first part of the sentence, all feeling having left her legs as she slumped to the stone floor, oblivious to Adam’s concerned queries. Turning into a beast, or losing your sanity... Were these really the only two choices she had? Even worse was the fact that out of all the hunters, she was the only one who suffered from both; none of the others showed signs of contamination, and even their frenzy seemed to be less severe than hers, able to be tempered by an occasional draught of sedative while she downed pills and vials like candy. Her body was trembling with both anger and despair and a tear fell before she knew it.

“I-It’s not...it’s not fair!” Sio choked out a sob, not even bothering to wipe her tears. “I don’t care about the Eldritch Truth! I don’t want to turn into a beast...! Why am I the only who’s suffering...” The last thing she wanted was to give off the impression of an immature child, but the huntress couldn’t help it; to come all this way, only to learn she was nothing more than a puppet for the whims of godly creatures, far beyond their understanding. Sympathetic or not, it seemed the Great Ones did not care if humans went insane; the only thing that mattered was passing on this ‘truth’. “I hate this! Why did I even come here...maybe I should’ve just stayed behind and let the disease run its course; at least I wouldn’t be plagued by those monsters trying to force me to understand things I can’t...”

“Oy now, you don’t really mean that...” Gentle hands helped her up, procuring a handkerchief and wiping her face. “Chin up, Ogura. You’ve come this far already, I know you won’t just give up.”

“Apologies, Mademoiselle. A hunter’s life is not easy...I am surprised you chose such.” Nostradamus bowed in sympathy. “Please, take your time to rest here; it is safe, I can assure you.” The other two mercifully left the immediate vicinity, giving Sio some privacy.

Sio only continued sniffling, grateful for Adam’s handkerchief. “I know...I know...! Still, in hindsight...I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake...hell, even the ‘paleblood’...those were all just lies, too...” The huntress hugged herself tight, wishing she were anywhere other than this damp, cold cathedral, where monsters and alien creatures prowled about and she never felt truly safe, even in the Dream. “I just want this to end...”

“And it will, Sio. You have to trust me. Trust yourself,” Adam firmly chided, brushing the girl’s tangled locks. “I know you’re feeling awfully discouraged, and hell so would I, if I were in your shoes. But you’ve also done remarkably well, even with those conditions. Think about it; most normal hunters barely make it this far, but you discovered something most people never find, in spite of your illness.” He patted her on the back, offering a small hug as Sio blew her nose. “Don’t forget, you’re not alone in this fight; you’ll always have me an’ Hunter. We won’t leave you behind, Sio.”

“A-Adam...th, thank you...” Though her body and mind were exhausted, she knew Adam was right—giving up was not an option, not after all they overcame, and the small, precious moments of happiness she found during this journey... “U, Um, A-Adam? C-Can I ask you for a small favor...?”

“Hmm?”

Sio blushed under his curious gaze; those green eyes were almost too piercing at times. “I-I, it’s just...I’m sorry if it seems silly, but...c-could you, hold me really tight?” She half-expected him to laugh or scold her for wasting time, but then a pair of strong arms encircled her, and as she buried herself against his broad chest his embrace tightened. A couple of tears fell as she couldn’t help but contemplate her future, but Adam simply held her until the hiccups subsided.

“Feelin’ a mite better now?”

“M-Mmm...s-sorry about that...” Slowly she unwound herself from his grasp. “Thank you...I feel like, that’s the only place I ever really feel safe...when you, hold me...all tight like that...” Her cheeks were rosy from both the tears and shyness, Adam feeling his own face grow rather warm.

“...Of course, Sio. I’m glad to hear it.” Good thing neither Tell or Nostradamus were around, but at this point Adam couldn’t have cared less; if the others began finding out about his relationship with the huntress, then so be it. Things were getting more desperate than ever, and if indulging in these moments of tranquility meant risking the attention of others...well, it was worth it. “But did you get what you wanted here? The truth about your condition...”

Sio nodded as she pulled her overcoat back on. “Y-Yeah...I mean, I kinda already figured out some of it, but hearing it from Nostradamus himself...” she sighed, turning her back towards him. “...I was hoping he’d be able to have some sort of cure for either of them, but it looks like, there really isn’t...except for ending the hunt. Still, it pisses me off knowing that those, creatures just play around with us like toys...can’t they just leave us alone?”

“I am afraid not, Mademoiselle Ogura,” the two whirled around as Nostradamus came back with Tell. “To creatures that might as well be gods, our wants do not matter. However, perhaps you could try asking her yourself, if you wish...”

“Her? As in, Ebritias? She’s here?”

The man in the blindfold cap nodded. “Oui. She still exists, hidden below us in this Cathedral, at the Altar of Despair...She granted us the knowledge that allowed The Choir to become what it is now.”

The two hunters looked downwards below the balcony. Though nothing was visible, Sio felt the familiar stirrings of frenzy the longer she stared. “N-No...th, that thing...even up here, it can...influence me...”

“Sio!” Adam pulled her back from the ledge, immediately grabbing a sedative from his pouch. “Don’t go down there; it’s not worth th’ risk, ‘specially with your condition... We should leave and head back. There’s no more reason to be here.”

“Alas, I am afraid you cannot go back the way you came.” Adam looked at Nostradamus in shock. “The only lamp in this vicinity is below; where Ebritias dwells.”

“Bloody hell!” Adam swore violently, the Stakedriver nearly primed by the time he paced over. “There’s no way I’m letting Ogura get near that thing! If it’s as powerful as you say, she’ll go mad in an instant! There has to be another way!”

“There may be.” Tell’s deep voice chimed in, the duo having nearly forgotten about the mysterious hunter who asked for their company on this trip to begin with. “We may not be able to backtrack, but if you’re worried about the girl’s condition...then we’ll just get rid of the creature.”

Neither Sio nor Adam could respond; what Tell said made sense, but it was shocking to think the hunter who appeared to be on good terms with this Choir member would turn face against his friend so quickly. Then again, who could say for certain whether or not Tell and Nostradamus were truly friends? In Yharnam, ‘friends’ and ‘companions’ were loose terms, often lacking the finer points of their true meanings. It could very well be the two simply decided to work together on the mutual basis of information exchange; as soon as the situation shifted, there was no need to uphold any sort of honor or obligation.

“Th, that’s...possible, but...why are you helping us? I thought this Nostradamus was your friend,” Adam muttered, exchanging wary glances between the other two, though the blindfold made it impossible to determine Nostradamus’ true feelings. “Just who are you anyway? Why d’you care about what happens to the rest of us?”

“That’s insignificant; but if you must, consider me as someone who wants to see this Dream come to an end,” Tell answered simply, striding over and now unsheathing his Bowblade. “Since the girl cannot be in close proximity to the Great One, I will help you. Unless, you think to tackle the creature alone?”

Adam stared at the hand, before reaching out and reluctantly shaking it. “No, I’m fine with that. But what about him,” he jerked his head towards Nostradamus, who remained standing a ways all this time. “He’s not gonna...try an’ stop us or anythin’, is he? From the sounds of it, The Choir reveres these things...”

Tell shook his head slightly. “No; Nostradamus may be a member of the Choir, but he also understands the Truth; possibly better than anyone else. Why do you think he has survived all this time? I know you do not trust me fully, Adam Muirhead—as you rightly should. But I can guarantee on my life, no harm will befall Miss Ogura nor will Nostradamus attempt to dissuade us.”

“...Very well...I’ll trust you, but just this once, Tell...you wrong about any of it, and I’ll run a stake through you myself.”

The archer nodded. “Fair enough. Get ready, then. As soon as you’re prepared, we’ll have to jump down; the elevator is broken.”

As the two men readied their weapons and gear, Adam strode over to the huntress, who was hunched against an old bookshelf, eyes closed in a restless sleep with her cloak wrapped tightly around her. “Oy, Ogura. You feelin’ alright? Should probably take some sedative, just in case...even if yer out of sight, don’t exactly want to take chances with somethin’ that powerful...”

To his surprise she shook her head weakly, eyes furrowing open. “N-No...I, don’t want to keep taking sedatives, unless I have to...ooh,” she moaned as another pulse of pain shot through her head, Adam looking on in great concern. “D-Don’t worry about me, Adam...I’ll, be fine, I promise...the sooner you and Tell take care of that, thing...the sooner we can go back, and I’ll be better...”

“Sio...! Tch...” Though he knew she was right, that taking unnecessary blood ministrations would worsen her reliance on them, her strained visage worried him greatly. “Alright...but promise me, if yeh feel like it’s about to burst, then take it, alright?” Sio nodded, and he left the extra bottle by her side, alongside a molotov cocktail. “An’ take this, just in case...I know Tell had that whole speech about Nostradamus not interferin’ an’ all, but we can’t be careless...”

“I, I know...don’t worry Adam, I can handle myself up here. You be careful, too; I have a feeling, this Great One...she’s even more powerful than Rom. E-Even if, you aren’t as affected by frenzy...who knows what they’re really capable of.”

He nodded silently, before pulling her into a quick embrace. “I’ll be careful. I swear to god, I am not dying here. You just sit tight, an’ we’ll be back soon.” Pulling his balaclava up and settling the hunter’s cap back on his head, Adam joined Tell at the edge of the balcony, the archer having split his weapon into its bow form. Nostradamus stood off to the side, staring what seemed to be into nothing.

“Well, better get started.” The two men shared a glance, before leaping off onto the floor below. The floor was surprisingly wet, Adam’s boots nearly ankle-deep in the fetid water as they slowly splashed towards a massive, quivering mound of glowing tentacles and undulating false eyes growing from her wings. Even without engaging in a direct line of sight however, Adam could tell this Great One exerted far greater Insight than Rom; the close they got, the more his head ached as well, and strange whispers seemed to hover around his ears, even though Tell was silent the whole time.

‘Damn...better watch myself and take a sedative soon, otherwise the frenzy’ll be fatal...’

The Altar of Despair... Adam’s first thought was it was certainly appropriately named; grotesque statues (or were they) of villagers and worshipers scattered in different states of disrepair, some bent over in prayer while others seemed to be bemoaning some unseen horror. At the center was a strange rock, with eye-like craters that had candles stuck inside them...as they circled the alter Adam realized where he’d seen this creature before.

“Rom?! It can’t be...I thought we killed her...” Adam breathed in hushed tones as the two men walked closer to what had to be Ebritias, though she made no move. “An’ this big one, doesn’t seem interested in us either...yet. Just like Rom...”

“Rom? Are you referring to the other Great One you and Miss Ogura encountered?” Tell cast him a questioning glance. “As Nostradamus said, most Great Ones tend to be more sympathetic towards humans...although I’ve no doubt they will defend themselves, if provoked.”

“Yeh, the girl an’ I, we encountered her at the bottom of the lake, in Byrgenwerth...was after her defeat all this weird shit started happenin’,” Adam muttered, unsure of what to make of this Rom-like alter. “Arg...my head...” A sudden stab of pain that caused a temporary deafness, forcing him to uncork a bottle of sedative. “Damn, didn’t think the frenzy would be this bad...”

“Then we’ve no more time to waste. I will keep my distance Muirhead, and leave the melee range to you.” Without even waiting for a response the marksman darted back, leaving Adam to stare at the glowing, hulking creature, its eyes blinking curiously. Sighing heavily, Adam charged up the Stakedriver, getting ready to unleash the charge attack.

“Let’s get this over with.” ------ Even before the otherworldly shriek rose up from below, Sio knew the two men had engaged Ebritias. Though she hadn’t lied to Adam, the truth was if they didn’t finish this battle soon, she might very well lose her sanity past the point of no return. Being in constant contact with the Great One, and even encountering their smaller kin earlier outside—her head throbbed incessantly as she stared at the sedative, wondering just how long she could hold out, and if the medicine would even help at this point. ‘Damn it...why does it have to be like this? Why am I the only one so affected by all this? Is it because I’m not from Yharnam...’

“You seem unwell, Mademoiselle.” She jerked around at the unexpected voice, Nostradamus having been entirely silent until now. “Perhaps you should take a sedative soon?”

“N-No...I-I mean, if I have to...but, I’d rather not until then...” She wiped the sweat from her forehead, trying to sound more certain than she really was. Though she had a feeling there was no use in trying to hide much from Nostradamus; as he said earlier, just because the man was blindfolded didn’t mean he couldn’t see. “I-If, this exposure to Insight is reducing my beasthood...then at least there’s something to be gained.”

“True, the forces of kin and beast counteract each other. Is that why you came here? To find the fabled paleblood? You’re an outsider, aren’t you?”

Sio didn’t answer; she had a feeling Nostradamus knew already, anyway. The more she tried to understand what Yharnam was about, the creatures they hunted and why this cycle existed, the less she seemed to understand. Her history books made it sound simple enough: the town of Yharnam was plagued by an endemic blood disease that turned people into bloodthirsty beasts, which in turn were eradicated by skilled hunters. But then there was the addition of the Church, who, one the surface seemed to be administering these miraculous cures made from blood, but now after wandering around for so long and picking up what snatches of gossip she could, it seemed that was all a scam—for while the blood could provide cures, it also brought healthy people ever closer into becoming a beast themselves.

“...I wonder, why these Great Ones are so interested in us. If we’re so insignificant to them, then why do they try to make us understand them...”

To her surprise Nostradamus sat down next to her, seemingly unconcerned by the sounds of combat below. “That, I cannot be certain; despite my studies, I have never successfully communed with another Great One.”

“But I thought you learned a lot from Ebritias?”

He nodded. “Yes, but...it is not communicating in the sense that I am having dialogue with her. She...’passes’ me information, but it is up to me to make sense of it. And I admit, there are times where my mind is just as baffled as yours, Mademoiselle Ogura. The Great Ones, they were the source of the Old Blood; the original blood ministrations that let the Church rise to its prominence. Master Wilhem always said to ‘fear the Old Blood’, that mis-use will lead to great tragedy, and yet...it was our carelessness that led to the beasts in the first place.”

“Wait, what are you saying?” Sio was taken aback by this revelation. “Are, are you saying...it was the Great Ones who created the beasts in the first place?”

“Non, not the Great Ones. Us humans, driven by greed and arrogance; for using the Old Blood in blood ministrations will eventually cause humans to turn into beasts, despite their miraculous healing prowess. And thus the Healing Church recognized a need to keep this fatal mistake a secret, leading to the creating of the hunters—led by the First Hunter, Robert Capa. And now the Church has splintered into many different factions, each with their own goals and regards for the Old Blood and Great Ones: we the Choir, who faithfully adhere to Master Wilhem’s teachings and look into our own selves for Insight; the School of Mensis, who broke off and are determined to commune with the Great Ones at the cost of their sanity; Master Laurence, who disregarded Master Wilhem’s adage and used the Old Blood to further the metamorphosis, in his own way to transcend humanity...” Nostradamus shook his head, slowly rising up from the floor. “Non, Mademoiselle Hunter. It is the weakness of mankind that created this nightmare.”

The huntress couldn’t answer to that. Good and bad, right or wrong...in the end, those were human concepts forced upon a world that contained more than them. “I think, I understand more, now...thank you for telling us what you know, Nostradamus. I’m kind of surprised you’d do so...after being here for so long, I can’t exactly say Yharnam’s a friendly place.”

“My wish is to learn and spread the Truth, that is all.” Nostradamus answered quietly. “Though, I am glad you were able to make use of my knowledge.”

Just then an roar shook the entire building, Sio fearing for a second the flimsy railing would fall apart. “Aagh! Wh-what’s going on down there...!” Slowly she crawled over to the edge, careful not to fall off. Below, two figures were darting among what had to be Ebritias: a giant head with eye stalks and wings, just like the illustration in the book. The entire floor was littered with blood and some other fluid Sio couldn’t discern, with streaks of arcane magic bouncing around as the two continued to subdue it.

“Oh no, watch out—!” But there was nothing she could do from her position except watch helplessly as a giant, whip-like tentacle swung through the air, flinging both men against the stone wall. “Adam!” The building shook again, this time knocking down the huntress as her equipment scattered about her. ‘No, I have to...help them!’ She desperately felt around for her gun, only to realize it had rolled away during the tremors. “Nostradamus! Pass me the gun!”

“...I am afraid I cannot do that, Mademoiselle.” Oblivious to Sio’s look of shock, the man only stood and watched, despite the cathedral beginning to crumble. “I cannot and will not interfere; that goes both ways.”

“Tch...nevermind!” Ignoring the risk of frenzy, she lunged forward and grabbed her firearm before it rolled of the edge, hanging on to the railing with one hand and firing with the other below to stagger the creature. “Adam! Tell! Get her now!” She saw a mane of white hair glance up briefly at the shot, before diving back in with a charged Stakedriver. A hail of arrows rained from above, Ebritias giving one final cry before it sagged into a motionless heap, turning into tiny particles of light as she slowly disappeared.

“Heh, gotcha...wh-whoa—!” A split second of glory later the railing snapped, sending Sio into a free-fall, limbs flailing as she desperately tried to right herself.

“Adam!”

“What th—oomph!” Just when he’d finally shook all the dirt off his clothes the huntress landed right on his back, sending him face-first into the muck. Again.

“Ow...oh my god, Adam! I’m so sorry—are you okay?!” Ignoring her aching bum, Sio quickly pulled the man back up, wincing as she saw his now mud-covered face, glancing at her with a look that said ‘really’? “I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean it! I didn’t think the railing would break...but, thanks for, er...breaking my fall...ahh, your clothes! Sorry, sorry...!” Sio fussed about him all the while babbling away in her native language, using her cloak to wipe off the grime as best she could.

“...Don’t worry too much, squirt. Just glad you’re not hurt...” Admittedly his ribs were now sore from her literally knocking the air out of him, though Adam supposed he should count himself lucky the girl didn’t weigh very much. “Besides, if yeh hadn’t fired that shot, I wouldn’t be here acting as your cushion.”

Sio grimaced in embarrassment at his comment. “...I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Nah. I’m tougher than that, squirt.”

“Your timing was impeccable. Especially considering how far you were from the battle...” Tell limped over as well, a couple of nasty scratches on his face but otherwise didn’t seem any worse for wear. “We can safely light the lamp, now.”

“R, Right...” With the rush of adrenaline now fading her headache returned with full force, Sio rubbing her temples in an attempt to ease the pain. “What, what about him? Nostradamus?”

Tell looked up at the second floor where they’d come from. “Nostradamus? I presume he will remain here; he is not a hunter, after all, and here he can continue his studies. Why, did you wish to extend an invitation to him?”

“A-Ah, uh, n-no I was just, wondering...” she muttered, turning away in guilt. In truth, she wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to increase their numbers even more, given the tensions lately and multitude of factions in their group. Then again, it seemed cruel to just leave him behind in a place like this, especially since he didn’t seem to harbor any ill will.

“C’mon squirt, let’s get going. You shouldn’t stay here any longer than necessary,” Adam reproached, guiding the girl towards the lamp. “If that fella wants t’ come, it’s his choice. We shouldn’t force it.”

Sio wanted to say something but decided against it; Adam was right, no matter how much she wished for everyone to get along and work together, she knew reality didn’t work that way. If anything, they should be glad Nostradamus wasn’t outright hostile towards them, like so many others.

Just as the light was about to swallow them something flew through the air, Sio whipping her hand to her neck, only to come away wet with blood. “What th—”

“Tch, a miss...what a pity, could’ve ended it painlessly.”

She didn’t even have time to react before the blow to her head, sending her sprawling to the ground. Dimly she could hear Adam and Tell’s confused yells, before more shouts and the sound of metal weapons clashing against each other...groaning, the huntress tried to right herself, but her vision and hearing were still blurry from being struck by a blunt force, blood dripping down her cheek from the wound. “What’s...going, on...”

“Sio! Leave the girl alone you bastard!”

“Ah but Muirhead, you of all people should know, the real danger she possesses...”

“Fuck you Mirza!”

Mirza? ‘He’s here...? No, he must’ve followed us...! Back in the Hunter’s Dream, he must have overheard our conversation with William Tell...’ Fear threaded itself throughout her body, Sio stumbling half-blind as she groped frantically for her weapons. Just as she finally got a handle on her Rifle Spear, a boot stomped right on her fingers, Sio screaming with pain as the bone cracked.

“Tsk tsk tsk, Miss Sio Ogura...I did ask, what a sweet thing like you was doing, playing hunter in a place like this...” Dark eyes glowed malevolently, as Sio finally came face to face with Mahesh Mirza. “You should’ve stayed behind like a good girl, and not come to Yharnam..."

“Nnng...y-you, bastard...! What do you want?! I haven’t done anything to you!” She desperately tried not to cry, though the pain was almost unbearable. The huntress tried looking for either Adam or Tell from the corners of her eyes, but they were nowhere to be seen; panic crept into her veins, Sio staring wide-eyed at the hunter who revealed his true colors at last.

“Not yet; you think I’m that stupid to not realize your blood sickness? After all my specialty is ferreting out and assassinating those who are about to turn, in the name of the Healing Church...and you my dear, are as close as I’ve ever seen in all my years on the job.”

#documentation #hunt or be hunted #//WOW #//like i'm very sorry #//didn't have inspiration for a while #//so i ended up working on other fics #//but then when i do get ideas it's like full steam ahead lololol #//mirza fans dont' hate me pls

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latenightscribbles13 · 6 years

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I Am Not (part I)

Day 1

I did it. I DID IT!!!

Now, I wait.

Day 2

I don't really know what day it is. The concept of time ceased to exist. One day passes into another, tomorrow merges with the day after, and so forth. We do not need to know anything else. Everything is decided for us. They wake you up. They tell you when to eat and what to eat. They realized eating food for pleasure is a waste of one’s body. So they serve us all the important nutrients in forms of tablets, capsules and powders. Any sort of pleasure is being eradicated. It is not necessary for survival and can only cause distraction. We all have a special purpose in this network, and it has been assigned to us the moment we set our foot in this complex. You will be safe here, they said.

We are. But this is not living. We are not. We simply are not. What, you ask? We are not alive. We are not humans. It’s not how it’s supposed to be. Sterile, white surfaces. White jumpsuits. Blank expressions.

It’s not how it’s supposed to be.

I know that much. I was brought here very young. They tried to mould me into a productive member of the new society. I spend my days in the lab, researching for new, easier ways to enslave people’s minds. I play my part perfectly. But I know. I know.

They lied. Everything they said was a lie. I keep dreaming about the past. They don’t know it. I plug all the newcomers to the dream machine. We can extract all the necessary information from dreams to reach into the person’s core, and tear it out, replacing it with molecules that encourage obedience and loyalty. Sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively. I escaped the machine by volunteering to operate it and analyse the results. If they saw what was inside my head … I would be long gone.

I remember my mother. She was a hearty woman, with long and shiny hair, and a kind smile. She would always take me out for long walks through the forests and the fields. We didn’t have much, but it was enough. It was everything we needed. Sometimes, the bright colours of nature hurt my eyes. Around me, everything is white, white, white. It can drive you insane.

I would have jumped off of a roof a long time ago, had it not been for another dream. It started a long time ago, I think. First, I saw one young man, coming towards me, with a message in his hands. I would always wake up before reading it. Then, the boy was joined by more and more similar dark figures. Until there were nine. They were all wearing hoods, so I couldn’t see their faces properly, but I could feel their rebellious spirit. It made me excited and nervous, all the same. One night, the leader of the group handed me the message, as many times before, and I held onto it with all my might. I could feel the reality barging in already, distant voices disturbing the peaceful landscape of my dreams. Before I opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of the short simple message.

I am not.

That’s all it said. I am not. And yet, I knew. I knew what it meant and what I would have do. The rebellion was near. The end of this fucked up reality was near. And I needed to do what I did best. Make a drug. An antidote. Something, that would keep the mind clean and free from any sort of control.

Yesterday, I succeeded. That’s why it’s called day 1. It’s the first day of the rest of the life that we know. All I have to do now, is wait. Wait for the boys from my dreams to come. They will know what to do.

Day 3

I shouldn’t be writing every day. It’s too dangerous. I could be caught at any moment. They are already careful around me when exchanging confidential information. It wasn’t always like this. Usually, they could hardly notice my presence. They thought I was less than a fly on the wall. I’m pretty sure they didn’t even know if I could speak.

But now, they are more cautious. I can feel all those suspicious looks piercing my back whenever I pass them by. They don’t trust me. Maybe they noticed I have been spending more time in the lab, and brought in less successful drugs and analyses than before. I need to be more productive in the following days.

I hope the boys will be here soon.

Day 5

I didn’t dare to open my notebook yesterday. I spent all day in the lab, improving the dream machine, whilst also coming up with a new drug. I needed to feed them something. They seemed quite pleased, but I still felt uncomfortable under their scanning eyes.

They smell something.

I need to throw them off.

Day 13

I can keep track of days by drawing tiny dots on the wall behind my bed. It feels good knowing how much time has actually passed.

I dreamt about the boys again. This time, they didn’t bring me a message. They just kept walking towards me, but could never reach me. They just kept on marching and marching, the sound of their army boots resonating through the empty plain.

I woke up sweaty and anxious. What did all of that mean?

Day 20

This morning, I realized I might’ve gotten it all wrong. I had another dream, but it was all mixed up. I was working on the dream machine, when they brought in a newcomer. They laid him on the bed, and he obeyed without a word, as they had drugged him before, surely. I placed the electrodes to each side of his forehead, and ran the machine. As I tried to feel his temperature, his fingers suddenly latched around my wrist, and his eyes flew open.

I recognized him immediately. It was the Leader from my dreams. What was he doing there? He kept his grab on my wrist, and the machine began printing out images of our meeting. He dreamt of the same thing, as I did. And now we had it on paper. I was paralyzed.

Before I could react, the guards flew in, and dragged me away.

They know

I sat straight up in bed, heart beating against my ribcage, sheets drenched in my sweat. My mouth was dry, and I kept murmuring the same line - they know, they know, they know.

It took me a long time to calm down. The waiting was taking a toll on me. Every day was a nervous battle. I kept the antidote with me at all times, it was safer that way. I had to be very, very careful not to lose or break the eprouvette. That would ruin it all. I need to be stronger.

When I calmed down, I realized another thing. Maybe, the rebels will not arrive in tanks or aeroplanes, armed with guns and bombs.

Maybe they will arrive in handcuffs.

Day 26

I am carefully scanning each and every newcomer. It’s slowing down my working process but I can’t afford to miss any details.

But I am sure they are the ones that will make it happen.

Day 30

No luck so far.

Day 41

I haven’t dreamt about them in a while. I hope I don’t forget their faces.

I do dream about my mom a lot, though. We are always running around the field, laughing, being free. Then, they come and take me away. I never see my mom again.

Day 60

I’m starting to lose hope. I am getting sloppier with my work, and I don’t sleep much.

What, if it had all been a mistake?

What if they inserted that dream in my head to test my loyalty?

What if they had been doing that all along?

I’m going crazy.

Day 99

He is here.

Day 100

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Internally, I had already stopped hoping for somebody to come. I focused on my research and my everyday tasks to keep my head straight. All the conspiracy theories and all the guessing almost drove me mad.

So I went back to my usual self. I was quiet, invisible, and efficient. How they want me and need me to be.

The antidote was still safely tucked in my bra. It was the safest place, trust me.

I was going about my day, as the prisoner bus pulled up in front of the building. Well, I called it the prisoner bus, but officially it was the volunteer bus. It was full of taken children and young adults that would be trained and brainwashed to serve the system in any possible way. That’s where I came in. I analysed their thoughts and dreams to deduce the optimal position for them. Where would they be of most service?

There were at least 40 new people waiting to be examined. Most of them were scared and confused, but some of them showed stoic resistance. If they only knew how fast the system can break their spirit into a million distorted pieces. Then, they pick them up, one by one, and arrange them in their own way, they paint a new picture that will hardly resemble your old self.

I would know.

Before the night fell, the last of the newcomers was brought inside. He was laid on the bed, and I began my procedure. I washed his face, dried it, applied light blue gel on each side of his forehead, and attached the electrodes over it.

I almost ran the machine, when I realized I forgot to inject him with sleeping medicine. Everything happens for a reason. It was either a really long day, or I subconsciously felt that I shouldn’t put him to sleep.

When I glanced towards his tranquil face, I knew. It was him. The Leader. There was no doubt about it. My heart was racing, and my hands were shaking. The whole body knew.

I nudged him lightly, hoping nobody was watching me from the outside. When I nudged him for the third time, he slightly opened his eyes. He was drugged so he probably wasn’t thinking or seeing clearly. I just wanted him to see my face. It will stick with him, surely.

It was all I could do at the moment.

Then, I put him to sleep, and ran the machine.

Now, lying in bed with this notebook, an important question popped into my mind - where are the others?

#late night scribble #sci fi #dystopia #i am not #stray kids #district 9 #inspiration #scenario #imagine #short story #part 1 #writing

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casualarsonist · 6 years

Text

Wolfenstein II, and the importance of tone.

B.J. Blaskowicz's pregnant lover, Anya, tears her burning shirt from her body as her grenades explode under the feet of the advancing Nazis. She straddles B.J's prone body and brandishes two machine guns aloft as blood showers her naked skin, and I roar with laughter. My girlfriend asks me what the f**k is happening. Hitler pisses into a bucket and vomits on the floor. B.J. rants against bourgeois pacifism in a drunken rage and passes out. And as the sword bites into his flesh, and his head falls into a pyre, only to be collected by a machine and reattached to a synthetic body, I rejoice at the moments wherein Wolfenstein 2: The New Colossus has the balls to embrace the absolute madness of its setting and take everything up to 11.

But something doesn't feel quite right. Its predecessor - The New Order - subverted and exceeded the expectations of everyone that awaited it; I don't think anyone could have imagined what Machine Games would do with the franchise rights of the world's first FPS. As a pitch, the idea of taking the inherently daft premise of a man fighting Nazi-zombie robots in a retro-futuristic 1960's and grounding it all in a real emotional place with characters that understand and communicate the gravity of their situation to one another and to the audience alike...well, it's mental. And yet it worked. It worked really, really well. The action was intense and bombastic, but when it was over and the game asked us to understand what was motivating these people to do what they were doing, the drama felt earned, and every enemy you defeated felt like a cathartic victory rather than an exercise in psychopathy. When a friendly character died, it hurt because you cared, and because the death felt like a genuine loss amongst all the well-written personalities. The New Order was dark and visceral and at times terrifying, but always a joy to play, and in the end, no matter which turn the story took, you were invested.

So why does The New Colossus feel like such a mistake?

To be fair to the game, as I've already said, there were moments that I was literally rolling in my seat with laughter, and it is certainly at its best when it says 'fuck it' to the concept of restraint and goes mental. It is, at times, incredibly fun, and funny. The aforementioned scene in which an insane, addled, syphilitic Hitler pisses in a bucket whilst auditioning actors for a terrible, terrible film he has written is one of the best in the entire game, not just because it makes an absolute mockery of the long-feared icon of human evil, but also because it is rendered and animated so well that looking into his eyes is genuinely chilling for how lifelike it all appears. But moments like these are few and far between, and it's regrettably rare that, buried amongst long, long cutscenes that have nothing important to say, one feels like they are genuinely being surprised and entertained.

I suppose it's all about on which end of the crazy scale you heap your content - balance is good, as is committing to one style and tone on either side, but to be indecisive, or to miscalculate and mistime and portion your moments improperly so as to leave your audience confused as to your intention can be fatal, and in the case of Wolfenstein 2, it very nearly is. Whereas The New Order balanced the silliness in its gunplay with sincerity and moments of genuine tenderness in its story, The New Colossus couples inappropriate moodiness and melodrama with the violent actions of its characters, and leaves them looking like hypocrites. After tearing through a gauntlet of soldiers leaving little but a hallway littered with bloody chunks of flesh, B.J. chooses to wax poetic about the loss of a friend's life and the loss of all her experiences with it, in turn completely ignoring the dozens of lives and thousands of experiences he just erased. The moment is timed so perfectly and the recitation of the lines so genuine that the juxtaposition almost feels intentional, as if the game wants you to scoff at his lack of self-awareness, and it might have been a nice subversive moment if this game’s immediate predecessor hadn’t pinned all its integrity on the fact that its characters and narrative were supposed to be relatable. Instead, B.J. comes off psychotic, annoying, and unlikeable, and the writers seem less like they’re in on the joke and more like they just don't know what their doing.

Which is rather baffling, given that it's the exact same creative team behind the The New Order - the same two writers that created a masterpiece of action storytelling, and somehow married an impossibly absurd premise with a genuine, heartfelt narrative. They created a terrifying villain, complex and likeable sidekicks, and together with the ambitious and intense soundtrack crafted a world that lived and breathed despite exploring all manner of ridiculous scenarios (moonbase FTW). The New Colossus is this, but less well made. It repeats a lot of the same beats of its predecessor, and so they all feel forced, unearned, and inferior. It's as if the setting of Nazi-occupied America wasn't fertile-enough ground for the creative directors, so they needed to borrow directly from their previous game. They delve into B.J's childhood and fill his backstory with caricatures that overstate the point they're there to make, and yet at the same time expect us to invest in a depressing world that is directly at odds with the light-hearted insanity of the rest of the story, and I think moments like this come from a desire to leave the tone of their previous game behind in favour of something a bit more fun, while still feeling like they need to bridge the gap with some kind of drama. Unfortunately, they fail to find the balance, and the attempts at seriousness reek of try-hard melodrama and smash against the humour like two cars travelling opposite directions down a one-lane road.

I could be mistaken of course; perhaps I’m just too thick to ‘get it’ and they were trying to ironically deconstruct their own work, but the drama is so heavy, and heavy-handed, that I just can’t believe that this is the case, which is such a shame because there are all the makings of an amazing game under the hood - fantastic components have been assembled together in a confused and chaotic manner, leaving the follow-up to one of the greatest shooters ever made (and one of the most unexpected underdog releases) feeling like a victim of its own success. And this is exemplified in no better place that at in the ending of the game, which is in almost every way the antithesis of that of The New Order.

A recap: in The New Order you must fight a super-robot implanted with the brain of one of your former comrades. After defeating it and ending the suffering of your friend, you’re attacked by the main villain - General Deathshead - as you fight amongst an increasingly unstable network of gas pipes and crumbling concrete. When you finish the desperate battle and kill Deathshead from within a conflagration of fire and flames, a short, poignant cutscene activates in which the game implies the end of one of the most important parts of the franchise. It’s a perfect example of why the game did best as a whole, offering the traditional trope of a boss fight with a new coat of paint, and then ending with a no-nonsense but impactful piece of genuine drama.

So how does The New Colossus conduct itself? Well not only does it unravel the risk of the previous game’s ending within the first few seconds, but it ends by making the player’s last interaction with its Big Bad a single button-press that then triggers a five-minute-long cutscene in which the characters stand around and spout cliche ideological platitudes about America rising up. Then B.J. stares at the corpse of his enemy like a fucking nutcase, before getting down on his knees next to the wrecked carcass and proposing to his girlfriend, which would be funny if this wasn’t the same character we were supposed to be rallying behind and is now clearly insane. It’s anti-climactic, tonally unbalanced, and boring, and worse than all this is that it commits the cardinal sin of second acts in that it ends unsatisfyingly whilst promising a third installment that will be much more interesting.

Fuck off.

This could all have been avoided if the creative rudder of the production had steered it directly into the eye of the storm - the setting, its violence, and its cast of characters are all ripe for parody, so why the hell did they feel like they had to spend so much time exploring B.J’s tragic upbringing in which his racist, wife-beating dad makes him kill his own dog? What purpose does that serve in a story that opens with a wheelchair-bound protagonist machine-gunning Nazis in the face? It’s just madness. And in my opinion it ultimately undid a lot of the good will that The New Order worked so hard at creating. Even if the incoming third game commits completely to its craziness, we’re still stuck with this strange Frankenstein’s monster, and the fact that from about the half way mark I was just waiting for it to end is, for me, a nail in the coffin. It’s just...it’s such a shame. The New Colossus is a smooth, beautiful shooter, and also an trainwreck of mismatched tones, confused pacing, regurgitated story beats, and an unsatisfying ending. It tries to vary its gameplay and somehow ends up feeling more of a generic shooter than it’s predecessor - a game that actually set out to reboot the world’s first FPS. It has moments of absolute brilliance that it just fails to perpetuate because it doesn’t let them gather momentum, which leaves it feeling starkly weak specifically in the areas that The New Order excelled, and that makes it a much larger kick in the nuts to me than it ought to otherwise be.

Of course, if you’re not a whiny little baby like me, or are like a friend of mine who’d never played a Wolfenstein game in his life before this one, you might just enjoy it for what it is - a gorgeous, ambitious, and gratuitous FPS set in a strange and fun alternate history, but if you asked me to recommend it as a sequel to it’s fantastic predecessor, I just can’t do it.

6.5/10

P.S. I think I’m going to remove the qualification titles of my ratings from this point onwards. I’m not 100% certain that I’m going to get rid of them forever, but between my poor attempts at thinking of ‘names’ for half-marked titles and the fact that I’m tied to classifying a 7/10 game as ‘good’ even though my subjective impression of the game might not agree with that, means that the more complex my feelings about a certain title, the harder it is to put a specific label on it. Wolfenstein II is a good example of this conundrum. I don’t think it’s objectively good at a lot of what it’s trying to do, and yet I don’t think it’s objectively ‘just okay’ across the board. With this in mind, if you refer to my review scoring system you’ll get a better idea of what each ranking means, beyond what a single word can convey. You’ll see that Wolfenstein II gets a 6.5 because I think it is largely unsuccessful in the pursuit of its intentions regarding its narrative and tone for the reasons I’ve detailed above, and yet I can’t at all say that it offers a poor return-on-investment for the average gamer. Hell, you might think it’s an excellent game and disagree with me entirely - this is just my opinion, after all - but given that I will obviously weigh certain aspects of a work’s design more heavily than other aspects, I still think this is the best way to understand what each score means for me (and thus for you), and why I might have come any given conclusion.

#wolfenstein ii: the new colossus #bethesda #machine games #video game #review #pc #b.j. blazkowicz #id software #fps #shooter #ww2 #gore #sequel #alternate history #imnotgoingtotagthefuckingnazisinthis #shitijustdid

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aaronthomasvybez · 4 years

Text

“Don’t Care Anymore; Free”

Therapy Snippet by: Aaron Thomas Glesenkamp

We all live in a paradigm of love

A paradox of our own

Having to work together

Not any one is better

You just have to learn and love what you’re given

When people have skewed visions, most days I feel alone

Good things are capable of happening all the time

But things will always get better

They have to

Thankful that I’ve always asked “why?”

It’s just because you’re working with other ego’s

Some who who don’t have balance or skewed intentions on their mind

You just need to focus on the center

And when light shines through your prism

You light up stages

You light up days

You light up nights

The one love you need to focus is you and what’s on the inside

There’s no devil when God has snakes

He made them too, and they all serve a purpose too right?

And He loves them just the same

And flies with one on eagles wings

This test of the soul can drive you insane

But I’m tired of striving for money,

I’m tired of striving for fame

Living in a world trying to fight the good battle, and doing it alone has me feeling like I’m going insane

Going home most nights and feeling further from myself

Far from the same

There’s magic in everything

And lessons in it all

If your minds open to what there is to teach

That’s why I feel alone most days

But also because I can’t move because I’m in between a rock and a stone cold wall

People are the root of it all

Yet it’s better when I’m alone because I’m not trapped by everyone’s choices

I’m just free to be You, be me

Pretty soon I’ll be living on the streets

By choice- so I can hangout with You and see everything the world has to offer

All the beautiful things

Because money doesn’t pay the same

And it makes me feel I’m living life in vain

Human induced depression; my heart can’t take any more pain

Sitting here waiting for my life to happen

Forced to give out love while my feet are tied

And all I want to do is run away

Giving everything all the time but nothing left for me

To strive to what I need

So you can have your stupid dollar bill

That I only and always wanted to work for me

I’d rather have nothing than turn into something other than “me”

I’d rather have nothing than working only to stay in place and pay to pave the streets where I’m now planning to sleep

Treated like the dirt on the ground when I only give love out, giving gluttons everything they desire to eat

People should really learn to only eat only what they need

Giving them everything including my energy, not compensating while I try to work towards what I want/need

Everyone with more than enough, and I’m drained trying to find happiness while I hardly have a thing

When I only want to succeed but I’m only kept in place, and held down when I do just as much if not more with better ethics than anyone else that’s around me

It’s okay because I’m about to be free

So like the dirt that I’ve been treated like

I look forward to getting close to it

I look forward to feeling it on a beach

You together with me

I look forward to the feeling of it underneath my naked feet

And as I rest my head at night

Because doing anything other than what I love

Makes me hate my life

Keep everything for yourself like you all do

It won’t surprise me

Over consuming Americans with their privilege

And their soulless dollar bill has me throwing my hands up

I don’t want a thing, just please take the wheel in front of me because even when I try to earn it I can’t seem to get a thing

Has me wanting to give up the fight

So I’ll hit the streets and I’ll close my eyes while you choose which way we turn, left or right

I don’t care as long as you hold me at night

Because I know I’m given everything I need when I have you with me

So I’d rather be free, connect

Live on the street

See the beauty that’s right in front of me

See every magnificent complex atom in everything you’ve created

Rather than think “nothing’s ever good enough for me”

Capitalism, American Greed, fatass country people who have everything but are incapable of giving and for no reason are mean

Rather than hate everything I see, fall back in love with everything- fall back in love with You, fall back in love with me.

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rheanimalsachikokassielynn · 6 years

Text

Major Essay 1

Rheanne Harkness

Professor Timothy Greenup

English 112

25 October 2017

All Sides of the Characterization Spectrum: Evolution Verses Devolution

In the event that the average college student has taken even the most basic literature course, he or she should at least be somewhat familiar with and be able to tell the difference between three-dimensional characters, two-dimensional characters, and stock characters across a variety of different narratives - graphic novels being no exception. Three-dimensional characters (or “round characters”) may be traditionally thought of as the most important asset that a work of fiction has other than an engaging plot, atmosphere, or tone. After all, they by default, end up being portrayed as the most like real people, and as such, have the best chance of connecting with the reader on a deeper, more personal level, and audience identification can often be an essential part of what makes a story truly impactful to those who read it. No matter how much water this way of looking at round characters happens to hold though, that doesn’t mean readers of a particular work should entirely dismiss the roles stock and/or two-dimensional (or “flat characters”) play in strengthening its content as a whole - even if those roles are seemingly limited to serving as stepping stones that guide a potential round character as he or she goes through change. This begs the question: If both the flat and stock characters in a simple, straightforward comic like “Batman: Year One” only exist to help round characters in their development, are these same types of characters tailored to that same purpose in the more complex and formally depicted graphic novel that is “From Hell”?

To begin answering this question, there must be some semblance of comparison between the two pieces’ main characters and how interactions with other less imposing characters affect their motivations in the long run. In “Batman: Year One”, almost, if not every other character that Jim Gordon has ties to (particularly the few female characters) can be considered as more of a catalyst for change in his character than anything else. Take Gordon’s wife, Barbara for instance, throughout the comic, the reader never gets to learn much about her apart from the fact that she’s the supportive, pregnant housewife of his. Because Barbara is kept at arm’s length from so much of her husband’s troubles within the force until the very end of the comic and we only hear brief mention of the couple’s marital problems from Gordon’s perspective, Barbara represents nothing more than a stereotype, and thusly cannot be described as anything more than a stock character. But both her and Gordon’s unborn child are important nonetheless since Gordon’s desire to protect them is established as the driving force of his character from page one onwards. Sargent Essen is a representation of the “Femme Fatale” stereotype that’s seen so often in Film Noir; and again, the only bit of backstory we get from her is told to the reader from Gordon’s perspective in a single panel. She gives Gordon internal conflict to work through that works in tandem with the external conflicts he’s already facing. Three-dimensional characters are expected to have moments of weakness in their convictions. So, by having Essen as the vehicle through which Gordon deals with that weakness by having him torn between two places, (his obligation to his family and his newfound feelings for her) it makes the reader want to keep following him on his “Hero’s Journey” as well as call into question just how far he’s willing to go in order to do what’s right, as he himself isn’t so sure anymore - much like an actual human being might feel in the same situation.

If Lieutenant Gordon is the most prominent three-dimensional character from Frank Miller’s “Batman: Year One”, the most prominent round character from Alan Moore’s “From Hell” would be Doctor William Gull. Gull by contrast, doesn’t let other characters define who he is as one could argue for Gordon, (unless of course, the historical figures that Gull reveres so much - like William Blake and Nicholas Hawksmoor, are taken into account). It is seemingly established just how deep-seated Gull’s lack of empathy towards his fellow man really is from the first moment we see him purely out of plot convenience without any residual reason for it that wouldn’t have to be inferred by the readers on their own. To this effect, the essence of Gull’s character could simply be chopped up to his profession, in that many doctors do experience a loss of empathy while experimenting on human bodies for medical benefit; on top of which, he’d taken to dissecting animals (as is elaborately showcased in several disjointed panels with a mouse on the grounds of Beaumont Rectory) out of mere curiosity long before becoming a doctor in his adult life (Campbell Ch 2 p 6).

This aspect of Gull’s identity is significant and does give the audience some insight as to why he might and would eventually take on the “Jack the Ripper” persona. However, I don’t think that just being an emotionally detached doctor is enough to account for every facet of Gull’s character as much it sets the groundwork for those facets overall. Considering Gull’s long-dead heroes to be actual characters doesn’t feel terribly practical. So, it’s probably safe to assume that Gull has been shaped as a person by what he’s been exposed to more than who he’s been exposed to. The only time Gull lets others influence his actions at all is when they come into conflict with what he believes or stands for - like the whole reason he is committing these murders in Whitechapel to begin with. Gull is a firm proponent of the notion that men are superior to women, so the closer he gets to disposing of all these filthy prostitutes and by extension, fulfilling what he feels to be his divine purpose in life and throughout history, the more savage and less methodical the killings themselves become. It’s only when Gull briefly travels to the future a second time (in a purely non-character-driven plot point) and is so disillusioned by what he finds that he begins to lose heart with what he’s done. Up until then, though, Gull knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. Any other character who observed him (round, flat, or stock) could only do just that, observe and offer nothing (even unconsciously) that could sway him of his convictions whatsoever.

Conversely, what puts a major rift between “Batman: Year One” and “From Hell” in terms of how the protagonists can be thought of as round would be that Gull does not evolve as a character so much as he has devolved by the time his role in the story finally reaches its end. Nowhere does this erosion become more apparent than directly after Gull travels to what would have been the present day at the time this novel was written. More specifically, at the point where Gull takes the heart of the women who may or may not have been Mary Kelly out of the fireplace hearth and watches it burn on the tip of his surgical knife, a look of wistful melancholia has dawned his face, as if to say that only for a moment, even he realizes how empty and fruitless his endeavors toward any sort of divinity through murder truly were on principal. Although, of course, Gull would never dare admit it to anyone - least of all himself (Campbell Ch 10 p 29). This single panel image is made all the more telling when one pairs it with what Gull declares to Netley across a middle row of panels a few pages later as most of his face is eerily covered in shadow, but with an air of resignation about it: “I‘m finished. I have been climbing...all my life, toward a single peak. Now I have reached it. I have stood and felt the wind. I have seen all the world beneath me. Now there is only descent. Only the valley. Would that I had died there...in that light above the cloud line.” (Moore and Campbell Ch 10 p 33).

The icing on the cake and its effectiveness at cementing just how far Gull has fallen afterwards is really dependent upon whether or not one believes that he truly did come close to ascending to Godhood just before death in an insane asylum at the apex of chapter twelve. Being that Alan Moore leaves the answer widely open to interpretation, I personally would pose the argument that his apparent journey through time and space was merely a series of fragmented illusions that play out similarly to the concept of a person’s life flashing before their eyes as they’re about to die. Only in Gull’s case, his life wasn’t flashing before his eyes, but rather his abstract ambitions and ideas of what moving on to a higher plane of existence might be like were. If there is indeed a grain of truth in Gull’s last words to Netley the night he killed “Mary Kelly”, then the image of a poor old man mumbling incoherently within the walls of an asylum and never moving past his unhealthy obsession with achieving historical/spiritual greatness fits much more consistently with someone who both literally and figuratively has nowhere left to go but down.

Ultimately, I feel that the secondary characters in “From Hell” did not aid in developing Doctor Gull as a character in the way that they did for Jim Gordon in “Batman: Year One”. This is because, unlike Gordon, Gull never really forged any deeply personal relationships with others that were impactful enough to dictate his actions. His life experiences as a self-righteous doctor as well as a time traveler deprived him of the ability to genuinely empathize with the people around him. Thus, those experiences were consequently the only thing left to propel him through his journey and eventual derailment that awaits Gull at the end of the story. Every action of Gordon’s by contrast was performed for the sake of the people he cared about. Regardless of how uninteresting these flat and stock characters may have been to the audience, it’s no wonder that their existence as Gordon’s driving motivation made for such a relatable protagonist who we want to see rise above the challenges his environment has set for him by the time his story concludes. As far as Gull is concerned, he isn’t meant to be a relatable protagonist as much as the complete opposite. So, if the flat and stock characters aid him at all, it’s to mirror the audience members’ impressions of him (which are mostly rooted in fear, intimidation, curiosity, respect, and annoyance). I suppose in this way, if some characters need not be three-dimensional to be effective, one could also say that they need not be at the forefront of the round character’s main concerns for he or she to go through intended changes set in place by the author of the story either - still being just as effective, but in a different way!

Works Cited

Hamilton, Sharon. “Characterization.” Essential Literary Terms, Second Edition. Norton, 2017, p. 136.

Miller, Frank and David Mazzucchelli. Batman: Year One. DC Comics, 2005.

Moore, Alan and Eddie Campbell. From Hell. Top Shelf Productions, 2014.

#Rheanne Harkness #English 112 Final #Digital Portfolio #Major Essays

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michaela-renee-blog · 7 years

Text

Does it really take one to know one?

My loved ones have always been amazed at the types of social interactions I find myself involved with. I always sort of thought “well whatever, I know I attract ‘crazy people’ for whatever reason so I’m used to my interesting encounters.” Recently I started struggling with the whole, it takes one to know one statement. I started wondering what characteristics I portray that attracts these mentally complex individuals. Do I attract them with my empathetic personality or am I subconsciously attracted to them as well?

I’ve always been drawn to intelligence, ambition and confidence. Not only in a partner, but in friends as well. I recently went to dinner with a friend and we got into some pretty deep conversations covering my analyses on another loved one. I was telling her about someone I care deeply for who I believe is struggling with an antisocial personality disorder of either sociopathy or psychopathy. For privacy’s sake, I’ll refer to the friend I was at dinner with as Linda and the friend I was seeking advice on as Stephen.

Stephen is very charming, witty, and successful in all his endeavors...yet lacks remorse, fear, and emotional empathy altogether. Because of this, he can manipulate nearly any situation to be one that is in his favor. He has above average cognitive empathy meaning since he is mentally superior to most people he can understand their feelings and work off of them to manipulate their interpretations. People with psychopathy often consider life to be a game in which their every action follows the desire of getting others to buy into their reality/facade. People with these traits tend to make either really good business people or really good criminals. Until I started studying him, I wasn’t aware of how much research was really lagging on the non-criminal end of the spectrum.

Anyways, what classifies something as a disorder? If these "antisocial” people do not have any maladaptive symptoms due to their different neurology, is there really anything in need of fixing? We’re so quick to refer to anything that differs from current societal values as a disorder. The average human mind doesn’t have the mental capacity of understanding these individuals. We also fail to see the positive in their traits. I’m not oblivious to the fact that lacking emotional empathy makes for a morally corrupt person, but these people are typically so intelligent that they can train their brains to do what is morally right whether they can relate with the emotional feelings of their actions or not.

I’ve known Linda for a little over a year and went into the conversation well aware of her own relation to the topic. She looked at me in slight discomfort and said, “Who in the hell invited you into the club? I know you’re not like us... I don’t know why, but you understand us. Did you sneak into one of our meetings or what?” I was dead... Linda knows how to humor me. So that’s when I shared with her my own concerns. I told her that understanding the human mind was just my innate talent; I told her that I believe I have the same intelligence as a sociopath in that regard, yet I know I’m not one and I can’t figure out why I’m different.

That’s when she gave me this analogy: “Being a sociopath/psychopath is like being the wizard in the Wizard of Oz. I can manipulate everyone in the crowd to believe that I am right there with them when in reality, I’m actually the one behind the curtain running the show and pulling all the levers. But most people are too incompetent to notice... And then there’s you. You’re my only friend who can also see behind the curtain but you don’t capitalize on your opportunity to pull the levers. Because you’re not self-serving like I am, you use your knowledge to help others understand.. and to help the people like me who can’t resist their innate urges of control and manipulation.”

After that we looked at each other in comfortable silence for a while. I asked her if my knowledge made her uncomfortable and she said no because, despite having similar skills, I have completely different intent with mine and that’s what makes us different. Then she said, “Plus, it’s no fun being able to fool everyone. I need at least someone in my life who can understand; who I can nudge at the end of the day and ask if they saw the way I did that earlier and know that they get it.” It can be discomforting, but people like this are often times looking to be understood and to be challenged a little.

What I want people to know is they don’t need to be fearful- an antisocial personality disorder does not make someone a monster. The trick to not getting manipulated by them is being informed and aware of it. Call them on their shit; chances are they’ll laugh and fist bump you for your own intellect. Or if they smell your uncertainty, they might manipulate you out of your previous hypothesis- so be confident!

The problem is, you can’t figure this out in a single Google search. The more I study this, the more I realize just how many of the pieces have yet to be put together. We are in need of so much research but I have faith that science and society will eventually catch up. Another idea to ponder here is evolution and our culture’s selective pressure for these kind of traits. To be successful in today’s day and age, you almost have to have a little narcissism which explains its increasing presence.

Society is ever changing, but we really need to think about what makes something a disorder. The more you know, the more you’ll come to appreciate the thin line between intelligence and insanity. Just remember, almost everyone who has left a lasting impact on the world was once denied by society for their differences. They were considered insane simply because society didn’t have the mental capacity of understanding their complex insight.

God didn’t make a mistake in any of his creations, there’s a purpose for everyone and everything. You just need to open your eyes and see it.

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puchittothelimit · 7 years

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Can I request a Smite fan fic about Amaterasu and Izanami getting drunk in a bar one night and the two of them end up arguing and cursing at each other, and then when Susanoo and Raijin arrive to take them home, the two of the, are holding each other and crying at the bar counter?

Author’s Notes

Fandom:SMITE

Fan-fiction: The Last Straw

Summary: Izanami takes Amaterasu to one of her favourite bars to celebrate her birthday. After a little something to drink, both begin to feel a little confrontational. Amaterasu doesn’t appreciate her mother’s concern for her love-life but Izanami simply doesn’t want her daughter to be left with a broken heart.

Characters:Amaterasu, Izanami, Nox, Raijin & Susano

Warnings:Strong Language

Humanity, now 7 billion strong, seemed to occupy everycorner of the globe. Where the Gods were once were able to live away frommortal gaze had been overrun. But there were parts of the world that managed toremain untouched by man, until they found a way to bend reality, of course. TheGods needn’t be concerned about that for now. Mama Nyx’s Bar remained a safehaven, tucked away behind a tiny break in the fabric of the timeline. Only theimmortals knew where the crack was and should any decide to spill its location,Nox would simply darken the opening and make it as uninviting as possible andcreate another entrance elsewhere. She would not allow it to be comprised. Itwas a place where the Gods could unwind and forget about their cosmic dutiesand not have to answer to humanity.

Here, we find Amaterasu and her mother, Izanami, who had broughther daughter here so they could celebrate her birthday together. Izanami hadbeen coming here for many years, mainly out of spite as once she’d escaped herPantheon’s Underworld, she hoped she might see her ex-husband. The pleasantcompany she’d found with other Gods from all over the world had humbled her andchanged her intentions. She came here with friends to have a good time, and shehoped Amaterasu would also enjoy her time here.

A being of light, Amaterasu found the dim setting of MamaNyx’s a little overwhelming when she first entered. Once her eyes had adjusted,she could admire the charming, warehouse décor of the cave. It was huge and nota single space was left untouched or without a purpose. There were spiralledmetal staircases that led to the upper levels of the complex with a small candleon every step. Candles were the main source of light in the cave, though Noxwas happy to settle for fairy lights near the wooden tables and chairs, andlarge, rustic lamps above the bar. Though she could not see any medium forthis, Amaterasu swore she could hear music. There were no musicians and shecould not see any kind of speaker system. She wondered if Nox was eveninterested in modern day human culture but, then again, what was currentlyplaying was a mash-up of two recently released songs.

Izanami went on ahead towards the bar while Amaterasuadmired her surroundings. She was surprised to see many familiar faces thoughshe was wondering why she was never told about this place sooner, unless theythought that she already knew about it. Then again, the Gods that were herecurrently weren’t ones she usually associated herself with. There was Thoth ina corner, curled up with a book and a small drink. In another section, therewas Chronos and Thanatos, both looking very content in each other’s company. Itmade Amaterasu long for Bellona’s company and she would’ve invited her but hermother insisted it be just them. Susano wasn’t even invited but he’d beenbarred from drinking for a very long time by Izanami after she heard about hisatrocious behaviour at the Mayan gathering. It wasn’t just Susano that hadcompromised his dignity however. Many Gods had disgraced themselves that nightand were still trying to make amends: Anubis had just returned to a table wherehe and Ah Muzen Cab were sitting with a bottle of honey whiskey (with only oneglass) to replace the one he’d drank that belonged to the God of Bees; Hadesand Persephone seemed to be engaged in a serious conversation and Amaterasucould only imagine what it was about, although she didn’t expect them to bediscussing Hades’ one-night stand with Ah Puch so out in the open, unless hebrought her here so she wouldn’t go completely insane knowing everyone would bewatching.

Amaterasu took a seat next to her mother at the bar. She washesitant while placing her arms on the countertop, expecting it to be stickybut the surface was spotless. She was guilty about expecting anything less thanperfection from Nox.

“What are you having to drink, Ama’?” Izanami folded her fanand placed it on the bar.

Amaterasu smiled at her mother. She was grateful that shecalled her by her nickname as she found people saying her full name tedious andtiring, much like the writer typing this story. “What would you recommendMother? You’ve clearly been here a lot,” She meant nothing by her comment. Itwas just an assumption.

“More times than I care to admit, but it’s a nice place,with nice drinks and nice company,” Izanami turned to face Thanatos and gavehim a wave and a wink. He remained unmoved, but Chronos found it very amusing.

Nox suddenly rose from behind the bar, “Flattery isn’t goingto pay for your drinks Iza’ and I don’t see a man willing to pay for youeither.”

“Actually, your son has offered to buy me and my daughter apitcher for her birthday,” Izanami proclaimed loudly. Everyone at the bar gaveher a small round of applause for her motherly teasing.

Nox was also amused and played along, “Did he now?” Shenodded at him from across the room. Thanatos shrugged his shoulders, not amusedby the fact that he now had two mothers teasing him, “Don’t worry dear, I’lllend you some money. And happy birthday Ama’,” She smiled at her sweetly.

“Thank you Nox,” Amaterasu also bowed her head to showthanks.

“I’m going to make you wonderful birthday cocktail. You’lllove it. It’s-,” Nox paused, raising a brow (though no one could see it). She’dnoticed that the song that was playing had suddenly been paused. A new songbegan to play and the genre told Nox exactly who the culprit was, “Nemesis?”She turned to see her daughter at the end of the bar, fiddling with a devicethat was presumably connected to whatever sound system that played the music.Nemesis ignored her mother. Nox spoke again with the same tone of voice,“Nemesis, put my playlist back on.”

“Mom, nobody wants to listen to whatever mash-ups you’vefound recently. I’m putting some decent music on,” She replied, just as plainlyas her mother.

“Excuse me, young lady,” Izanami backed-up a fellow parent,“I’ve been coming here for a long time and I’ve never had a problem with yourmother’s taste in music.”

“Thank you Iza’, Nox nodded at Izanami, then turned to faceNemesis again, who still didn’t give her mother any eye contact (though neitherof them could), “It’s funny you should say that Nemesis because I’m pretty sureno one wants to listen to your I’m-going-through-what-I-call-and-emo-phase-but-I’m-really-a-scene-kidmusic.”

Nemesis groaned as she hauled herself away from the device,swinging her head back as if she’d rolled her eyes far too enthusiastically.She sat herself next to Thanatos and the two began talking about how much theirmother’s light-hearted banter irritated them. Chronos seemed somewhatdisenchanted that he was now the third-wheel.

When Nox had finally finished preparing Amaterasu’scocktail, she poured it into an enchanted chalice; in between the base and thebowl of the glass was a small, lit candle which acted as the stem, the heatkeeping the bowl suspended. She placed the glass in front of Amaterasu. How shemarvelled at just the glass alone greatly satisfied Nox.

Amaterasu was eager to try her drink, its orange glowalready putting the fruity taste in her mouth. However, she had no idea how topick up the glass. The wax had already begun to melt and she didn’t want to getburned, “Um, Nox?” She inquired nervously, not wanting to embarrass herself orseem rude. Nox handed Izanami her drink. A quick glance at Amaterasu and sheknew exactly what the problem was. She conjured up a straw and placed it in herglass, “Thank you,” She giggled. She took the straw between her lips and took asip. The liquid felt thicker than it was due to the intensity of the flavours.It was not bitter like most other alcoholic mixes that Amaterasu had tried,which was why she hated them. It also left a pleasant, fruity after taste. Shetook a larger sip, “Mm, it’s dazzling.”

Izanami put down her own drink, “Oh, can I try some?”

“No,” Nox scolded her, “You can have one when it’s yourbirthday.”

“I wish it could be my birthdayeveryday if it meant I could drink this. What’s in it?” Amaterasu had drunkalmost half of the cocktail.

“That’s on a need-to-knowbasis but there’s nothing in there I wouldn’t drink.”

“So there’s a drop ofeverything in there?” Izanami teased.

“I have actually made adrink with a little of everything, all that I had in the bar anyway. That wasthe first alcoholic drink I gave to Thanatos and Nemesis when they were oldenough.” Nox excused herself to go and serve Osiris and Isis who’d arrived atthe bar.

Amaterasu drank the lastfew sips of her cocktail but still continued to pry the glass with her straw inthe hopes of finding a bit more beneath the ice cubes. Izanami cooed at her adorablebehaviour, finding it all the more endearing because she was her daughter. Sheoften found herself in awe at her beauty. She considered it a compliment toherself that she’d created such a beautiful being (ignoring her husband’s rolein the process). It saddened her when she remembered how long Amaterasu hadspent hidden from the world and although it wasn’t because of insecurity, Izanamiwas still concerned for her child. She knew she wouldn’t be able to ask herabout her overall emotions directly as Amaterasu despised talking about herselfand her well-being, not wanting to burden people if she wasn’t feeling herself.Her mother knew she’d have to intricately set up a conversation like that, “Youshouldn’t wish your life away Ama’.”

Amaterasu frowned at her mother’s dreary sentiment, findingit even more irritating that she’d seemingly pulled it out of thin air. She didnot let it show. She had the utmost respect for her mother and would never sassher, “What do you mean?”

“You know? What you said before: about how you wish it wasyour birthday every day. I know we’re immortal but still…”

“It was just a joke Mother,” She spoke with a soft,reassuring tone and was trying as hard as she could not to roll her eyes.

“No, I know that but I just think it’s in bad tastes. You’vebeen stuck in that cave for so long, you need to make up for lost time and notwaste any more.”

Amaterasu couldn’t stop her eyes from widening. This hadtaken a drastic turn. She respected her mother but she didn’t feel comfortabletalking about her time in solitude in a place like this, knowing how other Godsmay feel about her absence, concerned with how she abandoned her people inpursuit of self-pity. That is why she no longer spoke of her feelings toanyone, nor let them show; she just carried on as normal, “Mother, can we not talk about thisnow please?” She politely requested.

“I’m just saying,” Izanami carried on briskly as she knewthat would be her daughter’s response, “You need to start doing the things thatyou’ve always wanted to do. It’s important for me to know that you’re happy.”

“I am happyMother. I’m back to serving my people and providing for them. My brother and Iare talking again. You’re back with us. Our pantheon isn’t collapsing underpetty feuds which I am truly grateful for, “She spoke with a hushed tone,knowing there were both Greek and Egyptian Gods in the room who might takeoffence (even if the shoe fit), “And, I’ve found love,” As she spoke, thefeeling manifested itself inside her and warmed her heart, “There’s still moreI want to do, of course. I’d love to travel to more places and talk with otherpantheons…”

Izanami saw her chance and cut in as soon as there was aslight pause in Amaterasu’s spiel, “If there’s so much you still want to do, isnow really the right time for a relationship?”

Amaterasu’s stomach dropped. She didn’t want to have tojustify her relationship with Bellona to her mother. She couldn’t withouttalking about how much they loved one another and she had a feeling thatwouldn’t satisfy her, not after how cold Izanagi had been towards her; Izanamino longer seemed to care for intense feelings of affection, finding it all aruse. In truth, without that, Amaterasu and Bellona’s relationship seemedhighly inappropriate. They were from different pantheons which wouldn’t comewithout disdain from somewhere. Also, because of that, they barely saw eachother, in person that is. They spoke very often however, taking it uponthemselves to sample mankind’s technology.

Of course, Izanami could simply not like her girlfriendbecause of her personality, and Amaterasu freely admitted that Bellona was ahard person to get along with. Her mother may not simply want her to be in arelationship at all, feeling she was too young. Amaterasu didn’t want to appearas if she was making assumptions about her mother’s true feelings, knowing thatwould anger her, “Is this about Bellona?” She asked, as naturally as she could.Her mother said nothing. Instead, she turned away from her daughter and tookanother sip of her drink, “Do you not like her?” Izanami just shrugged.Amaterasu couldn’t gather anything by her subtleties, becoming increasinglyfrustrated. She blurted out the first thing that came to her, though shecouldn’t quite understand why she thought of it, “Is it because she’s a girl?”

“Don’t be ridiculous Ama’, of course it isn’t,” Izanami wasquick to object, and took another sip of her drink.

She bit her lip. She knew that couldn’t have been it; hermother had never been openly homophobic. At least now she had something to followup on, “I’m being ridiculous? Who turned a jokey statement into a discussionabout whether or not I am truly happy with my life?” Her voice was onlyslightly raised but it still shook her, the way she’d spoken to her Mother.They both seemed shocked, as did nearby bar-goers.

Izanami slammed her glass down onto the bar, attracting evenmore attention, “Well, I’m sorry but I care about your well-being,” She saidsharply, glaring at her daughter, who was aware that other people werelistening in to their conversation.

“I know you do and I appreciate it, I really do,” She wastrying her best not to sound patronising with her hushed voice, also trying toensure that no one else could hear their conversation. She held her Mother’sshoulders and leaned towards her for good measure, “You needn’t worry is what Imean. Me and Bellona are perfectly happy together. We love each other. Eventhough we’re long-distance, we talk every day through messages,” She got herphone out as if she was going to show her mother the messages and prove herpoint. She offered her a glimpse before taking it back and then subtly textingher brother before her mother noticed, as she wasn’t fond of her children beingpermanently glued to their devices (even though that was an exaggeration). Shecontinued to speak to distract her mother from her twiddling thumbs, “We caneven call each other and see each other, so it doesn’t really feel thatlong-distance,” She blatantly lied; she did miss Bellona greatly and wishedthey saw each other in-person more often. Her mother didn’t pick up on this, “Iknow it might not seem like it’s the same thing, but it still works for us. Long-distancedoesn’t affect us greatly.” She locked her phone and looked up. The scowl onIzanami’s face told Amaterasu that she wasn’t quite pacified.

“I can tell you from experience that long-distancecomplicates things massively,” She took another sip of her drink, keeping hereyes locked onto her daughter’s.

Amaterasu scowled back. Her mother clearly hadn’t listenedwhen she’d told her that they were okay with long distance. She knew exactlywhat she was comparing their relationship to in trying to push her daughter toend hers. “Mom, you were dead. And besides, Dad came looking for you, remember?”Amaterasu hit back with the cold, dead truth, dissolving the relation betweenthe two.

“And then left as soon as he saw me,” Izanami still had herstance and persisted, “That’s what they do Ama’. When you’re not pretty enoughto fuck anymore, they move on.” She picked up her glass, only to find it lightwith emptiness. It pushed her over the edge. She dropped the glass as tearsbroke through.

After the way she’d acted, Amaterasu felt little remorse anddid nothing to comfort her mother, “Bellona isn’t like that,” She neverthought that she’d have to defend her girlfriend from the accusation that shehad such a shallow mind-set.

“How do you know? We may be immortal but you’ll stillchange. For fuck’s sake, you’ll still grow old Ama’! What will she think of youthen?” Izanami pried on her daughter’s naivety.

“Bellona isn’t like that,” Shespoke in short, sharp bursts. There was nothing more Amaterasu detested thanpeople not listening to her or acknowledging what she’d said. Her brother hadn’treplied to her message either which was also bringing her to breaking point.She only hoped she’d get a notification soon or he’d appear by the bar.

“Come on Susano, chop chop!” Raijin thundered, tapping hisfoot impatiently.

“Hang-on, I can’t tell if my Heartward Amulet is active ornot,” Susano adjusted the charm around his neck.

“I can help you test that out. I’ll fire an attack and if itdoesn’t hurt as much…”

Susano was suddenly perkier, “Hey. Hey! I said hang-on.”

Raijin sighed and lowered his drumsticks, “I’m pretty sureyou also said that you were really squishy and needed to work on your magicaldefence and I kindly agreed to help you.”

He ignored Raijin because he didn’t have a comeback. The gemat the centre of the amulet began to pulsate with a green glow. He wasconfident that it was working, “I’m never going to have a magic snake hit me inthe private’s ever again,” He cringed when he recalled how much pain he was inwhen Kukulkan had whipped him with his tail. He stopped his train of thoughtbefore he remembered everything else that happened that night, wanting to focuson the task at hand rather than how much he’d embarrassed himself. He turned toface Raijin, “Okay, hit me.” He spread his arms and beckoned him to attack bywiggling his fingers.

“Okay. I hope you’re not wearing anything wet,” Raijinprepared to attack.

Susano felt his side tingle. He leapt into the air,startled, assuming it was Raijin’s attack.

The God of Thunder held up his hands and dropped hisdrumsticks, “It wasn’t me.”

“I know it wasn’t,” Susano felt his hip and pulled his phonefrom a pocket in his shorts.

Raijin groaned, “You still had your phone on you, knowingyou were going to be dealing with electricity.”

“I guess I just forgot,” Susano just shrugged his shoulders.He unlocked his phone and began to read the message from his sister. Dismissinghis reckless behaviour was another one of Susano’s shortcomings which Raijinwas happy to help him correct.

“Unless you’d have had a tiny Heartward Amulet for yourmobile too, I don’t think it would’ve survived even my weakest attack!”

“And that would’ve been my fault, okay? I’d have admittedthat,” Susano held one hand up to signal Raijin to stop talking, and was typingwith the other.

Raijin ignored him, too angered by his disrespect, “You’retexting? You’re really texting when we’re supposed to be practising?”

“Yes, Raijin, I’m texting. I’m texting my sister because shewants us to come and get her.”

Raijin raised an eyebrow, “From Nyx’s? What’s the problem?”He ditched his drums and came closer to Susano, wanting to get a glimpse at themessage. He read them aloud, “Mom’s probing me, come and save me.”

“You know it’s bad because she didn’t use any punctuation,”Susano carried on texting his sister. He said his message as he typed, “On myway so sit tight.” He slipped his phone behind the sash around his waist, “Ama’snever felt so uncomfortable that she’s felt like she wanted to leave somewhere either.Mom must really be laying into her.”

“About the cave incident?”

“Damn, I hope not,” Susano groaned. Now that he and hissister were on good terms, he’d rather just forget about the whole affair, forAmaterasu’s sake, as she despised talking about her inner thoughts, and for hisown, in case their mother thought that he needed some kind of intervention. “Well,we don’t know until we get there. Big-Red, do the honours.” He held out hishands for Raijin’s to hold, that his teleportation ability might transfer tothe both of them and get them there as fast as possible.

Raijin frowned, “I’m pretty sure she just wanted you there,you are her brother after all.”

“You know she thinks of you as just the same. Besides,safety in numbers, especially with my mom involved.”

“And who says I want to get involved?”

“Oh come on! Do it for Ama’.”

There was a flash of blue light and then suddenly,everything was a little bit darker. When Susano had recovered, he’s noticedthey were in Nox’s bar, and everyone else had also noticed their arrival.

“Very subtle Raijin, I must say.”

“Don’t call me ‘Big-Red’ then,” The two noticed they werestill holding hands and simultaneously yanked them away.

They had expected to find Amaterasu and Izanami withrelative ease, trying to spot a blazing argument within an environment that wasusually pretty mellow. They did see them, and immediately went towards them.Their urgency disappeared when they’d finally comprehended what the two of themwere doing. Their demeanour was far from aggressive.

Amaterasu had one arm wrapped around her mother, who wasleaning against her chest, still awkwardly perched on her bar stool. Her eyeswere filled with pools of tears, but she was not sobbing. She was smiling infact. Amaterasu was scrolling through her phone with her free hand, showing hermother her messages to and from Bellona.

“Oh, she calls you drop-dead gorgeous, that’s so cute,” Izanamicooed, sluggishly pointing at the screen and scrolling at her own pace.Amaterasu helped to steady her finger, but she could also flip past anythingshe didn’t want her mother to see. She noticed a picture that was appropriate,for both her mother’s eyes and the occasion.

“She sent me a picture of all of the birthday presents she’sbought for me, all wrapped and ready,” She couldn’t help but shed a tear,overwhelmed by her generosity. So was Izanami.

“She bought you more than one and wrapped them in advance? She’s a keeper.”

Susano was relieved that they weren’t arguing and they wereshedding happy tears. Raijin couldn’t even pretend to be frustrated. They werein a bar; he was hardly inconvenienced by coming out here. He could still have adrink, and would thoroughly tease Susano because he knew he couldn’t. That didn’tseem to be keeping him at bay, even with his Mom right by him. He was stillsauntering towards the bar.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Raijin followed him, “I’mpretty sure you can’t drink.”

“My Mom’s so out of it that I can convince her it’s just anormal cola,” He gave Raijin a wink before settling his elbows on the counter.Nox glided over towards him, a sly smile on her face, “Ah, the ever non-radiantNox. Can I have a double vodka and cola please?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re barred,” Nox would never undermine afellow parent’s punishment. “Besides, you need to stay sober and keep an eye onyour mother and sister. They’ve had a rough night.”

Author’s Notes

Hope you enjoy! @heartlesskitty247

Please give this story a like and reblog if you enjoyed it! It really helps me out! Thanks for reading!

#smite #fanfiction #request #amaterasu #izanami #nox #raijin #susano #bellama #puch it fics

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megacarapa · 3 years

Note

What are your thoughts on the recent manga developements? Like the climax of the vs stanley arc and the suika mini arc etc, idk ive just been loving the recent chapters and wanna hear more talk about it and your rants so far have been really entertaining ^^

ANON FCGB;;;😳

WELL i did make an entire playlist based off those 3 suika chapters so i guess you could say i’ve been enjoying the current arc gfgfh. ok here are my VERY extended thoughts on the last 10ish chapters under the cut (manga spoilers obv) (LUCY DON’T READ THIS ONE FR) (also cw for like.. discussion of diseases and stuff tho i dont go too much into detail, i’m not an actual doctor obviously dfgdfg)

this ended up being way longer than i expected so i tried breaking it into a few sections and adding images to make it easier on the eyes, i’ve really loved the south america arc as a whole but these last few chapters have been especially amazing

vs stanley climax

first of all, i gotta love how you called it the "vs stanley fight", and i mean, you're technically right since he is the antagonist of this arc, but it's interesting how they never have a direct faceoff with stanley, it's more like stanley and his troops attacking super one sidedly in a way the kos can't really fight against, so they use communication between their different teams to trap stanley & co in a situation they can't run away from and win in the long term

i love that dr stone "fights" are most often won strategically rather than in a straight up 1v1 brawl, in fact those more standard fights are most often used as a way to keep the enemy at bay until senku & co can figure out a way to actually win, also it's just really cool that the team that delivered the final blow was thousands of miles away from where the actual fight was taking place, or even hundreds of thousands if you count whyman as the "person who delivered the final blow"

stanley theorizes at the end that the kos will probably keep his statue as a hostage to make xeno work for them on the rocket if he wants stanley back (lmao gay), but considering their track record of letting past enemies join the crew, i have a feeling we’ll have both xeno and stanley (and the rest of the americans) back rather than just xeno

the only antagonist so far that hasn't been redeemed is ibara, who is just being kept as a stone statue somewhere, but you could tell that would be the case based on his design alone, he just screams *irredeemable villain*

xeno and stanley, while antagonists, are also clearly designed to be likeable characters, so i don't see them getting the same treatment

the only problem would be keeping a constant watch over xeno to make sure he doesn't do any Side Projects™ and develop firearms again, but it could also be that xeno was actually convinced of senku’s philosophy in their last talk before the beam hit, so maybe he will be willing to help even without having stanley be a hostage, but i guess we’ll just wait and see

as a side note, whyman periodically sending the petrification command was basically a chekhov's gun now that i think about it, so it makes sense in a meta way that a second worldwide petrification would happen, why establish it if it wont come into play later in the story? i actually felt kinda dumb for not seeing it coming fgdfg

aftermath/suika chapters

the first strategy they had for defeating stanley was a good one, but it wouldn't really make for good storytelling if it just Worked and they won just like that, it would be pretty anticlimactic after running from him for almost 20 chapters, so it makes sense then that what they had to go with in the end was the same strategy, but on a much bigger scale

suika being the one to be depetrified first and have to save everyone is also a good choice both thematically and to make sure the victory isn't too easy

having someone like senku or chrome who understands the platinum method to make revival fluid and then have it done in less than a day, or having suika simply find some extra revival fluid lying around like she was initially planning would, again, be anticlimactic, it would've lacked impact after everything they've been through

these 3 chapters also nicely bring back the theme of science not being exclusive to the “pros”, everyone can use it as long as they have the proper steps to follow, the most impressive example before this was the corn city crew managing to make a diamond by following senku’s instructions despite not having any scientists on board (and before that, gen and the villagers making a telescope)

and now suika is even more impressive, being a literal child and all, even though she wasn't able to understand the more complex methods, there was still a way for her to succeed, all she needed was to be patient and diligently go at it step by step, i adore these 3 chapters and i love suika so much now it's insane

suika being the one to get revived serves another purpose as well...

honestly, already around 188/189 i was starting to get really worried about how the story would handle the emotional aftermath

shonen jump manga has a tendency to just gloss over the psychological consequences of traumatic events (one moment i remember finding really frustrating was in bnha, when kirishima gets really fucked up during the overhaul arc but the next time we see him he’s just joking around about looking like a mummy because of all his bandages🙄), so i was worried they wouldn't treat the aftermath of an event like this with the gravity it deserves, (i think LITERALLY DYING could be considered a traumatic event but i'm no psychologist🤔)

suika’s time alone shows a nice contrast to senku, while senku is definitely not emotionless, during his time alone before taiju was revived he is still very cool and collected, not showing any emotional weakness like the king of repression he is

suika is a whole different story, she’s a kid, she doesn't repress her emotions like senku does, so during her time alone she is scared and lonely, especially at the beginning, we see her breaking down into tears multiple times, imagining her friends statues talking to her, hugging kohaku’s statue for comfort etc

this really provided the emotional catharsis i was hoping for, through suika, the audience is genuinely able to feel the gravity of what has happened

i do wish more of the older characters could be allowed to show emotional weakness like this, but i guess having suika serve as a proxy for everyone works well enough

on that note, senku was alone for only 6 months and even then its implied in treasure island that he may have a problem with loneliness

suika on the other hand was alone for YEARS, i can only imagine how that affected her mental state, tho honestly i can't say i expect the story to delve into something like that too deeply (or at all) since this is a shonen manga after all..

immortality

i’ve seen some people interpreting hyoga’s resurrection in 197 as “they can revive somebody that died from an injury, but people will still die eventually due to old age”, but i don’t think that's really the case, people don’t just die from “old age” by itself, they die because their body slowly degrades over time, which makes it harder to fight against numerous diseases, one of which will eventually get you and kill you

but dr stone (aka the combination of medusa+revival fluid) can nullify that degradation and bring your body back into a healthy state, we’ve already seen this with kaseki on treasure island where senku explains that dr stone healed his arthritis, a disease which probably would have lead to his natural death sooner or later

while we already know kaseki was in better shape than most people his age, it’s still surprising to see an old man like him jumping around so energetically, thats how much the restoration improved his health

we also know it healed mirai who was brain dead before being revived, so i think it's a pretty safe bet that it can heal other brain related diseases such as alzheimers

if so, then dr stone can heal injuries, diseases and even death as we’ve seen with hyoga, i think it’s pretty accurate of senku to say that humanity has gained immortality with it

honestly this development has been a long time coming, the idea of dr stone being able to bring back the dead was introduced as early as the first arc when tsukasa killed senku but taiyuzu were able to bring him back, but it really does seem like such an out there concept so i’m interested to see how they will base it in science... (and also how they will handle the whole… moral dilemma of immortality but i ain't ready to even attempt to think abt any of that)

my favourite theory that has sprung up from this is that if people really can live forever thanks to dr stone, it could be that whyman is actually a normal human who has been continually petrifying and reviving themself to live for 3700 years

wat will happen nixt?

back when 196 came out it kinda dawned on me just how much the crew has been set back in the progress they've made so far that it was giving me anxiety for real gfgdfg

seven years have passed, and in that time a lot of the tools they've made must have degraded, along with that, everyone they've revived so far has been turned to stone once again, there was nobody to upkeep the wheat fields and sundial and basically everything they've left in japan, and after all this time even the perseus must be in bad shape and in need of repair, as chrome suggests

how long will it take them to repair the ship? to repair all the tools they've lost? their original plan was to go around the world building cities where they can get all the materials to work on that rocket they’ll be making eventually, they already kinda started up corn city, but that has been out of commission for a while now, they were planning to build superalloy city in south america and have barely started on that

so they need to keep building these cities but also need to go back and revive everyone if they don't want their progress to go to waste, how will they go about this?? will they just tackle it one by one or split into teams, so one team can stay behind and work on superalloy city and the other can go back and revive everyone? who knows?? ryusui certainly made it sound way easier than how i've been imagining it dfgdfg

other than that, i gotta wonder are the kingdom of science really the only humans left on earth now that there's been a second worldwide petrification, or has some other group revived somewhere during the timeskip, OR maybe there might be another group out there who also devised the revival formula and was able to escape the 2nd petrification, which would then give them 7 more years to develop while senku n co are just stuck in stone 🤔 dr stone has always had some human antagonist so i wonder who’s next now that xeno and stanley have been dealt with

honestly my favourite arc has always been age of exploration precisely because it doesn't have any human threat and the characters are just left to craft and work on rebuilding society without the pressure of a looming war or a crazy american hunting them down, so honestly i'm hoping we will get another arc like that now, i think the crew definitely deserves it dnjd

random bonus ramblings

-using poop and shells to create nitric acid and it being a process that would take a long time is something that has already been mentioned multiple times in the series, so it’s really cool to see it actually utilized in the story rather than being random throwaway info

makes you wonder what other seemingly throwaway lines could actually be foreshadowing...

😬😬😬

-since joel managed to fix a medusa im very excited for him to be revived so we can learn how he did it and how the petrification works in the first place!! (and for joel and kaseki to finally meet in general)

-drst has a habit of introducing a character in one arc and having them be Just kinda There for some time until they finally have their time to shine in a later arc, examples being minami and of course yuzuriha, so i'm wondering if the same will happen later on with some of the americans, charlotte seems like a good contender for this (the girl that suika saved in 185, i gotta wonder how she felt having to shoot down the people who saved her life)

-on that note i feel like matsukaze also still hasn’t had his time to shine or contribute in any unique way yet (other than exposition gdvdj)

-i was also really liking dr brody as a character so i was kinda disappointed that he just blindly decided to kill everyone in corn city instead of talking and trying to come to an agreement w them like he has been up till then (though i guess it was necessary for the plot🙄), interested to see what they do with him as well

-i wanna see stanxeno on screen makeout sesh 🙄!

-will senku not losing his petrification cracks be explained? if he still has them, will xeno, stanley, luna etc still have theirs too? (honestly i hope so, i don’t wanna have to stare at xeno’s big shiny forehead for the rest of the series gsdhgfd)

ok i feel like i've finally exhausted all the numerous thoughts i had sdfdfd thank you for giving me an excuse to ramble on for so long and congratulations if you've managed to make it til the end <3

in conclusion

#it's good stuff!#sorry i really used this ask as a springboard to rant abt whatever tf i want huh #asks #anon #deadass it took me 2 days to write this finally i can go back to my diys #dr stone #drst #long post #VERY long post #come closer i am a normal drst fan #drst rants

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networkingdefinition · 5 years

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Hummingbirds Quotes

Official Website: Hummingbirds Quotes

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push(); • A day so happy. Fog lifted early. I worked in the garden. Hummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers. There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess. I know no one worth my envying him. – Czeslaw Milosz • A rhododendron bud lavender-tipped. Soon a glory of blooms to clash with the cardinals and gladden the hummingbirds! – Dave Beard • Across the downs a hummingbird Came dipping through the bowers, He pivoted on emptiness To scrutinize the flowers. – Nathalia Crane • After a few mouthfuls of moon-flavored air, even the stubbornly drowsy can find themselves wide-eyed.. All the normal noises of life were gone, leaving behind the secretive sounds, the shy sounds, the whispers and conversations of moss disputing with grass over some soft piece of earth, or the hummingbird snoring. – N.D. Wilson • And in time it will be as though men had never come to this perfect corner of the world-never called it paradise on earth, never despoiled it with their dream factories; and in the golden hush of the afternoon all that will be heard will be the flittering of dragonflies, and the murmur of hummingbirds as they pass from bower to bower, looking for a place to sup sweetness. – Clive Barker • As long as the hummingbird had not abandoned the land, somewhere there were still flowers, and they could all go on. – Leslie Marmon Silko

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Hummingbird', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '68', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_hummingbird').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_hummingbird img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • By the way, did you fellows know that a hummingbird weighs as much as a quarter? Do you think a hummingbird also weighs the same as two dimes and a nickel? But then she asked a question of her own: How do they weigh a hummingbird? – Calvin Trillin • Charm is the enchanted dart, light and subtle as a hummingbird. But it is deceptive in one thing: like a sense of humor, if you think you’ve got it, you probably haven’t. – Laurel Lea • Coming eyeball to eyeball with a hummingbird on my terrace is as exciting to me as any celebrity Ive met as a result of Downton Abbey. – Lesley Nicol • Dancing is such a despised and dishonored trade that if you tell a doctor or a laywer you do choreography he’ll look at you as if you were a hummingbird. Dancers don’t get invited to visit people. It is assumed a boy dancer will run off with the spoons and a girl with the head of the house. – Agnes de Mille • either you take in believing in miracles or you stand still like the hummingbird. – Henry Miller • Flutter like a hummingbird, Dive like an eagle, Ain’t no bird that’s my equal. – Twilight – Kathryn Lasky • furious flutter awakened hummingbird heart hello hello love – Megan McCafferty • Gentle day’s flower – The hummingbird competes With the stillness of the air. – Chogyam Trungpa • He has the attention span of a hummingbird. – Christopher Moore • He was becoming unstuck, he was sure of that – his bones were no longer wrapped in flesh but in clouds of dust, in hummingbirds, dragonflies, and luminous moths – but so perfect was his equilibrium that he felt no fear. He was vast, he was many, he was dynamic, he was eternal.- Tom Robbins • He wasn’t that good looking, he had the social skills of a wet cat and the patience of a caffeinated hummingbird – Karen Chance • How do you view God in a desert? There’s two types of birds. There’s vultures, and there’s hummingbirds. One lives off dead carcasses, rotting meat. The other lives off the beautiful, sweet, nectar in a particular flower, on a particular desert plant, in the same desert. They both find what they’re looking for. Do you know – take it all the way back into the Old Testament – and the Muslim and you, we actually serve the same God. Allah, to a Muslim; to us, Abba Father, God. – Brian Houston • I always loved those little creatures [hummingbird], always feel blessed when they appear nearby. There’s a magical quality to them. I finally put one in a song. – Leonard Cohen • I had the metabolism of a hummingbird on crack. – Ilona Andrews • I like snakes. I like hummingbirds. There’s nothing on earth I don’t like. Frogs. Salamanders. The bunnies, the giraffes, the hippopotamuses. – Ted Turner • I love devastating movies, documentaries and hummingbirds (yes, in that order). – Tig Notaro • I would say the hummingbird really deserves the royalties on [some of my songs]. – Leonard Cohen • I’d like to be like a hummingbird. You see them every now and then. You don’t see them everywhere. – Shailene Woodley • I’d written a lot of songs with hummingbirds in them. None of them ever came to anything, but I did write a few lines last month. It went like this: ‘Listen to the hummingbird whose wings you cannot see. Listen to the hummingbird, don’t listen to me’. – Leonard Cohen • I’m a Gibson guy. I play anything from Hummingbirds to J200s. – Corey Taylor • I’m more of a culture hummingbird. – Jai Rodriguez • In Mexico people wear hummingbird amulets around their necks to show they are searching for love. Here people pretend that they aren’t. Searching. – Francesca Lia Block • it doesn’t matter if Prince Charles falls off his horse or that the hummingbird is so seldom seen or that we are too senseless to go insane. coffee. give us more of that NOTHING coffee. – Charles Bukowski • Most elegantly finished in all parts, [the hummingbird] is a miniature work of our Great Parent, who seems to have formed it the smallest, and at the same time the most beautiful of the winged species. – J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur • Much still remains to be learned about his sex life because the Hummingbird is quicker than the eye. – Will Cuppy • My mind, I know, I can prove, hovers on hummingbird wings. It hovers and it churns. And when it’s operating at full thrust, the churning does not stop. The machines do not rest, the systems rarely cool. And while I can forget anything of any importance–this is why people tell me secrets–my mind has an uncanny knack for organization when it comes to pain. Nothing tormenting is ever lost, never even diminished in color or intensity or quality of sound. – Dave Eggers • My mother’s eyes were large and brown, like my son’s, but unlike Sam’s, they were always frantic, like a hummingbird who can’t quite find the flower but keeps jabbing around. – Anne Lamott • My work is the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird – equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. – Mary Oliver • One day a hummingbird flew in– It fluttered against the window til I got it down where I could reach it with an open umbrella– –When I had it in my hand it was so small I couldn’t believe I had it–but I could feel the intense life–so intense and so tiny– …You were like the humming bird to me… And I am rather inclined to feel that you and I know the best part of one another without spending much time together– –It is not that I fear the knowing– It is that I am at this moment willing to let you be what you are to me–it is beautiful and pure and very intensely alive. – Georgia O’Keeffe • Question four: What book would you give to every child? Answer: I wouldn’t give them a book. Books are part of the problem: this strange belief that a tree has nothing to say until it is murdered, its flesh pulped, and then (human) people stain this flesh with words. I would take children outside and put them face to face with chipmunks, dragonflies, tadpoles, hummingbirds, stones, rivers, trees, crawdads. That said, if you’re going to force me to give them a book, it would be The Wind In The Willows, which I hope would remind them to go outside. – Derrick Jensen • Quick as a hummingbird…she darts so eagerly, swiftly, sweetly dipping into the flowers of my heart. – James Oppenheim • Regularity chauvinists are people who insist that you have got to do the same thing every time, every day, which drives some of us nuts. Attention Deficit Disorder – we need a more positive term for that. Hummingbird mind, I should think. – Ted Nelson • Shortly before she died Janis Joplin gave me the Gibson Hummingbird she recorded “Me and Bobbby McGee” on … Janis was a good guitar player, for her purposes .. she just wanted to play along with her songs, and she had a real pure and nice style for that. – Sam Andrew • Some of my old memories feel trapped in amber in my brain, lucid and burning, while others are like the wing beat of a hummingbird, an intangible, ephemeral blur. – Mira Bartok • Some people never find the right kind of love. You know, the kind that steals your breath away, like diving into snowmelt. The kind that jolts your heart, sets it beating apace, an anxious hiccuping of hummingbird wings – Ellen Hopkins • The first and most important thing for me is that people feel how beautiful fashion can be and that it is not just a case of well-made and expensive clothes. Fashion is so rich and it is such an amazing occupation because we can draw on so many different sources of inspiration – just as a hummingbird feeds on a multitude of flowers. – Dries van Noten • The retriever took each bit of meat from his master’s hand with a delicacy almost equal to that of a hummingbird sipping sugar water from a garden feeder, and when it was all gone, he gazed up at Dusty with an adoration that could not have been much less than the love with which the angels regard God. – Dean Koontz • There is a difference between our wisdom and nature’s simplicity. That reflects the burden of a complex intelligence. A complex intelligence like ours is impotent compared to the intelligence of a monarch butterfly migrating from Canada to Mexico, or the intelligence of hummingbirds that have co-evolved with the flowers all along their migration route. That seems so simple; it just happens, it just unfolds. – Alison Hawthorne Deming • There’s as much chance of repealing the Eighteenth Amendment as there is for a hummingbird to fly to the planet Mars with the Washington Monument tied to its tail. – Morris Sheppard • They always mean beautiful things like hummingbirds. I always reply by saying that I think of a little child in east Africa with a worm burrowing through his eyeball. The worm cannot live in any other way, except by burrowing through eyeballs. I find that hard to reconcile with the notion of a divine and benevolent creator. – David Attenborough • Up north, you could find these radio stations with no name on the dials that played pre-rock ‘n’ roll things – country blues. We would hear Slim Harpo or Lightnin’ Slim and gospel groups, the Dixie Hummingbirds, the Five Blind Boys of Alabama. I was so far north, I didn’t even know where Alabama was. – Bob Dylan • We at Google have made tremendous advances in understanding language. Our knowledge graph has been fundamental to that. The new algorithm that we launched today called Hummingbird has been a great leap forward. – Amit Singhal • We spend so much time, these days, on forms of literature that don’t rise to be literature, and I’m speaking about Twitter posts and quick and hot takes on different websites. We sort of zoom from thing to thing like a hummingbird. – Ben H. Winters • We’re constantly being bombarded by problems that we face and sometimes we can get completely overwhelmed. [But] we should always feel like a hummingbird. I may feel insignificant, but I don’t want to be like the other animals watching the planet go down the drain. I’ll be a hummingbird, I’ll do the best I can. – Wangari Maathai • We’ve all led raucous lives, some of them inside, some of them out. But only the poem you leave behind is what’s important. Everyone knows this. The voyage into the interior is all that matters, Whatever your ride. Sometimes I can’t sit still for all the asininities I read. Give me the hummingbird, who has to eat sixty times His own weight a day just to stay alive. Now that’s a life on the edge. – Charles Wright • When I did the Abyssinian mass, I went through the whole history of the church music and the gospel music, even with the Anglo American hymns, the Afro American hymns, the spirituals and how it developed, up to Thomas Dorsey and the Dixie Hummingbirds, going through the history of the music, jazz musicians. – Wynton Marsalis • when you are convinced that all the exits are blocked, either you take to believing in miracles or you stand still like the hummingbird. The miracle is that the honey is always there, right under your nose, only you were too busy searching elsewhere to realize it. The worst is not death but being blind, blind to the fact that everything about life is in the nature of the miraculous. – Henry Miller • You are Life passing through your body, passing through your mind, passing through your soul. Once you find that out, not with logic, not with the intellect, but because you can feel that Life-you find out that you are the force that makes the flowers open and close, that makes the hummingbird fly from flower to flower. You find out that you are in every tree, and you are in every animal, vegetable, and rock. You are that force that moves the wind and breathes through your body. The whole universe is a living being that is moved by that force, and that is what you are. You are Life. – Miguel Angel Ruiz • You are so high in the tree.If you jumpyou will live a full lifewhile falling.You will get marriedto a hummingbirdand raise beautiful part- hummingbirds. You will die of cancerin mid-air. I will not lie. It will be painful. You are a brave little boyor girl. – Zachary Schomburg

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'e', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_e').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_e img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'y', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_y').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_y img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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equitiesstocks · 5 years

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Hummingbirds Quotes

Official Website: Hummingbirds Quotes

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