#and those bubbles seem to spawn at times out of small roots

[morceauoleander]

Min’s mind & DID

thinking of DID i have some notes i wrote a couple days ago regarding my OC min and how their mind works with their DID! remember this is based off me, and Min is also a polyfragmented system with many sub systems!

while i have a lot of this written down, even Min’s alters names dont really come up outside. they are just Min. they are affected by some fronting but they are also very far into therapy and have many coping mechanisms and skills to help them! theyre doing pretty well and no one really needs to be super aware of their DID on the outside at all, but a knowledgeable Psychic would recognize their disorder upon  entering the mind.

its very hard to put together what min’s mind would be like, but i’d likely put it in “layers”

you have the “Front Room”. a small, and quite empty room in which most of the active alters of Min reside. Min is often co-fronting constantly as they’ve gone through therapy for years and have found ways to work together- that being they work together often and co front a lot due to their messy polyfragmented set up. this front room is the most “surface level” part of their mind, and you won’t reach the rest of it for a bit as you must navigate through a foggy black of nothing to get to the rest. this is a sort of dissociative barrier from everything else and you may not pop out the right end at first. it isnt supposed to be covered easily and most will not make it through without some kind of direction.

once through, you’ll tumble down a path and be opened up to a very undefined system of ‘bubbes’ and houses. called the “City Hub” this is the hub of everything else for Min’s system. in Min’s mind, it appears like a city walkway with buildings, houses, parks, etc in a sort of neon-like outline seen on figments but can flicker in and out of being full on 3D objects (they cannot be collected like figments btw) there are a few notable things: 1) ‘figment’-like outlined buildings and bubbles, bubbles that then lead to another “hub” like this - a sub system 2) many fragments... which are very much like ‘figments’ appearance wise but are sometimes capable of speech, fronting, and altering their in-mind appearance. 3) other defined alters, who may be dormant or are simply not at the Front- wandering around like any other person in a mind.

Min’s hub “flickers” into detail from time to time, as it kind of depends on how much mental energy they’re putting into being in the front. Its a lotta work keeping an eye on everyone back there and if they’re focused on the front they may not put a lotta that energy into the visual of their mind.

“sub systems” which appear as another hub like the main one, can be hard to reach sometimes as they can contain dormant alters or dissociative barriers that bar others from accessing it. it is NOT ever suggest one breaks through these barriers- while the Front’s barrier is trouble to get through, tougher barriers like ones blocking these sub systems can be like brick walls. Any psychic learning about dissociation will learn that dissociative barriers are not inherently bad, and that breaking them down can sometimes do more harm than good!

As Min is polyfragmented, their system is quite large, but it is hugely full of fragments. in-game i feel this kind of “messy” mind could be done with a sorta expanding path of the “main hub” being procedurally generated where it close gets less and less defined, maybe with some kinda forced perspective to make it seem never ending. No way would anyone get to explore all of Min’s mind, its too expansive and the further you go, the less defined stuff you’ll find and deal with.

Of course... there is the minds of Min’s alters. A sorta paradox situation, but the mind of the alters can be explored, but its just a smaller “room” inside what is already one person’s mind. its not another body or another brain. Most alter’s minds won’t be crazy big but they may look more akin to another non-dissociative person’s mind due to not being affected by the structure of the System and instead just displaying that one alter’s mind. im not even going to get into the concept of an alter having a system of alters, lets just stop there lol.

All in all, Min’s mind isnt too “weird”, just... expansive. and its almost like having your own massive team of psychics in your head, working as a group but also just living their lives. They have dissociative barriers held up in parts of their mind, and you’re unlikely to find a single memory vault of anything “traumatic” as those are safeguarded and kept far away. Min’s mind holds some typical things like doubt or bad moods, but censors do not work the same way! not in the same way. Min’s system does NOT hold typical roles like “gatekeeper” or whatever, as my system does not and i do not understand those concepts with my alters. here i will go into various Psychonauts’ world aspects that fit into min’s mind:

Alters & censors - Min’s mind does not have censors but rather alters who instruct censors. In a way one may think of panic attacks - not uncommon, but are usually tackled swiftly by alters who deal with them. if an alter who is fronting deals with them while fronting, usually when inside the mind it looks like the “time bubble” effect has been put over everything, but no one is slow. bad moods, bad ideas, doubts, judge - all work as they normally would. they may spawn because of another alter in the system too, as there are many who could get these thoughts. alters often work together to deal with them. baggage - there is a LOT of baggage but its greatly scattered around. when its found and dealt with, its gonna pop up again, somewhere else.

so who are Min’s alters...? well, thats big question considering their system size, and in actuality it doesnt really matter- my system is huge but we work collectively without much thought aside from some defined hosts. So, here are Min’s most defined hosts!

Koffee (he/they) - not unlike Min, and isn’t very old system wise, but he’s been co fronting since he formed and is almost never without Min. They and Min are often the ones to old the others together  when fronting in more intense situations. Green (they/them) - quiet, a thinker. likes to be the logical one but can get consumed in things go wrong. they keep shit in line for sure, have been known to fall into panics if they arent fronting with a good partner. Sable (she/he/they) - a fun one no doubt. they’re the one who definitely falls into being a bit immature and overly friendly. people like her a lot no doubt, but she isnt the best judge in many situations. she gets shit done though, thats for sure. she enjoys company and she likes working. Root (he/him) - not unlike Sable, but not a fan of all the more social things they tend to lean into. they are casual, a bit humorous, and incredibly analytical. they are great at organizing things but can be a bit controlling about it.

all of them have varying skills they are good at psychic wise, but i dont have the energy to go into that now too.

so yeah. thats a lot of what goes on in min’s mind! if anyone has questions on things regarding it and DID let me know! pls remember this is MY experience with DID. this is not what it is for everyone else. other than the basic criteria, lots of this can vary!

[anakinsbugs]

How To Care For Goldfish

New Post has been published on https://walrusvideo.com/how-to-care-for-goldfish/

How To Care For Goldfish

On This Page

How to Clean a Goldfish Bowl

I bought 2 goldfish, how exactly do I take care of them?

Caring for Your Goldfish in a Fish Bowl Without an Air Pump

Comet Goldfish Breeding, Care, Feeding Care Guide

F eeding Comet Goldfish

Aquarium mates of Comet Goldfish

How To Look After Fancy Cold Water Goldfish

How to Take Care of a Goldfish in a Bowl

Looking After Goldfish: Pet Care for Healthy Fish

Beginner’s Guide to Caring for Goldfish

Aquarium Care for Fantail Guppies

Shubunkin Goldfish: How to care for them properly

What Do Shubunkin Goldfish Look Like?

How to Clean a Goldfish Bowl

Many pet goldfish may not live as long as they should. Goldfish have the potential to live a decade or more, not a year or even just months. The reason for this shorter lifespan is due to improper care. Two common mistakes are overfeeding, and irregular water changes.

Can Betta fish live together with goldfish? Goldfish shouldn’t be kept with other tropical fish either. Since goldfish are very dirty, they need frequent water changes. First of all, they are both irritable species. This is because a typical goldfish grows up to 12 inches.

That was five years ago. It lived for a year or two, often less. Just because they can survive does not mean they should be subjected to this kind of treatment. I plan to buy a common goldfish from the shop, but I need to know the minimum tank size! What size tank do goldfish need?

Common goldfish (the ones you can win at folk festivals) are actually one of the largest goldfish species, reaching over 18 inches in length and weighing up to ten pounds. Even the smallest goldfish species reach between four and seven inches in length as adults. They are best suited to aquariums with a capacity of 20 gallons or more, not fish bowls. The size of your goldfish’s aquarium will affect its growth to some degree. Would-be are other factors to consider, such as the fish’s diet and its environment’s cleanliness. Dependent on the species and the factors mentioned above, a goldfish can grow up to one metre long or as small as two inches.

I bought 2 goldfish, how exactly do I take care of them?

Many of us can remember our childhood goldfish, won at the fair or bought from our parents, who carefully replaced dead fish with identical replacements hoping that we would never notice. As a result, many people still consider a jar to be a suitable environment for a goldfish. Although the term goldfish jar seems as obvious as a rabbit hutch, dog bed or cat flap, it is one of those labels, along with terms like bullfight and mousetrap, that refer to animals in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The best way to transfer a new goldfish to its new home is to leave it in the oxygen and water-filled bag that the pet shop employee put your new pet in. Just put it directly into the goldfish tank or tank and wait until the water temperatures are the same. Don’t forget him in the bag as he only has so much oxygen and if you leave him in there too long, he will probably suffocate and die. When the water temperatures are the same (10 to 15 minutes), carefully release the fish and the bag water into the new tank.

I did not buy this tank, but be careful if you do. This is a 10gal tank which is barely big enough for 1 goldfish. Goldfish can grow to an 8-12 inch depending on the species and should be kept in a 20gal, if we are honest. But if you decide to put a goldfish in here, only put one in as they produce large amounts of ammonia. Putting more than 1 in at a time would spell death in less than 2 weeks. If you decide to use a schooling fish, do not put more than 5 small fish such as barbs or guppies

Caring for Your Goldfish in a Fish Bowl Without an Air Pump

When you have many goldfish you have in a tank, more oxygen is needed to keep them healthy. Try adding an air pump to move the surface of the water. The air bubbles don’t really add oxygen, but moving the surface will help. The best solution to maximise the water’s oxygen is to follow the rule: The larger the surface area, the more oxygen in the water. For this reason, you should prefer a wide goldfish bowl to a tall, narrow one.

Although goldfish can make great pets and are easy to care for, it is important to recognise the signs of a sick or dying fish so that you can look after it. If your goldfish is just below the surface of the water or is gasping for air bubbles, it may be having trouble breathing. If this is the case, use a freshwater test kit to see if there is enough oxygen in the water. If not, you may need to repair or replace the air pump. You should also see if your fish has stopped interacting with things or is just resting on the bottom of the aquarium, which may be a sign of illness.

When caring for fish, goldfish need large, spacious tanks with clean water. Goldfish need filters and occasional air stones. Goldfish are related to carp and other cyprinids and don’t really need heating. Can I keep a goldfish in a tank? Do I need an air stone for my goldfish? Do goldfish need heating? Can a goldfish live without a filter or air pump? What do goldfish eat?

They are also practically schooling fish, which means you need to keep them in a group of about 5 or even more. White Cloud Mountain Minnows, Rosey Red Minnows and some Danios can comfortably share a goldfish tank. Goldfish are largely classified as cold-water fish by experts. Disadvantages of keeping pinto barbs with goldfish: Pinto barbs are just big enough, at about 2 inches, to live safely with goldfish. So look for goldfish breeds that are an excellent match.

Comet Goldfish Breeding, Care, Feeding Care Guide

Goldfish are sociable, show schooling behaviour and exhibit the same types of feeding behaviour. Goldfish can show similar behaviour when responding to their reflection in a mirror. Goldfish have a learned behaviour, both as a group and as individuals, derived from the behaviour of native carp. They are a generalist species with multiple feeding, breeding and predation avoidance behaviour that will contribute to their continued success. As fish, they can be described as “friendly” to each other. Very rarely does a goldfish injure another goldfish, nor do males injure females during breeding.

Feeding Comet Goldfish

Shubunkin goldfish spawn in the spring months. To simulate this natural tendency, lower the breeding tank’s temperature to 60°F (15.5°C). A good idea to increase the temperature by 3 degrees each day over the next few days until you reach 22°C. The colours of the males become brighter, and they chase the females. The males then poke the females into the plants (or pugs), which encourages them to lay their eggs.

Goldfish are one of the most popular group of fish in artificial tanks. They are particularly popular in the East. Thus, the Chinese tradition of keeping these fish goes back to ancient historical periods. There is no other fish species that has such a wide variety of breeding morphs. In our country, too, goldfish have been known for a long time (remember at least the goldfish from the story by A. S. Pushkin) and are considered a symbol of well-being and prosperity.

A swim bladder is a gas-filled sac inside most fish that controls their buoyancy in the water. Problems with the swim bladder cause fish to have difficulty swimming, which is common in fan-tail goldfish. Bacterial infections and air swallowing are thought to be common causes of swim bladder problems. Feeding a varied diet can help with prevention. Swim bladder problems are usually not life-threatening but can be a symptom of a more serious condition. If a fish is suffering badly for more than a day or two, it may be worthwhile to use a swim bladder medication.

A varied diet will maximise the health of your goldfish (Carassius auratus). A mixture of special goldfish flakes and granules

Aquarium mates of Comet Goldfish

When temperatures are high, nobody keeps coldwater fish. Likewise, in areas of the planet where the climate means even an unheated aquarium runs at tropical temperatures, it’s often common practice to stay fancy goldfish in with surprisingly different tank mates like a discus. Given the fragile nature of a number of the highly bred sorts of goldfish, we will see that a pleasant warm tank may be a great environment for them and that they will often thrive.

Goldfish are probably the most misunderstood aquarium fish out there. Even though it is the most popular aquarium fish in the world, few people have a clear understanding of these fish. Nothing demonstrates this more than the topic of tankmates. It immediately generates a reaction of ‘nothing can go with goldfish, they are coldwater’. This is wrong in many ways.

The comet goldfish, also known as Carassius auratus auratus has been with us since the end of the 1800s. Hugo mulertt is credited with the selective breeding program which led to the creation of this fish from wild Prussian carps. Since then it has taken the aquarium hobby by storm and this shows no signs of stopping. They are well received in the hobby because of their hardiness and vibrant colours. A healthy comet can live up to 14 years old and grow up to 12 in length.

Plants for goldfish like tank mates are tricky. You have a number of things working against you when it comes to them. Because goldfish like cold water that is 7-8 in ph, this eliminates the majority of tropical aquarium plants available for sale. Goldfish also love to gobble up plants. They will eat just about any plant you stick in the tank. Another factor is that goldfish stir up the substrate, which means that if you have any rooted plants that need to be established in your substrate, it is likely that your goldfish will dig it out.

How To Look After Fancy Cold Water Goldfish

Q: How much can a goldfish weigh? a: Adult goldfish can weigh up to 4.5 kg (10 lbs), but this is rare. However, it is not unrealistic for a goldfish to weigh 2.25 kg (5 lbs). Q: Do goldfish have ears? a: Goldfish have ears, but not like you and me. They have inner ear bones called otoliths that can feel vibrations. Avoid tapping on the glass as this can stress or even kill them. Q: Do goldfish have lungs? a: Goldfish do not have lungs. Goldfish breathe by sucking in oxygenated water through their mouths.

Many potential aquarium mates are ruled out right off the bat because they cannot sleep in a similar temperature range as goldfish. Goldfish are classified as “cold-water fish”. Technically this term is incorrect, but most people within the hobby refer to them as temperate fish that prefer to live in a temperature range between 65° and 75°f (18°-24°c).

I have had 2 armoured catfish in my goldfish tank for two months, and they get on well together! Is this ok? Corys need to be kept preferably in a group of at least six to feel comfortable. I wouldn’t recommend it for keeping them with goldfish, but I’m no expert either. Good luck! Beautiful fish. I think peppered corals do well in colder water temperatures. I would double-check that the species you have likes the temperature of your tank, to be sure. Goldfish should not eat them as corals grow large and have these spines.

A fish with a characteristic arched back, prolonged, sensitive to temperature parameters, does not tolerate cold. All species of goldfish are targeted in spacious open or artificial reservoirs. The optimal temperature is 20. 25 degrees Celsius. The ph-value should be 6. 9-7. 2. water hardness. From 8 units. Among the goldfish, there are cold-blooded individuals. These include the telescope and some other elongated subspecies.

How to Take Care of a Goldfish in a Bowl

If you think of the goldfish you saw in bowls as a child, at a friend’s house, or even at school, they were probably subjected to the “classic goldfish care”. This care was essentially water + fish + bowl, and then they were done! Of course, the other side of this “care” was replacing the goldfish every 1-3 months after it died.

Don Hurst estimates that he has given away millions of goldfish at fairs over the last 25 years. Fairgoers win a fish in a plastic bag by throwing a ping-pong ball into a bowl. Since Hurst sells eight balls for a dollar and 20 for two dollars, the odds of winning are pretty good. Hurst believes that most of the fish he puts out will make it home. But how long they live afterwards depends on how they are cared for. Optimal conditions include a tank with a cover, the right kind of water, a filtration system and sunlight.

The fancy goldfish has been misrepresented over the years. People believe that it needs little or no care and can thrive in a tank. In reality, however, the goldfish has just as many needs as any other tropical fish: good water quality, temperature, good filtration and good food. It is important to understand the needs of your goldfish to keep it happy and healthy.

Looking After Goldfish: Pet Care for Healthy Fish

Answer: Feed quantity and quality is the key to correct goldfish care. It has a direct effect on your fish’s health. When goldfish food is analysed, it has been found to contain more carbohydrates than others, and it contains less protein than other fish foods. Local pet shops already have ready-made goldfish food, so you shouldn’t just take any food. Can be the form of flakes, pellets or a mixture of both.

There is no clear answer to this question. In their natural state, these fish eat small meals throughout the day and are healthy. Smaller meals at shorter intervals are easier on the digestive tract. Small meals include a few flakes or pellets per fish. Observing behaviour during feeding time will help owners know if their animals need more food. If the goldfish still seem to be in a frenzy when all the food is gone, they may need a little more at the next feeding. It is important to watch all the fish individually to see if they are getting their fair share.

Fish used to be sold as low-maintenance pets, but the reality is that keeping them and keeping them healthy requires a lot more care than the average cat. If you are getting a fish for a child, be aware that the costs involved can exceed those of the average family mogul who needs good food, a few vaccinations, flea and worm treatments and a warm lap.

Beginner’s Guide to Caring for Goldfish

Goldfish are undoubtedly among the most popular aquarium fish globally and are typically the first to enter to the mind of beginners when they consider setting up an aquarium. And for a good reason. Goldfish are extremely common, making them cheap and easy to find, and information about their care is readily available. With that being said, people who are more likely to venture into the world of tropical fish keeping are often left wondering if one goldfish or more could survive in their tropical tank, and the answer, as with many things, is not really that simple.

After reading this guide, you should know if the Comet Goldfish is the right fish for your aquarium. They bring both a vibrant personality and bright colours to your aquarium. Just remember that they can grow substantial, although they can be as small as 2 inches as juveniles. While they are not demanding to keep, they require a large tank, which generally means they are not suitable for beginners.

Provides simple information on caring for a goldfish, including feeding, cleaning the tank and what to do if they are sick.

Fish are the jewel in any pond. Their beautiful colours will brighten up your garden oasis, and you, your children and your guests will love watching them dart around the rocks and plants. And they are the easiest pets you will ever own. Pond fish like koi and goldfish don’t require much more than food and shelter for all the fun they provide.

Aquarium Care for Fantail Guppies

The care of ornamental goldfish is very similar to that of other goldfish, except that they can be kept quite easily in aquaria. Goldfish ideally should be kept at least in pairs, and a 29-gallon tank is a minimum for two smaller goldfish, such as pearl scales, fanfish or ranchu. On the other hand, some ornamental fish, such as orangas, reach 10 or more inches in length and require a 40-gallon minimum.

Freshwater aquariums are very colourful. The planted plants, including ornamental fish, snails, crayfish and shrimp, swim and play make it a real water garden. Are crustaceans suitable in a fish tank? Aquarists recommend carefully selecting fish that is placed in a freshwater shrimp tank. The compatibility of shrimp with guppies, some species of catfish and zebra danios have been proven. Shrimp is a delicious delicacy for much freshwater fish. So you want to create a friendly aquatic nursery in your own home where there is no room for hunting and hostility, read the information on who is acceptable for shrimp.

The Ryukin goldfish from the Ryukyu Islands is a popular goldfish bred in Japan. It looks similar to the fan-tailed goldfish but is set apart by a distinctive hump on the head’s back that raises the dorsal fin. The long tail fins can have three or four lobes, with the three-lobed ryukin having what the Japanese call a “cherry blossom tail”. There are several goldfish species of ryukin, the Yamagata Kingyo, Sabao and Tamasaba, which have been bred to have only a single caudal fin.

Guppies are another common tropical aquarium fish. Other names they are called by are million fish and rainbowfish. They are one of the best beginner fish for pet owners or hobbyists to start with. Their colourful bodies add excitement to aquariums. They are inexpensive and also fairly easy to keep. Guppies can live happily in a 5 gallon to 10-gallon size tank.

Shubunkin Goldfish: How to care for them properly

Goldfish kept alone need a lot of space. Common goldfish is best not to keep comets and shubunkins together with ornamental goldfish. Also, some ornamental goldfish such as Orandas, Black Moors and Fantails should not be kept together with other ornamental fish species such as Ranchus. The main reason for this is that the faster fish may eat all the food before the slower, more delicate species can get their share. Nipping fins can also be a factor and something the more petite and slower goldfish cannot avoid.

Having goldfish is great. They swim around in their tanks and are so happy as if they don’t have to worry about anything in the world. Of course, in most cases, they don’t. As long as you look after them, anyway. They don’t have bills to pay, they don’t have to hunt for food themselves, and they don’t have to worry about disposing of their waste. What better life could a fish ask for?

Goldfish have wonderful personalities that really shine through when you look after them properly. They are also intelligent enough to recognise their owners and get particularly excited when begging for food.

Caring for your goldfish should be done according to their basic needs. Even though they are recommended for beginners, these magnificent representatives of the underwater world have their own peculiarities of the aquarium contents. It would be best to take care of each representative of the different subspecies in its own way. There are only native goldfish for which the temperature of the environment and their other characteristics are important. Consider how to keep each species properly and who can survive outdoors.

What Do Shubunkin Goldfish Look Like?

Obtaining a regular goldfish is one of the easiest ways to give your goldfish a new aquarium buddy. Your fish may need another goldfish to combat loneliness. You can add different varieties of goldfish to the tank if you are looking for variation. Goldfish come in a large range of colours. You may have seen one in orange, yellow, red, gold, silver and white. Regular goldfish, shubunkins and comets are all excellent choices for building a community tank.

There are three main types of goldfish that have only one tail: Common, Comet, Shubunkin. The common goldfish are the classic orange ones you see at fairs or pet shops for 7-20 cents. Comet goldfish tend to have the same colour variations as common goldfish, although there are a few more white and yellow ones or ones with coloured spots.

Goldfish are hardy fish. However, like all other fish, they are attacked by Ich. The nasty parasite also shows up in shubunkins. You will notice your fish scratching at the tank walls and decorations, trying to scrape off the white spots. These white spots can spread, open and cause further infection from the water’s bacteria if you do not treat them immediately.

The best-known goldfish breeds to date include the veil tail, riukin, telescope, lion head, redcap, pearl mussel, shubunkin. They are popular mainly because of their undemanding nature and ability to live in conditions with low temperatures. Goldfish Compatible Fishes Socialising other cold-water fish with goldfish is not a simple matter of going to the pet shop, buying anything that can survive in cold water, and socialising it with goldfish. A whole world of problems awaits those who think it is anything other than advanced goldfish keeping. It is worth pointing out that narrow-breasted and thick-breasted goldfish species should ideally not be kept together. The narrow-breasted goldfish, such as common, comet and shubunkin, will have eaten all the food before the fat-breasted goldfish (most ornamental goldfish) realise it is time to feed.

Caring for your Fish Not every goldfish will stay small. Comet goldfish, Sarasa, shubunkin and koi are pond-dwelling fish that outgrow smaller environments quickly. A goldfish housed in a tank that is too small will develop life-threatening health problems. The average size of an adult comet, Sarasa or shubunkin, is 18 – 25 cm (7 – 10 in). Double-tailed or fan-tailed species can be bred in small aquariums, provided they are not overpopulated. There are numerous species from which to choose. They will have egg-shaped bodies with numerous different fin shapes. The colours range from red to orange, white or black, calico or any other combination in a fish.

The shubunkin goldfish comes in two varieties (London shubunkin and Bristol shubunkin). Its body looks similar to that of the common or comet goldfish, but its colours are very similar to fancy goldfish. It has a caudal fin, a dorsal fin and paired pectoral and pelvic fins. The Bristol is larger, and its caudal fin is rounder than that of London.

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[recentanimenews]

IN-DEPTH: Neon Godzilla Evangelion, The Horrors of Hideaki Anno

  "Something broken or deficient comes more naturally to me. Sometimes that thing is the mind. Sometimes it is the body."

                                                               -Hideaki Anno, creator of Neon Genesis Evangelion

  "Monsters are tragic beings; they are born too tall, too strong, too heavy, they are not evil by choice. That is their tragedy."

                                                                - Ishiro Honda, director of Godzilla

  Image via Amazon Prime Video

  Horror is born of trauma. The pop-culture monsters we fear and are fascinated by tend to reflect our very real anxieties. Frankenstein tells the story of scientific progress so explosive that it risks leaving humanity behind. It Follows creates a nightmare vision of looming intimacy and the potential for unknowable disease. Leatherface, hooting at the dinner table with his brothers in rural Texas, was the child of economic angst, the crimes of Ed Gein, and of President Nixon's threat of a "silent majority" forcing Americans to reconsider whether or not they really knew their neighbors. 

  And Godzilla? Well, Godzilla is a metaphor for a bomb. A bunch of bombs, actually. But more important than that, he represents loss — the loss of structure, of prosperity, of control. Godzilla is our own hubris returning to haunt us, the idea that in the end, we are helpless in the face of nature, disaster, and even our own mistakes. We, as a species, woke him up and now we have to deal with him, no matter how unprepared we are.

  Hideaki Anno understands this.

  In 1993, he began work on Neon Genesis Evangelion, a mecha series profound in not just its depiction of a science fiction world but in its treatment of depression and mental illness. It is a seminal work in the medium of anime, a "must-watch," and it would turn Anno into a legend, though his relationship to his magnum opus remains continuous and, at best, complicated. It is endlessly fascinating, often because Anno seems endlessly fascinated by it. 

  In 2017, he would win the Japanese Academy Film Prize for Director of the Year for Shin Godzilla, a film that also won Picture of the Year, scored five other awards, and landed 11 nominations in total. Shin Godzilla was the highest-grossing live-action Japanese film of 2016, scoring 8.25 billion yen and beating out big-name imports like Disney's Zootopia. In comparison, the previous Godzilla film, Final Wars, earned 1.26 billion. Shin Godzilla captured the public's attention in a way that most modern films in the franchise had not, returning the King of the Monsters to his terrifying (and culturally relevant roots).

  So how did he do it? How did Anno, a titan of the anime industry famous for his extremely singular creations, take a monster that had practically become a ubiquitous mascot of Japanese pop culture and successfully reboot him for the masses? How did Godzilla and Neon Genesis Evangelion align in a way that now there are video games, attractions, and promotions that feature the two franchises cohabitating? The answer is a little more complex than, "Well, they're both pretty big, I guess."

  To figure that out, we have to go back to two dates: 1954 and 1993. Though nearly 40 years apart, both find Japan on the tail end of disaster.

  Part 1: 1954 and 1993

  On August 6th and August 9th 1945, two atomic bombs were dropped on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, respectively. These would kill hundreds of thousands of people, serving as tragic codas to the massive air raids already inflicted on the island nation. Six days after the bombing of Nagasaki, Japan would surrender to the Allied forces and World War II would officially end. But the fear would not. 

  Within a year, the South Pacific would become home to many United States-conducted nuclear tests, just a few thousand miles from Japan. And though centered around the Marshall Islands, the chance of an accident was fairly high. And on March 1, 1954, one such accident happened, with the Lucky Dragon #5 fishing boat getting caught in the fallout from a hydrogen bomb test. The crew would suffer from radiation-related illnesses, and radioman Kuboyama Aikichi would die due to an infection during treatment. For many around the world, it was a small vessel in the wrong place at the wrong time. For Japan, it was a reminder that even a decade after their decimation from countless bombs, atomic terror still loomed far too close to home.

  Godzilla emerged from this climate. Films about giant monsters had become popular, with The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms and a 1952 re-release of King Kong smashing their way through the box office, and producer Tomoyuki Tanaka wanted to combine aspects of these with something that would comment on anti-nuclear themes. Handed to former soldier and Toho Studios company man Ishiro Honda for direction and tokusatsu wizard Eiji Tsubaraya for special effects, Godzilla took form and would be released a mere eight months after the Lucky Dragon incident. 

  Image via Amazon Prime Video

  It was a success, coming in eighth in the box office for the year and it would lead to dozens of sequels that would see Godzilla go from atomic nightmare to lizard superhero (and then back and forth a few times). America, sensing profits, bought the rights, edited it heavily, inserted Rear Window star Raymond Burr as an American audience surrogate, and released it as Godzilla: King of the Monsters! It was also very profitable, and for the next 20 years, every Japanese Godzilla film got a dubbed American version following soon in its wake.

  Years went by. Japan would recover from World War II and the following Allied Occupation and become an economic powerhouse. But in the late '80s, troubling signs began to emerge. An asset price bubble, based on the current economy's success and optimism about the future, was growing. And despite the Bank of Japan's desperate attempts to buy themselves some time, the bubble burst and the stock market plummeted. In 1991, a lengthy, devastating recession now known as the "Lost Decade" started. And the resulting ennui was not just economic but cultural.

  The suicide rate rose sharply. Young people, formerly on the cusp of what seemed to be promising careers as "salarymen," found themselves listless and without direction. Disillusionment set in, both with the government and society itself, something still found in Japan today. And though people refusing to engage with the norms of modern culture and instead retreating from it is nothing new in any nation, the demographic that we now know as "Hikikomori" appeared. And among these youths desperate to find something better amid the rubble of a once-booming economy was animator Hideaki Anno.

  A co-founder of the anime production company Gainax, Anno was no stranger to depression, having grappled with it his entire life. Dealing with his own mental illness and haunted by the failure of important past projects, Anno made a deal that would allow for increased creative control, and in 1993, began work on Neon Genesis Evangelion. Combining aspects of the popular mech genre with a plot and themes that explored the psyche of a world and characters on the brink of ruin, NGE would become extremely popular, despite a less than smooth production.

  The series would concern Shinji Ikari, a fourteen-year-old boy who suffers from depression and anxiety in a broken and terrifying world. Forced to pilot an EVA unit by his mysterious and domineering father, Shinji's story and his relationships with others are equal parts tragic and desperate, and the series provides little solace for its players. Anno would become more interested in psychology as the production of the series went on, and the last handful of episodes reflect this heavily. 

  Image via Netflix

  After the original ending inspired derision and rage from fans, Anno and Gainax would follow it up with two sequel projects (Death & Rebirth and The End of Evangelion), and NGE's place in the pantheon of "classic" anime was set. Paste Magazine recently named it the third-best anime series of all time. IGN has it placed at #8 and the British Film Insititute included End of Evangelion on their list of 50 key anime films. The exciting, thoughtful, and heart-breaking story of Shinji Ikari, Asuka, Minato, and the rest has gone down in history as one of the best stories ever told.

  So what would combine the two and bring Godzilla's massive presence under the influence of Anno's masterful hand? As is a miserable trend here, that particular film would also be spawned from catastrophe.

  Part 2: 2011

  "There was no storm to sail out of: The earth was spasming beneath our feet, and we were pretty much vulnerable as long as we were touching it," said Carin Nakanishi in an interview with The Guardian. The spasm she was referring to? The 2011 Tohoku earthquake, the most powerful earthquake in the history of Japan. Its after-effects would include a tsunami and the meltdown of three reactors at the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant. The death toll was in the tens of thousands. The property destruction seemed limitless. The environmental impact was shocking. Naoto Kan, the Japanese Prime Minister at the time, called it the worst crisis for Japan since World War II.

  It took years to figure out the full extent of the damage. Four years after, in 2015, 229,000 people still remained displaced from their ruined homes. The radiation in the water was so severe that fisheries were forced to avoid it. The cultivation of local agriculture was driven to a halt, with farmland being abandoned for most of the decade. And though the direct effects of it varied depending on how far away you lived, one symptom remained consistent: The inability to trust those who'd been sworn in to help.

  "No useful information was being offered by the government or the media," Nakanishi said. Many voiced a fear that the government had not done its decontamination job properly or would not continue to help them if they returned to their former homes near Fukushima. Some felt the people making decisions were far too distant to truly understand what was going on. Many thought that the government had underestimated the danger. In a survey taken after the Fukushima meltdown, "only 16 percent of respondents ... expressed trust in government institutions." In most of these stories, citizens stepped in to help, feeling as if they had no other choice. Eventually, his approval ratings dropped to only 10 percent and Naoto Kan stepped down from his role as Prime Minister. 

  And what of Godzilla and Anno at the time? Well, the former lay dormant, having been given a 10-year hiatus from the big screen by Toho after the release of 2004's Godzilla: Final Wars. And though he'd show up in a short sequence in Toho's 2007 film Always Zoku Sanchome no Yuhi, they kept good on their promise. But Godzilla fans did not have to worry about a drought of Godzilla news. American film production company Legendary Pictures was busy formulating their own take on him, having acquired the rights a year before.

  Meanwhile, Anno's post Evangelion life consisted of ... a lot more Evangelion. Though he'd direct some live-action films, his most newsworthy project was a series of Rebuild of Evangelion titles, anime films built with different aims (and created with a different mindset) than the original series. Departing Gainax in 2007, these would be created under his newly founded studio, Studio Khara.

  Image via Netflix

  And while it's obvious from the contents of Evangelion that Anno is interested in giant monsters and giant beings in general (Evangelion is pretty chockful of them), this fascination would only become more open. In 2013, he'd curate a tokusatsu exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Tokyo, one that showcased miniatures from Mothra to Ultraman to Godzilla himself. About the exhibit, Anno would write:

  "As children we grew up watching tokusatsu and anime programs. We were immediately riveted to the sci-fi images and worlds they portrayed. They put us in awe, and made us feel such suspense and excitement. (...) I think our hearts were deeply moved by the grown-ups' earnest efforts working at the sets that dwelled deep behind the images. (...) The emotions and sensations from those cherished moments have lead us to become who we are today."

  For the presentation, he'd also produce a short film called A Giant Warrior Descends on Tokyo, with the monster based on a creature from Hayao Miyazaki's — his old boss and an inspiration to Anno, along with the man that Anno would accompany on a trip to the Iwata prefecture to show support for communities wrecked by the Tohoku earthquake — Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind manga. It was directed by Shinji Higuchi, an old collaborator of Anno's at Gainax who had served as Special Effects Director for Shusuke Kaneko's stellar Gamera trilogy in the '90s.

  And though Higuchi would shortly go on to direct two Attack on Titan live-action films, their partnership would continue. Because in 2015, Toho announced they would team up to co-direct Godzilla 2016.

  Part 3: 2016

  Hideaki Anno has often thought of the apocalypse.

  In an interview with Yahoo! News in 2014, he'd tell the interviewer he "sincerely thought that the world would end in the 20th Century," and that his fear of a nuclear arms race and the Cold War had heavily influenced Evangelion. However, his creative process isn't just permeated by man-made threats. "Japan is a country where a lot of typhoons and earthquakes strike ... It's a country where merciless destruction happens naturally. It gives you a strong sense that God exists out there."

  This focus on earthly intervention by a divine presence is definitely a theme in Evangelion, but it also applies to Godzilla, a borderline invincible behemoth that was created to remind man of its mistakes. It's this kind of provoking thoughtfulness (among other things) that might have alerted Toho Studios of Higuchi and Anno's potential proficiency in re-igniting the slumbering Godzilla franchise. "[W]e looked into Japanese creators who were the most knowledgeable and had the most passion for Godzilla ...Their drive to take on such new challenges was exactly what we all had been inspired by," Toho would say of the pair.

  Image via Amazon Prime Video

  It was a few years in the making, though. After the creation of Evangelion: 3.0 You Can (Not) Redo, Anno fell into depression, causing him to turn down Toho's 2013 offer of the Godzilla project. But thanks to the support of Toho and Higuchi, Anno decided to eventually take them up on it. However, he did not want to repeat how he felt past filmmakers had been "careless" with Godzilla, stating that Godzilla "exists in a world of science fiction, not only of dreams and hopes, but he's a caricature of reality, a satire, a mirror image." Higuchi was also passionate about the project, saying, "I give unending thanks to Fate for this opportunity; so next year, I'll give you the greatest, worst nightmare."

  Rounding out the NGE reunion with Shin Godzilla would be Mahiro Maeda, a character designer who would provide the look of Godzilla, and Evangelion composer Shiro Sagisu. Sagisu's music often includes motifs from Evangelion and the work of Akira Ifukube — who scored many classic Godzilla films — and is a great match for the monster. It's powerful stuff. 

    Anno's main concern was rivaling the first Godzilla, a film that remains effective to this day. So, in order to "come close even a little," he "would have to do the same thing." Thus, after over 60 years of monster adventures, Shin Godzilla became Godzilla's first real Japanese reboot, following a long line of films that were either direct sequels or had ignored the sequels to become direct sequels to the original. It would carry many of the same beats — monster arrives, people struggle to figure out how to stop it, they eventually do. The end. But unlike many Godzilla films, in which bureaucratic operations took a backseat to the scientists that would eventually figure out how to stop (or help) the Big G, they were front and center here.

  And the depiction was often less than kind.

  Instead of confident and sacrificial, the politicians found in Shin Godzilla are ludicrous in their archaic behavior, seemingly more concerned with what boardroom they're in than the unstoppable progress of the beast destroying their city. Most of their actions are played for comic relief, a tonal clash with the stark backdrop of the 400-foot-tall disaster walking just outside their offices. Multiple references are made to the Tohoku earthquake, the tsunami, and the Fukushima meltdown — including the waves that follow Godzilla as he comes ashore and the worry over the radiation Godzilla leaks into the land he travels across. One plot point even includes Japan grappling with the potential use of an atomic bomb on Godzilla from the United States, showing that over seventy years after the end of WWII, nuclear annihilation remains a terrifying prospect. 

  In the end, only a team organized by a young upstart that's mostly free from the processes of his slower, befuddled elders can save the day. That said, "save" isn't really the right word. Echoing Anno's statement that Japan is "a country where merciless destruction happens naturally," Godzilla is only frozen in place, standing still in the middle of the city, a monstrous question left to be solved. Whether it's Godzilla or a disaster like Godzilla, it is a problem that you must deal with, prepare for, and rebuild after. It will always be there.

  That said, the film isn't just a parody of quivering government employees out of their depth in the face of a cataclysm (distrust in the goodwill of authority figures is a theme also omnipresent in Evangelion). It's also a really, really rad monster movie. Godzilla is a scarred, seemingly wounded creature, his skin ruptured and his limbs distorted. He is not action-figure ready, even as he evolves into forms more befitting of total annihilation. As the Japanese military increasingly throws weaponry at him, he transforms to defend himself, emitting purple atomic beams from his mouth, his back, and finally his tail. Higuchi and Anno's direction is often awe-inspiring, whether the camera is tilted up to capture Godzilla from a street-level view, or panning around a building to face him head-on. Godzilla feels huge. 

  Image via Amazon Prime Video

  Its this combination of ideas and execution that would cause Shin Godzilla to sweep the Japanese Academy Awards in 2017, and, excuse my pun, absolutely crush it at the box office. But an incredible movie wouldn't be the end of it. In fact, while Shin Godzilla was a successful Anno creation, it hadn't yet gone to battle with Anno's other most successful creation.

  Not yet anyway.

  Part 4: 2018

  A few months before Shin Godzilla's release, Toho announced a "maximum collaboration" between Godzilla and Neon Genesis Evangelion, a team-up that first manifested itself in art and crossover merchandise. Art with the logo for NERV (the anti-Angel organization from Evangelion), with the fig leaf replaced by Godzilla's trademark spines showed up on a subsite for the Shin Godzilla film.

  Meanwhile, video game developers Granzella and publisher Bandai Namco worked on City Shrouded In Shadow, a game where you played as a human trying to survive attacks from various giant beings, including some from the Godzilla universe and some from Evangelion. And though this wasn't specifically tied to Shin Godzilla — Godzilla looks much more like his design in the '90s series of movies, a monster style that was the go-to branding look for years after — it did make the idea of the two franchises co-existing in similar spaces a little less alien.

  The big one came in 2018 when Universal Studios Japan declared that the following summer, it would be home to a meeting of the two titans in "Godzilla vs Evangelion: The Real 4-D." This ride/theater experience would give audiences a firsthand look at a clash between the EVA units and Godzilla. However, just as the horror of the original Godzilla had been diluted through various sequels that saw him becoming Japan's protective older brother, and just as the crushing melancholy of Evangelion feels a little less sad when you see Rei posing on the side of a pachinko machine, this ride would also be a reframing experience.

  Godzilla is a threat, at first, as the Evangelion units zip around, blast him, and try to drop-kick him. But then, out of space, Godzilla's old three-headed foe King Ghidorah emerges. The golden space dragon provides a common enemy for the group and they work together to eliminate it. Godzilla, seemingly forgetting why he showed up to the ride in the first place, trudges back into the sea. He is now a hero, his spot as Earth's Public Enemy #1 seemingly neutered. 

  To this day, news of theme park attractions that bear the Shin Godzilla design consistently pop up, including one ride where you can zip line into Godzilla's steaming open mouth! But Toho doesn't seem open to a live-action sequel that many see as the obvious next step (though they would produce a trilogy of anime films that take place in a different monster timeline). Instead, they opted for beginning a kind of Godzilla shared universe, like the extremely popular Marvel Cinematic Universe. And Anno and Higuchi have moved on to their next revitalizing effort: a reboot of Ultraman. 

  Wes Craven, the director of A Nightmare on Elm Street once said, "You don't enter the theater and pay your money to be afraid. You enter the theater and pay your money to have the fears that are already in you when you go into a theater dealt with and put into a narrative ... Stories and narratives are one of the most powerful things in humanity. They're devices for dealing with the chaotic danger of existence." The creators at Toho certainly gave people that with Godzilla, just as Anno did with Neon Genesis Evangelion.

  Image via Amazon Prime Video

  But horror films are also entertainment, and soon these monsters are sequel-ized and commodified, losing their edge to the point that new minds are brought in to reboot them and help them move forward. It's a process we've repeated since people began telling stories to one another thousands and thousands of years ago. They help us confront the worst aspects of ourselves and of our worlds. It's what makes them vital. We need them. Like the next evolution of monsters sprouting from Godzilla's tail in the final frame of Shin Godzilla, the horror genre reaches out, grasping for fears that we have and fears that will one day come.  

  For more Crunchyroll Deep Dives, check out Licensing of the Monsters: How Pokemon Ignited An Anime Arms Race and The Life And Death Of Dragonball Evolution.

    Daniel Dockery is a Senior Staff Writer for Crunchyroll. Follow him on Twitter!

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features.

  By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[silencedtechnophile]

==> Do something about it

The ship hummed around him in the darkness. Something, somewhere, was beeping near the meat puppet hung in the rigging that limited his abilities with a biological bottle neck. His head was so fuzzy. Which is what they wanted. He was too smart, they knew what kind of damage he could do if he werent forcefully throttled. 

He worked slowly. The plan had come to him in an instant, as he'd gotten encouragement from the helm chat. He could do something. He could affect his situation. He was not fucking helpless, he refused to be.

First he carefully hacked into the mediboard that controlled his blood chemistry. He fiddled around with it so its output would remain steady, but it would cease giving him the brain fogging drugs.

That took a while to make it out of his system, every moment of it afraid someone would draw a random blood draw to double check the mediboard, though that was passingly rare. They trusted their equipment.

As his head cleared his body began to hurt, he had a sudden more complete awareness of the agony of the living wires burrowed under his skin, and the way his shoulders were wreched and taking all his weight.

He had to adjust the output again to smooth out his heart beat so they wouldn't be alerted.

Pain was fine. He could deal with pain, he could think and that was what mattered right now in this moment. Blessed clear thoughts. Every moment he delayed was a moment his gamble might be discovered so he worked quickly, spoofing his address from outside the ship while he expanded his own permissions. HE could open and close doors, he could even open and close airlocks, but he wasn't trusted with them.

He wormed his way into the controls, granting himself admin powers at the root level.

Then he just had to wait.

This was the part he had the least control over. Her movements.

Now that he'd given himself root acess and no longer needed the clarity to hack the ships permissions he left the door he'd created open, and went back in to fix his medications and outputs back the way they had been, by the time he had his opertunity he would be fully drugged again, they wouldn't be able to tell it was him. ------------------ Being the Empress had its perks. No waiting in lines, getting to take par in destruction and culling without consequences, running fleets of ships, not having to tolerate any mischief, being feared and respected by everyone at default. But most importantly? Not having to do shit unless you want to. This is one thing Meenah took advantage of as much as possible. If she didn’t have to get up and go somewhere to get something done, why would she?

In her younger years, the idea of taking the throne had caused her nothing but annoyance and disgust. Being taken care of like a wriggler, being responsible for a planet full of easily influenced and hasty trolls. Taking care of her lusus indefinitely, and having to personally feed her each night. Making a quick and not very discreet exit from her original planet had been a great decision. She’s stood by it since it happened, all those sweeps ago in an universe that never quite fit to her tastes. Being born there had felt like a cruel joke once she knew what she had missed out on.

So when she had spawned here some number of sweeps ago, she had been horrified. Devastated. They won and she, as always, got absolutely shafted by the universe. That is... until she took a good look around and evaluated her situation. Beforus had been a little pond, full of toothless guppies. And she had been a shark, unable to even turn around in the limited space. But Alternia? Alternia was a vast sea, with plenty of prey to sink her teeth into and depths to claim as her own. It was as if this gift universe was molded for her, a refined combination of two planets and the two lives she had lived through. The best part was that she had gotten to float over the hard parts, the initial rise to power and the conquering and culling of her personified roadblocks. The endless cycle of teaching her throneworld to submit.

There’s no shame in admitting she’s fully enjoyed the spoils of her new life, entirely content with trading a few sweeps for her position. Hell, she was a tyrian. There were plenty of sweeps to spare, she would do it again.

Which led to this, a three night streak of kicking up her feet in her own block on the flagship. The Battleship Condescention.

Okay, fine, maybe she should have been doing something more important than catching up on dramatic cinema when there was a rebellion to stomp out with her boot. But things were fine. They were starting to close in on the short, mouthy, ship thief. Her biggest potential problem was nice and cozy some number of floors below her, tucked into his ports and wires like a wriggler to coon. And no one else was stepping up to oppose her. Even the most powerful and feared leaders of societies had to take a break, let the tide ease them out.

Of course, all good things come to an end. This time, it’s the portable communications device implanted into her tiaratop. Already missing her makeshift getaway, she flicked a claw against the gold and her features were illuminated by the live footage of one of her on hand advisors. She scowled at him, lip jutted out and pierced brows raised to put emphasis on her annoyance. “We got a, y’know, a problem.” He grunted, the last word coming out like pr-ah-bl-im. “Sum’thin’ funny, ‘kay. Minor. We’re handling it, swear it ma’am. Got someone on the f’rewalls, set that right. But...”

When the purple hued troll went on to explain, she was furious. Someone had managed to nudge at their security systems and give them a test and it took them a few nights to tell her? Her pan whirled to the worst and most paranoid conclusion. Someone from their session, probably that infuriating time wench or the pirate enthusiast, maybe a turnaround from her own Makara if he’d been fully awakened in their new planet.

She stormed about to get ready, pan immediately set to force her commandeered pissblood battery to help her track down and eliminate the source. If her goons couldn’t get the job done, he was going to do it for them.

“Soon as I grill this guppy, you’re gettin’ sautéed. Fried.” Meenah, better known as the Condesce, set her focus entirely on a stomping beeline for the exit and her threatening tangent. “Pike it or not, best get ya’ affairs in order. Boat t’ sea what the pointy end a’ my golden prod ‘eels like embedded in ya’ b’ass. No shrimp-athy for the in-conch-petent, set a bet’a example for the school.”

The door to her block opened with quiet ‘swish!’ as she took her first step out. And then another. Somewhere, a number of clicks below stationed near the central engines, a troll was probably filled with justifiable anger and excitement. With the Empress there was nothing but the light, sharp sound of her heeled boots in the metal corridor paired with the rough undertone to her flurry of words. The advisor on the other end of her video chat cowered, sputtering excuses as she glared down her defined cartilage nub at him. “And if you e’fin conch-sea-der tryin’ to catch a wave trout’a here, I ain’t mako-in it snappy.” She continued her tirade, satisfied by the way the other troll’s eyes went wide and his jaw slid open. “Yeah, that’s moray p’ike it. Best get ya-shelf practicin’ on a look a’ ray-morse.”

“Actually,” he started, gaze averted to the light over the airlock behind her. It blinked red once, yellow twice, and began to shift to green. “I think -“

“Clam it, small fry!” She stopped her determined march to point a claw at him, as if he were really a few feet ahead of her. “Can’t bay-lieve ya’ got the swimmers to gab at me, blowin’ bubbles slap full a’ bullshark.”

Just behind her, the light held steady at green. The advisor stumbled in his warning, horrified and relieved and stalled by his shock as her hair whipped away from her face and her words trailed off. There’s a second where the familiar sound of the airlock opening seemed to halt time. Meenah looked over her shoulder, and then to the projected feed of the lower blooded troll. For the first time in sweeps, she barked a laugh. And then? “Son of a’ eldritch pailin’ bitch.” She bared her impressive chompers, fins flared backwards in her surprise, disbelief, and pure offense that someone has made an attempt on her life. The tyrian scrambled to dig her claws into the metal wall beside her, a cringe worthy noise produced when they drag through the reinforced metal. “You gotta be krillin’ -“

“Maybe if -“

In what might be the most anticlimactic turntables of a story ever, the airlock smoothly opens the rest of the way. Sweeps in the past, there is a time traveling maroon blooded, grudge obsessed troll glancing through the ages and chortling at a joke no one will understand much less believe. The seadweller’s yellow painted claws dig and clip away in a desperate swing at survival. The hatches to the other blocks through the stem are sealed shut, and whatever artificial air was being released dissipated the minute the immediate area was exposed to space. Meenah had a moment, maybe two, to reflect on the mistakes that led her here. Putting an airlock directly outside the door to her block, entirely for the purpose of disposing of any unwanted visitors. Not once considering that someone might turn this around on her, or capitalize on her desire for the dramatic. Leaving her block using her balancing prongs at all, when a transportalizer would have been safer and faster - but would ultimately have lacked in the build-up of intensity and hostility that a chance to strut and lament and publicly humiliate and shortly thereafter kill her most recent workplace pest. If she had more time, she might have thought of a few more excuses to shift the blame a bit.

Including, but not limited to: This Must Entirely Be Megido’s Fault And Here Is Why, the three part series of essays assembled by Meenah Peixes. Or the potential ways Aranea could have somehow subverted death and the fate of their session altogether to somehow ruin the one fun thing she has EVER had the chance to do, seriously, what a Jealous Jude. Or maybe this is the fault of the younger Vantas, who mysteriously fell into her lap around a sweep ago and... well, he was disappointing as a whole until he managed to actually do a backflip off of the handle and body his way out of holding.The diversion of resources from the facility had been an oversight, and the cause of it was promptly replaced and reassigned to dinner duty. A more appealing way to refer to the main course.

Any of those things could have led to this, but none of them did. All the time in the world, and she likely never would have thought her laziness would play a part in her downfall.

It did, though. The metal peeled away from the support column, and the lurching movement broke her grip. It was inevitable. Meenah tried to yelp out a curse, perhaps one last bit of defamation for her last words, but nothing actually came from her throat. Her lips twisted and her expression caught somewhere between anger and fear. The last thought to coherently hit her ends with ‘- and this bucket of chum is the last thing I get my peepers on, really?’ as she wS forcibly removed from the flagship and sent careening into space.

A few blocks and a couple lifts away, the flabbergasted advisor had already dispatched armed forces. Not that it mattered, he decided. The connection to the tiratop flickers more and more as she departs, but the image of his frozen taskmaster tells him there’s no rescuing from that.

Her skin was flaking with ice, fins back and shining tyrian as they stretched, thin eyes obscured by the ice on her lashes, teeth exposed from where she tried to get the last word. The sight of her being quickly and surprisingly easily dispatched hadn’t left him hopeful for saving her, and the last glimpses of her expression deterred him from even attempting to recover her corpse.

The Empress was dead.

[just-breathe-fight-cf]

Mermish

‘What is Mermish?’

   The Language of the Merfolk, often called either Aquan or Mermish, is both complex and simple all at once. It is incredibly subtle, and to the observer, seems limited and simplistic in its nature. To human ears, our language sounds like waves of the shore, dolphins chirruping and even whale sounds. The truth of old Mermish is that it is an expressive language that goes beyond the Mer palate and lungs. The language is of rhythm and song. Verse and poem. Spoken to illuminate anyone who hears it to seek and join our peoples while washing away the egos and creating a new Mer-Soul through trill.

‘Literacy through History’

   Because we possess a dual breathing system, those that permit both the flow of air and of water can speak True Mermish. And because of the nature of the medium we live in, out vocal range and volume far surpasses anything that would be heard on land. The language is reflective of that; heavily tonal, with much of the meaning conveyed in the sound rather that the word itself. To understand this, True Mermish isn’t about words, it is about the meaning of song and joining in the harmony.

   About 1000 years ago, Humans began to cross the seas and brought with them their own songs and language and we tried to communicate our songs to them with devastating results! Those who listened eventually transformed into Merhuman or simplistic as Merman and the women, Mermaid. They joined our people and lived along side of us…but sadness caused them to seek out their own kind and we learned to silence the song and develop a written language alongside of a verbal one which was as powerful as Old Mermish. We lived close to the surface of the water, near actively literate communities…in major harbors and ports of call. We listened and written medium for all of merfolk society to learn. We preferred picture to word and preferred songs to pictures…nevertheless, we drew what we could understand and were dedicated to understand Humans and merge with them and bring them into our society.

   The Merfolk related to symbology and merged True Mermish to Second Order Mermish to create Third Order Mermish that we use to talk to humans on their ships at sea and to their ports and streams. We sang our songs as gifts to them and created a whole new species in the process…humans were frighten of the sea, but our songs made them move to it, swim in it and live in it…and love it! Not a human on Earth is not affected by the sound of rolling waves, or the melody of falling rain or the ebbs of the current’s pulse. They all have become in-between, slowly changing not of the body, but of the mind and the spiritual plane.

   Mermish sentences tend to be vague when spoken and the same word used may not be used again if it does not carry the appropriate emotional power. When speaking in terms of direction, me must always point. When speaking of the present, past, or future, we can only refer to the phases of the current moon, and seem to have no memory of the past further than that. We have no concept of money, morals or logic in our language. Mermish has no individual ‘I’ either as Mers are a family (Pod) and always refer to themselves as ‘We’ or ‘Us’. Things simply are and opinion of others don’t phase them.

True Mermish

   True, Old or Genuine Mermish, is a primarily-whistled and sung language which carries for long distances underwater and is almost un-reproducible in the human mouth. However, merfolk being the curious mimics which they are, have taken up many human words and integrated them for speech with the sailors, fishermen and beach-walker whom they often encounter during gatherings, transformations and adding to the Collective. Merfolk use long whistling melodic phrases which can be represented in human’s transliteration by hyphenated sentences, the hyphen (drawn as a wave form to signify the Mermish Tongue) is placed between separate words where they can be distinguished as individual comments.

   True Mermish is sometimes difficult to separate from emotion and behavior of the speaker as they are blended into the song the Mer sings. For example, a Mer speaking in True Mermish might give a sharp dual cough (Uk~Uk) and this could mean ‘No’ as in a command or as a feeling depending on the amount of trilling they do in-between.

   To learn how to speak True Mermish is pretty simple as long as you don’t over complicate the process. Using the knowledge of the human alphabet that the Mer’s adopted (as art is there way of words, but difficult to make universal around the world) they only spoke in vowels and melodic sounds:

BEHAVIOR VOWELS: A = aa, E = ee I = ii O =oo U and Y

EMOTION SOUNDS: Ih = ih, Ae =ae, Uu = uu, Sh = sh

MERMISH SONG: Pa, Whoosh, Ba, Ooww, Drr-drr, Www-ooo, Hummm

   These were the common roots of True Mermish when they spoke, with the Vowels being behavior and the Sounds being the trill emotion that connects the behavior into a melodic song.

When pronouncing the Vowels:

‘aa’ sounds like ‘~ah~’,

‘ee’ sound like ‘~eh~’,

‘ii’ sounds like ‘~ee~’

‘oo’ sounds like ‘~ooh~’

‘u’ sounds like ‘~ou~’

‘y’ sounds like ‘~eee~’

When pronouncing the Sounds:

‘ih’ sounds like ‘~uh~’

‘ae’ sounds like ‘~aye~’

‘uu’ sounds like ‘~you~’

‘sh’ sound like ‘~shhh~’

When pronouncing the Song:

‘pa’ sounding like ‘~pah~’ (Dripping Water And Light Rain)

‘whoosh’ sounding like ‘~wa~shhh~’ (Sound Of The Waves)

‘ba’ sounds like ‘~baaa~’ (Sound Of Underwater Bubbles)

‘Ooww’ sounds like ‘~oou~’ (Sound Of Whales)

‘Drr-drr’ sound like two clicks (Drips and Dolphin Talk)

‘Www-ooo’ sound like a descending high pitch whistle (Dolphin Talk)

‘Hummm’ sound like high pitch humming (Mermaid Talk)

Second & Third Order Mermish

   Trying to communicate, Mers would linger close to the boats and sea towns to see what words humans used to describe who they were, what am item was and their environment they lived in. Mer’s broke up the language in drawings and letters as they began to write in human tongue with Mermish trills. True Mermish only relied on the song, but people above water could not hear it underwater unless extra letters began to carry the notes in the range of 20,000 hertz that Human’s could hear and elevated the tones higher to mix with their auras creating ‘Siren Song’ that sailors feared.

   As seen in True Mermish, the Second Order of Mermish still contains many words for feeling and emotions they have for water. Listening too long to these words will cause other Mers and Humans to grow sympathetic for water and fall in the harmony of fluid. To understand, water is life, water is home, water is everywhere and epitomizes the daily life of the Mer.

   We as Mers are keen observers of sensation and emotion alike and appear to have therefore a wide variety of adjectives for all types of colors, sounds, textures, touch, temperatures and taste…many of which have been forgotten over time. Merfolk emotions change rapidly like the sea, and it is hard to quickly document the wide range we go through; especially since some resonate on levels we do not comprehend. Often body language accompanies the translation for easier interpretation of a Mer’s behavior.

   Those that live above the sea need to remember that we can only relate well to things beneath the sea. If we speak of things, it is usually from that perspective. For example, a Mer might finds it confusing if someone asks whether they mean ’above’ or ’below’ the surface, and can only point when asked about other directions. However, they do have words for ‘up’, ‘down’, and ‘ahead’, used in swimming and fin positioning, but not for cardinal direction.

Below is a list of known Second Order Mermish:

Ahead (Swimming Command) - Chi (Chai)

Alcohol - Kiini-beeah

Alive - Hnguloo

Amused (Calmness) - Daahuu

Anger (Describing Behavior/Emotion) - Gahfooruu

Are - Bi

Bad (Ancient Mer’s Struggle With This Word) - Bett

Beneath (Below - Submerge) - Ghaajii

Bored (Restless) Affehoo (Ah-feh-oo)

Bright (Very Hot) - Kiini

Bubble - Baabah

Change - Mhaawhoo

Cheerful (Similar to ‘ffewuu’, but calm) - Hwuu

City - Paaepooh-paash

Confidence (Describing Behavior/Emotions Of Sureness) - Dehooffa

Cold - Jiiii

Cold (True Mermish) - Yeeni

Color - Koohur

Coral (Dead) - Meessuk

Coral (Living) - Messuloo

Crab - Kraah

Dancer (With Tail or Legs) - Daashu

Dead - Hngukk

Depression - Huumuu

Desert - Toh-chii

Determination - Heehii

Dolphin - Ffeechuvo

Dolphin Mermaid - Ukuk-ffeechuvo

Down - Mmawtt

Dragon - Deeragoh

Dried Up - Uuniigo

Earth - Vvundra

Excited - Ffuuhii

Family - Faaraarii

Fear (Behavior/Emotion) - Uuriigo

Feeling (Emotion - Attitude) - Llii

Female (Woman - She - Her -Hers) - Lla

Fin - Feen

Fish - Fees

Fish Eggs (To Spawn - Caviar - Mate) - Bllusu

Food (Edible Plant Or Lower Life Form) - Yyt (yeet)

Forest (Tree - Kelp) - Aah-teeree (Ahh-ter-ree)

Freshwater (Ancient Mer’s Could Not Tolerate For Long) - Bett-wuutaah

Freshwater (True Mermish) - P’chaaoo

Froth (Sea Foam - Small Bubbles) - Apupua

Frustration (Behavioral/Emotional) - Shaahii

Goddess Of The Sea (High Spirit) - Bavverissi Baveras

Good (Ancient Mers Don’t Understand This Word) - Ghood

Good Bye - Jai-quay’

Happy (Playful - Fidgety) - Ffewuu

Hard - Haarduuh

Has - Bi

Have - Bi

Healthy (Well) - Haaih (hay-uh) (Sounds like a sigh)

Heart - Hhu-hng

Hello - O-kee’-ya

Hot (Temperature) - Hhu-huu (Pronounced as two sharp pants of breath)

Hot (Taste) - Jeech

Human - Hyuuman

Hungry (For Food) - Hnn-kii

Hunger (Lust - Hunting) - Chuun

Hungry (Wanting Food - Wanting Sex - Wanting Attention) - Oowii

Hurts (Ouch) - Ah-ee (Ahh-ee)

Ice - Ttheeni

In (Covered - Surrounded By - To Be Inside) - Woolbul

Is (To Be - To Have - To Be With) - Bi

Is Not (Without Existence) - Oosoyyo

It - Lle (lay)

It (Pronoun For Any Inanimate Object Or Thing) - Uhff

It & Its (Person) - Llo

Jealousy (Describing Behavior/Emotion) - Gahooraa

Knowing Not (Don’t Know - Don’t Have - Isn’t) - Oosoyyo

Land - Lleehada

Love (Similar to ‘paaffoo’, but more intense) - Taafoowii

Male (Man - He -Him - His) - Lli (lee)

Many - Ss (Sounds like a hiss)

Many (True Mermish - Typically added to Nouns and Pronouns) - Uk-uk

Merfolk (Merperson) - Baovveche

Moon - Ttheeni

Nervousness (Flailing of Limbs and Tail In Water) - Fffeechii

No - Toh

No (True Mermish) - Ungh (quick grunt)

Our (Ours) - Ffa

Oyster - Mchuuk

Person (Mermaids) - Ffuegane

People (Humans) - Paaepoohss

Playful (Jumping - Twirling - Splashing) - Chahho

Rage (Describing Behavior/Emotion) - Gahuuii

Rain (Heavy) - Aagiaag (Ahh-jaag)

Rain (Drops) - Aagii (Ahh-ga)

Reflection - Kiinaagii

Ripple - Ffuen

Roar - Rroo-er

Rock (Platform) - Ciipaa

Rock (Stone) - Hurriff

Rock Shelf Underwater - Wwiigoo

Rocky (Irregular Seafloor) - Ghoontuh

Sad - Dehffoo

Sand (Grains) - Saahd

Sandy (Smooth Seafloor) - Ffehpaah

Sandy (Lots of Sea-weed) - Haarii

Scale - Scaahoo

Sea - Chii (Chee)

Sea-Dragon - Feenhoom

Sea-Horse - Chuu-ffeenii

Sea-Weed - Cheehuuii

Seal - Cheeoo

Shallows - Kiinaa

Ship - Ssheep

Sick - Huu-iik (Sound of vomiting)

Silver - Shaavoh

Somber (Lazy - Blank Expression - Seclusion) - Haanii

Storm - Ssturm

Sulkiness (Refuse To Swim) - Sshuurii

Sun (Fire) - Echrassa

Surprise (Describing Behavior/Emotions) - Liiffoo

Thirsty - Hss-tii

Tide - Taahi

Tide (The Movement - Sound - Smell - Sight of the Tide) - Cuua

Tired (Slow) - Sshiiji

Touching (Playfulness - Staring) - Paaffoo

Transgender - Llo

Unknown (Describing Behavior/Emotions Of Anger) - Dehiifaa

Up - Hekk

Us - Ffa

Volcano - Echundra

Water (Evenly Cool in Temperature - Atlantic) - Ruutaroo

Water (Evenly Warm - Tropical) - Meetamaa

Water (Good To Breed In) - Caatuu

Water (Hard Currents - Disturbed or Troubled by Weather) - Chaachiioh

Water (Optimum For Mers) - Saahem

Water (Polluted) - Assuuh (Ahh-sue)

Water (Pretty or Attractive (Also used to label a mermaid)) - Maakeeffaa

Water (Rich In Fish) - Eenii

Water (Surface Cool, Colder Beneath, Barely Tolerable - Arctic) - Sooroo

Water (Surface Cool, Luke-Warm Currents - South Pacific) - Ruunii

Water (Too Cold) - Fuuacho

Water (Traveling Depth) - Tehmoo

Water (Troubled or Churned by Fish) - Feenwaa

Water (Warm on the Surface, Cool Beneath - Lake Water) - Maaroo

Water (Warm on the Surface, Ice Cold Beneath - North Pacific) - Maasoo

Water (Wave - Home - Fluid) - Alassi (Ah-la-see)

Wave (Curl or Tunnel) - Ccuuoo

Wave (Sharp Peaked Wave That Collapses In The Ocean Before Shore) - Sshuuka

Wave (Single Breaker Of Water) - Huuaae

We (Also Used For I) - Ffa

Whale (Mers Refuse To Name Them Although) - Huaool

Whirlpool - Llinoo

Without (Not Existing - Not Having - Not Knowing) - Oosoyyo

Wind - Hhoole

With (Together - Possessing) - Bi

Yes - Eeas

Yes (True Mer) - Heh (quick grunt)

1900 Altered Words For 3rd Order Mermish

Beachcomber - Anit (AH-neet)

Want - Antorum (AHN-toe-rume)

You - Dal (DOLL)

Am/Is/Are - Em (EM)

Low Tide - Fan (FAHN)

High Tide - Fimra dom (FEEM-rah-DOME)

Help - Fimra tre (FEEM-rah-TRAY)

Male - Fre (FRAY)

Swim - Hredenu (HRED-eh-noo)

Was/Were - Hron (HRONE)

Female - Ifen (EE-fen)

Many - Kesseni (KESS-seh-ni)

Here - Kila (KEE-lah)

Far Away - Li (LEE)

See - Luron (LOO-rone)

Someone Who Would Fail To See A Mermaid Right In Front Of His Face -Lusa (LOO-sah)

Love - Mortum (MOR-tume)

Storm - Nulma (NOOL-mah)

There - Ohora (O-ho-rah)

Mermaid - Olo (O-lo)

Friends Of Mermaids - Sessa (SESS-sah)

Human - Sesmuna (SESS-moo-nah)

Curious But Harmless Person - Setanim (SEH-tah-neem)

Curious And Dangerous Person - Setannor (SEH-tahn-nor)

Sailor - Setantreya (SEH-tahn-TRAY-yah)

Wave - Setsur (SET-soor)

Hello - Suron (SOO-rone)

I - Tala (TAH-lah)

Beach - To (TOE)

Ship - Torm (TORM)

I Mean No Harm-I Am A Friend - Tritse (TREET-say)

I Am In Love With A Human - To hisna rendi-to fan sesmuna

I Am In Love With A Mermaid - To fan in nulma with a setanim

Fourth Order Mermish

   Almost 2000 years later, in the decade of 2000, the Fourth Order of Mermish was devise by Kristin when she was under the spell of Mermish that gave her the full abilities of the Mermish language and used those abilities to elevate her lover, Katara to becoming Mermish like herself. Frightened, she and Katara left Spirit Lake and tried to ignore the song that was calling them back to the water. Kristin spoke Second Order Mermish to Steven, Bobby and Ryan at Holiday and altered their brains with the song as they crazed to hear more of it. With a glimpse into the future, Kristin saw the death of everyone if she did not give in to the song and made the sacrifice by writing all the words of Second and Third Order Mermish for the camp to learn…this opened her brain to True Mermish as it began to take over her brain as she was having identity issues.

   Loowit saved her from her fate and gave her the ability to control the energy however, that brief exposure to True Mermish was enough to damage Kristin’s identity as she struggles with a few basic human words and self identity, speaking in the terms of we or us and her sense of direction unusable to others besides herself. She blocked out the Mermish for a few days until the combine emotional energy release made the song unbearable and she was knocked out and was conditioned like the rest of the campers.

   Days later, Kristin began to write the rules of the Fourth Order of Mermish and how to write and speak the language that would become to capstone of speaking while underwater; however, having evolved beyond True Mermish, she can speak telepathically in normal English without the limitations Mermish gave to her.

RULE ONE - 4th Order Mermish is any Human word with the Mermish tongue trilling all the vowels in a fluid rhythm.

RULE TWO - All vowels are double except for words that begin with a vowel and will be written with an extended trill.

Example: ENGLISH ‘My Love Is The Sea’ translated into MERMISH ‘My Loovee Iiis Thee Seeaa.’ The only vowels that do not double are the letters: U & Y.

RULE THREE - Speaking Mermish in the 4th Order while underwater with the same sentence is to remove all 20,000 hertz letters leaving only the vowels. We add hyphen’s to the sentence to carry out the words in rhythm:

ENGLISH ‘My Love Is The Sea’ translated into 4th ORDER MERMISH ‘My Loovee Iiis Thee Seeaa’ translated into MERMISH ‘y~ooee~iii~ee~eeaa’.

RULE FOUR - Speaking Mermish in the 4th Order while underwater with the same sentence, removing all 20,000 hertz letters leaving only the vowels and adding emotion sounds. The emotional trills are (ih, ae, uu, sh) and are connected to the matching letters before a trill.

For example: ‘y~ooee~iii~ee~eeaa’ would turn into ‘y~ooee~(IH)’iii’(IH)~ee~eeaa’(AE)(SH) with the letters SH always at the end.

ENGLISH ‘My Love Is The Sea’ translated into 4th ORDER MERMISH ‘My Loovee Iiis Thee Seeaa’ translated into MERMISH ‘y~ooee~iii~ee~eeaa’ translated into EMOTIONAL MERMISH ‘y~ooee~ih’iii’ih~ee~eeaa’aesh’

RULE FIVE - Speaking Mermish in the 4th Order while underwater with the sane sentence, removing all 20,000 hertz letters leaving only the vowels, adding emotion sounds and now song sounds. This is the hardest part of Mermish to learn and equally hard to speak! We work with the most common song letters (Pa, Whoosh, Ba, Ooww, Drr-drr, Www-ooo, Hummm) and typically only one song is picked per conversation in regard to the oceans conditions or with there are other Mers around. Typically when Kristin sings, her trade sounds that identify her is huming…the easiest a Mer can do. All of hyphenated ares are filled with trill and would look like this: ‘hmm’y’hmm’ooee’hmm’ih’iii’ih’hmm’ee’hum’eeaa’aesh’hmm’ and can repeat over and over until her message is delivered. If another Mer joins the song, Kristin would drop Rule 1 through 4 and just trill with alternating ‘hums’.

It isn’t uncommon if the message is long to change the song to signify a break in the sentence. And example of this would be:

‘hmm’y’hmm’ooee’hmm’ih’iii’ih’hmm’ee’hum’eeaa’aesh’hmm’hmm’hum’ooww’y’ooww’ooee’ooww’ih’iii’ih’ooww’ee’ooww’eeaa’aesh’ooww’

   And if you have a whole pod of Mers all signing, you can have an idea of the solo turning into a harmony. This is why Mer’s prefer to keep their conversations to a minimum.

(Had To Re-up This Post Due To Being Flagged For Image Due To New Rules)

[sarcasm-loathing-blog]

⋅⊱♊∂σทτ τrυsτ нєr ƒαcα∂є♊⊰⋅

⋅⊱♊siℓєทτ rєsєทτмєทτ♊⊰

"Ne faites pas confiance à la façade"

"Flashlight, Zippo, matches, flare gun, bandaids, gauze, extra batt-"

One by one by one, items were listed off. She had been double, triple, and quadruple checking her inventory before heading out to work. She was anxious. Every single day, for two years straight, she's had the same nightly routine, accept it wasn't night, it was day. It was sad to say she was busy last night, so she couldn't finish her daily chores, she was heading over to where she had worked so she could finish her tasks, but lord have mercy on her soul because she hadn't worked in the morning, in like-ever! She shuffled through the large sap green bag, sliding the flashlight out of the mesh picket on the side before testing the weight in her hand. She was one to over-prepare, she had gotten the horrid habit from her mother. She wasn't proud of the pestery routine she had, but she had made the effort to perfect it, often going the extra mile and cutting corners on her sleep schedule to make sure everything ran smoothly.

She stuffed the military grade torch back into its rightful place before zipping the backpack up and heaving it over her shoulders. She was a rather short woman, but the small bit of muscle she had helped with the toppling weight of the sack. She began towards the door of the RV, her slightly chapped lips had pursed together in anticipation, just as she was about to reach the thin dented barrier, her legs tangled with the silky kitten that curled around her legs, causing her to stumble and slam into the wall, the small vehicle creaked, threatening to topple from the frost damage and rust that's been building up over the years. She shot her signature glare at the small feline, attempting to stare it down, unluckily, she rolled a one and the cat dismissed her with a glossy glance of its greyish green eyes. She tched, rolling her own large dull brown orbs before grumbling to herself, her voice was rather low and flat, with little energy in her words. "Stupid fucking cat-" she grabbed the knob before pushing herself outside.

The bitter February cold slapped her face like she had called it daddy, despite the guard of the cookie cutter thick lensed glasses, she squinted her eyes shut as a cold blast of air swept through her, seeming to pass through her bones, grasping the small figure in its thin bony hands. She tugged the scruffy lavender knit scarf up over her mouth and nose before popping the collar of her jacket, multiple profanities threatened to slip from her tongue, but it would look rather odd for her to speak to herself. But who was she supposed to speak to? She was close to a fairly small amount of the creepypasta, and due to her position in the mansion, it was often difficult to socialise without it interfering with her work. What exactly did she do? Clean. She cleaned and cooked and did small jobs around the mansion. It was rather lowly and disgusting, for her to be deemed a maid. She could do so much more, maybe one day, she would actually be upgraded to a pasta. It wasn't like she was weak, nor was she stupid, so why the fuck was she-this?

She slammed the door closed behind her, stuffing a single gloved hand into one of her multiple pockets only to pull out a glimmering set of steel keys. She began to lock up, double and triple checking to see if everything was safe before she dragged herself down the tiny metal stoop and beggining her journey. She didn't live too far from the mansion, onlY a few miles away, her RV was located in an abandoned junkyard, what she presumed used to be an old trash dump was nothing more then a crumbling colosseum of old and dust covered relics. Barbie dolls and toy trucks, along with molding stuffed toys lay about, abandoned by their children when they got too worn out or the child grew up, never to be played with again and left to just-rot away in this hell spiral.

While she began down the dirt path, she begun to grow lost in thought almost immediately, enjoying the cold and crisp day, yet at the same time despising it as well. She particularly didn't like this time of day where it was the coldest, the skies were cloudless, meaning it wouldn't snow soon, but last night's little blizzard had burried the first shoots of spring 2 feet deep in the frost, she wouldn't have been suprised if she found a preserved deer in a block of snow, you always find that weird shit in these forests. Her hand lifted to run through the curled glossy soft brown locks set across her skull, she was lucky to have gotten her mothers genetics of beauty-well, not so lucky when she was aiming to be intimidating and petrifying rather then the next miss sweater paws. In these forests, if you're cute and don't have razor sharp teeth stuffed into your fucking gaping maw, you'll be dead before you could say nani. That's just the way of life here, she was lucky enough to even survive the first 5 days in the wilderness, or the first 3 years.

She hummed a bit to herself, just 10 musical notes from a random tune she's heard. What song was it from? She furrowed her eyebrows as she tried ti recall the lyrics, ah that's right, it was called saint Bernard. She loved that song, it was a song she listened to a lot back when she wasn't a living breathing hot mess with a tail. That's right, a fucking tail. The long grayish snake like thing with a purple undertone and a large barb like arrowhead protruding from the tip, it was a rather horrid thing, with matching ears and horns, lets not forget the dagger like teeth, the claws that are a bother to keep trimmed and of course, the hunger for deer, rabbits, birds, people, garbage, basically anything. Her diet was like a raccoons or a goats, accept, more carnivorous.

She reached the rusty front gates of the junkyard, the chain on the front was long broken, it just looked tied together to give it the look that you should keep out, if that wasn't enough of a hint, bleached and yellowed skulls and bones of multiple animals and people were strewn about, possibly as a sign to fuck off or join them. She closed her eyes, gripping the bitter cold rough rust dusted metal of the crooked and twisting gate as she simply-listened. She listened to the crickets chirping from the bushes that weren't exactly frosted over, the large murder of crows that hung around this area, the bubbling of the stream that was yet to form frazil. It seemed almost-just almost peaceful, in a strange sort of way.

"What to put in my coffin instead of a body."

Her voice echoed in her mind before she casually slid through the small gap in the gate, it creaked and groaned in protest, but did not fall, she silently thanked it. It stood there, like some otherworldly being, not speaking, only complaining without words. Her eyes opened once more, and she continued down that trail. Here's where things got tricky.

➶➶➶➶➶

Finally, after trekking 5 miles in the cold of the day and pushing against the harsh winds whilst still keeping an eye out for watching predators, she finally spotted the mansion in the distance. The run down exterior with rotting wood panels and an overgrown yard, with the muddied green swamp like area that must have used to be a beautiful pond. A few bubbles raised to the surface of the water, causing her to flinch at the thought of what might lay below. Leaves twirled through the air and across the ground like red, orange, and brown ballet dancers, spinning and leaping until they fell onto the muddied and mossy forest floor to join their rotting brotheren and sisters. She supposed a few leaves survived the winter, but it was seemingly ridiculous.

One simple fact about the mansion that a lot of people-or creatures may not know, is that it holds something magical. And its not that good kind of magic, like when Cinderella's godmother gave her a dress and heels, no. It's a horrible horrible magic that corrupts your brain and soul. Its the idea of how vastly miniscule you as a human are compared to infinity that drives you insane. That magic gives you immortality, something we all crave but something we all learn to hate when we get it.

A circle of mushrooms lined the mansion, cutting a large 200 or so yard around the manor, just where the trees broke away, seemingly creating a perfect circle. Those mushrooms were where the magic was held. She stepped over them, a jolt of electricity running through her veins, dread began to weigh her down as her backpack seemed to be much more like 500 pounds then 35, she felt overcome with emotions, sadness, despair, anger, fury-all of it washed away as quickly as it came. She's never been on the property during the day, but one thing for sure, the barrier is so much stronger during this time.

She  was careful not to step on them as they rested, their crackling screams were hard to listen to, it was much more then what she could bear.The trees were bare, given the acception to the crows that sung and hopped happily, crying of broken dreams and promises. They were birds that sung of old disappointments, each Dissapointment was another to feed the crows. The crows fed, and they were happy. Their shrill cries were nothing to wake the beings, because they were always normal, The air was thick with a vog, thick enough to suffocate her if she didn't have her scarf wrapped around her nose. It swirled and spiraled like ciggarete smoke, but it didn't share the same warmth or biting smell.

She stopped at the base of an old willow. Its branches as bare as all the others, but its roots twisted and dug into the soft damp soil, like it didn't want to leave this world and travel back to the depths of hell from where it was spawned. Its bark was knotted into a single expression of horror, she called it grandmother dark, it was the only one of its kind out here, and its top branches towered far past the others trees branches, clawing at the sky, a plead to be sent to heaven, it was another disappointment that fed the crows.

Her footsteps were silent. Her fingertips felt numb as the cold biting wind ripped through the air, chilling her to her core. The weather was sludgy and grey like usual. Each passing day was another torturous moment for her, another moment of silence, another moment of murder, and another moment of feeding on beings that she once spoke and walked with. But now-she was a creature above their kind, a creature below them as well. She was the eyelash in their eye, spreading negitave energy all across the room as they choked on her second hand smoke.

She raised her hand to the tree, carresing its smooth and worn out bark. Some day, she was going to have to cut this fucker down, who knows? Its disgusting, raising its branches to whatever God it worshiped above. She shook her head softly before dropping her arm and turning back to the mansion, it was only about 30 yards away, but from here she could see how it seemed to sink into the ground, accepting its future fate. She never enjoyed working there, when she had gotten the opportunity to live there, she denied the offer. It was just too miserable here-but it was miserable everywhere, she supposed.

Finally, she summed up the courage to begin to walk towards the mansion, the closer she got, the more details that began to come into focus. The fallen pillars that held up the porch railing, the grime covered windows that shed little light to the inside.

"They must be using blackout curtains on the inside."

She clicked her tongue. She wasn't quite allowed to clean the outside of the mansion, lest some teenager stumbles by and sees it as a great place to make camp. Not like anyone human would be able to survive going this far into the woods. She placed one foot down on the first porch step, it let out a low creak, a groan of pain, before snapping underneath the little weight she put on it, seeming to crumple into splinters under her. She rolled her eyes, shaking her steel toe booted foot off and picking out a few slivers of black wood before making her way up the other steps. They too, shared their own horrible musical skills.

She guessed the mansion door would be open, it seemed the shiny polished mahogany double doors were the only things that seemed "new" about the exterior of this place, give or take the giant gleaming silver encrusted woodknocker hanging about 3 or so feet above her head. She couldn't reach that shit if she tried, but it wasn't like she needed to. People saw her come and go, anyways.

In all honesty, she preferred to work at night, most of the pasta were winding down for the day, or they were on kills of her own, allowing her to clean out have of the bedrooms and do the laundry. She was lucky enough most of the fuckers here slept like bricks, so she could vacuum to the beat of "Stay alive" all she wanted and no one could come down and throw a flip flop at her.

The doors stared her down with a seemingly evil glare, daring her-no, demanding that she opened the door. So, she did, grabbing the doorknob, it seemed to send a cold girl of electricity up and down her body. Something magical was in here. Something-chaotic. She turned it.

[northamptoncouplestherapy]

There is a thin line between sacrificing a lamb and striking a deal with the Devil.

We give up whole parts of ourselves to belong in our families. In turn, for those of us who dare to come home to ourselves, we risk losing our family and severing the ties that bind us.

When I was twenty-one, I became the first member of my family to earn a college degree. In hindsight, this seemingly positive milestone, or the culmination thereof, both gave and spared me a lifetime of heartache. By achieving an advanced education and moving just an hour from home, I unknowingly left my family, and in doing so, embarked on the long, arduous task of breaking through the invisible (but formidable) barriers of class and intergenerational trauma.

Pittsfield is a city people never leave or never return to; I only knew I had to go —that hanging out with girls who were “dating” their father’s friends and losing five of my cohort in just ten months to alcohol, suicide, and drugs filled me with foreboding. My peers and I shared a unique darkness. One that went beyond the cynical, independent, and pragmatic nature that hallmarks Generation X. We shared history rooted in trauma bonds. Collective memories steeped in Black Sabbath and Pink Floyd, psychedelics and Jack Daniels, sex hallmarked by confusion versus consent, a blur between victim and perpetrator —think Lord of the Flies meets Heavy Metal.

Despite having just over forty-one thousand residents, my hometown lays claim to one of America’s highest crime rates (from the smallest towns to the very largest of cities). If you visit, you have a 1 in 27 chance of being a victim of a violent crime. Put differently; you’re more likely to be mugged or collide with a drunk driver than to get COVID19 while not wearing a mask. The irony is the city lies nestled in the center of the sleepy Berkshire hills. The surrounding landscape, a living Norman Rockwell painting, populated by wealthy New Yorkers and nineteenth-century “cottages.” Home to the Boston Symphony Orchestra and Tanglewood, where tourists eat bacon-wrapped figs and sip Sauvignon Blanc on the lawn. The Berkshires —where you can visit Herman Melville’s house in Lenox and score crack in Pittsfield, all in the space of an hour.

My twenty-one-year-old self-fled to the Pioneer Valley, and misfit though I was, I claimed it as my home. Just fifty-one miles as the crow flies, it kept me within driving distance of my closely knit (but) turbulent clan while affording me the possibility of a new life. Northampton was both academic and bohemian, brimming with universities, bookstores, cafes, and the arts. It was an altogether different planet, and it terrified me.

I had no idea of the implications of this move —of what it meant to transition from a working-class family in a post-industrial ghost town ravaged by racial and class warfare to a white-collar world steeped in privilege and academia. I could not foresee the coils that spun out from my childhood to my future. How they’d wrap around my life like the tentacles of a giant squid, choking me, pulling at my dreams, dragging me under —how I’d thrash, how it would take decades before my lungs acclimated to the water that would birth me, and the casualties of connection to be incurred along the way.

*****

When we were teens, we traversed Pittsfield via an underground network of train tracks. We believed that if we put an ear to the railway metal, we would hear the train coming long before seeing it. That as long as we maintained a vigilance by pressing an occasional cheek against the hot-rolled steel, we’d anticipate the train’s arrival —hear the hissing of the rails, feel the engine’s vibration in our skull. In hindsight, this is how we lived our days. A trick we played to maintain the illusion of immortality –we believed that a car full of balloons would cushion a crash, that powder and smoke were less lethal than needles.

The reality was, we were often too stoned or just plain afraid, so we never actually listened for the train. Never anticipated the deaths of our friends.

We lost the first one to suicide. Pinned between two car bumpers on a Friday night bender, Paul never acclimated to his right legs’ amputation. Several months following the accident, he shot himself in the face in front of his fiancé. Then there was the motorcycle crash. Timmy was a bad boy from the town’s outskirts; he had warm cocoa curls and a smile sweeter than John Travolta. He flew his Harley around a corner, jacked on cocaine, and never landed. That same Autumn, up Barker Road, Ryan and Ellen wrapped their green Chevy Nova around a maple tree — he lived, she did not, their newborn baby home sleeping in her grandma’s arms.

Dearest to me was Bill, driven mad by an excess of Gooney Birds —that particularly potent blotter he partook of as a daily sacrament, so much so that the blur between his tripping and psychosis became indistinguishable. I can personally attest to the magic in those dime-size tabs, how it tingled your tongue and altered reality for days. Under its influence, I saw a bag of marshmallows breathe, watched my cousin’s hand melt into the ochre shag of a van rug. That November, Bill’s delusions drove him wild and deep into the woods of Hatfield; his body found unmarred amongst the ashen brush. The authorities said it was a lacerated liver, that he bled to death internally —that it was like going to sleep.

*****

At what moment do we begin the slow and steady handing over of our hearts? I remember being six and staring at dirty linoleum, my mother sobbing on the kitchen floor by the dishwasher. There were shards of glass underfoot; to walk toward her would require cutting myself. I believed that I had broken her —that my sister and I spawned a storm so vast that our home would not see sunlight for months. Our Italian grandmother and father concurred. So, I clapped my hand over my mouth each time my voice yearned to escape and swallowed it whole. Again, and again, I walked barefoot on glass to reach her. A little blood seemed a small price to pay. Slowly, I learned about relational transactions, equating love with pain, and silence with safety.

There is a thin line between sacrificing a lamb and striking a deal with the Devil. The first (we hope) affords us blessings and wishes. The latter steals our soul and damns us. When we offer up our voice in exchange for belonging, we silence our longing. It is a curious thing to consider; that to no longer Be our Longing, we must sever something, and it leaves me wondering what becomes of our hunger?

For me, my father’s blows and punches — an act of desperation intended (literally) to knock some sense into my inebriated fifteen-year-old head, no longer registered pain. My mother’s second wave of melancholy did not inspire compassion. The afternoon five girls ambushed me in a ballfield, and I felt the bubble gum on my tongue crumble like chalk when mixed with blood (a chemical reaction few have experienced) —I floated above the grass. Any part of me that longed for tenderness, validation, reassurance, and kindness burned down

—this is what trauma does; it begets and destroys, permeates, and empties.

*****

Fortunately, memory is malleable. To evoke a memory is to flick a switch —light up a constellation of neural pathways that are as intricate and ever-changing as the night skies. Our recollections are not so much facts as they are stories, and like all works in progress, they are subject to edits and revisions. Memory is as affected by our perceptions of the present as our perceptions of the past. This concept offers immense hope for those of us who have had bad things happen, which is to say —Everyone.

Implicit in this idea is that our perceptions can radically shift our stories —that when we mine our past for meaning, we will arrive at new understandings concerning our misfortunes, sorrows, and pain. Our divorce will no longer be a disaster, but rather a turning point that catalyzed a life otherwise not possible. A malignant tumor might serve as a wake-up call to a life otherwise spent underwater and holding our breath. I’m not implying we should wish adversity on ourselves but rather acknowledging that ultimately, we will all belong to some club. The “I lost my spouse to suicide” club. The “I had seven miscarriages and ten years of fertility treatment” club.” The “My mother was an alcoholic and my father left when I was two” club. To be alive is to be in a club.

I believe the road to wholeness begins with the slow and steady patching of our hearts’ fractured pieces. That by stitching together tiny moments of connection, risk, and vulnerability, we find our way Home. That it’s not a straight line, but a somewhat never-ending journey where hopelessness, fatigue, and lapsing into old habits is standard. As we age, there lies the potential to write our story versus having our story write us. And if we stay the course and remain open, we will slowly assemble a network culled through friendship, psychotherapy, surrogates, and self-made kin. We will come to a deeper understanding of the hows and the whys of our life and we will find our people.

It took me thirty-one years of individual therapy, earning my master’s degree in Psychology, becoming licensed as a psychotherapist, moving one hour and a lifetime away from home, one marriage, a divorce, and a child to find my way. The cost —immeasurable. To paraphrase Maya Angelou, I belong nowhere because I belong everywhere. I belong to myself. I belong to a tribe of tattooed scavengers who have mastered the art of melding dung to feathers —a band of gypsies, ravens, and heretics who hover between scrappy and soulful —who happily fly alongside Icarus, broken wings and all.

What we share beyond our common humanity is a visceral knowing that suffering is here to stay. That trauma is inseparable from life. That loss is both holy and abysmal, and that grief is, in turn, the most sacred and proper response to joy. We are all wretched and omnipotent, sitting in the sun and soaked to the bone.

This is what trauma does.

Like what you’ve read? Sign up to receive my musings filled with heart, concrete tools, and cutting edge resources via my blog: Loving Well.

[kylosrehn]

the architecture of loss

For @plinys. Also on ao3.

Ophelia watches as Leopold stands up, smooths a hand down his suit jacket, and moves to cross the room, summoned into his office by the shrill ringing of the phone. Taking advantage of her husband’s momentary distraction, she reaches for the tablet on the coffee table, the screen glowing to life as she unlocks it.

She casts a quick glance behind her shoulder, Leopold’s voice distant and distorted across the hall, before turning back to the tablet. Pulling up a browser window, she slides her fingers across the keyboard, typing in the name Ward had given her. A beat, and she’s looking at the search results for one Richie H.

The Hydra database doesn’t offer much to go on, implying that this Richie, whoever he may be, knows how to stay off their radar. She hadn’t expect anything less from Ward’s contact, one he’d fervently vouched for.

Surprisingly, the online browser yields better results. There’s one hit that seems legitimate, spawning a minimalist website and matching the Philadelphia address Ward had mentioned. The name listed is different though, an Amadeus as opposed to a Richie. There’s no phone number or even email given, only the address and a zip code, which Ophelia saves on her phone before turning her attention back to the tablet, fingers dancing across the screen to delete the browser history. She powers down the tablet and slides it back onto the coffee table just as Leopold falls silent.

Ophelia re-assumes her previous position, hands resting lightly on her lap, listening to the sounds of her husband’s footsteps as he crosses the penthouse, joining her in the living room moments later.

Silence stretches on in the space between them, in this house that’s not a home.

They don’t speak.

They never do anymore, not properly, not outside of the occasional perfunctory courtesy; of the necessary conversations required to cohesively run Hydra. There’s too much hurt and suspicion and anger between them for anything more than that — there’s nothing but the pinched corners of Leopold’s mouth and the wide stretch of reproach that sits behind his eyes.

Ophelia takes her time, finishing her cup of coffee as she absentmindedly flicks through a magazine, not caring for the content of the glossy pages. Still, it’s easier than looking elsewhere, than looking up and meeting her husband’s gaze.

And — husband. Something like laughter bubbles in Ophelia’s chest, painfully tugging at her lungs and catching in her throat, desperate and hysterical.

She glances down at the ring, sitting heavy and oppressive on her finger, feeling less like a promise and more like an obligation.

Ophelia uncurls on the sofa, pushing herself to her feet when the ache in her chest becomes too sharp, too difficult to breathe around, and she’s filled with a sudden longing to be as far away from here, from him, as possible.

She doesn’t miss the way Leopold tilts his head in her direction. He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot by the vast windows that overlook the city, hands in his pockets.

“Heading out?” He asks with a strained kind of indifference.

“I have a few errands to run.” Ophelia answers, deliberately vague and nondescript as she shrugs on her beige trenchcoat. She pauses to fish a set of car keys out of their designated glass display, careful to pick those belonging to one of their less conspicuous cars.

It gets easier to breathe once she’s in the car, engine purring beneath her as she pulls out of the underground parking lot. Still, her stomach twists with something like nerves, skin itching at the thought that he’s watching her as the sleek black Audi emerges out of the darkness and glides across the bridge.

Ophelia pulls up outside a simple red-brick building in Center City and idles for a moment. It’s a decent neighborhood but still urban enough that even one of their less extravagant cars looks downright outrageous among the others parked along the curb.

She cuts the engine and steps out of the car, pocketing the keys and casting a glance at the plaque fixed on the outside of the building. Ophelia’s brows pull together in a frown, unsure as to why Ward would direct her to a small lawyer’s office in Philadelphia, but she moves towards the entrance regardless, deciding she trusts him enough to want to find out.

A head snaps up as she pushes the door open and steps inside — a man sits by what Ophelia assumes is meant to serve as the reception desk, dressed a little too casually to be the employee of a respectable law firm.

He sits up straighter when he catches sight of her, allowing her to get a clearer view of him. She takes in his appearance; the long, narrow face, the smooth dark skin, the mop of black hair, pushed back into a quiff. His brown eyes widen at the sight of her, whether out of fear or recognition, she can’t tell.

Ophelia takes advantage of his shock, mouth gaping but silent.

“I’m looking for Richie.” She says evenly, hoping to cut corners with the use of the alias Ward had supplied.

The stranger behind the desk blinks, a pained sort of expression crossing his face, as if he’s contemplating whether he should give Richie up or not. After a while he clearly figures she looks important enough to divulge information to, standing up and motioning for her to follow him.

She obediently trails behind him as he leads her through the office space and out past a double door onto a narrow corridor that looks like it should belong to a different building altogether, all linoleum and fluorescent lights and insulation pipes. He pauses outside a metal door, mouth twisting at the corners as he pushes it open.

Ophelia’s not sure what she’s expecting but — well.

There’s a man sitting in the middle of the small dark room, feet stretched across the wooden desk in front of him, a beer bottle sitting in his hand. He’s attractive in a rugged sort of way, everything from the hair to the beard to the t-shirt and jacket combo suggesting he’s no stranger to moral ambiguity. There’s an air of nonchalance about him, in the way he holds himself, like he’s seen everything and nothing can surprise him anymore.

“Idaho, mate, what—?” He drawls in a British accent, jerking in his chair when he catches sight of her.

Ophelia is suddenly struck by how utterly outrageous she must look, standing there in a cashmere sweater-dress and high heels in a dark, dilapidated warehouse-turned-office space. The first man — Idaho, she amends — uses the momentary distraction as his cue to slip out, leaving Ophelia alone with Ward’s contact.

“Richie, right?” She asks, crossing the room and sliding into the seat across from him.

“Depends who’s asking.” He says, mistrust creasing his brow as he watches her, eyeing the silver briefcase she’d brought with her with interest, and taking a languid sip of his beer.

The corners of Ophelia’s mouth lift into a smirk. She knows he knows who she is, outwardly at least. There isn’t a person in this country who wouldn’t recognize her face. Still, she appreciates the pretense.

“Let’s just say that Grant Ward is a mutual friend. Ring any bells?”

The man snorts incredulously around the top of the bottle. “Ward sent you here?” He asks.

Ophelia nods, eliciting another laugh from the stranger, sharp and mocking in a jarring kind of way.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, love, but don’t you have guys who do this sort of thing up in that big bad snakepit of yours at Hydra?”

Heaving a sigh, she rolls her eyes and crosses her legs under the desk.

“Right. Let’s try this again.” She suggests, extending a hand. “Ophelia.”

He raises an eyebrow but sets down his beer bottle and humors her all the same, hand meeting hers in a brief handshake.

“Hunter.” He says, licking his lips. “Lance, I mean.”

“Figures.” Ophelia murmurs, giving him a small smile. “Look, Ward says he trusts you and I trust Ward.”

There’s still a hint of uneasiness in his eyes when they settle on her face, but Ophelia can see that he’s willing to listen, and that’s good enough for her.

“What do you need?”

Relief floods the space between her ribs, tightness uncurling, and it’s liberating. Like maybe there’s still hope.

“Passport, birth certificate and citizen’s card.” She tells him, figuring Ward already has a sizeable stash of false documents himself.

Swallowing, she tries to ignore the burning irony of the fact that she, of all people, requires a forged Hydra-issued ID card.

She’s sure Hunter must get a kick out of that, but she doesn’t look up to check his expression. Instead, she rummages through her wallet, pulling out a photograph and laying it flat on the desk.

It catches Hunter’s eye and he takes a moment to examine it, touching a finger to the face in front of him.

“She your kid?” He asks reflexively. It’s a stupid question in hindsight, unnecessary when the answer is so blatantly obvious. The resemblance is indisputable, Ophelia knows.

“Yeah.” She nods, throat tight.

“Sorry.” Hunter shakes his head, sliding the photograph back towards her. Whether he’s apologizing for prying or for her needing forged documentation for her own daughter, Ophelia isn’t sure. Either way, there’s a certain softness about his expression the next time she meets his gaze, one that wasn’t there before.

She feels tension in the pull of her shoulders, like maybe she’s mistaking kindness for pity. She clears her throat, diverting her attention to the scratch of pen on paper.

“And the uh, name?”

“Eleanor.” Ophelia supplies.

She’d had time to think about it on the drive from D.C. to Philadelphia and settled on this name in particular, deciding it was the most sensible choice.

Lyra seems like an okay nickname for Eleanor, she reasons — a bit of a stretch, maybe, but not impossible. It’s a good name, a safe name, simple and common enough not to arise suspicion, but close enough to Lyra’s own name for it not to be weird for her. And it has no personal ties to either one of them, making it more difficult to guess, just in case.

Ophelia’s teeth catch on her lip, an ache blossoming in her chest. She hates that it’s come to this — that she’s taking these precautions to keep Leopold from their daughter. Because he’d look for her, send his best agents to carry out a thorough and tireless search, of that she’s sure.

“Is there anything to go with that?” Hunter asks pointedly, effectively pulling Ophelia out of her momentary reverie.

“Isabelle.” She says. “Eleanor Isabelle.” Looks up and holds Hunter’s gaze.

There’s a spark of recognition in his eyes, a mutual understanding that passes between them. He nods, jaw clenched and throat tight, as she duly provides him with the rest of the required information.

“Well then.” He says, and there’s a sense of finality to his words as he sets the pen down. “I’ll see you in a week, love.”

Ophelia balks at that, panic erupting in the space between her ribs. She swallows around the tightness in her throat, trying to ignore the way her lungs suddenly feel heavy, like they’re filling up with water.

“A week?” She asks shakily, and it tastes like a clatter of porcelain in her mouth. Scenarios unfold inside her brain, unbidden, all the things that could go wrong in a week.

Ophelia shakes her head.

“That’s—that’s not going to work for me.” She says, shifting in her seat, resting the valley of her knuckles beneath her chin. “Is there anything I do to...put a rush on that? Say, twenty four hours.”

Hunter chokes at that, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, beer gurgling in his throat. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Twenty four hours?” He barks out a laugh. “Look, I know I’m good, but I’m not a bloody magician, sweetheart.”

The corners of Ophelia’s mouth twist in a smirk as the sole of her shoe presses against the briefcase under the desk, sliding it across the floor and bumping Hunter’s knee. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up.

“Money is no issue, I assure you, Mr. Hunter. Just name your price.”

Twenty seven hours and eighty five thousand dollars later, she’s glancing at an envelope on her desk, thick with fake documents and a dreadful kind of anticipation. Several stacks of cash lie next to it, neatly separated off into packages of ten thousand each.

The pen sits heavy between her fingers and she closes her eyes against the way it feels like her heart is seeping from her chest.

Ophelia writes her daughter letters, one for every birthday she will miss, and slides them into white envelopes with the corresponding ages written in black marker. She can’t assure her that her father loves her, but she can remind her that her mother always will.

She heaves a sigh, long and deep and aching, before packing everything up and leaving the room.

Leopold says nothing as she brushes past him and heads for the door, and for that, at least, she’s grateful.

“How are you holding up?” Ward asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he moves to join her.

Ophelia shakes her head, a burst of laughter pushing past her lips.

“Living a double life is exhausting. I don’t know how you kept it up for so long.” She tells him.

It’s been little over a week and she’s already emotionally drained from all the lies she’s had to tell, pointedly avoiding Leopold’s gaze at every turn. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking, what assumptions he’s making in that too-bright brain of his, and she’s not sure she wants to.

Ward chuckles, and it’s nice, momentarily, to have someone there who understands.

“Is this the part where you tell me it gets easier with time? Because I don’t believe that.”

His mouth twists at the corners, but his eyes are still bright. “It doesn’t. But you get used to it.”

“Right.” Ophelia nods, looking away from him and back at her daughter on the other side of the glass. She’s talking animatedly with one of the other children the Resistance had brought in, a classmate of hers.

Ophelia tries to picture it then, living like this long term, and decides she can’t. Sometimes it feels like she’s barely holding the edges of herself together by sheer force of will, the determination to keep going, for Lyra.

Out of the corner of her eye she catches Ward’s gaze, the way he’s glancing ahead, straight at her daughter. Lyra must notice it too because her head snaps up, hair cascading down her shoulders. She grins, wide and bright and honest as she waves at him. Ward’s mouth stretches into a small smile, mirroring her motions as he waves back. Lyra watches them both for a moment longer before turning her attention back to her classmate.

“Do you think he’d really—?” Ward asks, smile fading. Ophelia frowns, picking up on his thoughts.

“I don’t know.” She admits quietly. A chill runs down the length of her spine and she shivers, pressing her arms closer to her chest. “But I’m not willing to take that chance.”

There’s a laugh, and it sounds painful.

“I still love him, Ward.” Ophelia says, and it’s more vulnerable than it has any right to be. Bruised, somehow. “Even after everything.” She turns to him then, tension rolling through her shoulders. “Is that bad?”

Ward’s smile is full of pity but his eyes shine with something like understanding.

“No. I don’t think it is.” A pause, and then, softly: “Hold onto that.”

Ophelia gives him a small nod. “Listen, Ward, I—” She swallows around the lump in her throat, laying a hand over his shoulder. “I need you to do something for me.”

His smile fades, concern creasing his brow.

“When—” Ophelia licks her lips. Amends. “If things get bad, run with her. Take her out of the state, out of the country, I don’t know.”

A pause, and then, softer: “You were our best agent. I’m sure you have ways of disappearing.” She smiles sadly, fingers pressed against the throbbing ache in her temple. “I know this is a lot to ask of you, but—” Ophelia starts, lip trembling.

“Hey.” Ward’s hands slide up her arms and settle on her shoulders. It’s nice, she thinks, being held like this. Like he’s steadying her. “I understand.” He swipes a thumb across her cheekbone, wiping away a tear she hadn’t noticed dripping down her face.

“I’ll do everything I can. I’ll keep her safe, okay?”

Ward pulls her into his arms and she makes no effort to resist, burying her face against his shoulder. He runs a hand down the length of her spine in a soothing motion, drawing a contented sigh from her lips.

He holds her like that for a lingering moment, bodies flush against each other, a heartbeat shared, and for the first time in a long time something like hope blossoms in her chest, warm and glowing and radiant like the sun.

[serenelystrange]

(Leverage Fic) - Somewhat Legal Baby Acquisition

-------

They don't steal the baby, per se.

They kind of steal the baby.

But it all works out in the end!

--------

You can read below, or HERE at AO3

It starts with a sex-trafficking scheme. They bust it in under a week and Parker gloats for months after the fact. At least that’s her version of the story. In actuality, Hardison will tell you, it starts way before that, with a pair of purple rain boots.

.

Parker eyes the pyramid shaped tray of colorful cupcakes with the kind of glee that Hardison has long since learned can only lead to Parker buzzing around like the Energizer bunny and Redbull spawned a demon-child.

“One, Parker,” he says, “those are for the kids.”

“Pfft,” Parker says, waving her hand at him. “We saved the birthday boy’s moms from the evil dermatologist; I can have as many cupcakes as I want.”

“Hate to say it,” Eliot says as he joins them by the snack table, “but the lady has a point. Plus, I don’t live with her, so I don’t have to deal with the sugar rush.”

“Not helpful,” Hardison says, glaring at Eliot for a long moment before rolling his eyes and giving up.

“Just try not to make yourself sick, babe,” he says as he hands Parker a neon green covered cupcake.

Parker just grins and proceeds to shove half the cupcake in her mouth happily.

Eliot and Hardison look out across the park, watching the rowdy group of 5ish year olds running around with bubbles and water guns, squealing and laughing. Jessie and Rosa are plopped down on the grass in the middle of it all, looking exhausted but happy, generally trying their best to make sure none of the kids manage to injure themselves or each other. Their little boy, Ben, runs back to them periodically for hugs or to chatter about something in the kid’s game, his bright purple rain boots clashing against the warm and dry summer day.

“It’s too warm for those boots,” Parker says, mumbled around the cupcake. “His feet will get all sweaty.”

“They’re his favorite,” Eliot says, “Rosa told me earlier. He’s refused to wear anything else since they got them a few weeks ago.” He laughs at that, shaking his head fondly. “Kids, man.”

“You only have like three shirts, Eliot,” Hardison feels the need to point out. Parker snorts beside him, now working on cupcake number two, this one a violent orange color.

“Ass,” Eliot says absently, but he’s not really listening. Instead, Hardison notices, he’s watching Ben and the other kids play with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You want kids someday?” Hardison asks, because nobody can say he isn’t an astute pain in the ass.

Eliot shrugs and turns to look at Hardison, eyes focusing just left of his face.

“Not much chance of that,” he says, finally, looking for a moment as closed-off as the day they’d met, nearly ten years ago.

Before Hardison can even think of what to say, Parker interrupts by looping her arms around Eliot’s neck, eyes wide with sugar-fueled energy.

“You’ve got plenty of time, cupcake!” she says, before smacking an obnoxious sounding, frosting smeared kiss onto his cheek. “Hehehe, cupcake.”

“I…” Eliot is stunned into silence for a long moment, before rubbing at his cheek and cringing when his hand comes back painted in colors. “How many of these did you eat in less than five minutes? Dammit, Parker!”

Parker just giggles, sugar high in full effect.

“I think it’s time to go,” Hardison says, turning and crouching so Parker can jump onto his back. He learned years ago that most of Parker’s sugar trips somehow end with piggy-back rides, he’s accepted it.

“Whee!” she squeals and jumps up, wrapping her long limbs around him securely.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Eliot says.

“I will fire you,” Parker replies, grinning sweetly.

“Not if I quit first,” Eliot says, finally getting the frosting off his face after the fifth napkin.

Hardison just shakes his head and waves goodbye to Rosa and Jessie as they head out.

“Waffles tomorrow?” he asks Eliot as they split to their own cars.

“Obviously,” Eliot says, “I’ll be there at 8.”

Parker’s whine is muffled from where her head is smushed against Hardison’s shoulder, but it’s still loud enough to hear. Hardison cocks an eyebrow at Eliot, who rolls his eyes.

“Ten, then” he says, and gets into his car before Parker can protest.

“Come on, spider-monkey, get in the car,” Hardison says, wriggling Parker off his back.

“Don’t paraphrase Twilight at me,” she says, shuddering at the thought.

“You made me watch those movies,” Hardison reminds her.

“Because I thought they were going to turn into horror movies at some point!”

“Everything about that series is pretty horrifying,” Hardison concedes.

“Victory!” Parker declares, before finally getting in the car.

She’s asleep not even halfway home.

.

Hardison is startled awake by a dream about tiny elephants in rain boots a few weeks later. When he explains the dream to Parker, she sleepily nods and pats him on the head.

“Keeps out the rain AND the mice” she says, “makes sense,” before passing back out because it’s only 5AM and that isn’t a time she acknowledges exists unless she hasn’t gone to bed yet.

Hardison just smiles down at her fondly. “I knew you’d understand.”

He falls back to sleep eventually, but this time he dreams that he and Parker run an elephant sanctuary on Mars. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve done.

.

It’s only after the third consecutive night where Hardison dreams about Eliot coaching the softball team he and Parker are inexplicably on that he finally cracks and brings it up to Parker.

“I think Eliot wants a kid,” he says as they’re settling on the couch to watch Doctor Who.

“Obviously,” Parker says, shrugging.

“You knew?” Hardison says, staring at her with wide eyes.

“He’s the daddest dad to ever dad,” Parker says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But,” Hardison says, “he’s never said anything about it, really. And he’s never said anything about giving this life up. He beats people up for a living most of the time!”

“But for justice,” Parker says. “Like Batman. Or Captain America. No, like Bucky!”

Hardison takes a moment to grin. “I love when you get all geeky on me, woman.”

“We can’t do this forever,” Parker says, looking over at Hardison seriously. “We should start an intern program. Train our own little band of Robin Hoods!”

“I..we’ll come back to this,” Hardison says, “but we were talking about Eliot. You think he wants kids? Do you want kids? Is this a conversation we need to have?”

“Maybe,” Parker says, “you’d be a great dad. But not for a few years at least. I’ve got too much thieving to do to worry about breast-feeding!”

“I’m learning so much today,” Hardison says, wrapping his head around the last few minutes, “including the fact that you want my hypothetical babies.”

“You are kinda my favorite,” Parker says, grinning over at him and wriggling her cold toes under his fuzzy pajama-clad thigh.

“I love you, too, mama,” Hardison says, and decides the Eliot thing can wait another day. He has a girlfriend to cuddle and a date with the Doctor.

.

“Parker said she might want babies with me someday,” Hardison brings up to Eliot a few days later. They’re walking through the farmer’s market, because Eliot is a snob about his vegetables. Hardison secretly finds it adorable, but likes very much not being punched, so he keeps it to himself.

“Ok?” Eliot asks, glaring down at a table of tomatoes. “Seriously?” he asks the guy at the table. “Just because you wear overalls and a straw hat doesn’t mean you can pass off these Wal-Mart discount balls of rubber as “organic and farm fresh.”

The vendor just shrugs and turns away to sell to somebody else.

“No respect for the farming community,’ Eliot grumbles as they walk away, “or for my garden salad.”

“It is a dope garden salad,” Hardison agrees, used to Eliot’s farmer’s market fits by now.

They’re a few tables down before Eliot catches up to what Hardison had been saying.

“Parker wants babies?” he asks, surprised.

“Hypothetically,” Hardison corrects. “She said I’d be a great dad, but not for a few years at least.”

“You would be a great dad,” Eliot says, flashing Hardison a genuine smile.

“You would, too, you know,” Hardison says, before he can stop himself. “You know, if that’s a thing that you would want, someday, eventually, maybe.”

Eliot scowls like he wants to say something mean but stops himself before he can. Finally he just shrugs again and twists his mouth into a half smile.

“Men like me don’t get to be fathers,” he says. “I’m going to look at the squash, I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then he’s trudging off into the crowd, leaving a bewildered Hardison standing in front of a table of unidentified root vegetables.”

.

.

“Men like him?” Parker repeats later that night. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” Hardison says. “but I’m guessing it has to do with his super secret past that he still wont talk to us about.”

“He probably doesn’t think he deserves to be happy,” Parker says, “after everything he’s done.”

Hardison frowns. “He deserves to be happy. But how so we make him realize that?”

“I’m not sure,” Parker says, “but it’s going to have to wait. I think I found our next client.”

.

.

The whole thing turns into a shoot-out, because of course it does. The teenagers they’re rescuing scatter in fear despite the warnings the stay low and hidden, and the scene quickly devolves into chaos. Thankfully, the thugs in charge seem to have more bullets than brainpower and Eliot has them disarmed after only a few minutes, while Hardison and Parker try to locate and rein in the frightened teenagers from around the dark and creepy warehouse. Because there’s always a dark and creepy warehouse in their jobs.

When it’s all said and done, the three of them meet for waffles at Hardison and Parker’s place, as is tradition after a successful job.

“Where’d they all end up?” Eliot asks, knowing Parker and Hardison had been up a lot longer than him, finding safe places for all the kids.

“A few went home,” Hardison says, “the lucky ones with good parents, who were either kidnapped or coerced into staying.”

“The younger ones with no families went to Child Protective Services,” Parker says, eyes still tired. “There were a lot of them.”

“A couple of the older ones were pretty strung out,” Hardison adds, “they’re at the hospital, and then hopefully rehab and therapy.”

“No kids got shot, though,” Parker says, “I’m calling it a win!”

“Here, here!” Hardison and Eliot say in unison, lifting their glasses of orange juice in cheers.

“I still hate leaving them in the system,” Parker says after a few minutes. “Even though I know there are so many good foster families out there. There’s just always…”

“Always the possibility,” Hardison agrees, reaching out to take Parker’s hand in his and giving it a squeeze.

Lost in their moment, they don’t notice Eliot looking at them thoughtfully, smile growing slowly across his face.

.

.

It takes several failed attempts of his own before Eliot gives up and goes to Hardison for help.

“We can’t just steal a baby,” Hardison says.

“I could definitely steal a baby,” Parker interrupts, “they’re very small.”

“I don’t want to steal a baby!” Eliot shouts over them. “I just want to… legally acquire one illegally.”

Hardison just sighs and starts typing. “The things I do for you crazy white people.”

.

They sort of steal the baby.

“It was going into the foster care system, anyway!” Parker defends, as she hands Eliot a tiny bundle wrapped in a white blanket. “And look, I even grabbed its medical chart! Perfectly healthy. It doesn’t even have a name yet.”

“I don’t know,” Eliot says, but he’s already holding the baby close to his chest, making sure it stays warm. “What happened to the parents?”

“There’s nobody left,” Hardison says, “I double checked, promise.”

“This is crazy,” Eliot says, “can we do this? Can I  do this?”

“If you mean the paper-trail,” Hardison says, “I am deeply offended that you think I wouldn’t make this the most convincing fake adoption in the history of adoption. But if you mean the prospect of you being a father, than I am still deeply offended that you think I would ever hand over a baby to someone I didn’t trust completely.”

“You’re already a dad, Eliot,” Parker says. “Now you just have a real kid to parent!”

But Eliot’s not listening to them anymore. He looking down at the tiny tan face that’s suddenly looking up at him, eyes still half closed, but alert and seemingly trained on him.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he coos at her. “I’m gonna be your daddy now, how’s that sound?”

The baby just gurgles, but he decides to take it as a positive sign.

.

.

“Emily?” Parker offers, and Eliot shakes his head.

“She’s not an Emily.”

“True,” Parker says, smiling down at the baby where she’s sleeping on the couch between them.

“Nina?” Hardison asks, thumbing through one of the several baby name books Parker had stolen from the Barnes & Noble.

“It’s not bad,” Eliot says, “but I’m not sure. She has to live with the name her whole life, I want it to feel right.”

“Ooh!” Parker says suddenly, stopping herself from shouting at the last minute. She grabs the book from Hardison and flips almost all the way to the end. “Look!” she says, pointing to the entry at the bottom of the page.

.

“Zoe,” Eliot reads aloud, “Greek in Origin. Means… life.”

He grins down at his sleeping daughter and smooths a hand over her soft baby hair.

“I think it’s perfect. Hey there, my little Zoe. Welcome to our new life.”

.

THE END

[klutzyzombie]

They Will Call Us Carnage

Summary: While the Venom symbiote tries to reach Eddie, it spawns it’s first offspring. In a panic to rescue its host, the newborn goes unregistered and abandoned. Until a fortunate vent and hospital bed placement brings two very angry, very deadly beings together.

Characters: Cletus Kasady, Carnage Symbiote, Venom Symbiote, Eddie Brock (mentioned)

Rating: T (for reasons listed below)

Warnings: Descriptions of blood, gore, violence, and death.

Word Count: 1794

AO3: [click!]

Pain.

They were in pain for so many reasons and they needed Eddie. Needed to be with him. Needed to protect him. Pain and worry and guilt... All emotions that were fairly new but overwhelming and pushing them forward as they made their way through the hospitals vents. The ozone of this planet hurt. The look in Eddie’s eyes had hurt. The machine that forced them apart had hurt. Knowing how much damage was currently going on in Eddie’s body - partially their own fault but also Eddie had issues internally only they knew about yet - hurt.

They needed to get back to Eddie. Needed to save him; to save themselves. Needed to explain what was happening and needed to stop the pain. The vent was hot under their form as they crawled, desperately trying to plan the next move. The heat was adding to the pain and they just wanted Eddie. That was the only thing going through their mind. A mantra of Eddie Eddie Eddie on repeat. Pain and Eddie. Eddie’s pain. Eddie. Pain from Eddie.

‘What happened to we?!’

The memory stung worse than the heat from the metal they were moving through. “Always we, Eddie. Need to explain. Need to save. Need-“

The pain got worse and they had to stop. They seized up, every part of them shivering like that awful machine was back on. Except this time it was coming from within. The pain was getting worse; starting to swell. Like part of their body was on fire and burning and it was stopping them from getting back to their Eddie. The symbiote tried to move again but their body was in too much agony. They frantically tried but all they managed to do was shiver again as another wave of pain went through their body. It couldn’t take this. Couldn’t stop and think about what was happening when they knew Eddie needed them. When they needed Eddie. So as another wave hit, the symbiote forced itself to lurch with it, pushing the pain from its body. Like cutting off a dead limb. It was keeping them apart from their Eddie. It was no longer important.

The small part they had pushed out wiggled and let out a small tentacle as if reaching for the rest of the symbiote but they had no time to examine this weird part of themselves. No interest in picking that pain back up so once it was out of their body, they quickly continued on their journey to find their host. To find their Eddie.

...

The discarded symbiote reached out again at the retreating form of their parent. Tried to move after it but being the size of a tea cup was in no shape to keep up. They were hurting. Felt like they were being burned from the inside and out. Still they tried to move after the form but it wasn’t long until it was completely out of sight and the rejected part - the rejected baby - was alone again. Alone and hurting as bad as it’s parent had been. It needed relief or it would die. It knew this much so it crawled until it saw an escape from the dark, metal heat. A few small cracks that overlooked a room.

A room that a certain serial killer was being pushed into, legs, hands, and torso restrained by cuffs and straps. Red-orange hair bouncing as he thrashed his head and swore at the police and nurses shuffling him into the room and tightening his restraints. His clothes were still soaked in blood; both from the victim he’d been apprehended in the process of beheading and his own from where they’d managed to wedge the bone saw into his right shoulder before he’d been able to subdue them. The only reason he’d been caught.

If they weren’t already dead he’d kill them again just for all this.

He was shoved directly in the middle of the room while the doctors and nurses attempted to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t life threatening. He knew that very well. After all he took great pleasure in knowing what was and wasn’t lethal when it came to harming his fellow humans. It looked so much worse than it was. Hadn’t even hit a main vein. So once it was no longer gushing blood like a river, they all too happily left to tend to their other - not serial killing - patients.

He was left alone with two guards standing outside his windowless room. No way in and no way out; for a human, anyway.

As the door was shut, a shuffling caught his attention and the red head looked up just as a glob of something leaked from the vent and fell directly on him. He screamed but it was muffled. The slime covered his mouth and silenced any cry he made before slowly sleeping through the wound on his shoulder and into him. He jerked at the restraints and when his mouth was uncovered yelled for help. His cries of course went unanswered, his guards only caring about not letting him escape. If he was dying or in pain, oh well.

He’d been about to scream again when a voice spoke. It was soft and weak but filled with hate. Hate and pain and a feeling he couldn’t describe but was all too familiar with.

“Do not panic. Will not hurt you,” Then after a pause, “Cletus.”

That had his eyes widen. “How the hell, how the hell are you talking?!” He jerked his head around frantically as if looking for the source of the voice not really wanting to admit it was coming from within him. “And how do you know my name?!”

“We are you. We see what you see. We...” another pause and he can feel something akin to an itch in the back of his mind. A flash of memories and emotions shuffle through as if someone were turning the pages in a magazine to get to a specific article. “love what you love.” The voice finished as Cletus stands on the top of a staircase, looking down at the corpse of his grandmother. As he sinks a knife into the flesh of some sex worker he’d convinced to follow him home. As he sits in a blood-soaked room, bodies mutulated and scattered around him, sadistic grin on his face.

He doesn’t get to focus long though as the itch returns and the memories shift. Like the tone in a movie taking a dramatic turn, the mental projections turns dark. Awful memories now start to play out in his head as whatever this is roots further into his brain. Betrayal, anger, frustration... all these emotions suddenly bubble up and Cletus can feel his hands turning into fists subconsciously. “Hate what you hate.” The voice is bitter now, raspy with anger Cletus doesn’t know how to respond to as it feels like his own, but also like the anger belongs to another.

“We too are angry and want bloodshed. Want to destroy a world that doesn’t deserve to stand. Want to spread chaos and mayhem and get revenge on those who have wronged us.”

“Yeah? And who exactly is ‘us’?” He asks, tone almost mocking despite the confusion and yeah, slight fear of the unknown. A small, red tendril seeps out from his shoulder and as it grows, a crooked, toothy smile and large white eyes stare back into Cletus’.

“We are us.”

“That don’t clear shit up.” He responds instead, watching the small floating head. He figured he should be terrified right now. A voice from some weird slime that just entered his body just manifested as some strange talking snake. Cletus figures any normal person would be shitting bricks right about now. But hey, he never had been the most ‘normal’ of people. So instead he just cocked a brow as the thing swayed slightly in front of him. “What exactly are you?”

It seemed to pause at that as it considered his question and how to respond. “I believe your kind will come to call us symbiotes. We are not from your planet. Not from any planet in your solar system.” It sways, still weak but no longer hurting. This body- this man, he’s perfect. “We require a host to survive but in return repair them and give them power.”

That has Cletus’ brows raise. “Power?”

“Yes. Incredible power.”

“Well I don’t feel much different aside from a tad bit crazy for talking to myself.”

“You are not talking to yourself, Cletus. You are talking to me. And I am weak now. We were just born and are in great pain. Need time to grow and heal. Then will give you power.”

Images from its parent flood it’s mind and it shows them to Cletus. Shows them Venom and how easily they fought off guards. How bullets did nothing to them. How they easily dispatched a small army without seeming to break a sweat. And the sight of this had a grin creep across his face.

“Sounds delightful.” He all but sung. The small being retreated back into his shoulder and after a small hiss of sudden pain, he glanced at it to see the wound slowly start to close itself. If it were possible, Cletus’ grin would have widened. “Take your time and rest up then, lil buddy. You can stay with me long as ya like.”

“Thank you, Cletus.” The voice echoes back from inside his head. He feels something squirm around inside his body before a small weight settles around his stomach. “Will give you all the power you crave as soon as I am able.”

Cletus leaned his head back against the bed, wicked smile still across his face. “Look forward to it, uh,” He arches a brow, eyes focusing on the vent their new friend had poured from. “What am I supposed to call you anyway?”

There was a moment of silence and again he could feel the itch in his head as memories and feelings flooded through him once more. Memories of his murders and of the feelings they brought up. He felt a shiver go through his body that he wasn’t entirely sure was his own but could tell was excitement. The memories playing were of deaths and the the feelings taking lives had made him feel. The joy causing harm brought through his system. The absolute delight he got when he ripped another human being apart limb by limb.

And after a beat, after the high the memories brought on wore away, the voice spoke again, raspy and harsh and if at all possible, the vocal version of how the many crimes he committed made him feel.

“They will call us Carnage.”

...

A/N: So I wanted to do a take on how Cletus and his other are going to meet in the movie!verse. Also the Carnage symbiote’s way of talking and how it sort of changes was a conscious choice. I figure since it was a part of the Venom Symbiote, it would start out talking like its parent. But as it bonds more with Cletus, it will take on his mannerisms since it’s young and their bond is (literally) deeper than Venom’s. So I hope that came across!

[healthylifepage]

ACTIVE SKI ESCAPE TO COURCHEVEL

Skiing is a grueling full-body aerobic workout, and regularly puts thousands of calories to good use every single day… However, in my younger days, I can only remember it as an uncomfortably awkward experience for the unfortunate, suffering mountain-goer. As a skier, you’d have to tolerate some serious unpleasantness to survive the week; the sweaty boots would imprison and crush your feet and always inflict shin splint, the skis weighed a ton, chairlifts were slow and unreliable, the clothes weren’t really weatherproof, the food was terrible, the chalet beds were paper-thin and yielded a pitifully un-restorative night’s sleep… and I shan’t touch upon the neon all-in-one “fashion” monstrosities! Thankfully, times have changed unrecognizably, for ’skiing’ has radically upped its game, and nowhere on the planet has this alpine art de vivre been more finely honed than Courchevel. I ventured to the warmth of Hotel Le Saint Roch in Courchevel 1850, to deliver the first Alpine Active Escape I’ve covered on this blog, and the refined experience I discovered there has transformed my understanding of pure joy on the pistes! Click MORE to see the full experience…

As ever the review shall be structured in 4 parts, as follows: 1) The Fitness Activity, 2) The Hotel Facilities & Service, 3) The Food, and 4) The Summary Thoughts…

… But before I start, perhaps a little background about this magical resort. Courchevel is the jewel in the crown of Les Trois Vallées, a vast interconnected realm of 8 resorts, with 600km of skiable runs, and range of altitudes troughing at 600m above sea-level, and peaking at 3400m. It has 183 ski lifts that can move 260,000 skiers about every hour. It is simply cavernous, which makes it a total playground for winter sports. Courchevel itself has a degree of glamorous repute, with its own Bond-villain style airport, the unusual concentration of designer stores, and even higher concentration of Michelin-starred establishments. Ski resorts often look ugly, adorned with gargoyles of 1980s construction; unimaginative concrete blocks clustered in towns that protrude garishly from the snow. Courchevel however, is the prettiest ski resort I’ve ever seen, with a gorgeous traditional village, immaculately well kept public amenities, elegant and charming architectural structures both new and old, a wonderful aspect to catch the best of the day’s light, and stunning shoulders of fir trees that run down the mountains creating the unique backdrop that identifies this place at a glance. It is then, quite a special thing to spend time here and I savored every moment of it; here are my thoughts in more detail.

1) FITNESS ACTIVITY – THE BENEFITS OF SKIING:

As I sat on the chairlifts and bubbles, I kept a set of notes recalling my fresh reactions to the Ski experience unfolding around me; here are some of the undiluted thoughts I penned:

THRILL: Skiing as a sport is simultaneously thrilling, exhausting, exhilarating, uplifting, and perilous. If nothing else, it is a workout for all of the emotions! The thrill of tearing down the slopes means worldly troubles could not seem further away; adrenaline and endorphins flow freely in this pursuit!

CORE BURN: You’re engaging the muscular ‘core’ to stabilize yourself, for hours on the trot. As a result, this activity hones and refines the agility and balance.

CARDIO: It is a superb aerobic workout; an hour of skiing clocked up c.450 calories of energy consumption for me, though it would be more than double that should you go cross country skiing! Poling along on the flat, something I did quite a fair bit of, is a real leg-burner, and I loved it!

LEG BURN: The entire leg complex benefits from the lunging and squatting silhouettes adopted during a day’s skiing; the glutes, the quads, the hamstrings and the calves all feel the benefit of moving on plains they rarely otherwise do, and bearing stresses as you go; you feel it after day 1, no matter how much you prep! Likewise, the joints and bones take the impact of the shock absorption required to navigate the piste, so are being strengthened too.

FLEXIBILITY: Given that you’re constantly stretching and moving at extreme ranges of motion, skiing naturally improves your flexibility as the week goes on.

MOOD BOOSTING: The mood is elevated; soaring amidst vast majestic mountains just fills you with renewed life. The air is crisp and pure, restoring strength to the lungs and constitution; the colors are divine, with an inky darkness of blue possible only at extreme altitude, cutting deliciously against the fresh white of the groomed snow, and the contenting effect of the sunshine amplifies it all with a sprinkling of vitamin D.

CONCENTRATION & FOCUS: It’s also a mental workout, focussing the mind on spatial awareness as there’s a complex radar to monitor; other skiers, your own immediate and future path, your speed, pitch, altitude, incline, and overall technique!  It’s a proper challenge for cognitive function.

LEARNING & EXPLORING: I took a few hours of tuition with a legendary instructor from the ESF, Patrick Bayle (who’s been skiing almost as long as Courchevel has existed, and is also a world record holder for Paragliding), who showed me the farthest flung parts of Les Trois Vallées, whilst  helping iron out the kinks in my technique with classic Gallic finesse.

REST & RECOVERY: Sleep gets a huge boost, for, at the end of the day, you’re utterly shattered, leaving no alternative but to seek restorative shut-eye!

2) THE HOTEL FACILITIES  & SERVICE

If you’ve ever visited this resort, you’ll have encountered the Maison Tournier group (consciously or otherwise) operating both in front and behind the scenes. The Tournier family’s roots run deep in this village, stretching back to the late 1940s when Courchevel was first established, and their dynasty has spawned a unique hospitality collection fusing heritage and modernity in equal parts. My home for the trip, Le Saint Roch, is a part of that group, and has a unique character I found totally compelling and fascinating…

With 19 suites, 5 rooms and 2 apartments, this is an intimate hotel; it feels discreet and subtle in many ways, yet charismatic and indulgent in others. Overseen by the venerated General Manager, Valerie Mansis, there is a dedication to anticipate guests wishes and a service ethic which is quite differentiated from anything I’ve encountered before. Whilst ski accommodation is often just a necessary ‘means to an end’, here it is elevated to an art form where detail is the life-blood of the Saint Roch. There’s a signature scent that just works for this hotel in this resort, which subtly drifts through the communal areas and rooms, an evocative touch which helps to carve out the memories more clearly; there are indulgences such as custom bed sheets and bespoke toiletries from Maison Kurkdjian; the distressed-wood ceiling is hundreds of years old and preserved from the original structure that once stood here; there’s always jazz and bossa nova playing from some of the coolest ceiling-hung speakers I’ve seen; the day service is in white and the night service is in black; they print you a custom newspaper edit on their signature silvered paper each morning in your language; the rooms boast a host of warm and endearing touches like a fresh chamomile tea heated by candlelight beside your bed after turndown, a plate of bon bons upon arrival, and an interior scheme with lush cozy flourishes of leather, fur and velvet. And a personal favorite touch; every single room has a private hammam in its bathroom, great for facilitating assisted stretching!

But the most remarkable aspect of Le Saint Roch is the service. I have been fortunate to travel extensively and enjoy some of the worlds finest hospitality, but this has been amongst the most consistently professional, attentive, subtle and effectively delivered service I’ve encountered, true of the entire staff. Ever present, yet seemingly absent, they quietly observe and anticipate what you might like without you ever having to trouble yourself too much, judging what’s appropriate for each guest, and thereby promoting pure cognitive ease. Your preferences are discovered – never intrusively so – learned, and remembered for tomorrow or equally the next trip. And this is the genius of Le Saint Roch, and of Maison Tournier; surrounded by a comforting cocoon of support, the guest need never suffer during the ski experience. For those who have had to tolerate discomforts on alpine excursions, it needn’t be the case here; the staff will remove your ski boots for you (usually quite an ordeal at the end of a tiring day); they will relieve you of your skis / boots / helmet & gloves and dry/warm them for tomorrow morning’s use when they’ll deliver them back to you; they arrange for your ski pass to be routed to your room, your transfers to and from the airport, your instructor to meet you at the hotel, your lunch venues to be booked (with priority, many of them are also Maison Tournier operations!), and their shuttles are always available for you to be transported around the village. And every member of staff knows you by name, a small personal touch, but a clear differentiator of world-class execution.

I would be remiss not to mention the Spa as a place to unwind in silent tranquility at the end of the day. This became part of my daily ritual, as I stepped across the centerpiece swimming pool and rested in quietude upon the far side of the facility for an hour or so, to rehydrate and decompress in equal measures.

3) THE FOOD

Burning 450 ‘active’ calories per hour, for 5 hours each day, means that you’ll need to fuel up so as not to fall into deficit. Luckily for you, Savoyarde cuisine doesn’t shy away from calorific bombs such as cream, cheese, butter and sugar. Whilst mountain restaurants are light of what I might deem ‘healthy’ options, there are still options at some sublime restaurants. Here are my 4 top picks for slopeside lunch:

Le Chalet de Pierres 

La Cave des Creux

Le Cap Horn

La Soucoupe

Back at Le Saint Roch, the cuisine which they deem Bistronomic, is worthy of decoration, as the hotel’s eye for detail is at work again. The truffled cashews and amuses bouche to accompany an aperitif are exquisite productions in themselves. To accommodate my pescatarian preferences, the chef re-purposed anything on the menu with deft, and rather than describe it in words, I can show you a host of images we shot. The food was, quite simply, beautifully executed.

4) SUMMARY THOUGHTS

Skiing is not cheap, and Courchevel even less so. Many places in this resort charge the wrong price, simply because they attract customers who actually prefer to overpay; Le Saint Roch is not one of those venues. It is a 5* establishment which plays to the beat of its own drum; its personality is distinctive and unique – both quietly understated and charmingly gregarious at the same time, yet always below the radar, and fabulously welcoming. It is the solution to alpine hassle, and enables you to pursue the optimal mountain break for a price which, whilst expensive in absolute terms, is inexpensive relative to almost all of the comparable hotels surrounding it, especially when one considers the sheer quality of the half-board offering here. More broadly, the village of Courchevel, being located at the pinnacle of the world’s largest ski area, is too good a draw to refuse; for those seeking an unconstrained retreat to the Alps, this is quite simply the only combination you need.

Faya x

MY SKI FASHION CHOICES:

OUTFIT 1

J Lindeberg Jacket, Moffat Dermizax Top, HERE

J Lindeberg Bottoms, Watson Pants, HERE

OUTFIT 2

Helly Hansen Jacket, W Whitestar Jacket in Graphite Blue, HERE

Helly Hansen Bottoms, Meribel Pants HERE

SNOW BOOTS:

Penelope Chilvers Incredible Boot in the GinTonic colour HERE

THERMALS:

Sweaty Betty merino body map thermal top HERE

The post ACTIVE SKI ESCAPE TO COURCHEVEL appeared first on Fitness on Toast.

ACTIVE SKI ESCAPE TO COURCHEVEL posted first on yummylooksbest.blogspot.com

[yolandadsims]

ACTIVE SKI ESCAPE TO COURCHEVEL

Skiing is a grueling full-body aerobic workout, and regularly puts thousands of calories to good use every single day… However, in my younger days, I can only remember it as an uncomfortably awkward experience for the unfortunate, suffering mountain-goer. As a skier, you’d have to tolerate some serious unpleasantness to survive the week; the sweaty boots would imprison and crush your feet and always inflict shin splint, the skis weighed a ton, chairlifts were slow and unreliable, the clothes weren’t really weatherproof, the food was terrible, the chalet beds were paper-thin and yielded a pitifully un-restorative night’s sleep… and I shan’t touch upon the neon all-in-one “fashion” monstrosities! Thankfully, times have changed unrecognizably, for ’skiing’ has radically upped its game, and nowhere on the planet has this alpine art de vivre been more finely honed than Courchevel. I ventured to the warmth of Hotel Le Saint Roch in Courchevel 1850, to deliver the first Alpine Active Escape I’ve covered on this blog, and the refined experience I discovered there has transformed my understanding of pure joy on the pistes! Click MORE to see the full experience…

As ever the review shall be structured in 4 parts, as follows: 1) The Fitness Activity, 2) The Hotel Facilities & Service, 3) The Food, and 4) The Summary Thoughts…

… But before I start, perhaps a little background about this magical resort. Courchevel is the jewel in the crown of Les Trois Vallées, a vast interconnected realm of 8 resorts, with 600km of skiable runs, and range of altitudes troughing at 600m above sea-level, and peaking at 3400m. It has 183 ski lifts that can move 260,000 skiers about every hour. It is simply cavernous, which makes it a total playground for winter sports. Courchevel itself has a degree of glamorous repute, with its own Bond-villain style airport, the unusual concentration of designer stores, and even higher concentration of Michelin-starred establishments. Ski resorts often look ugly, adorned with gargoyles of 1980s construction; unimaginative concrete blocks clustered in towns that protrude garishly from the snow. Courchevel however, is the prettiest ski resort I’ve ever seen, with a gorgeous traditional village, immaculately well kept public amenities, elegant and charming architectural structures both new and old, a wonderful aspect to catch the best of the day’s light, and stunning shoulders of fir trees that run down the mountains creating the unique backdrop that identifies this place at a glance. It is then, quite a special thing to spend time here and I savored every moment of it; here are my thoughts in more detail.

1) FITNESS ACTIVITY – THE BENEFITS OF SKIING:

As I sat on the chairlifts and bubbles, I kept a set of notes recalling my fresh reactions to the Ski experience unfolding around me; here are some of the undiluted thoughts I penned:

THRILL: Skiing as a sport is simultaneously thrilling, exhausting, exhilarating, uplifting, and perilous. If nothing else, it is a workout for all of the emotions! The thrill of tearing down the slopes means worldly troubles could not seem further away; adrenaline and endorphins flow freely in this pursuit!

CORE BURN: You’re engaging the muscular ‘core’ to stabilize yourself, for hours on the trot. As a result, this activity hones and refines the agility and balance.

CARDIO: It is a superb aerobic workout; an hour of skiing clocked up c.450 calories of energy consumption for me, though it would be more than double that should you go cross country skiing! Poling along on the flat, something I did quite a fair bit of, is a real leg-burner, and I loved it!

LEG BURN: The entire leg complex benefits from the lunging and squatting silhouettes adopted during a day’s skiing; the glutes, the quads, the hamstrings and the calves all feel the benefit of moving on plains they rarely otherwise do, and bearing stresses as you go; you feel it after day 1, no matter how much you prep! Likewise, the joints and bones take the impact of the shock absorption required to navigate the piste, so are being strengthened too.

FLEXIBILITY: Given that you’re constantly stretching and moving at extreme ranges of motion, skiing naturally improves your flexibility as the week goes on.

MOOD BOOSTING: The mood is elevated; soaring amidst vast majestic mountains just fills you with renewed life. The air is crisp and pure, restoring strength to the lungs and constitution; the colors are divine, with an inky darkness of blue possible only at extreme altitude, cutting deliciously against the fresh white of the groomed snow, and the contenting effect of the sunshine amplifies it all with a sprinkling of vitamin D.

CONCENTRATION & FOCUS: It’s also a mental workout, focussing the mind on spatial awareness as there’s a complex radar to monitor; other skiers, your own immediate and future path, your speed, pitch, altitude, incline, and overall technique!  It’s a proper challenge for cognitive function.

LEARNING & EXPLORING: I took a few hours of tuition with a legendary instructor from the ESF, Patrick Bayle (who’s been skiing almost as long as Courchevel has existed, and is also a world record holder for Paragliding), who showed me the farthest flung parts of Les Trois Vallées, whilst  helping iron out the kinks in my technique with classic Gallic finesse.

REST & RECOVERY: Sleep gets a huge boost, for, at the end of the day, you’re utterly shattered, leaving no alternative but to seek restorative shut-eye!

2) THE HOTEL FACILITIES  & SERVICE

If you’ve ever visited this resort, you’ll have encountered the Maison Tournier group (consciously or otherwise) operating both in front and behind the scenes. The Tournier family’s roots run deep in this village, stretching back to the late 1940s when Courchevel was first established, and their dynasty has spawned a unique hospitality collection fusing heritage and modernity in equal parts. My home for the trip, Le Saint Roch, is a part of that group, and has a unique character I found totally compelling and fascinating…

With 19 suites, 5 rooms and 2 apartments, this is an intimate hotel; it feels discreet and subtle in many ways, yet charismatic and indulgent in others. Overseen by the venerated General Manager, Valerie Mansis, there is a dedication to anticipate guests wishes and a service ethic which is quite differentiated from anything I’ve encountered before. Whilst ski accommodation is often just a necessary ‘means to an end’, here it is elevated to an art form where detail is the life-blood of the Saint Roch. There’s a signature scent that just works for this hotel in this resort, which subtly drifts through the communal areas and rooms, an evocative touch which helps to carve out the memories more clearly; there are indulgences such as custom bed sheets and bespoke toiletries from Maison Kurkdjian; the distressed-wood ceiling is hundreds of years old and preserved from the original structure that once stood here; there’s always jazz and bossa nova playing from some of the coolest ceiling-hung speakers I’ve seen; the day service is in white and the night service is in black; they print you a custom newspaper edit on their signature silvered paper each morning in your language; the rooms boast a host of warm and endearing touches like a fresh chamomile tea heated by candlelight beside your bed after turndown, a plate of bon bons upon arrival, and an interior scheme with lush cozy flourishes of leather, fur and velvet. And a personal favorite touch; every single room has a private hammam in its bathroom, great for facilitating assisted stretching!

But the most remarkable aspect of Le Saint Roch is the service. I have been fortunate to travel extensively and enjoy some of the worlds finest hospitality, but this has been amongst the most consistently professional, attentive, subtle and effectively delivered service I’ve encountered, true of the entire staff. Ever present, yet seemingly absent, they quietly observe and anticipate what you might like without you ever having to trouble yourself too much, judging what’s appropriate for each guest, and thereby promoting pure cognitive ease. Your preferences are discovered – never intrusively so – learned, and remembered for tomorrow or equally the next trip. And this is the genius of Le Saint Roch, and of Maison Tournier; surrounded by a comforting cocoon of support, the guest need never suffer during the ski experience. For those who have had to tolerate discomforts on alpine excursions, it needn’t be the case here; the staff will remove your ski boots for you (usually quite an ordeal at the end of a tiring day); they will relieve you of your skis / boots / helmet & gloves and dry/warm them for tomorrow morning’s use when they’ll deliver them back to you; they arrange for your ski pass to be routed to your room, your transfers to and from the airport, your instructor to meet you at the hotel, your lunch venues to be booked (with priority, many of them are also Maison Tournier operations!), and their shuttles are always available for you to be transported around the village. And every member of staff knows you by name, a small personal touch, but a clear differentiator of world-class execution.

I would be remiss not to mention the Spa as a place to unwind in silent tranquility at the end of the day. This became part of my daily ritual, as I stepped across the centerpiece swimming pool and rested in quietude upon the far side of the facility for an hour or so, to rehydrate and decompress in equal measures.

3) THE FOOD

Burning 450 ‘active’ calories per hour, for 5 hours each day, means that you’ll need to fuel up so as not to fall into deficit. Luckily for you, Savoyarde cuisine doesn’t shy away from calorific bombs such as cream, cheese, butter and sugar. Whilst mountain restaurants are light of what I might deem ‘healthy’ options, there are still options at some sublime restaurants. Here are my 4 top picks for slopeside lunch:

Le Chalet de Pierres 

La Cave des Creux

Le Cap Horn

La Soucoupe

Back at Le Saint Roch, the cuisine which they deem Bistronomic, is worthy of decoration, as the hotel’s eye for detail is at work again. The truffled cashews and amuses bouche to accompany an aperitif are exquisite productions in themselves. To accommodate my pescatarian preferences, the chef re-purposed anything on the menu with deft, and rather than describe it in words, I can show you a host of images we shot. The food was, quite simply, beautifully executed.

4) SUMMARY THOUGHTS

Skiing is not cheap, and Courchevel even less so. Many places in this resort charge the wrong price, simply because they attract customers who actually prefer to overpay; Le Saint Roch is not one of those venues. It is a 5* establishment which plays to the beat of its own drum; its personality is distinctive and unique – both quietly understated and charmingly gregarious at the same time, yet always below the radar, and fabulously welcoming. It is the solution to alpine hassle, and enables you to pursue the optimal mountain break for a price which, whilst expensive in absolute terms, is inexpensive relative to almost all of the comparable hotels surrounding it, especially when one considers the sheer quality of the half-board offering here. More broadly, the village of Courchevel, being located at the pinnacle of the world’s largest ski area, is too good a draw to refuse; for those seeking an unconstrained retreat to the Alps, this is quite simply the only combination you need.

Faya x

MY SKI FASHION CHOICES:

OUTFIT 1

J Lindeberg Jacket, Moffat Dermizax Top, HERE

J Lindeberg Bottoms, Watson Pants, HERE

OUTFIT 2

Helly Hansen Jacket, W Whitestar Jacket in Graphite Blue, HERE

Helly Hansen Bottoms, Meribel Pants HERE

SNOW BOOTS:

Penelope Chilvers Incredible Boot in the GinTonic colour HERE

THERMALS:

Sweaty Betty merino body map thermal top HERE

The post ACTIVE SKI ESCAPE TO COURCHEVEL appeared first on Fitness on Toast.

from Health And Fitness Updates http://fitnessontoast.com/2018/02/12/fitness-active-ski-escape-travel-courchevel-france-luxury-le-saint-roch-hotel/

[muscledemandsrespect]

ACTIVE SKI ESCAPE TO COURCHEVEL

Skiing is a grueling full-body aerobic workout, and regularly puts thousands of calories to good use every single day… However, in my younger days, I can only remember it as an uncomfortably awkward experience for the unfortunate, suffering mountain-goer. As a skier, you’d have to tolerate some serious unpleasantness to survive the week; the sweaty boots would imprison and crush your feet and always inflict shin splint, the skis weighed a ton, chairlifts were slow and unreliable, the clothes weren’t really weatherproof, the food was terrible, the chalet beds were paper-thin and yielded a pitifully un-restorative night’s sleep… and I shan’t touch upon the neon all-in-one “fashion” monstrosities! Thankfully, times have changed unrecognizably, for ’skiing’ has radically upped its game, and nowhere on the planet has this alpine art de vivre been more finely honed than Courchevel. I ventured to the warmth of Hotel Le Saint Roch in Courchevel 1850, to deliver the first Alpine Active Escape I’ve covered on this blog, and the refined experience I discovered there has transformed my understanding of pure joy on the pistes! Click MORE to see the full experience…

As ever the review shall be structured in 4 parts, as follows: 1) The Fitness Activity, 2) The Hotel Facilities & Service, 3) The Food, and 4) The Summary Thoughts…

… But before I start, perhaps a little background about this magical resort. Courchevel is the jewel in the crown of Les Trois Vallées, a vast interconnected realm of 8 resorts, with 600km of skiable runs, and range of altitudes troughing at 600m above sea-level, and peaking at 3400m. It has 183 ski lifts that can move 260,000 skiers about every hour. It is simply cavernous, which makes it a total playground for winter sports. Courchevel itself has a degree of glamorous repute, with its own Bond-villain style airport, the unusual concentration of designer stores, and even higher concentration of Michelin-starred establishments. Ski resorts often look ugly, adorned with gargoyles of 1980s construction; unimaginative concrete blocks clustered in towns that protrude garishly from the snow. Courchevel however, is the prettiest ski resort I’ve ever seen, with a gorgeous traditional village, immaculately well kept public amenities, elegant and charming architectural structures both new and old, a wonderful aspect to catch the best of the day’s light, and stunning shoulders of fir trees that run down the mountains creating the unique backdrop that identifies this place at a glance. It is then, quite a special thing to spend time here and I savored every moment of it; here are my thoughts in more detail.

1) FITNESS ACTIVITY – THE BENEFITS OF SKIING:

As I sat on the chairlifts and bubbles, I kept a set of notes recalling my fresh reactions to the Ski experience unfolding around me; here are some of the undiluted thoughts I penned:

THRILL: Skiing as a sport is simultaneously thrilling, exhausting, exhilarating, uplifting, and perilous. If nothing else, it is a workout for all of the emotions! The thrill of tearing down the slopes means worldly troubles could not seem further away; adrenaline and endorphins flow freely in this pursuit!

CORE BURN: You’re engaging the muscular ‘core’ to stabilize yourself, for hours on the trot. As a result, this activity hones and refines the agility and balance.

CARDIO: It is a superb aerobic workout; an hour of skiing clocked up c.450 calories of energy consumption for me, though it would be more than double that should you go cross country skiing! Poling along on the flat, something I did quite a fair bit of, is a real leg-burner, and I loved it!

LEG BURN: The entire leg complex benefits from the lunging and squatting silhouettes adopted during a day’s skiing; the glutes, the quads, the hamstrings and the calves all feel the benefit of moving on plains they rarely otherwise do, and bearing stresses as you go; you feel it after day 1, no matter how much you prep! Likewise, the joints and bones take the impact of the shock absorption required to navigate the piste, so are being strengthened too.

FLEXIBILITY: Given that you’re constantly stretching and moving at extreme ranges of motion, skiing naturally improves your flexibility as the week goes on.

MOOD BOOSTING: The mood is elevated; soaring amidst vast majestic mountains just fills you with renewed life. The air is crisp and pure, restoring strength to the lungs and constitution; the colors are divine, with an inky darkness of blue possible only at extreme altitude, cutting deliciously against the fresh white of the groomed snow, and the contenting effect of the sunshine amplifies it all with a sprinkling of vitamin D.

CONCENTRATION & FOCUS: It’s also a mental workout, focussing the mind on spatial awareness as there’s a complex radar to monitor; other skiers, your own immediate and future path, your speed, pitch, altitude, incline, and overall technique!  It’s a proper challenge for cognitive function.

LEARNING & EXPLORING: I took a few hours of tuition with a legendary instructor from the ESF, Patrick Bayle (who’s been skiing almost as long as Courchevel has existed, and is also a world record holder for Paragliding), who showed me the farthest flung parts of Les Trois Vallées, whilst  helping iron out the kinks in my technique with classic Gallic finesse.

REST & RECOVERY: Sleep gets a huge boost, for, at the end of the day, you’re utterly shattered, leaving no alternative but to seek restorative shut-eye!

2) THE HOTEL FACILITIES  & SERVICE

If you’ve ever visited this resort, you’ll have encountered the Maison Tournier group (consciously or otherwise) operating both in front and behind the scenes. The Tournier family’s roots run deep in this village, stretching back to the late 1940s when Courchevel was first established, and their dynasty has spawned a unique hospitality collection fusing heritage and modernity in equal parts. My home for the trip, Le Saint Roch, is a part of that group, and has a unique character I found totally compelling and fascinating…

With 19 suites, 5 rooms and 2 apartments, this is an intimate hotel; it feels discreet and subtle in many ways, yet charismatic and indulgent in others. Overseen by the venerated General Manager, Valerie Mansis, there is a dedication to anticipate guests wishes and a service ethic which is quite differentiated from anything I’ve encountered before. Whilst ski accommodation is often just a necessary ‘means to an end’, here it is elevated to an art form where detail is the life-blood of the Saint Roch. There’s a signature scent that just works for this hotel in this resort, which subtly drifts through the communal areas and rooms, an evocative touch which helps to carve out the memories more clearly; there are indulgences such as custom bed sheets and bespoke toiletries from Maison Kurkdjian; the distressed-wood ceiling is hundreds of years old and preserved from the original structure that once stood here; there’s always jazz and bossa nova playing from some of the coolest ceiling-hung speakers I’ve seen; the day service is in white and the night service is in black; they print you a custom newspaper edit on their signature silvered paper each morning in your language; the rooms boast a host of warm and endearing touches like a fresh chamomile tea heated by candlelight beside your bed after turndown, a plate of bon bons upon arrival, and an interior scheme with lush cozy flourishes of leather, fur and velvet. And a personal favorite touch; every single room has a private hammam in its bathroom, great for facilitating assisted stretching!

But the most remarkable aspect of Le Saint Roch is the service. I have been fortunate to travel extensively and enjoy some of the worlds finest hospitality, but this has been amongst the most consistently professional, attentive, subtle and effectively delivered service I’ve encountered, true of the entire staff. Ever present, yet seemingly absent, they quietly observe and anticipate what you might like without you ever having to trouble yourself too much, judging what’s appropriate for each guest, and thereby promoting pure cognitive ease. Your preferences are discovered – never intrusively so – learned, and remembered for tomorrow or equally the next trip. And this is the genius of Le Saint Roch, and of Maison Tournier; surrounded by a comforting cocoon of support, the guest need never suffer during the ski experience. For those who have had to tolerate discomforts on alpine excursions, it needn’t be the case here; the staff will remove your ski boots for you (usually quite an ordeal at the end of a tiring day); they will relieve you of your skis / boots / helmet & gloves and dry/warm them for tomorrow morning’s use when they’ll deliver them back to you; they arrange for your ski pass to be routed to your room, your transfers to and from the airport, your instructor to meet you at the hotel, your lunch venues to be booked (with priority, many of them are also Maison Tournier operations!), and their shuttles are always available for you to be transported around the village. And every member of staff knows you by name, a small personal touch, but a clear differentiator of world-class execution.

I would be remiss not to mention the Spa as a place to unwind in silent tranquility at the end of the day. This became part of my daily ritual, as I stepped across the centerpiece swimming pool and rested in quietude upon the far side of the facility for an hour or so, to rehydrate and decompress in equal measures.

3) THE FOOD

Burning 450 ‘active’ calories per hour, for 5 hours each day, means that you’ll need to fuel up so as not to fall into deficit. Luckily for you, Savoyarde cuisine doesn’t shy away from calorific bombs such as cream, cheese, butter and sugar. Whilst mountain restaurants are light of what I might deem ‘healthy’ options, there are still options at some sublime restaurants. Here are my 4 top picks for slopeside lunch:

Le Chalet de Pierres 

La Cave des Creux

Le Cap Horn

La Soucoupe

Back at Le Saint Roch, the cuisine which they deem Bistronomic, is worthy of decoration, as the hotel’s eye for detail is at work again. The truffled cashews and amuses bouche to accompany an aperitif are exquisite productions in themselves. To accommodate my pescatarian preferences, the chef re-purposed anything on the menu with deft, and rather than describe it in words, I can show you a host of images we shot. The food was, quite simply, beautifully executed.

4) SUMMARY THOUGHTS

Skiing is not cheap, and Courchevel even less so. Many places in this resort charge the wrong price, simply because they attract customers who actually prefer to overpay; Le Saint Roch is not one of those venues. It is a 5* establishment which plays to the beat of its own drum; its personality is distinctive and unique – both quietly understated and charmingly gregarious at the same time, yet always below the radar, and fabulously welcoming. It is the solution to alpine hassle, and enables you to pursue the optimal mountain break for a price which, whilst expensive in absolute terms, is inexpensive relative to almost all of the comparable hotels surrounding it, especially when one considers the sheer quality of the half-board offering here. More broadly, the village of Courchevel, being located at the pinnacle of the world’s largest ski area, is too good a draw to refuse; for those seeking an unconstrained retreat to the Alps, this is quite simply the only combination you need.

Faya x

MY SKI FASHION CHOICES:

OUTFIT 1

J Lindeberg Jacket, Moffat Dermizax Top, HERE

J Lindeberg Bottoms, Watson Pants, HERE

OUTFIT 2

Helly Hansen Jacket, W Whitestar Jacket in Graphite Blue, HERE

Helly Hansen Bottoms, Meribel Pants HERE

SNOW BOOTS:

Penelope Chilvers Incredible Boot in the GinTonic colour HERE

THERMALS:

Sweaty Betty merino body map thermal top HERE

The post ACTIVE SKI ESCAPE TO COURCHEVEL appeared first on Fitness on Toast.

from Fitness on Toast http://ift.tt/2H5tx62 via IFTTT

[healthylifepage]

ACTIVE SKI ESCAPE TO COURCHEVEL

Skiing is a grueling full-body aerobic workout, and regularly puts thousands of calories to good use every single day… However, in my younger days, I can only remember it as an uncomfortably awkward experience for the unfortunate, suffering mountain-goer. As a skier, you’d have to tolerate some serious unpleasantness to survive the week; the sweaty boots would imprison and crush your feet and always inflict shin splint, the skis weighed a ton, chairlifts were slow and unreliable, the clothes weren’t really weatherproof, the food was terrible, the chalet beds were paper-thin and yielded a pitifully un-restorative night’s sleep… and I shan’t touch upon the neon all-in-one “fashion” monstrosities! Thankfully, times have changed unrecognizably, for ’skiing’ has radically upped its game, and nowhere on the planet has this alpine art de vivre been more finely honed than Courchevel. I ventured to the warmth of Hotel Le Saint Roch in Courchevel 1850, to deliver the first Alpine Active Escape I’ve covered on this blog, and the refined experience I discovered there has transformed my understanding of pure joy on the pistes! Click MORE to see the full experience…

As ever the review shall be structured in 4 parts, as follows: 1) The Fitness Activity, 2) The Hotel Facilities & Service, 3) The Food, and 4) The Summary Thoughts…

… But before I start, perhaps a little background about this magical resort. Courchevel is the jewel in the crown of Les Trois Vallées, a vast interconnected realm of 8 resorts, with 600km of skiable runs, and range of altitudes troughing at 600m above sea-level, and peaking at 3400m. It has 183 ski lifts that can move 260,000 skiers about every hour. It is simply cavernous, which makes it a total playground for winter sports. Courchevel itself has a degree of glamorous repute, with its own Bond-villain style airport, the unusual concentration of designer stores, and even higher concentration of Michelin-starred establishments. Ski resorts often look ugly, adorned with gargoyles of 1980s construction; unimaginative concrete blocks clustered in towns that protrude garishly from the snow. Courchevel however, is the prettiest ski resort I’ve ever seen, with a gorgeous traditional village, immaculately well kept public amenities, elegant and charming architectural structures both new and old, a wonderful aspect to catch the best of the day’s light, and stunning shoulders of fir trees that run down the mountains creating the unique backdrop that identifies this place at a glance. It is then, quite a special thing to spend time here and I savored every moment of it; here are my thoughts in more detail.

1) FITNESS ACTIVITY – THE BENEFITS OF SKIING:

As I sat on the chairlifts and bubbles, I kept a set of notes recalling my fresh reactions to the Ski experience unfolding around me; here are some of the undiluted thoughts I penned:

THRILL: Skiing as a sport is simultaneously thrilling, exhausting, exhilarating, uplifting, and perilous. If nothing else, it is a workout for all of the emotions! The thrill of tearing down the slopes means worldly troubles could not seem further away; adrenaline and endorphins flow freely in this pursuit!

CORE BURN: You’re engaging the muscular ‘core’ to stabilize yourself, for hours on the trot. As a result, this activity hones and refines the agility and balance.

CARDIO: It is a superb aerobic workout; an hour of skiing clocked up c.450 calories of energy consumption for me, though it would be more than double that should you go cross country skiing! Poling along on the flat, something I did quite a fair bit of, is a real leg-burner, and I loved it!

LEG BURN: The entire leg complex benefits from the lunging and squatting silhouettes adopted during a day’s skiing; the glutes, the quads, the hamstrings and the calves all feel the benefit of moving on plains they rarely otherwise do, and bearing stresses as you go; you feel it after day 1, no matter how much you prep! Likewise, the joints and bones take the impact of the shock absorption required to navigate the piste, so are being strengthened too.

FLEXIBILITY: Given that you’re constantly stretching and moving at extreme ranges of motion, skiing naturally improves your flexibility as the week goes on.

MOOD BOOSTING: The mood is elevated; soaring amidst vast majestic mountains just fills you with renewed life. The air is crisp and pure, restoring strength to the lungs and constitution; the colors are divine, with an inky darkness of blue possible only at extreme altitude, cutting deliciously against the fresh white of the groomed snow, and the contenting effect of the sunshine amplifies it all with a sprinkling of vitamin D.

CONCENTRATION & FOCUS: It’s also a mental workout, focussing the mind on spatial awareness as there’s a complex radar to monitor; other skiers, your own immediate and future path, your speed, pitch, altitude, incline, and overall technique!  It’s a proper challenge for cognitive function.

LEARNING & EXPLORING: I took a few hours of tuition with a legendary instructor from the ESF, Patrick Bayle (who’s been skiing almost as long as Courchevel has existed, and is also a world record holder for Paragliding), who showed me the farthest flung parts of Les Trois Vallées, whilst  helping iron out the kinks in my technique with classic Gallic finesse.

REST & RECOVERY: Sleep gets a huge boost, for, at the end of the day, you’re utterly shattered, leaving no alternative but to seek restorative shut-eye!

2) THE HOTEL FACILITIES  & SERVICE

If you’ve ever visited this resort, you’ll have encountered the Maison Tournier group (consciously or otherwise) operating both in front and behind the scenes. The Tournier family’s roots run deep in this village, stretching back to the late 1940s when Courchevel was first established, and their dynasty has spawned a unique hospitality collection fusing heritage and modernity in equal parts. My home for the trip, Le Saint Roch, is a part of that group, and has a unique character I found totally compelling and fascinating…

With 19 suites, 5 rooms and 2 apartments, this is an intimate hotel; it feels discreet and subtle in many ways, yet charismatic and indulgent in others. Overseen by the venerated General Manager, Valerie Mansis, there is a dedication to anticipate guests wishes and a service ethic which is quite differentiated from anything I’ve encountered before. Whilst ski accommodation is often just a necessary ‘means to an end’, here it is elevated to an art form where detail is the life-blood of the Saint Roch. There’s a signature scent that just works for this hotel in this resort, which subtly drifts through the communal areas and rooms, an evocative touch which helps to carve out the memories more clearly; there are indulgences such as custom bed sheets and bespoke toiletries from Maison Kurkdjian; the distressed-wood ceiling is hundreds of years old and preserved from the original structure that once stood here; there’s always jazz and bossa nova playing from some of the coolest ceiling-hung speakers I’ve seen; the day service is in white and the night service is in black; they print you a custom newspaper edit on their signature silvered paper each morning in your language; the rooms boast a host of warm and endearing touches like a fresh chamomile tea heated by candlelight beside your bed after turndown, a plate of bon bons upon arrival, and an interior scheme with lush cozy flourishes of leather, fur and velvet. And a personal favorite touch; every single room has a private hammam in its bathroom, great for facilitating assisted stretching!

But the most remarkable aspect of Le Saint Roch is the service. I have been fortunate to travel extensively and enjoy some of the worlds finest hospitality, but this has been amongst the most consistently professional, attentive, subtle and effectively delivered service I’ve encountered, true of the entire staff. Ever present, yet seemingly absent, they quietly observe and anticipate what you might like without you ever having to trouble yourself too much, judging what’s appropriate for each guest, and thereby promoting pure cognitive ease. Your preferences are discovered – never intrusively so – learned, and remembered for tomorrow or equally the next trip. And this is the genius of Le Saint Roch, and of Maison Tournier; surrounded by a comforting cocoon of support, the guest need never suffer during the ski experience. For those who have had to tolerate discomforts on alpine excursions, it needn’t be the case here; the staff will remove your ski boots for you (usually quite an ordeal at the end of a tiring day); they will relieve you of your skis / boots / helmet & gloves and dry/warm them for tomorrow morning’s use when they’ll deliver them back to you; they arrange for your ski pass to be routed to your room, your transfers to and from the airport, your instructor to meet you at the hotel, your lunch venues to be booked (with priority, many of them are also Maison Tournier operations!), and their shuttles are always available for you to be transported around the village. And every member of staff knows you by name, a small personal touch, but a clear differentiator of world-class execution.

I would be remiss not to mention the Spa as a place to unwind in silent tranquility at the end of the day. This became part of my daily ritual, as I stepped across the centerpiece swimming pool and rested in quietude upon the far side of the facility for an hour or so, to rehydrate and decompress in equal measures.

3) THE FOOD

Burning 450 ‘active’ calories per hour, for 5 hours each day, means that you’ll need to fuel up so as not to fall into deficit. Luckily for you, Savoyarde cuisine doesn’t shy away from calorific bombs such as cream, cheese, butter and sugar. Whilst mountain restaurants are light of what I might deem ‘healthy’ options, there are still options at some sublime restaurants. Here are my 4 top picks for slopeside lunch:

Le Chalet de Pierres 

La Cave des Creux

Le Cap Horn

La Soucoupe

Back at Le Saint Roch, the cuisine which they deem Bistronomic, is worthy of decoration, as the hotel’s eye for detail is at work again. The truffled cashews and amuses bouche to accompany an aperitif are exquisite productions in themselves. To accommodate my pescatarian preferences, the chef re-purposed anything on the menu with deft, and rather than describe it in words, I can show you a host of images we shot. The food was, quite simply, beautifully executed.

4) SUMMARY THOUGHTS

Skiing is not cheap, and Courchevel even less so. Many places in this resort charge the wrong price, simply because they attract customers who actually prefer to overpay; Le Saint Roch is not one of those venues. It is a 5* establishment which plays to the beat of its own drum; its personality is distinctive and unique – both quietly understated and charmingly gregarious at the same time, yet always below the radar, and fabulously welcoming. It is the solution to alpine hassle, and enables you to pursue the optimal mountain break for a price which, whilst expensive in absolute terms, is inexpensive relative to almost all of the comparable hotels surrounding it, especially when one considers the sheer quality of the half-board offering here. More broadly, the village of Courchevel, being located at the pinnacle of the world’s largest ski area, is too good a draw to refuse; for those seeking an unconstrained retreat to the Alps, this is quite simply the only combination you need.

Faya x

MY SKI FASHION CHOICES:

OUTFIT 1

J Lindeberg Jacket, Moffat Dermizax Top, HERE

J Lindeberg Bottoms, Watson Pants, HERE

OUTFIT 2

Helly Hansen Jacket, W Whitestar Jacket in Graphite Blue, HERE

Helly Hansen Bottoms, Meribel Pants HERE

SNOW BOOTS:

Penelope Chilvers Incredible Boot in the GinTonic colour HERE

THERMALS:

Sweaty Betty merino body map thermal top HERE

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