#a paradigm-shifting moment

[reallytoosublime]

Unlock the secrets of consciousness and transformation through Dr. Chris Walton's profound out-of-body experience at The Monroe Institute. In this captivating video, I share my personal journey during the Gateway Voyage program, where I encountered a profound shift in perception and understanding of reality.

👉 Subscribe to my channel to stay tuned:    / @drchriswalton8743  

In the year 2000 I went to a training program at The Monroe Institute in Virginia (U.S.A) after I heard a friend of mine explain that using their techniques helped you experience how ‘you are more than your physical body’. So, I went off to a six-day retreat. The Monroe Institute has a patented sound technology called Hemi-Sync® that enhances awareness and consciousness.

Each participant goes into a private sound-proofed booth called a CHEC unit (which stands for Controlled Holistic Environment Chamber) for between four and six hours a day and uses the Hemi-Sync technology which sends different frequencies into each ear, frequencies that are masked by either pleasant music or a guided meditative journey.

The two different sounds alter your brain waves and thus your state of consciousness. For each session, you have a theme and set an intention, such as to retrieve early memories, heal a past wound, access heightened creativity, and more wild stuff.

My experiences were dramatic. I felt my sense of self expand and my consciousness enlarges and shift, such that I had access to information and thoughts—which would just pop spontaneously into my mind—that I had never had before and never imagined having.

In a few sessions I felt I healed some emotional childhood wounds, accessed buried childhood memories, and generally came to realizations and understandings of my current unresourceful behavioral patterns.

In other sessions I experienced a huge magnification of ‘self’, feeling a huge expansion in which I was connected to everyone in my life in a new and deeper way, and to everything in nature and in the cosmos. The boundaries of myself evaporated, and I experienced a profound unity consciousness.

After a few days of undertaking these sessions, I was feeling extremely relaxed and calm. I felt an exquisite sense of inner peace and happiness. I felt I had touched my true nature and essence. After about fifteen sessions, I was flying! This sense of unboundedness felt nothing like a caffeine or adrenalin high—I simply felt filled with light and freedom.

In one of my last sessions, I felt myself going very deep within, losing all sense of my physical boundaries. I’m not sure how much time passed, but suddenly I realized that I was above my body looking down on it! I was observing myself reclining on the bed in the CHEC unit, yet my consciousness was freed from my body.

[importantandunavoidable]

[fushitoru]

finish her! a toji fushiguro oneshot

pairing ⸺ wrestler!toji x reader

summary ⸺ you will have to face one of the most formidable wrestlers in history in your next match: toji fushiguro. but don't be confused, this isn't normal wrestling⸺no, it's nude wrestling. and winner gets the spoils of the other's body! (extended ver of my toji drabble here) creds to @/reynisxxsimart on twitter for art!

warnings ⸺ nasty, NASTY smut, VERY public sex, WWE but pornhub edition, you’re a wrestler fighting toji, so some violence but nothing graphic, fem!reader, HUMILIATION, degradation, you're literally fucked in an arena of people, p in v sex, unprotected sex, spanking, oral sex (f! recieving), boobplay, very inaccurate depiction of wrestling/WWE, not edited we die like toji

a/n im going to sit in the corner and think about what i just wrote

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

the muffled sounds of the crowd’s deafening roar seem to swirl in the space around you, each cheer vibrating through your chest like distant thunder. you take a long, cool sip of water, a welcome contrast to the warm air backstage. lounging back, you let the chair support your weight, your muscles still humming with the residual tension of anticipation. utahime’s fingers work into your shoulders, and her voice filters through the buzzing atmosphere, calm and steady as she gives you a rundown of the night ahead, though her words seem to blur slightly at the edges—just background noise to the constant hum of adrenaline.

“in front of a crowd—do you understand? and the rules are no fucking, unless all clothes are off first.”

“right,” you affirm, albeit hesitantly. you’re feeling a bit jitterish in anticipation of what’s to happen, despite having trained months to hone your ability as a wrestler. look, wwe itself can get really suggestive at times, with people giving wedgies, removing certain articles of clothing, or even letting the crowd cop a feel of the defeated to serve as humiliation. not only does it improve publicity, but it also increases viewership of all the horny bastards on the internet to circle the televised clip around in their subreddits or discord servers.

but what you were going to do today—that was a bit…extreme. it was like bridging the gap between soft core and hard core, with the humiliation turned up to a hundred. because today, you were going to wrestle the man that all female–and male–wrestlers could even dream of having their hands on, even if for a slight moment.

toji fushiguro.

a man of impressive build—entering a ring with him only meant defeat. he’s had numerous career wins, far exceeding any other. hell, you shouldn’t even be matched to wrestle with him today; he outweighs and outranks you by far. the only thing you really have running for you is the sheer amount of fans you have, ready to tune in to your fights and edit your moves and time spent in the fighting ring to songs like “chun li” and “maneater.” so, sure, you don’t exactly anticipate a win today in that stadium that’s waiting for you, but you’re no less of a wrestler in your own right. you won’t go down without a fight.

however, today was no normal fight. the wwe had suddenly decided that their viewership was too low, that extreme measures needed to be taken to boost. so, ironically enough they had decided to change the rules just before your momentous match:

all wrestlers must consent to having all and any articles of clothing removed from their person, particularly for sexual intercourse as a reward for the winner.

so, WWE (Pornhub’s Version) (In The Vault). 

and your luck dictated that this paradigm shift for the organization occur just before your most anticipated match with toji. again, you knew that no amount of training could prevent you from getting utterly humiliated, but it was almost like the gods were laughing down on you, eager to rub in your impending defeat once more. because you were going to get your shit fucked up—-literally.

“it’s going to be fine,” utahime assures you, and you snap back to the present from your thoughts at the sound of her voice. “just think about the publicity this’ll get you! not that you don’t have any fans of yourself, but there are going to be a lot of people tuned in because of fushiguro.”

you take an inhale in and nod. “yea, that’s true. i just want to get it over with.”

as if answering your prayers, gojo satoru, the mc, burst into your dressing room. “it’s your time to shine, buttercup!” he grins, ushering you out the door. albeit a bit nervously, you stand up and make your way into the hallway that leads directly into the middle of the arena. “you’re going to do great!”

as soon as you walk closer and closer to the arena, the screams get louder and louder, the music booming and causing the floor under you to vibrate. the sounds of people surround all your senses, wrapping you up and causing your heartbeat to go faster and faster. 

reaching the end of the hallway, the arena is filled with light, and you have to blink to get a hold of your sight. surrounding the center boxing ring are stands upon stands of people, hustling and bustling. at the sight of you, cameramen stationed around in various spots through the arena furiously angle their cameras towards you. not only are journalists and the media snapping pictures, blinding you with the flash, but you see yourself displayed on the big screens visible to everyone in the arena. you smile and wave, causing your fans to scream as they register that you have walked in. 

then, a realization washes over you. these are the same screens that are going to be projected whatever's going to happen during the fight and when you lose.

oh god.

you walk forward, trying to keep up your smile and wave to all of your fans that outstretched their hands, trying to cop a feel and/or get a high five. most of your fans are male (to no one's surprise), and you can feel their eyes roving over you appreciatively, taking in your outfit. it was simple and tight; shorts that just barely covered your ass and was snug around your hips, and a low cut top that couldn't even be called a top. your cleavage was on full display, and the top stopped just below your waist. typically, this is your wrestling attire you wear to a normal match, but you couldn't help but wryly notice that today, your neckline was cut lower than usual. the wwe was really trying to milk this, huh?

you stood just below the boxing ring, eyes anxiously scanning the arena, unconsciously searching for the man you were set to fight. but no matter how hard you looked, you couldn't spot his tall, muscular figure either in the ring or in the seat he was supposed to occupy with his manager.

a light tap on your shoulder startled you, and you turned to find utahime behind you, a concerned look on her face. "everything alright?"

"yeah," you said, waving her off with a forced smile. "but where is he?"

utahime pointed toward the boxing ring, and then you saw it—a glimpse of black hair.

"alright," you said, swallowing nervously. "i'm heading into the ring. wish me luck."

"wait!" utahime called out, but you were already too far to hear her. gripping the ropes at the edge of the ring, you hauled yourself up and strode toward the center, determined to get a better view. and there, just on the far side of the ring, hidden from your previous angle, was toji fushiguro.

he was lounging back, relaxed, his posture almost lazy as he faced his manager, shiu kong. you couldn’t see toji's face from this angle, but his body language indicated that he was the epitome of ease. shiu was saying something to him, and from your best attempt at lip reading, you could just make out the words, "don't break the rules today."

toji, on the other hand, didn't seem to be looking at him (giving 0 fucks, something so classically toji), focusing now towards the big screens everyone else saw in the arena. you turned your gaze towards them as well, only to be taken aback when it was you, a compilation of your best moments in the ring, narrated by gojo.

“and today, fellas, we’re going to see the bombshell y/n—the maneater, as coined by her fans—-competing! while her opponent is fushiguro, don’t be fooled—she can pack a mean punch. look at this fight with mei mei; she sweeped the floor with her face!” 

satisfied, you looked around, the arena bustling with people getting drinks, being enraptured with your fight on the screen, or pointing at you or toji. toji, on the other hand, was chuckling and shaking his head at your fight, observing as you gave the bitch mei mei a wedgie. which kind of made you flustered, because you had developed a crush on the guy observing him from afar or in passing, so you just focused on shaking out your legs and arms in nervousness.

gojo similarly announced toji’s fights and compilation, gassing him up for the crowd and it was then that toji finally turned around, uninterested in whatever was going on, and caught your eye. you stared back, breath held involuntarily. 

his eyes had a predatory glint to them, and he smiled, charmingly in a way that showed off his scar, and they scanned up and down your figure, taking in what you were wearing—or rather, letting his imagination run. nervously, your heart sped up as you clenched your thighs up in anticipation or anxiety, you couldn’t choose which, as your mind began running at the speed of light thinking about what was going to happen today.

today, you weren’t only going to wrestle toji fushiguro. you were going to fuck him.

but you’re jolted out of your thoughts as gojo’s obnoxious voice blares through the speakers. “give it up for thee wwe goat, toji fushiguro!”

screams reach an all time high as his smirk is broadcasted to the audience, biceps bulging and flexing as he heaves his way up on the ring, joining you. he waves lazily, roars at an all time high as he stalks his way to you, and you squeeze your nails into your palm out of nervousness.

when gojo announces your name, the male screams rise up in volume, causing you to giggle and fushiguro to roll his eyes from what you can see in the corner of your eye. you give a dainty wave, choosing to wink and blow a kiss to the camera in front of you, causing your fans to scream even louder.

“you sure got a lotta fanboys, darling.” you jump as toji has now bent down to whisper in your ear, literally sending shivers down your spine.

you force out a laugh. “and you're at no shortage of fangirls yourself, fushiguro.”

he gives you a nonchalant hum, assuming his original position. as gojo continued to yap about the stakes of the round today, the recent rule change, a referee walked over to you both, coming in closer so that you would be able to hear him over the chaos of the arena.

“so, you’re both aware of the rules, right?” he both looked at you, to which you nodded and toji’s smirk widens. “you gotta get the other’s clothes completely off, and the first one to do that wins.”

you gulp, eyeing what toji was wearing today. it was his signature garb, the one he wore to almost every match without fail: grey pants with various sponsorships sewed on, and a black compression shirt. it was definitely very minimal compared to what a lot of the other wrestlers wore, but it was iconic, giving him a lazy, laid back aura that no other wrestler could truly emanate.

it wasn’t anything hard to take off in particular.

both of you affirmed your consent to the referee, who then took a step back after wishing you both good luck.  you turned, facing toji face on, who had his hand on his hip. “try to last long, okay?” he smirks, patting your shoulder with his other hand. “i’ll try to drag this out as much as i can, but it’s gonna be fuckin hard if that ass is grinding against me.”

you glare, but there isn’t much intensity to it because you know he’s much stronger than you. there isn’t much to get angry about. “yea, yea,” you huff. “for all i know, you’ll be my personal dildo today.”

he barks out a laugh and looks at the referee, who has one hand raised, the other one poised on his whistle, ready to blow and start the round. it’s starting soon. then, he looks back to you and smiles. “let the games begin.”

the referee blows the whistle.

at once, you launch yourself towards toji, trying to jump on him to get him off his feet with your weight. instead, he dodges easily and leaves you hurtling towards the floor, making you poise yourself on your hands and feet upon impact. you roll over just as toji tries to tackle you and pin you against your original position on the floor and quickly get up.

however, as you’re steadying yourself on your feet, toji grabs your ankle, causing you to lose your balance and giving him the advantage to pin himself on top of you, his mouth breathing heavily next to your ear, whispering so it was just the two of you that could hear his words. “what do you think i should take off first?” he laughs deeply, the vibration causing you to shiver and try to squirm to get out of his hold, to no avail. “should it be these?” he snakes his hands down to grope your tits, giving them a firm squeeze, much to the arena’s pleasure. “or should i take these off of you?” he slaps your ass, making you blush furiously.

“fuck you,” you hiss as his hands catch on the edge of your shorts.

he gives you a sweet, small kiss on your temple. “don’t worry, baby,” he smiles. “you’ll be doing that anyways.” and with that, he pulls at your shorts until the waistband’s elastic rips, leaving your shorts in tatters until he throws the remains of it away, baring your panty-covered ass to the crowd, which immediately grows wild.

you crane your neck to look at the screen, which is currently focused on toji’s hands feeling up your ass, dipping inside your underwear to knead the flesh. your heart is pounding, the thought i need to get the upper hand flashing continuously across your mind. it’s almost as if you’re drowning, the noises of the crowd blurring together until it was only you and toji’s weight on you. you barely heard the announcer exclaim, “toji is currently in the lead!” as you focused on calculating your next move.

it was time to pull out all the stops. 

turning your head until you were making eye contact with him, you bit your lip, momentarily distracted him with the 180 turn of your actions, now nonchalant rather than the flailing you were doing earlier. then, you raised your hips, meeting your backside with his crotch in an effort to catch him off guard and to make him lose balance. then, you maneuvered yourself so your thighs surround toji’s waist and hump your hips against his bulge. this momentarily distracted and weakened toji, and you take full advantage of it by overtaking him and now straddling him. you quickly take off his shirt, salivating at the muscles you see. the whole stadium, in fact, can see his abs and pecs glistening with sweat.

smirking while peering down at him, you slowly grind your hips as if you were riding a mechanical bull, making a show of spinning around his shirt with your hand to mock him. toji’s eyes darken, but a mirthless smile flashes across his face anyways. “damn, take me out to dinner first.”

you flash him one of your own humorless smirks, happy that you got at least one thing against him. “i don’t fuck anyone before the first day, honey. this is just another cheap fuck.” with that, you yank his head back with his hair roughly, making a show of motorboating his pecs, as if to mock him.

instead of getting angry, he chuckles darkly. “you’re going to regret that. i was going to drag this out, princess, but i gotta fuck the brat out of you.” with that, he spins you around just as quickly—if not quicker—pinning you against the ground with your hands held above your head in one hand in a vice grip, the other groping its way down your body. he buries his face in your neck, salaciously licking the length of it. with his free hand—now stationed around your tits—he grabs at the hem of your top, pulling it up so everyone could see your lace bra. mockingly, he plants his face in the middle of your tits, moving his head side by side to motorboat you just as you had done to him, the soft plush of your tits encompassing his face.

the crowd cheers, even more so than they had when you had ripped his shirt off, as toji completely rips the top off as you squirm, making the removal even easier for him. you can feel all eyes on you as toji reaches for the clip of your bra, unhooking it and making your tits pop out. helplessly, you look at the screen, your writhing making them move in a jiggling motion, sweat shining and giving you the “oiled-up” look. he takes a moment to grope them, your whines ignored as he pinches your nipples. “what a sensitive girl,” he coos. “too bad she was too weak. now she’s going to have to take my cock.”

with that, he teasingly closes the distance between the waistband of your panties and his teeth, mouth snagging on the elastic. slowly, he drags them down, unveiling your glistening pussy for all eyes to see, and the crowd goes wild, chanting random requests at toji to do the most heinous things to you. as soon as you’re completely naked, he grabs you by the waist, propping you up against one of the corner posts. you’re now standing up, tearfully facing the arena as the wrestler kneels behind you, burying his face and nosing his way until your pussy, lapping up your wetness.

at the unexpected feeling of his tongue, you yelp, and toji slaps your ass. “stay still.” acquiescing, he licks up long stripes and shakes his head to grind his nose into your cunt, pleasuring you while humiliating you in front of everyone, forcing you to succumb to the pleasure he’s making you feel. while licking you, he groans. “fuck, this pussy is so sweet. i’ve run out of patience, fuck the performance part.”

with that, toji flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees on the floor and pulls down his pants. you don’t even look back at the monster that’s about to enter you for the sake of your mental health, but your legs are shaking in anticipation of his cock, slick dripping down your thighs. 

he drags his cock teasingly through your folds, and then brings it out to slap it against your ass, humming appreciatively at the recoil. then, as if he’s lost patience, he’s slowly entering you, pushing against your pussy’s resistance as he penetrates you in front of the whole arena. “fuck!” he groans, getting a better grip on you as he pushes your head down on the mat and fully goes to pound town.  

the humiliating plap! plap! plap! of his hips against the flesh of your ass echoing multiple strangers watch your pussy get wrecked. “the fuck this pussy’s so tight for? thought you were a slut?”

you’re tearing up, the feeling of his dick hitting your g-spot straight on making you clench hard, overwhelmed by the feeling of him pummeling you and his hands on your body, feeling you up. clearly, he knew how to pleasure a woman, and it made you all the more annoyed. you were fucked out, but not fucked out enough to prevent you from snarkily replying, “you’re not turning me on, small dick.”

he did not like that very much.

toji drills his hips into yours faster and slaps your ass multiple times consecutively. “yea, so why is she clenching so fucking much? why is she dripping, you whore?” as if to demonstrate his point, he brings his fingers to rub at your clit furiously, collecting the wetness that had dripped down from your hole then shoving his fingers into your mouth. “suck.” when you did just that, suckling at his fingers while hollowing your hot, wet heat around the appendages. 

at that, he groaned. “what a little cockwhore. shoulda made you suck my dick instead.”

in retaliation, you bite his fingers, hard, and then spit them out. “i would’ve bit your micro off.”

toji hisses, grabbing the hair at your scalp and pulling on it until your face was up, his mouth at your ear. “just for that, i’m going to come inside of your slutty pussy.” he speeds up, moving his hips faster and fast. the hand that wasn’t at your hair is now sneaking his way down your back, until you gasp.

because he’s inserted his thumb inside your ass.

“oh, ho ho,” he laughs mockingly. “you liked that, didn’t you?” you offer him no response, choosing instead to focus on the feeling of the sheer amount of pressure you were feeling down there, being doubly stuffed. by now, your orgasm has been steadily building because of the sheer power of toji’s stroke game, but as soon as he hits your spot one last time, your eyes roll back, causing you to arch your back and writhe due to the intensity of your orgasm.

you’re breathing heavily, toji fucking you roughly through it. once you’ve gotten a hold of your sense, you come back to reality as you realize that the crowd has adopted a rhythm to their chants, your fans and his screaming the same thing.

cum! cum! cum!

and toji only chortles as he continues your thirst, looking at you once again, and you can tell that he’s staving his orgasm back just after experiencing your clenches with the way he’s biting his lips, sweat running down from his temple to his abs. “what do you say, baby? wanna give the crowd what they’re asking for?” 

all it takes is a whimpered please, and toji just does what the crowd asks of him. ropes of his cum fill you, and you drop down in exhaustion to hear toji declared as winner. 

as you exhaustedly lift your head up, you see that cameras are out all around you, focused on the screen. you’re flustered when you realize the billboard is displaying toji’s cum seeping out of you.

A hand on your shoulder. “you good?” toji’s looking at you, eyes twinkling.

you let out a breath. “yea,” you laugh, out of breath. “good round.”

and he’s huffing, giving you a hand to get on your back. you can only lie on the ground as he barks for clothes to be put on you and for some water. then he turns to look at you once more, eyes twinkling. “wanna go for more in my hotel?”

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n i was going to have him carry u up near to the stands where your fans could grab at ur titties but this is alr depraved as it is. now im going to take a breather from tumblr for the rest of this week becasue WHEW ch5 gojo yesterday and finished this today i am ON A ROLL. see you guys for next week's kinktober fic (comment if you want to be tagged)! much love<3

reblog and comments are much appreciated!!!!!

taglist:

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk

[justiceforplutoo]

I feel like steddies are always going for bi steve/gay eddie but consider: comphet gay steve/bi eddie. I'm so sure someone's said this before but...consider with me, ok?

consider a young child steve whose father still works in hawkins but is never with the family, leaving steve with his mother and his mother's girl-friends. they talk all about their husbands and their families and one day steve, all innocent, asks his mom, "when will I get a husband?"

his mother clutches her chest and says, "oh no, stephen, that isn't how that works."

steve who confusedly nods along and goes with it.

steve who chastises himself every time he catches himself staring in the locker room, or in gym, or at swim meets.

steve who finds himself, years later, confused as to why he can't find himself feeling for the girls he dates the way they do for him.

steve who convinces himself that he'll find the right girl one day.

consider steve sitting on the floor of the starcourt bathrooms with robin, covered head to toe in vomit and blood. and this is it, right? this is the part where he gets the girl. and something in him cringes at the thought. something in him says, no, you don't want her.

he brushes it off as king steve telling him who he should and shouldn't date.

and then robin starts panicking and talking about tammy thompson (oh.) and suddenly they're singing muppets and steve has this paradigm shift because he doesn't have to get the girl.

it takes him a couple months and one "don't ya, big boy?" to make him realize that he doesn't have to get the girl.

and it's funny - honestly, it is - because robin comes out and so does will and eddie is...himself, but steve thinks to himself, well, that's good for them, but it could never be me.

and he keeps saying that it could never be him until the split second before he realizes it is him.

it could never be him, he thinks, but rocky horror picture show is playing in the background and eddie leans into his space and talks all about how sexy rocky's body is and somehow that leads to jocks and somehow that leads to, "so what do you like, steve?"

and somehow that leads to a strained and breathless, "I think I like you, eddie."

and then they're kissing, and steve is desperately pawing at eddie's collar, unsure where to put his hands. it's a blur, and all steve really registers is that they're kissing, and then-

and then steve starts crying. silently, at first, and in the heat of the moment, unnoticeable, except then steve is pushing eddie away and eddie looks hurt.

"I read that wrong, didn't I?" says eddie.

steve gulps in air, face red, and barely manages out a "no".

"...no?"

"I don't think I like girls, eddie. but I like you."

"you know you can like both, right? I mean, I do."

steve nods, then shakes his head. "I think I just like boys, eddie."

"oh, okay."

eddie leans in for another kiss.

[pukefactory]

Love your one shots! ^v^ could you write about the first time dream bbq ena met reader and her reaction to them?

•☽────✧˖°˖ A MICE ON VENUS ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: You And Ena Have The First Of Many Encounters

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Reader pronouns: Not Specified

★ Genre: Short Story, SFW

★ Word Count: 406

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

The first time you met Ena, it was like stumbling into a conversation you didn’t realize you were already having. The world around you shimmered in shifting hues, the neon glow of the casino flickering between reality and something far less stable. You weren’t entirely sure how you got here, but before you could question it further, a voice—no, two voices—snapped your attention forward.

“Ah-ha! A new variable in our business equation! Hope you don’t mind, but could you tell me—what’s your problem? What are our business struggles today?”

The red half of the peculiar, humanoid figure grinned at you, hands clasped together in an eager sales-pitch stance. The other half, yellow and sharp.

“LET’S CUT THE CRAP! WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU IN MY AIRSPACE?!” the pale yellow side barked, her jagged triangular eye narrowing.

You blinked. Then blinked again. “I… was just looking around.”

The red half gasped, delighted. “A fellow entrepreneur of curiosity! Bless you for your business of wandering!” She leaned in, attempting to shake your hand. “Tell me, who do you work for?”

You took a cautious step back. “I don’t—uh, work for anyone. I was just—”

“Ahh! An independent contractor, then!” She nodded sagely. “Freelancing, are we? Investing in the unpredictable future of opportunity?”

“I…” You weren’t sure what you had stepped into, but it was happening whether you wanted it to or not.

Suddenly, the yellow half squinted. “Hey. HEY. What does a loser like you do for a living?”

“Loser?” You frowned. “I—”

“NO. WAIT. MORE IMPORTANTLY—” she suddenly loomed closer, her jagged eye boring into you. “YOU’RE NOT FROM HERE, ARE YOU?”

A beat of silence passed. You swallowed hard.

“…No?”

The red side beamed, clapping her hands together. “Fascinating! A visitor from beyond our business model! Quick, quick—tell me, have you experienced any recent paradigms shifts? Market fluctuations in your reality?”

A loudspeaker crackled in the distance. The casino lights flickered dangerously. Both sides of Ena froze.

“Ah. Seems we are out of time.” The red side’s smile faltered slightly, but she adjusted her cap, regaining composure. “Ping me in some moments, yes?”

And before you could protest, the world twisted—and you were somewhere else entirely. You weren’t sure what just happened, but one thing was certain.

You had met Ena.

And she had definitely met you.

[swampjawn]

God I love animation. I love it for the way it can bring anything to life beyond the constraints of boring ol' reality, but also the ways that it's inextricably linked to, and draws on the conventions of live-action film-making.

So fuck it, let's look at how Hayao Miyazaki straight up copies some camera framing techniques from his predecessor and the other most influential Japanese filmmaker of all time, Akira Kurosawa! (Kurosawa really was the master of framing scenes around his characters, so he's a great source of inspiration)

(btw, this is a screenshot from this TV special where the two met for the first time just after the release of Kurosawa's final film. It's pretty interesting, and also very cute how nervous Miyazaki seems to be to meet one of his idols.)

Specifically, how the two each choose to break the 180 degree rule (well, not technically 'break' in the case of Kurosawa) to show their protagonists' changing destiny in "Throne of Blood" and "Princess Mononoke".

For anyone who doesn't know, the 180 degree rule is a basic film-making rule of thumb which states that in any scene where two characters interact, you should draw an imaginary line between them and the camera should always stay on one side of that line.

("In the Mood for Love" - Wong Kar-wai)

This way, one character is always looking to the right of the camera, the other is always looking to the left, and the audience doesn't get confused by the geography of the scene. Crossing this line can be disorienting, but when done intentionally, it can convey a paradigm shift of some kind in the scene.

In this scene from "Throne of Blood," (a feudal Japanese retelling of Macbeth) Washizu's wife Asaji discusses tactics with him and tries to convince him to aspire to the throne and to assassinate his lord Tsuzuki while he sleeps.

As two servants appear to notify them that Washizu's sleeping quarters are prepared, the camera dollies left and around the characters' backs. This camera movement is motivated by the motion of the servants' torches outside the room, but it also signifies a change in Washizu's outlook.

Washizu is completely silent for most of this scene, contemplating his wife's advice. But as the camera slides behind his back and across the line of action, the scene is now re-framed, illustrating his change in perspective.

He's been convinced and the trajectory of his life is about to change - and now, facing away from the camera, is the time for action.

Because the camera slides smoothly across the line, Kurosawa isn't technically breaking the 180 degree rule. Miyazaki on the other hand, takes it a little further.

The complimentary scene in Princess Mononoke comes near the start when the wise woman of the village reads Prince Ashitaka's fortune after he's cursed by the wild boar spirit. She tells him that it is his fate to leave the village and travel to the west, where he may be able to lift the curse on his arm. The trajectory of Ashitaka's life changes in this moment too. As he accepts his fate, the change is symbolized by him cutting off his hair, but also by the camera jumping the line.

Throughout this dialogue scene and even as he cuts his hair, the simulated camera sits just slightly to the side of Ashitaka's left shoulder.

But once it's done, for the final shot, the scene is reframed and we jump to the other side, where Ashitaka is now looking to the right of the camera instead of the left.

Making the camera dolly across a scene like Kurosawa's version in 2D animation is no simple task, so this transition with a simple cut is in a way subtler, in another way a bit more jarring, but it conveys the same meaning.

This is the moment when our protagonists make the choice to embark on a new destiny and re-frame their lives.

This has been an excerpt from a short video essay I made a while back, which not many people watched. I think this is at least in part due to my failure to package it well, and it seems you tumblheads like this animation/cinematography analysis stuff, so this is an experiment to see if, with the help of y'all, and a new title and thumbnail, it's at all possible to give this video a second wind in the eyes of the Youtube Gods!

So if you found this interesting, I'd appreciate if you checked it out! Thanks for reading!

[stardust-falling]

do you think shen jiu is redeemable in Canon?

Short answer: no.

Longer answer: It really depends on what's meant by "redeemable" and what's meant by "canon."

Because while we don't know everything, we do at least see the conclusion of his story in canon, so we know that he does not find redemption, nor does he think it possible:

“Has Shidi ever considered that, if you hadn’t treated Luo Binghe like that in the beginning, everything that unfolded today never would have happened?” Shen Qingqiu burst into laughter. “Why does Zhangmen-shixiong say such ludicrous things? What’s happened has happened! I’ve already ‘considered’ it hundreds and thousands of times! There is no ‘if,’ no ‘in the beginning’—there was never any chance of redemption!” (Chapter 24, 7S)

Shen Jiu did what he did in canon, and even at the end of his life claims there is no redemption for himself and there never was.

Without significant canon divergence, Shen Jiu is not redeemable.

That doesn't mean that at times his actions aren't misunderstood or misrepresented, of course-- as we know, he didn't kill the men at Qiu Manor out of nowhere, and the accusations regarding his cold-blooded murder of Liu Qingge we also know to be false, since Shang Qinghua implies he tried to help-- even though his help didn't prevent Liu Qingge's death (and may have made the situation worse due to the animosity between them and Shen Jiu's own emotional instability-- though that's just headcanon). However, in regards to his treatment of Luo Binghe, there's really just no chance or way for him to be redeemed in the canon timeline.

And that brings me to another point-- my general dislike of the idea of villain "redemption."

It's way too nebulous of a term. What would constitute redemption for Shen Jiu? Never abusing children to begin with? He wouldn't need redemption then. Making things right later on? There's no real chance to, and even if he was given a chance, say, by Luo Binghe after he returned, Shen Jiu is the kind of person to double down, not to repent and apologize-- we already knows he views apologies as useless. What's done is done.

I am 100% convinced that Shen Jiu always knew in the back of his mind that, as long as Luo Binghe or any other victim survived, he would die by their hands. While the extent of the violence and torture he might not have expected, he was basically recreating his own childhood, putting himself into the role that Qiu Jianluo once held, and he knew very well how Qiu Jianluo ended.

Unlike some abusers, Shen Jiu does not have the delusion that he is a good person, or that his actions are good. He views himself as scum, so he acts like scum. He probably even thinks himself worse than he actually is-- no one hates Shen Jiu more than Shen Jiu himself. That's another thing that makes the idea of 'redemption' difficult for him-- because he knows he's in the wrong, and continues on that path anyway because he just doesn't see any other option.

So, what Shen Jiu would need is not so much redemption, but a paradigm shift. It would require rewriting his entire worldview, his perception of himself and his perception of others-- and that is very, very difficult, and especially difficult for someone who really doesn't think it's possible. Entrenched beliefs are entrenched for a reason, and a fully-established worldview is not easily changed, especially when it is so incredibly self-sabotaging.

However, let's just imagine for a moment that Shen Jiu actually did get the chance to heal, and that worldview gradually began to shift. I don't think he'd be the best teacher even then, but he at the very least might be able to keep from taking out his childhood trauma on the kids under his care. The difficult part would be getting him to the point where he actually had healed enough to facilitate that paradigm shift.

Basically, Shen Jiu first and foremost needs healing, not redemption or atonement. If he were able to heal, then he might not even need redemption to begin with, and without that healing nothing would change from the canon timeline. But at the same time, the circumstances of canon, along with Shen Jiu's own self-sabotaging viewpoint, do not provide a space for that necessary healing, thus, he can only be "redeemed" through canon divergence.

Shen Jiu is a product of his environment. As much as the choices he makes as a peak lord are his own, they are also shaped by his experiences. Without different experiences, he would never make different choices-- and so, Shen Jiu's fate in PIDW can never be changed.

There are many ways, however, that canon divergence might change things-- for example, my ongoing attempts at a Shen Jiu redemption/character development story in SVLPO where he returns from death and tries to change the future (it's really long, but if you haven't read it yet, it's basically a 400k word character study into Shen Jiu's psyche and will pretty much tell you how I feel about his worldview and how that affects any 'redemption arcs'), or fics in which Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan are different incarnations of the same person, and how Shen Yuan's kinder background enabled him to become a different, kinder person.

I think that there are plenty of ways that Shen Jiu might end up a better, less-tormented person, and that if the circumstances were right, it wouldn't necessarily be OOC-- and so if that's the true question here, then absolutely, yes, he can be redeemed.

Even the deepest wounds can heal, even the most deadly injuries can be recovered from-- the chance may be infintesimal, but it still exists.

In the end, that's what fic is for, isn't it?

[stottlemorgan]

Sketches & Scowls | Arthur Morgan x Reader Fluff

Summary: Arthur encourages your artistic journey but you lack patience. Word count: 952 Tags: Fluff, can potentially be read as platonic too imo! Author's note: I'm thoroughly pissed off whilst learning to draw so take this, dear hearts. If only Arthur were here with me to stop me from throwing my sketchbook through a damn window. I'm pretty sure this is gender neutral! Lmk if it seems any different and I'll change the tags.

A scowl curls your upper lip and the weight of your frustration drags your brow south as you attempt to will a tear through the paper of Arthur's sketchbook. Bound betwixt the leather cover that rests snugly in the dip of Arthur's closed thighs is a gallery of beauty; countless paradigms of how graphite should be used to capture one's visions. The subject of your current envy is a drawing of yourself.

The slight dampness of early spring cools your rear through your clothes as you and Arthur sit together on a hill of green and lupine. A flurry of warmish wind rustles through the thicket further up the hill, pulling a chittering consonance from the birds inside. The afternoon sun casts a pretty glow upon Arthur's portrait of you, upon the perfect likeness he has achieved within such a short time. You can plainly see the way he has skilfully sketched your countenance, the shapes both rigid and round that make up your face, the subtle dips and marks that pepper your skin. Though in this moment, you're appearing to be all ridge and lacking any semblance of the tender grin that had graced your features when he'd requested you still yourself while he drew.

"Try loosenin' your wrist up a little," Arthur's eyes flit to your hand which seems to be on the verge of snapping the poor pencil within its grasp. He blinks and raises a brow, tempering the amusement in his voice, "And maybe show some kindness to your tool, hm? If you break it, you ain't gonna be able to use it."

Your glare drifts up to his eyes which are laden with their usual sympathetic amicability which has only furthered over the past weeks of trying to teach you how to sketch. As you hold one another's gaze, Arthur notices your hand reluctantly shift in his blurred periphery to mirror the way he is holding his own much shorter pencil. He can't resist the chuckle tickling his chest and the smile tugging at his lips as his heart fondly responds to your grousing.

"I hate this, Arthur," you spit, tipping your head down to look at your own sketchbook, the one which Arthur kindly gave to you from his slender collection of spares. Scattered across the centrefold are multitudes of sketches, messy and incredibly amateurish, though Arthur describes them as "Charming". Your most recent is your fifth attempt at a portrait of Arthur. You were almost smiling as you shaded about his eyes and crows feet, though the excitement quickly faded the more you scribbled and was replaced with a steaming exasperation. You feel that it looks like an awkward caricature, perhaps an oddly set doppelgänger donning the scar on his chin and the mole at his cheek. Arthur's voice sounds out into the air, a lilt of understanding and compassion about it,

"You're just frustrated. It's okay, you're learnin' somethin' new-"

"I hate this," you repeat with increased fervour, sighing. Arthur sighs along with you, but warmer and gentler; he tilts his head toward you and he looks at you with a raised reprimanding brow before peering down at his sketchbook,

"I been doin' this since I was a kid. It's not somethin' you just pick up in a few weeks. Takes time 'n' practice. Jus'... Think about how you learned to ride, hm?"

"You ride better than me-"

With a scolding click of his tongue, Arthur lifts his pencil and knocks the wood softly against the bridge of your nose to which you scoff and swat his hand away.

"This ain't about me. Now, how long'd it take you t'learn to ride?"

Your head lolls sideways towards him and you roll your eyes, your voice dragging on with infuriation, "I'm still learnin'."

Arthur makes a gruff sound of triumph.

"Exactly, you're still learnin'," he shifts fully sideways to face you, nestling his pencil between the halves of his sketchbook and placing it beside him in the grass before leaning an elbow on his bent knee.

"Drawin's like ridin'... Kind of. S'one of them things you ain't gonna master in a lifetime. Screwin' up's part of the process."

"Yeah, well, it'd be nice to not screw up once," you grumble, huffing and smudging your fingers over the unsightly Arthur's chin, marring the already wonky line of his jaw. Arthur rolls his eyes and slaps a palm to your back, rubbing large circles as he speaks with a firm affection.

"Now you're just bein' sour. Maybe I shoulda drawn you all mean lookin' like you're bein' right now," He moves to nudge his knuckles into your jaw, gently pushing your face and drawing your focus from your sketchbook in hopes of swiftly popping the bubble of self-loathing that had begun to form around you.

"Put'ch your book down an' lie back with me for a bit," he instructs whilst taking the sketchbook and pencil from you anyway, setting it atop his own and tugging you to lie down next to him in the grass, "It'll give your eyes a rest an' we can decide on whether we're settin' up camp here for the night."

Despite the sigh that slips from you, you let him pull you back, and as you do, you feel your head slowly land in the cradle of his underarm. You tilt your head, glancing up at him as he tips his hat to rest more comfortably on his head, a shade falling over his closed eyes.

"I think I'll give up on drawin' for today," you murmur, studying the faint raise of his brow and feeling the arrhythmic padding of his fingers against your shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm, m'happy to settle for lookin'."

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @pinescent-and-gingerbread @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @zae-heeyyy

[hexcodewisteria]

i love how shisui's actions at the end of vol. 4 haunt the rest of the story even if she's rarely ever mentioned by name. her actions and plan first of all are what causes the entire paradigm shift in the series— ending the power of the shi clan and warning jinshi while also effectively forcing jinshi's disguise in the rear palace to end.

and then the effects follow maomao throughout the rest of the story— the obvious stuff with maomao grieving her when the appropriate mentions come up and looking into markets for the hairstick and then in vol. 5 maomao even figures out the locust/grasshopper mystery because of the clues shisui left behind and then there's the one moment in— i think volume 10 or 11? where maomao touches jinshi's scar and tells him he's not immortal, that he can be scarred and brought low— that scar wouldn't have been there without shisui doing so in the first place (admittedly this is a very little thing compared to the rest but it's still significant because its part of the whole cascading events at the end of vol. 4). every action she made and the relationships she created even if it was under a false identity still deeply mattered and her presence is felt even when the scene isn't about her or the shi clan but because her actions and character were so momentous, even if her total time in the story proper was barely two or three volumes.

[twooftheluckyones]

Cult of the Lamb: Luck of the Lamb Part 3: Paradigm Shift Belief is a force beyond reckoning. What one believes in can shape the entire course of their lives, and if their will is strong enough, the lives of others as well. So great can someone's ideals be, that their divine power might change the very fabric of reality. After all, the Lamb was wrought to bring change. ~Previous/Next~ ~Start~

~~~~ Story Segment Under Cut ~~~~

"Una, you have done well," Narinder boomed from above. Finally, freedom was so close. Pride and triumph filled him, victory barely within his grasp. "You are freed from my service. Return the crown to me, so that I may be free! Finally... I will be FREE!" An electric energy filled his arms, the shackles binding him gone, now only one final chain to be broken. Una looked up at the god, eyes filled with awe but still pleading. "Narinder, I have one final request of you," she asked, nervousness filling her entire core and seeping into her words. She felt ready to implode. "Let me join you, fighting by your side as your most trusted follower!" Narinder's smile faded, looking guarded, but still neutral. "I have spent my entire life in your service, and hold you above all else. Let me stay by your side and continue my duties as your loyal servant, please!" Narinder's smile faded, and for a pause he looked at her, conflicted. "Your growing divinity has given you courage above all else... I will at least give you some closure." His jaw tightened, his demeanor turning dour as shadow covered his face. It had to be this way. "You ask far beyond what can be done. I cannot save you from your ending." He looked down at her, eyes narrow. "I arrived in much the same manner you did; by dying. My vile siblings struck me down, but death is my domain. The power within the crown would have allowed me to escape. It is only with their binding chains that I was trapped here." Una felt the floor vanish from under her, clutching the crown with fear. The implication of his words began to sink in. "No! There must be a way!" She stammered, desperation taking hold. "T-The ritual of resurrection?!" "The mortal soul is but a candle, simple to relight, but the raging power of a god cannot simply be rekindled with mere bones and chanting." He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the vast expanse around them. Suddenly the still air felt thick, oppressive, binding. "Their chains may be gone, but we are still both bound to this place, and have been since we died. Death is as inevitable as the sand in an hourglass running empty. It is only through the crown's power that a god can escape it." He looked at her again, and only for a moment she saw the faint glimmer regret in his eyes. But determination snuffs it instantly. "This includes you... Una," the name is oozing with remorse, far more sympathy than the god has ever granted anyone. "Your musings of emergent divinity are true. Even if you returned the crown, I cannot undo the divinity that now fills your soul." He stretched his arm out again, hand right in front of her. His eyes smoldered with command. There is no other way. "Return it. Now." Una did not obey. Her trembling hands steeled themselves around a jet black sword, glaring up at him with furious refusal in her eyes. Tears of betrayal ran down her face, but did not sway her hand. There had to be another way. The electricity in her body surged, divine energy rising up around her as she prepared to defy destiny. The space around them crackled with the whirlwind of power, a furious storm summoned by one who defies all odds and opposes fate itself. One becomes nothing, and the universe trembled in change.

[murphy-kitt]

Ectober Day 4 - Came Back Wrong

Word Count: 1,645

Tags: Angst, Character Death

AO3

—

Jazz didn’t hate the ghosts at first.

But now she loathes them.

Back when her parents research was merely myth, Jazz hadn’t bothered to focus on the theories or speculation they spurred out. Why would she?

Every waking minute at Fentonworks was spent talking about ghosts. Ghost this, ghost that. What new weapons they had conjured up (to her, it’d seemed stupid. Why did you need defence against things that weren’t real?).

Her own mind didn’t need plagued by ghosts all hours. But now, admittedly, it’s all she thinks about. She doesn’t think of them in the way her parents do.

The hatred may be the same, but the science—that doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to cut them up or learn what a core is.

All she wants is revenge.

Because it was the ghosts that killed Danny, in the end. That stupid, stupid portal.

And in a right mindset, she’d blame her parents, their negligence. The practicality of it was, that it had been her parents fault. She was aware enough to know logically that Jack and Maddie Fenton had been the reason.

But the reason for their portal? Was their obsession with ghosts. And so it became deliberate ignorance.

Directly it might’ve been her parents, but if their obsession with ghosts hadn’t happened then portal would’ve never existed and her baby brother wouldn’t be dead.

The night is dark as Jazz sits by her desk, blinds open as she watches for any sightings of ghosts outside. Her eyes are heavy, a mix of academic drag and grief. Which one prevails, she doesn’t know.

She knows Danny would want her to keep going academically. And although Danny was never spiteful, merely witty, it feels important to do this. To..get justice…closure?

Jazz picks up the ghost scanner with a trembling hand. It constantly buzzes, a malfunction that her parents never fixed, but she doesn’t care. It’s the one bit of tech she trusts to be reliant.

A rare moment of determination, she’d stolen it from the lab when they weren’t looking. Her dad would probably think he’d misplaced it.

“Come on, come on.” She narrows her eyes, feeling as frustrated as she had on her last exam. Her mind doesn’t work the same way anymore.

Once studying was done with a breeze, but now this plagues her. Danny’s death. The emptiness. Her parents are constantly working.

Of course, she still gets good grades, despite being told she’s relieved of all assignments for the year. But it feels more like an obligation, than something she used to enjoy.

Perhaps this is what the burnout Danny used to describe is. Danny was never as academically competent, always slower but eventually getting there.

Now justice is all she lives for. Any will do. Any target.

She just needs…violence? To rant? Anger? She doesn’t know.

Just something.

Something to feel anything but the deep dread weighing down on her, tethering her to an endless cycle of grief.

And then the scanner starts wailing, making Jazz tense slightly. She relaxes, before checking the small screen.

“A loud noise, so a powerful ghost surely?”

And she’s right.

Ghost: Phantom.

Power Level: 7.8

Current Core Usage: 80%

Jazz interprets, given the ghosts core usage, that it’s currently in a fight with another one. Plays hero, of sorts.

Phantom’s the worst one for her. He’s never done anything to her—but she hates him.

He’d appeared a few weeks after the portal had opened, whilst everyone was still reeling over Danny’s death. Yet, at that time Amity couldn’t ever have expected the paradigm shift Phantom was about to throw them into.

Ghosts everywhere. Constant fights. Damage. Already grieving and to blame parents wearing themselves down even more to defend the town.

Albeit, not very well, but she didn't dare say that. They’d already lost Danny, they didn’t need to lose the ghost hunting too.

Without another word, Jazz slips on her winter jacket, slipping open the door and down the stairs. Scanner in one hand, compact ectogun tucked into her belt.

She can hear her parents' snores echo from upstairs. Good. They won’t miss her for a while.

Cold air freezes her to her bones as she steps out into the street, instantly looking up at the sky. Dark blue and empty, only a few stars twinkling.

She’s sure if Danny was here he'd tell her what constellations they were.

“Where are you?” she grits out, watching as the small screen on the scanner shows a bright green dot, about two blocks ahead. There’s another dot too, smaller and weaker, before it disappears off the map. Jazz presumes Phantom has captured or weakened the ghost, whatever he does.

So she needs to be fast.

Within less than a minute, Jazz makes it to the street where the scanner showed, then shoves the scanner into her pocket. She doesn’t need to alert her presence.

And there he is.

Phantom is smaller up close than she’d initially thought, although no one at Amity has ever got a good glance. His back is facing towards her, the black of his jumpsuit glistening under a street lamp.

Something cylindrical in his hands has captured his attention, probably why he’s not noticed her yet. Jazz strains her neck to look, but can’t see.

Phantom. The ghost that’s put her parents through so much hell.

The ghost that’s, whilst Amity was still reeling from Danny, racked up the problems on their list by causing destruction to infrastructure and pointless money. All with a side of witty banter.

“You.” Jazz tries to steady her voice, feeling the grief trickle through. All this, for her brother.

She never got to grieve properly. No one did. How were they supposed too, with ghost fights all around?

Phantom’s reaction is immediate. His back stiffens and he swivels around.

The eyes. They’re a piercing lime green, just like the portal. The portal that killed Danny.

“What do you want?” Phantom’s asks, tone initially surprised but flattening. He’s younger than Jazz expected. Fifteen, at most.

Near the same age as Danny.

“What do you think?” Her eyes narrow, reaching for the ectogun attached to her belt. She doesn’t expect a logical answer.

Of course Phantom won’t know why she’s here, or what she’s after. He’s just a ghost with an obsession of being some copy-paste comic hero.

“I—I don’t know.” The ghost mumbles, eyes now averted down to his left hand. He tucks the cylindrical device under his shoulder before tracing a round shape on his left palm.

That’s…strange. Jazz thinks. Not the answer, but his behaviour. Is he thinking of something in the past? Better yet, he’s still here. Usually Phantom, at least to news reports, is enigmatic, and never likes being filmed.

So the fact he even turned in the first place is perplexing.

But then she thinks of Danny. Buried in the cemetery, grave stricken of flowers due to the quickness of their grief. Amity bombarded with attacks on the constant, never any peace.

All Phantom’s fault. At first, perhaps (the attacks) not. But over the months, he’s gotten quite a reputation. She’s sure he has some sort of control over Amity. That ghosts come to Amity now just for the sake of fighting him.

When he’s really just a five-foot nothing skinny teenager like her brother.

If Phantom is gone, she’ll finally get a break. Get to grieve for Danny. Danny can get the justice and tribute he deserves.

The ectogun is sleek in her hand, tucked under her coat. She knows what she’s doing, having received multiple lessons from her parents after Danny’s death. They didn’t want to lose her too.

Unlatch the safety trigger, quickly aim, shoot.

It’s that simple. She points.

”Please! Please—don’t do that!” Phantom pleads, “You don’t know what you’re doing—please, put it down!”

—

“Please, Danny! I need you!” She cries out. She’s in Danny’s room, the bed still unmade, clothes still strewn about.

Untouched from when Danny had last left it. He’d gone into the lab, and that was it. Electrocution, they told her.

He’d been barely hanging on at the hospital. And then his body couldn’t take it any longer.

Her brother is gone.

—

The next thing Jazz knows is the cold pavement underneath her body, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest on the curb. The ectogun is a few feet away, glittering in the lamplight.

”I can’t—“ she sniffles, not even realising it. Her cheeks are damp, eyes stinging.

”What’s wrong?” An echoey voice besides her. Phantom. His eyes are narrows in concern. He sits near her, but leaves a gap.

Why’s he still here? He should’ve gone long ago.

“What’s wrong? My brother is dead and his body was barely cold before you waltzed in with your stupid puns and caused damage everywhere!” The anger radiates through Jazz’s body as she scowls at him, “My brother’s death was cast aside because of you. My parents never got time to grieve, none of us did. Too busy expecting another ghost attack or repairing damages.”

“Your brother?” Is all Phantom responds. Wiping her eyes, Jazz takes a glance at him. He’s hunched over, grimacing with an expression she can’t quite read.

”I just want Danny back.” She chokes out, wiping her eyes again, feeling the tears fall.

He’s gone. Only fourteen. What sort of age is that to die? Killed at the invention of their own parents. She’ll never hear his (admittedly annoying) chatter about space, nor have their petty arguments again.

Even the times he got on her nerves meant something.

”Jazz, I—“ Phantom starts to say, but freezes.

As does Jazz.

”How do you know my name?” She tilts her head, voice sharp.

She wipes her eyes, again, blinking back the bleary vision.

Then looks right into Danny’s green eyes.

[ncfan-1]

The thing of it is, the “Not my Luke!” criticisms leveled against TLJ never made much sense to me because the Luke we get in that movie is so recognizable to me as the Luke of the Original Trilogy.

At his worst, Luke in the OT is impulsive, arrogant, quick to anger and slow to come down from it. When discouraged, he becomes pessimistic and defeatist. When we see him overcoming these character flaws in ROTJ, it does not mean that these flaws no longer live inside of him; it means that he is choosing not to give them the power required to rule his actions and dominate his decision-making.

But a moment of triumph is just that: a moment. You have to live your whole life making sure that you don’t let the worst angels of your nature guide your decision-making, and no one is perfect. No one can always make decisions that aren’t guided by their own character flaws.

It was to my mind entirely plausible that after years of being able to sense Palpatine’s efforts to wear down child Ben’s resistance and, most likely years of Palpatine probably subtly influencing him as well, that Luke, known to be dangerously impulsive, might one night impulsively decide to take drastic measures to prevent “the next Darth Vader,” only to snap out of it once he was actually standing over his sleeping nephew and think to himself “What am I doing, this is crazy, he’s just a kid, he hasn’t even done anything and I’m going to kill him because: what? I think he has rancid vibes?”

And it was also entirely plausible that after everything he’d tried to accomplish comprehensively blew up in his face, that Luke would throw his hands up in the air, throw in the towel and say “I give up.” He had by that point devoted a significant portion of his life to trying to rebuild the Jedi Order, and the end result was that every last bit of work he had engaged in for the past fifteen odd years was reduced to ash and rubble. And he thought that it was his own nephew who had done it, to boot, thought that he had succeeded in creating the monster he feared would arise (Forever salty that Ben’s background as revealed in The Rise of Kylo Ren, in that he didn’t destroy Luke’s Temple, didn’t kill anyone who died that night, and didn’t truly fall to the Dark Side until years later was not at least touched upon in the movies but was instead relegated to a tie-in comic that a lot of movie-watchers will never read).

I think even people who do not become pessimistic and defeatist when discouraged would struggle to come back from that, would struggle to move on. I can see how Luke came to the conclusion that he had just been carrying on bad traditions, that it was all rotten to the core and none of it was worth salvaging, because he’d tried to make it better and look what happened! And then he needed a good hard jolt, a good hard paradigm shift to get him to see the brighter side of things again, just like he did in the OT.

Yeah, that was very much my Luke.

[randomthefox]

"Where once stood man and demon... Vergil was restored."

chills.

This whole scene is a lot. Upon finally being returned to himself, what's the first thing Vergil does? HE PICKS UP HIS GOD DAMN POETRY BOOK. He doesn't look at Dante and go "now I'm going to finally settle the score, brother! I need more power!" or anything like that. Hell, DANTE is the one who throws the first punch! I have to wonder if this scene might have gone differently if they'd tried being a bit more rational. When you think about it, Vergil has won. He's alive, which is always a plus, and he still has the power from the fruit of the Qliphoth. Outside of his fucked up relationship with Dante, Vergil kind of doesn't.... WANT anything anymore. He no longer has a motivation in the story. He could just go cut down the Qliphoth to settle the lingering threat to mankind and I dunno be on his way? They actually don't have any real REASON to fight anymore at this point.

But of course they're anything but rational in this moment. After decades of living alone, after decades of enslavement and living in an agonizing half life, all of a sudden these two brothers are facing each other once again. And they regress instantly. Suddenly they're two little boys eager to wack the shit out of each other with their toy swords, and nothing else in the world matters. Dante doesn't even remember WHY he wants to fight Vergil right now, he just charges him down. What would Vergil have done if Dante hadn't tried starting a fight with him? I don't even know. I don't think HE knows. He only runs off through the portal to force Dante to take a breather and recover so he can give him a real even fight when they do clash again. Neither of them even WANT anything right now. They're resigned to fighting each other because that's. Just. What they've ALWAYS done.

Vergil does display that the character growth he had as V has stuck. He shows his gratitude and appreciation to Nero (who is INCREDIBLY confused right now). He PROBABLY remembers Dante telling Urizen the truth about how and why their mother died. All of Vergil's hangups have sort of been resolved. He knows he was loved, and that Eva died trying to protect him. He knows that those human traits that he used to view as weak, his eccentricities and passions, were important and he should cherish them just as much as his demonic powers. And he even has the power that allowed Mundus to become the king of the Underworld thanks to the fruit of the Qliphoth. Vergil is more complete and set up for happyness than he's ever been in his entire life, and it's just that lingering mixed up relationship he has with Dante that's holding him back. The one thing he lacks is the thing he doesn't know yet: that Nero is his son.

Nero has no idea what the fuck is even happening in this scene. He just stands there, looking back and forth between the other two. (The way Dante shouts at him to get out of his way when he's standing like three feet off to the side is hilarious). It's only after Vergil leaves and Dante starts leaving too that he remembers what he's supposed to be here for. He still wants revenge for having his arm ripped off, but MOSTLY he's just pissy that Dante is still treating him like a little kid and not acknowledging him as an equal combatant. He feels like Dante isn't taking him seriously, and he wants to prove himself and he thinks that by helping in the fight with Vergil he can do that. He thinks Dante is telling him to sit on the bench because he's looking down on him. Until finally Dante is pushed to the edge and has to spill the beans. All this time him calling Nero deadweight and telling him to let uncle Dante handle it was his attempt at protecting Nero. As he walks off saying "I can't let you kill your old man" that's still what he thinks he's doing.

What Dante doesn't realize is the revelation that Vergil is his father has changed EVERYTHING for Nero. His world is upsidedown. The paradigm has shifted. "Kill [his] old man"? Suddenly that is the FURTHEST THING from his mind. The thought of wanting to kill a blood related family member is INCOMPATIBLE with Nero's view of the world and of himself. Dante just dunked a bucket of ice cold water on his head and it's all he can do to come to terms with it, the desire to "take revenge for having his arm ripped off" has now evaporated as if it never even existed. Dante doesn't realize how Nero is feeling right now, because Dante thinks that Nero's view of family is the same as his own. He thinks Nero still just wants to go kill Vergil, ties that bind be damned. Because that's how Dante would feel if he were Nero. Trish and Lady make the same mistake too.

When Nero looks back and says "my father...?" He's not thinking "I have to kill my dad?" He's not thinking "where was he my whole life, I'm gonna kill that deadbeat!" He's thinking something else entirely. And nobody else understands. Nobody else CAN understand. Except for one person.

[srbachchan]

DAY 6202

Jalsa, Mumbai Feb 8, 2025/Feb 9 Sat/Sun 2:19 am

Listen .. listen to the words of sound and reflect .. the reflection plants one to the words of the sound and the reflect of the lone idle mind reflects the sound of the words ..

living in the realm of पूज्य बाबूजी .. adding in interest the remember of the moment of reading reciting and reaction in the solo or the mass ..

and the time comes in the time which wishes for time to time the reflect in more than just a reflect , but the share to the extraordinary genius of पूज्य बाबूजी ..

the World it changeth in the rapidity of the rapid strength .. frog leaping over the other in paradigm shift shall bring a catch up situate to the placed place ..

this dormant giant of talent and youth .. this incredible bank of youth and genius .. this largest depository in the banked universe .. unchained , unhindered , unbelievably unbelievable is wanting to be believed ..

the bullet is out of the barrel .. smoked and quelled .. striking the spots of the billions it envelopes in its vast spread wings ..

visionaries have no escape from the reality .. vision and see .. the blinkers are off .. and the winning post does not need a camera finish .. electronics rule the World .. as does IT from it .. and all the rest shall follow .. miraculously slamming all else around to the winning tape ..

shubh raatri .. GN

Amitabh Bachchan

[talonabraxas]

Full Moon in Scorpio 2025: Emotional Alchemy On May 12, 12:55 PM EST, a Full Moon at 22º12’ of Scorpio lights up the night sky. This event has the potential to catalyze profound awakenings and brings powerful opportunities for emotional alchemy. The Scorpio Full Moon asks us to feel what we have been avoiding and offers us chances to liberate ourselves from patterns, attachments, and paradigms that have been keeping us stuck, stagnant, and small. The Full Moon in Scorpio is especially relevant for those of us born with planets or angles near the 22º of Fixed signs Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, and Aquarius. The individuals personally impacted by this event are being asked to embrace radical emotional honesty. They have opportunities to recognize in what areas of life they need to transform and grow by letting go of security attachments that no longer serve them. Full Moon in Scorpio: Emotional Detox Full Moons mark the peak of the lunar cycle and are a time when every emotion feels heightened and more intense. As the Moon, symbolizing our inner and emotional world, is fully illuminated by the light of the Sun, we have an opportunity to gain awareness of something usually unconscious, unclear, and unknown. Highlighting the Fixed Taurus-Scorpio polarity, this event emphasizes the tension between our survival instinct, driving us to make choices that feel safe and secure, and the Soul’s call toward growth and evolution. In Scorpio, the Moon needs intimacy, depth, and emotional truth. She seeks to merge completely and uncover everything that lies beneath the surface. Scorpio is not interested in superficiality or half-truths: here, the Moon longs for intensity and emotional transformation. A need for control, intense attachments, and addiction to intensity can be potential downfalls of this Moon sign, which requires us to feel everything deeply, both pleasure and pain. A Full Moon in Scorpio is always an opportunity to experience powerful cathartic releases and a potent moment to practice emotional alchemy, intended as transmuting the energy of our impulsive emotional reactions and choosing to channel it intentionally rather than unconsciously. Full Moon in Scorpio: Trust the Journey This Scorpio Full Moon can be destabilizing but can also bring awakenings and breakthroughs in our lives. If we have been avoiding change or clinging too tightly to patterns that no longer serve us, we are likely to be asked to let go of our security blankets and safety nets and make a leap into the unknown. We now have an opportunity to see something with clarity, and the new awareness that emerges has the potential to catalyze a sharp break from the past, to draw a line between the current chapter of our life and the next one. While this journey can be uncomfortable, chaotic, and painful, it is ultimately in service of our liberation, our awakening, and our growth. This event brings our attention to the ongoing dance between our desire to transform, evolve, and overcome our current limitations and the pull of our resistance to change, our familiar attachments, our fears, and our need for security. The invitation for us is to look at what we cling to for safety and to ask ourselves whether it is keeping us empowered or imprisoned. Many of us will have access to sudden insights, radical shifts in perspective, and wake-up calls that invite us to let go of control and have faith in Life’s unfolding. This Full Moon asks us to release attachments that no longer support our growth, challenges us to find harmony between our desire for autonomy and our need for emotional intimacy, and encourages us to gravitate toward a more liberated and authentic way of being, trusting that when we commit to follow our true path everything else will align.

[daresplaining]

which DD comic run is your favorite and why?

I've answered this before, but the more time goes on, the more I can confirm that the Waid/Rivera/Samnee/etc. (the whole team. All of them) run is my personal ideal take on Daredevil, at least so far. It's the run that got me into Daredevil, so that's definitely a factor in my ongoing fondness for it, but it's also just a really, really good comic. I love how Mark Waid writes Matt. The whole creative team was innovating, from Waid's unique approach to Matt's mental health and introduction of paradigm-shifting new characters like Kirsten McDuffie, to Paolo Rivera's redesign of Matt's cane/billy club and new look for the radar sense, to Samnee's extraordinary fight scenes. The stories are gripping, fun, and meaningful. The action is eye candy, in the best possible way (Waid made himself a goal of having at least one mind-blowingly risky daredevil moment per issue, and it shows.) This is a creative team where you could feel their passion for the comic and characters coming through on every single page. It was an extremely exciting time to be a Daredevil fan, and it has remained a comfort read and one of my go-to recommendations for new fans.