#Even though I like the movie better for maintaining more about how fast and brutal the life of the rabbits is

[bonebabbles]

Hi! Sorry if this ask is quite random for you to see, but is it ok to ask you that

On a scale of 1-10, how sexist and/or misogynistic would you rate the book Watership Down being?

I’m considering checking out the book, but I’m unsure whether I should do that or not due to the possible sexism within it. Thanks!

If you can't handle sexism, I would skip Watership Down. It's pretty bad in that aspect, enough that Ursula K Le Guin uses it as a major example of how misogyny expresses in xenofiction narratives.

In spite of how doe rabbits are the ones responsible for founding new warrens, the main characters are all bucks.

Does are spoken about a lot in terms of reproduction, and mostly that.

There is a massive plot point later where the all-buck party realizes they need women, and set out to get them.

There's an evil rabbit warren, and they show that this warren is evil partially because of some implied sexual assault of the does they control.

It was also written by a White British Man Of A Certain Era. It will sometimes drop a line that we find VERY racist in today's standards, particularly near the beginning where it compares the rabbit culture to... "other primitive societies."

#I think the movie and miniseries adaptations are better about it #I would rec the miniseries for you to start with #It's not FANTASTIC at totally fixing it but it does address it a little #It doesn't alter the all-buck party problem but it allows some does to be characters and play more of a role #AND it also has to maintain the 'we need women or our society will die' plot point #But it doesn't make the evil warren as... rapey I guess. To put it crassly. #Even though I like the movie better for maintaining more about how fast and brutal the life of the rabbits is #I think if you're more sensitive to darker themes the Miniseries is a good way to get the story in a more tame way #Also I heard no one likes the miniseries lmao but die mad it's Fine. #Like yeah the animation's a little jilted but it is Fine #I like some of the additions actually

[dappercritter]

Godzilla vs Kong: Brutally Honest Thoughts

(Took me long enough, eh? Depending on home video releases be like that.)

So first things first, I have a confession to make: I spoiled the movie before I watched it. I was impatient and they had only announced an HBO Max premiere in the states and a theatrical run in Canada at the time. Afterward, I got heads-up from a friend and immersed myself in the opinions of those lucky enough to see it early. I’m just saying that I have some preconceived opinions that I’m sticking to.

That said, Godzilla vs Kong turned out to be more fun than I expected! But you already knew that. Everyone did. The two kings of movie monsters had their rematch and this time it was with glorious Hollywood SFX powering it this time.

The human story was fun but it’s clear they stopped trying at this point. Team Kong stole my heart, especially Jia. Team Godzilla (although the Conspiracy Crew would be a more fitting term since they spend more time chasing down mysteries than trying to back or understand Godzilla) was more fun than I expected and their dynamic was surprisingly enjoyable. Bernie is actually kind of funny, it's nice to see Madison acting more assertive, and Josh was fine--he was the only sane man of the bunch but he was also the butt of the jokes. Still, all the hardcore conspiracy jokes got old fast and it feels off seeing the daughter of two scientists turn into an edgy conspiracy crackpot. Why not an edgy science major?

Team Apex are fun villains, especially Walter Simmons who's a great megalomaniacal CEO type, but Ren Serizawa is a joke. I like his actor's performance but he's just another footnote. Nobody bats an eye at his last name, although the only heroes he interacts with are Nathan Lind and he just misses Team Godzilla. He really could have just been any other villain, but instead, they had to sully Serizawa’s legacy further while robbing a good actor of some interesting material. (As is, it turns out he was just an egotistical jerk with daddy issues--an easy puzzle to solve on day one--after all...)

However, I still cannot and will not approve of the fact that somebody thought it would be a good idea to make the heroes of a sci-fi story into hardcore conspiracy theorists in this day and age. Likewise, I’m not a huge fan of how they essentially made the Hollow Earth into its own universe complete with a crazy portal and an environment with its own laws of physics, nor am I totally crazy about the huge leap in technology that was made between this and KOTM, or G’14 for that matter.

The monsters as awesome as they are, are the biggest mixed bag in the show.

Kong is at his best in ages, and while I am all for the new heroic warrior character that Legendary have crafted and I acknowledge that making him a worthy opponent for their god-tier Godzilla was going to be a hurdle, I think they did a splendid job. Seeing Kong using agility and acrobatics was a glorious sight to behold, and something about Kong becoming a tool-user and weapon wielder just feels right. It’s a far better demonstration of Kong as a “thinking animal” (*wink, wink*).

I’m much less thrilled about their treatment of his greatest opponent ever. After everything they’ve done to build up Godzilla as the incredible force of neutral good fighting to maintain balance and all the build up to ancient rivalry debating back to a great Titan war--even going as far as putting his name in front Kong’s this time!-- they’ve reduced Godzilla back to glorified bully for Kong. He only gets the minimum amount of sympathy from the cast of his movie before they go off to deal with the conspiracy plot or focus on Kong and the Hollow Earth. Worse still, he is somehow more powerful and more aggressive than ever for a good chunk of the movie which leads to an outcome I’m sorry to say we all saw coming. Somehow, I suspect that the reason behind this was how Wingard cited Godzilla vs. Mothra, vs. Destoryah, and Shin-Godzilla as influences for the monsters scale and story, which while cool and all, are all movies where he was played up as a mostly stoic antagonist rather than a three-dimensional character like Kong. (Though ironically vs. Destoroyah and Shin did a better job of making Godzilla feel more sympathetic and in both of them he was a walking nuclear reactor meltdown.)

Due to the unfortunate time constraints of the three-way deal between Toho, WB, and Universal at the time this was in production, Kong was unable to secure a proper sequel that could develop his skillset like Godzilla’s did. Nevermind the fact the filmmakers completely surrendered to the “nothing matters but the monsters” mentality that a chunk of the fanbase has been spouting since this universe unofficially kicked off almost 10 years ago. (Sidenote: Oh god, I’m turning in an old fart already.) As a result, the movie trips over itself trying to set up Godzilla and Kong’s rivalry as well as building up Kong as a worthy opponent to Godzilla while expanding on their shared lore, and as a result countless plot points set up in in the previous movie and tie-in movie are thrown out the window. I’m sorry to say but in spite of all hopes and illusions of grandeur, it’s safe to this damn thing is a Kong movie with Godzilla as the bad guy.

...at least until HE shows up. Yup, Mechagodzilla. The biggest spoiled twist of the centuries steals the show so the movie can pull a Dawn of Justice. But! It does it much better than the fractured DCEU’s most controversial entry ever could. Mechagodzilla’s inclusion gets a decent amount of build up thanks to Team Godzilla/the Conspiracy Crew, and when he shows up, does he make an impression! At first, I wasn’t sure how to feel about his inclusion or his design, but I’ve come to like this one. He’s basically a kaiju terminator built in Godzilla’s image made purely out of heavy machinery piloted by the best Ghidorah head. It’s a jarring change of pace compared to previous MechaG’s but it grows on you after a while. With the abundance of weaponry stuffed into him, he feels like a fitting update of the original killing machine, and even if his inclusion feels like an easy way out of the big showdown, it’s fun to see him played as a literal colossal heel for the kings to team up against. Not to mention he looks shockingly good with those red highlights. However, one still can’t help but wonder how and why he was made in this universe, or how he feels like pure heavy machinery one minute and then an extra-large Ultron unit the next.

As for the the big throwdowns we’ve all been waiting for... well, we’re still in the mixed bag deparment. While the fights are all exciting and excellently choreographed, and benefit from some more eclectic lighting and cinematograph, I’m sorry to say that as far as the rematch of the century goes they dropped the ball on this one.

Don’t get me wrong, the fights are all great in their own ways, but there’s a drastic change in the feeling of weight and power with the monsters. Godzilla, Kong, and even Mechagodzilla all feel strangely floaty in most of their fights. One moments they feel like true behemoths shaking the very earth with every movement and then it’s like they’re in Godzilla Unleashed, running, jumping, and throwing each other around with speed that feels that almost makes you wonder if the Hollow Earth’s gravity inversion stuff is leaking out into the world. While it’s all perfectly cool, you can’t help but wonder how Kong is able to leap between aircraft carriers and buildings, when Godzilla got the ability to blow a hole through the Earth itself, or how a colossal machine is able to move so nimbly or why it has to be flashing blue all the time.

It’s fascinating and fun but you just can’t help but wonder how we got from almost posthuman disaster and war movies exploring how we’re at the mercy of the ancient almost mythical forces beyond our comprehension, we’ve found ourselves smack dab in the middle of Bayformers meets Jurassic World levels of Hollywood absurdity where anything and everything can and will happen in the name of getting to the monster fights. Although I can’t say I’m surprised given the director’s take on Death Note made some questionable choices with it’s take on the infamous cast while still coming up with some genuinely inspired choices. Still, all things considered we could have gotten worse compared to ther cinematic universes made by WB and Universal.

As for some misc. thoughts to close up this rambling mess:

-The soundtrack is fantastic. A great continuation of the feel of Skull Island’s mixtape with some truly wonderful picks. Special mention goes to the opening and ending songs, and they GOT AN ELVIS PRESLEY SONG IN HERE! YES!!! The three kings of pop culture together at last!

-While this movie didn’t need to be any more overstuffed, it would have been nice if the rest of the Titans didn’t disappear entirely from this movie. I get that Godzilla: Dominion already explained what happened to them all more or less, but it really is a missed oppurtunity that we never got to see another Titan war. Or Rodan attacking Kong to avenge his pterosaur bretheren from days long past. Speaking of which...

-“Save Mothra” jokes be damned, Mothra would have been a welcome gues star, not just to help break up the big fight, but to show off Godzilla’s softer, more protective side. And yes, I want more Mothzilla. Shut up, we deserve it.

-Boy, Monarch sure does a whole lot of nothing up-top, huh?

-The cinematography is a great update but there’s a little too much neon lighting, especially in the Apex HQ and the Hollow Earth throne room. It feels like they’re trying just a little too hard to sell the more futuristic, Hollywood sci-fi feel.

-The score is... great but not that great. Of course, I’ve always had mixed feelings about Tom Holkenburg (AKA Junkie XL)’s music. I liked Kong’s themes, but they REALLY dropped the ball with Godzilla’s theme. Mechagodzilla’s works really well as long you ignore that it’s just Godzilla’s theme in this movie with an ominious choir added in.

-The new Hollow Earth creatures are all perfectly fine. Actually, I thought they were another highlight! Especially the Warbats, Hellhawks, and Doug the Titanus Foetodon Man.

-I want to do a release the extended cut campaign but I don’t think any of us have the energy for that s**t anymore.

#godzilla vs kong #gvk spoilers #godzilla vs kong spoilers #godzilla vs kong 2021 #godzilla vs kong review #monsterverse #godzilla #king kong #kong #mechagodzilla #warner bros #legendary pictures #legendary godzilla #legendary kong #ramblings of the critter #the dapper critter #kaiju #monster movies #movie monsters #monsters #mothzilla for life

[artsoupsoupart]

Beneath His Touch: A Madney Drabble

Insired by this quote by Iain Thomas:  “The conversation between your fingers and someone else’s skin. This is the most important discussion you can ever have.” 

Read on AO3 

He’s…. so…. gentle. Howie always has been so soft and pleasant in the way he treats her and holds her and speaks to her. Between his words, his actions, and his touch, he has always handled Maddie with care. Not as though she’s fragile or frail, a little ceramic thing that’s already been cracked by inconsiderate hands. But instead, as though she’s just precious, valuable, worthy. She can't help but let herself get lost in it even when she doesn’t realize it, like now as they lie in bed together, mere inches away from one another. Howie is fast asleep and she’s definitely tired but very much awake, draped halfway across his body, watching him. They’re both now covered in a thin layer of sweat from their previous activities and instead of drawing away from each other to cool off, he had pulled her closer in their blissful haze. Perhaps that's why Maddie notices just how pleasing his hold on her is. She fits so perfectly against him, she realizes, the contours of them fitting like a puzzle from the way her head fits in the curve of his neck to the line of her hips against his.

One of his arms is wrapped around her waist and his other hand is clutched at the bend of the knee that’s across him. Howie’s told her before that he likes when she’s against him like this and she admits to herself that she likes it too. In this embrace with him, she feels safe and protected, a feeling she hasn’t had while being in the arms of a man in years. Maddie shifts her head back as smoothly as she can to not wake him and to get a better view as her eyes adjust to the dark. She can just make out his sleeping features against the little bit of moonlight that peeps through the windows.

Maddie lets her mind wander to every time he has touched her as she memorizes every line and dip along his face. She goes back to the early parts of their relationship, when sitting side by side on the sofa, shoulders pressed together and fingers brushing every now and then as they reached for popcorn or takeout had sent a familiarly unfamiliar zing across her skin. Perhaps she had known then the exact affect his contact had on her. Because the closer they became, the more she felt from him. He’d brush his hand on the small of her back as they passed each other in his tiny kitchen and she’d practically melt. His arm would loop around her shoulders as they watched yet another movie she’d never seen, and she found she could breathe easier. A lock of her hair would fall in front of her face and he’d so casually push it behind her ear and her cheeks would warm and her heart flutter like a thousand butterflies. His hand instinctively slips into hers’ and they lock together, fitting as though she were meant to hold no one else’s. Her hands are meant to cup his face as though he is simply the world she functions to keep lifted. There is always goosebumps pebble across her body as his calloused, yet smooth fingers wake parts of her that laid dormant for who knows how long.

And he touches her more than with his hands, but with the absolute love and care in every single moment he gazes upon her. Howie holds the moonlight in his deep eyes and the sun’s warmth in his touch. And yet, he's never burned her. Instead, he builds her up, changes her conformation from what she’s known for years. She’s a sculpture and he’s her very own conservator-restorer, preserving everything that’s good about who she is and what he loves about her. Sculptors’ hands mold and form statues, maintaining their integrity. They must be precise. And she thinks that’s exactly what his do to her. His hands touch her through time and space. They have engraved his name under her skin, and she can’t imagine letting anyone else touch her. There’s no way to ever erase what’s happened to Maddie but perhaps his touch alters it, making new memories of what being loved should feel like. His fingers converse with her skin, soothing and reassuring. Truthfully, what they say might be more worthwhile than any therapy session she’s been to. Because they’re the truth. Those steady and calloused digits speak of only infinitesimal adoration as if there’s never a moment where Howie does not cherish ever bit of her.

The sweet touch of his fingers dance so easily across her skin, Maddie realizes as she notes the soft movement against her side. The sweeping motion overwrites everything that came before. It doesn't erase it; she doesn't think that it ever could. The scars are too deep though they are definitely healing. They'll be there forever, just underneath the pleasant pressure of his hand and his lips and presence of his body against hers. Because he'll be there to distract her from even remembering that those traumatic scars exist, and she can't help but wonder how he happened to do such a thing. His lips unlock inside jokes and secrets that only they understand. He kisses with his soul, lips parted and dripping with sentimentality. His touch is sacred. Ethereal is the way he memorizes the colors of the flush of her skin. Doug’s touch left her sad, battered, torn to pieces. Angry were his fingers like fire into ice, melting into eternal darkness. Her ex-husband’s gaze arrested her, his touch trapped her, enslaving her under the guise of love. They were brutal, something she had to stop herself from flinching away from just to not make it worse. She stops herself from physically shuddering at the memories she knows will fade with time.

A cage of gentle hands is still a cage but some way, somehow it's different here with Chimney. Perhaps because, somewhere in the depths of her subconscious, she knows he would let her destroy him. She hopes she never would, doesn’t know if she ever could. But if she wanted to scream, he’d let her deafen him. If she wanted to cry, he’d let her drown him. And in that way, emotionally he holds her, supports her, doesn’t let her trauma deter him from openly loving her. She can love him without fear, without restraint simply because he caresses without anger. It's a miracle she decides to believe in. He's not an illusion. He’s real and whole and present.

“Maddie,” his raspy, sleepy mumble draws her out of her own head as he pulls her impossibly closer to him. “I can feel you thinking. Go to sleep.”

She smiles, hiding her face in his neck before kissing it. He turns his head, eyes still closed and presses one of his own against her forehead. Yes, he’s gentle. But he’s been carving himself into her very being since the moment they met.

#911 on fox #maddie buckley #chimey han #madney #fluff

[songsforfelurian]

Heith Fic: Deep Pressure

Hi all! I got so many notes on my previous post that I decided to branch out and start a smaller piece focusing on Keith/Hunk! I’m guessing it will be 3-4 chapters total. I’m going to keep the rating at Mature for the bulk of the story, and then consider doing an Explicit add-on, depending on the level of interest.

Quick warning... Keith has self-deprecating thoughts about his issues with physical touch, so if that sort of language bothers you, please exercise caution.

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Relationship: Hunk/Keith

Additional Tags: Keith has a sensory processing disorder, Hunk gives tolerable hugs

Words: 4398

This chapter takes place during Season 7, Episode 9: Know Your Enemy. Read it under the cut, or over on AO3!

“Hey, Shiro? Hold up, a second?”

Keith caught up with Shiro, Pidge and Allura on their way out of the massive hangar that housed the Atlas. The room was buzzing with activity, but Keith could sense the stillness of the ship, the eerie silence of a powerful thing deprived of its purpose.

“Hey, Keith.” Shiro spared him a strained smile. He told Pidge and Allura to go on without him, then turned his attention to Keith, maintaining eye contact in a way that let Keith know he was really listening.

He made a mental note. He’d always known that Shiro was a talented leader, but he hadn’t always paid attention to the particular qualities that made him one. Not until recently, anyway. Not until he’d started worrying about trying to become one, himself.

“I’m worried about Hunk,” Keith told him. “That briefing was brutal. Lance and Pidge are coping because their families were here waiting for them, and… well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hunk lose his cool, like that.”

Shiro nodded. “What do you think we should do?”

“Well… I think someone should go talk to him.”

“Mm. Yeah. Someone should.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Keith caught his meaning.

“Me?”

Shiro raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

Keith shook his head. “Bad idea. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“You noticed he was upset. You know what’s bothering him. I’m sure you can figure something out.”

“But-”

“Keith.” Shiro put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, applying the perfect amount of pressure. It had taken patience, practice, and trust on both sides, but eventually, Shiro had come to understand and navigate Keith’s challenges with physical touch. “You’re learning how to lead them in battle. You have to learn to lead them when they’re grounded, too.” He flashed him a smile. “I know you can do it. Just give it a try.”

Keith gritted his teeth. Shiro always knew how to give him a mission, a goal to pursue. He didn’t take no for an answer, and he didn’t entertain any of Keith’s doubts.

Keith just had to figure out how to measure up.

He found Hunk in a workshop down the hall, venting his frustration on a piece of equipment he couldn’t readily identify. Hunk was obviously distressed, and Keith briefly considered making an excuse and ducking out of there – what good could he possibly do? – but he remembered what Shiro had said, and he resolved to give it his best effort.

“Look,” he told Hunk, “I’m not really good at talking with people, and I don’t expect you to open up to me, but if there’s ever anything on your mind-”

He stopped, listening carefully as Hunk launched into a rant, venting his fears and frustrations. Keith had always thought of Hunk as an optimist – sometimes, to a fault – and he grew increasingly more concerned at the hopelessness he heard in Hunk’s tone as he talked about his family, and about the loneliness he felt.

Keith knew what it was like to feel hopeless. And he was no stranger to desperate loneliness, either.

He thought about all the times Shiro had pulled him back from the brink. Shiro always knew what to say, always knew exactly what Keith needed to hear in order to keep moving forward.

He always knew how to give Keith a mission. Maybe Keith could give Hunk one, too.

“Look, Hunk,” he said. “I never told you this, but of all the paladins, you’re the one I’m most impressed by. It’s no secret that you’ve always been the most scared, but… you’ve never backed down. Never. And to be brave is to go on in spite of fear, and that’s who you are, Hunk.”

Hunk was looking back at him, wide-eyed and attentive. This was good. He was on the right track.

“I know you’re scared,” he went on, “but your family… they need you to be strong, right now.”

Hunk looked down at the floor, and Keith felt a pang. Was it too much? Too blunt? Too personal? This was a terrible idea, he had no idea how to comfort someone-

His musings were cut short when Hunk threw his arms around him and hugged him tight.

He felt his limbs go momentarily rigid, his typical response to being touched without warning. But then he felt himself relax, felt an involuntary smile spread across his face. The pressure was good: just the right amount, firm and calming and-

And then it was gone, and the loss of it was more grating than the initial shock of it had been.

Hunk was walking away from him.

“Where are you going?”

Hunk gave him a determined look.

“I’m going to get my family.”

Keith smiled. They both had a mission, now.

“Not without me.”

  “Keith?”

“Yeah, man?”

Keith had been about to swipe himself into his quarters back at the Garrison barracks, but he paused to take in the serious expression on Hunk’s face.

“I guess it was pretty risky, going to see my family, like that.”

Keith nodded.

“Worth it though, right? Now we know where they are. We know they’re okay.”

“Well, yeah, but I meant… why did you come along? You didn’t need to do that. We could’ve gotten in so much trouble…”

Keith scrambled for an answer to the question he’d been asking himself all night.

“Well… you’re my friend. I was worried about you, and… I mean, I want to save them, too.”

Keith’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. Hunk’s lower lip was trembling, like he was about to cry again, and Keith wasn’t remotely prepared to cope with that scenario.

“Besides,” he went on, hoping to steer the conversation back to safer territory, “the last time they threw me out of this place, I got promoted to Paladin of Voltron. I doubt they’ll try it again anytime soo- hngh-”

Every cubic centimeter of breath rushed out of his lungs as Hunk caught him in a crushing hug. He dug the heel of his hand into Hunk’s shoulder – too much too much too much – and Hunk loosened his hold, though he didn’t let go.

“Sorry, man. Too tight?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this better?”

Keith battled his flight response, forcing himself to examine the sensation objectively. It was something he’d practiced with Shiro and, eventually, a therapist, once he’d grown tired of flinching every time someone laid a hand on his arm or tried to shake his hand.

It was better. Hunk had stumbled onto the perfect amount of pressure, almost effortlessly. Keith felt his anxiety level plummet, felt himself leaning against Hunk’s chest, felt his arms sliding around Hunk’s shoulders of their own accord.

“Yeah. It’s… better.”

Hunk’s chin was resting on his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

“Sure, man.”

Keith let his chin rest on Hunk’s shoulder, too.

The moment stretched.

“I guess we should get some sleep,” Keith said. He didn’t let go.

“I wish. I can’t imagine sleeping right now. I’ll probably watch a movie, or something.” Hunk loosened his hold and stepped away. There was a faint blush in his cheeks.

“Uhm. A movie?”

“Yeah. Pidge recovered all our files from… from before. Lance and I had a huge media library, back when we were roommates.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess Lance will want to watch, too, right?”

“Nah. He’s with his family, still.”

“Oh. Right.”

Hunk raised a hand to the back of his neck. “Yeah. So… I’ll be across the hall. I mean, if you can’t sleep, and you want to, like, hang, or something.”

“Oh… okay. Uhm. Thanks, Hunk.”

“Sure.” He hesitated, then said, “’Night, Keith.”

“Night.”

Keith watched him swipe into his quarters, watched the door slide shut behind him. He stared at it for almost a minute before he moved again.

  Keith turned the conversation over in his mind while he showered, rinsing the dust of the ruined city from his skin. At first, he’d thought Hunk was just being characteristically friendly, inviting him to spend time together. But Lance and Pidge – his best friends, the people he relied on most – were busy spending time with their families, experiencing the reunions they’d been so desperately hoping for ever since they’d first been stranded on the other side of the universe. For tonight, at least, they were safe. They were home.

And Hunk’s family may as well have been a galaxy away.

Keith dried himself off, taking care to rub a towel through his hair until all the excess water was gone; he didn’t like the feeling of droplets falling onto his face and shoulders. He dressed in a clean set of black underclothes: a close-fitting, high-necked, long-sleeved shirt and slim-fitting leggings. Even though they were technically part of his paladin armor, he preferred them to any of the other clothes he owned. The material was soft and smooth, the fit snug and satisfying, tight enough to banish the itchy, creepy-crawly sensation he experienced when he wore the wrong kind of clothes.

He sat down on his bunk, where Kosmo was curled into a ball, fast asleep. He ran his fingers through the wolf’s sleek, silky fur for a moment, thinking.

Then he snapped his communicator back onto his wrist, left his quarters, and knocked on Hunk’s door.

“Keith?” Hunk looked confused, and a little concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Keith shrugged a little. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”

Hunk broke into a sunny grin; it was a relief to see, after everything he’d been through in the last twenty-four hours.

“Sweet! You hungry?”

“Uh… yeah, I could eat.”

Hunk stood to the side to let him pass. His quarters were practically empty, like all of theirs were. They’d only brought the bare essentials with them from their lions; none of the personal belongings that might’ve made these rooms feel like home. And what would’ve been the point? They were temporary, anyway.

Just like everything else.

“I was making space burritos!” Hunk said, with much of his typical enthusiasm. Space burritos was code for whatever ingredients I can find, wrapped in bread. “You can have this one, if you want.” He gestured to the finished wrap on the small table in the corner of the room.

“Thanks, man.” Keith walked toward the table, but Hunk stopped him, taking hold of his forearm.

“Shit, hang on, I forgot-”

Keith twisted out of his hold, knocking his hand away with a sharp elbow.

“Ah-”

Hunk took a small step away from him, holding up his hands. Keith cringed.

“Shit, Hunk, sorry… I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay!” Hunk looked flustered, apologetic. “I… uhm… I forgot I already put sauce on that one. You like yours on the side, right?”

“I… yeah. I do.”

“No worries, man. I’ll make another one.” Hunk avoided his gaze and moved to the table. “My library’s up on the viewscreen, if you want to look through it.”

Keith felt the back of his teeth grind together. Why was Hunk always so incessantly nice? It was grating, at times like this, when Keith didn’t feel like he deserved it.

He swallowed the angry notion, converting it to a quiet sigh, then turned toward the viewscreen in the wall and started tapping through a series of folders. He wasn’t actually looking at the files, though. He was trying to figure out what to say.

“I… I have a thing,” he blurted.

Hunk didn’t look up from the ingredients he was arranging on top of the circular, grain-based wrapper that vaguely resembled a tortilla.

“Huh?”

“I have a thing,” Keith repeated, with emphasis. “When you grabbed my arm, I-”

“I know,” Hunk said, looking at him, now. “You don’t like to be touched, right? I’m really sorry, man. I suck at remembering that kind of thing. I’ll work on it.”

Keith shook his head. “No, you don’t need to do that. And it’s not really like that, anyway. I don’t mind being touched, as long as it’s…”

He made an inarticulate gesture. Hunk raised an eyebrow. Keith let out a small, frustrated groan.

“It’s complicated.”

Hunk shrugged a little.

“Sounds like a sensory processing disorder.”

Keith blinked.

“Yeah, it… how did you know that?”

“My cousin. He has a hard time with bright lights, loud noises, certain foods. He hates being touched by strangers, too. So… want to tell me about it?”

Keith chewed the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t like to be caught off guard. It makes me impulsive. I end up doing things I regret.”

Hunk nodded. “Fair enough.”

“But sometimes… like when you hugged me, earlier… if the pressure is just right, it’s… tolerable.”

“Tolerable?”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Tolerable.”

Hunk went back to prepping the burrito, shifting his gaze downward, again. “So you don’t mind being touched, as long as it’s in the right way.”

“And in the right place.”

“And by the right person?”

Hunk was still decidedly staring down at the table, which was a blessing, because Keith could feel the heat of a blush in his cheeks.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Okay. Sounds simple enough, to me.”

Keith exhaled a bitter laugh. “Does it?”

“Sure. I won’t grab you unless I know you want me to. Easy-peasy.”

Keith felt a tug behind his navel.

Unless he knows I want him to?

“Don’t worry, man. No sauce on the inside. I promise.”

Hunk was standing in front of him, now. Keith stared at the burrito for a moment, processing, before he finally accepted the plate.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to do that.”

Hunk tilted his head to one side.

“I’m feeling like you’re used to letting people stomp all over your boundaries. It might not happen so often, if you just explained what they were.”

Keith glared involuntarily.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it took you, like, thirty seconds to explain the whole sensory issue, and it took me, like, a minute to make you a new burrito, and, I mean, obviously this conversation is making you super uncomfortable, and that’ll suck for like, a second, but… don’t you think it’s better that you told me?”

Keith’s mouth fell open.

“I… I guess I don’t want people to have to worry about it. About me.”

“Dude. You’re not an inconvenience. You’re my friend.”

Hunk turned to the panel and started tapping, while Keith stood there in a stunned silence, staring.

“I’m picking something animated,” he said easily, as if they hadn’t just been discussing one of the most private, personal aspects of Keith’s life. “I can’t deal with anything heavy right now. Does that work for you?”

“Uh.” Keith cleared his throat. “Uh huh. Whatever you want.”

Hunk set the movie to play, retrieved his own burrito from the table, and then sat down cross-legged at the end of his bunk, which was directly opposite the screen in the wall. Keith had been ready to drag one of the chairs from the table closer to the viewscreen, but Hunk had left him plenty of space to sit comfortably on the bed, leaving him with an uncomfortable dilemma.

He hated situations like this. It was one of the reasons he typically preferred to avoid socializing altogether. Did Hunk actually want him to sit on the bed, or had he just sat down where he was most comfortable? If Keith sat on the floor or the chair instead, would he be offended? Confused? Distracted? Would they have to talk about it? Keith felt that he was always misreading or overthinking everyone else’s intentions, forever on the brink of embarrassing himself, or offending someone, or upsetting the delicate balance of mutual respect he’d struck with his teammates.

His friends.

He sat down on the opposite end of the bed.

“Have you seen this one?” Hunk asked, gesturing toward the screen, swallowing a bite of burrito.

“I think so. When I was a kid.”

“I don’t even know if it’s any good, but it makes me laugh, anyway. Lance knows the words to all the songs from, like, every animated movie ever created, and he used to perform them, like, fake microphone, costumes, singing at the top of his lungs, the whole deal. We got written up for a noise violation, watching this one. I laughed so hard I thought I was gonna barf.”

Keith let out a small laugh, glad to see Hunk slowly returning to his typical state of high-spirited chattiness. “I can picture it. Lance can be pretty funny, sometimes.”

“He really can. I… uh… I’m glad you guys are getting along, these days. I think he is, too.”

Keith nodded. “So am I.”

They ate in silence for a while, watching the characters in the film swim around their animated ocean. Hunk stood up when he finished his burrito, took Keith’s plate, and then retrieved two bottles of water from a crate in the corner. Keith accepted his gratefully, downing a quarter of it in a single swallow.

“So…” Hunk ventured, once he’d sat down on the opposite side of the bed, again. “Hugs are okay, sometimes?”

Keith fidgeted with the lid of the bottle.

“Uh. Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Because it seemed like… well, I know my cousin likes deep pressure. Or, like, it helps, sometimes.”

Keith didn’t respond. He was surprised to find that he didn’t mind the questions – it was actually a relief, to have the subject raised in such a casual way – but he was having trouble figuring out what to say.

“So… does it feel good anywhere else?”

Keith risked a glance in Hunk’s direction. His eyes were locked on the screen.

“The pressure, I mean,” Hunk clarified.

“Uhm. Shiro squeezes my shoulders, sometimes.”

“So he knows?”

“Yeah. He’s the one who helped me figure out why… why I was having so many… problems.”

He could see Hunk nodding in his periphery.

“Okay. Hugs and shoulders. Anything else?”

“Uh. My hands, I guess. Sometimes I would skip our regular fighting drills and box, instead. Something about the impact. But then, they ache after, so…”

He stopped. He’d been rambling.

It wasn’t a thing he was used to doing.

“Okay.” He saw Hunk shift, a little. “Do you want to show me?”

“Huh?”

“I… I could put pressure on your hands, if you want.” Hunk was staring at a spot on the floor, now. “If it would help, I mean. You did something really amazing for me today. I owe you one.”

Keith could feel himself frowning in discomfort and confusion: discomfort, because Hunk had stumbled all the way inside his metaphorical stronghold of embarrassing personal information, and confusion, because he was seriously considering taking him up on the offer. He’d spent all night thinking about the way Hunk had hugged him – couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it, in fact – and as much as he’d been genuinely concerned about Hunk’s well-being, part of him knew he was in Hunk’s quarters right now because he was hoping it would happen again.

It had been… tolerable.

“Okay,” he said, his voice rough and grating to his own ears.

He set his water bottle aside, moved his left hand to the center of the bed, and let it rest there.

He stared at the viewscreen while Hunk moved closer to him, picked up his hand, and held it carefully between both of his own.

He winced.

“Light pressure like that feels… bad,” he said.

Hunk let go.

“Okay. Uh. You might have to tell me what to do.”

Keith swallowed. “When I was younger, Shiro would say, Too much or not enough? Like, until he got the pressure right. So… you can squeeze my fingers, and I’ll tell you.”

Hunk picked up his hand again, held it firmly at the wrist, and gave his fingers a tentative squeeze.

“Not enough.”

The pressure increased.

“Just right.”

Hunk nodded. “Easy enough. Just hold it, like this?”

Keith examined the sensation. Hunk’s hands were huge, big enough to encircle all of his fingers, and then some.

The notion made him feel… something.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“Sure.”

They lapsed into silence, again, staring at the screen, but Keith wasn’t really paying attention to the movie. He was focused on the pressure encircling his fingers, tight enough that he could feel his pulse throbbing pleasantly there, but not tight enough to cause any true discomfort. He drew in a slow breath, and when he let it go, he felt some of the tension he’d accumulated that night leaving his body along with it. He found himself wishing the sensation would spread – wishing that he could feel it pressing against him from all sides…

He swallowed.

“Can you do the rest of my hand?”

He felt Hunk adjust his grip, so that his fingers were clasped over the entirety of the back of his hand.

Hunk squeezed.

“Too much or not enough?”

“Uh. Just right.”

“Sick! Nailed it!”

Keith smiled at the screen, extending his mind to the new point of contact, enjoying the sensation of being…

Held?

“…your other hand?”

He looked at Hunk, blinking.

“Huh?”

“Do you want me to do the other one? For symmetry, or whatever?”

“Oh.” Keith considered this. Hunk wouldn’t be able to reach his other hand, from here. They would have to get closer to each other.

He didn’t consider it for very long.

“Okay.”

Hunk let go of his left hand. The loss of pressure grated on Keith’s nerves – that, alone, would’ve convinced him to let Hunk hold the other one, if he hadn’t already decided to – so he shifted a few inches to his left. He’d intended to move his right arm across his body, but Hunk had other plans. He got up from the bed and sat down on Keith’s other side, and then he picked up Keith’s hand and pulled it into his lap.

No hesitation. No fanfare.

Just contact. Just pressure.

“Too much or not enough?”

Keith licked his lips.

“Not enough.”

“Damn. I thought I had it, that time.” He squeezed. “Now?”

“Um. Just right.”

“Okay. Second try’s not bad, right?”

“No,” Keith told the viewscreen. “It’s not bad.”

Hunk held the pressure steady – perfectly steady – until Keith told him to move on to the rest of his hand, and then he held that pressure steady, too, without any hint of awkwardness, or boredom, or impatience.

Keith started to wonder how long Hunk would hold on, if he never told him to stop.

“Can you hold hands with your fingers all interlocked?” Hunk asked. They’d been silent for so long that Keith flinched a little, pulled out of his pleasant, deep-pressure haze. Hunk didn’t seem to notice, though. “Or does that bother you?” he was asking. “Having someone’s fingers between your fingers, I mean.”

“Uh. I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”

Hunk’s head snapped in his direction.

“You’ve never held someone’s hand?”

“Not like that.”

Hunk stared at him, his eyebrows drawn together, his mouth set in a gentle frown. Then he looked back at the screen, adjusted the position of his hand, and interlaced their fingers together.

Keith’s skin started to crawl, from the spaces between his fingers, up to his wrist and forearm, then all the way to his shoulder… he pulled his hand away, shaking it, trying to rid himself of the sensation.

“Shit! Keith, I’m sorry, I thought maybe-”

“It’s fine,” Keith said, trying not to blush, knowing he was helpless to stop it. It was fine. He wasn’t angry, he was just defective, held prisoner by his own involuntary responses, barred from the simplest, most mundane gestures of affection, none of which was Hunk’s fault-

“I shouldn’t have done that, though, I should’ve asked you-”

“No, Hunk, seriously-”

“Are you mad? Please don’t be mad-”

He grabbed Hunk’s hand and held on, scowling pointedly at the floor. They held onto each other awkwardly for a moment, their hands hovering in the air, in the small stretch of space between them, until Hunk slowly pulled Keith’s hand into his lap, again.

Keith let him.

Hunk started to move his hand – back to its previous, more neutral position, Keith guessed – and Keith squeezed, stopping him.

“I can hold hands like this,” he blurted, “if-”

“Okay,” Hunk said, his voice quiet. “Good. It’s… I like this better, anyway.”

I like this better.

I like this.

Keith played the words in his mind over and over while his heart hammered away in his chest. A minute ago he’d been sinking into the relaxing embrace of a deep-pressure calm, and now he was wide awake, tingling from head to toe, trying to control his breathing.

It was exhilarating.

I like this, too.

“Keith?” Hunk squeezed his hand, just a little, just for a second, and the tingling, live-wire sensation exploded upward, traveling along Keith’s arm, settling into his chest. His heartbeat thrummed.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want me to squeeze your shoulders?”

Yes. Yes. Please. I want you to.

“Okay.”

Hunk let go of his hand and turned toward him, and Keith took the hint. He moved until he was facing away from Hunk, sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed. He felt the mattress shift – Hunk was sitting up on his knees – and then he felt Hunk’s huge hands resting heavily on his shoulders, pressing down in a perfectly uniform squeeze.

“Too much or not enough?”

Keith was having trouble finding his breath.

“Just right,” he murmured.

And it was, although Keith was struggling to understand how the sensation could be both soothing and electrifying at the same time. He wasn’t feeling particularly relaxed – he thought he was likely to vibrate right out of his skin, any minute now – but he felt good. Anchored, excited, safe-

Hunk’s arms slid down and around his chest, encircling him, wrapping him up in the pressure and the warmth…

Keith let the air out of his lungs.

“Too much?”

Hunk’s voice was low and close.

“No.” Keith leaned back against his chest. “Just right.”

Hunk’s forehead was resting against his hair.

“Keith?”

Keith felt his heart leap into the back of his throat.

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking I might try to go to sleep.”

“Oh. Okay-”

“And I was thinking…”

Keith felt his hesitation, felt Hunk’s breath catch in his chest, because his back was pressed against it.

“I was thinking… maybe you could stay.”

#heith #voltron fanfic #deep pressure #Voltron legendary defender #originalpost

[180abroad]

Day 146: Auschwitz

"For ever let this place be a cry of despair and a warning to humanity." Auschwitz-Birkenau, 1940–1945

This was, without question, the most horrifying, unsettling, and emotionally devastating thing we did on our trip. It was also probably the most important.

We arrived at Auschwitz as part of a big-bus tour group and met our guide. She took us directly into the camp, passing under the iconic sign which, translated, means “work will set you free.”

During the Nazi occupation, prisoners were kept in a row of barracks behind barbed wire. My first reaction was surprise at how nice the barracks looked from the outside. The reason is that Auschwitz (or "Oswiecim," in Polish) was originally a Polish military base meant to house Polish soldiers. When the Germans invaded Poland, they needed someplace to store thousands of Polish military and political prisoners. Existing Polish military bases were an obvious and practical solution. All that needed to be done was to add a barbed wire fence and reorient the defenses to face inward instead of outward.

It was later that it became a permanent camp for Jews. It was the perfect location--a rail hub right in the middle of the Nazi concentration camp system.

We saw a copy of a Nazi poster encouraging the Jewish population of Cologne to report for relocation to a new settlement where they would be allowed to live in peace.

But as decent as the barracks seem from the outside, it is a thin veneer covering a dark core. We saw the insides of several barracks. Most were converted into various exhibits, but we also saw the conditions that the Jews and other prisoners were made to live in–both at the beginning of the camp’s history and at its brutal end.

We saw a barrack filled with items confiscated from the Jewish prisoners. Ever economical, the Nazis kept everything they took from their prisoners with the intention of reusing it. There are whole rooms filled with eyeglasses, hairbrushes, luggage, and even prosthetic limbs.

And countless piles of shoes.

But the room that affected me most was the one filled with hair. Every woman who entered the prison had her hair shaved off. And the Nazis kept it all, intending to use it for insulation, stuffing, and even textiles.

The first thing you see in the room is a small case with a row of braided plaits, cut clean off of their owners heads. They looked as though they might have been cut off that morning. I couldn’t look at them for more than a few seconds before looking away. Seeing them tore at my heart, and it pains me to even recall it now.

And then you turn and see it. A mountain of hair as tall as a person and at least as deep as it is tall, running twenty or thirty yards across the length of the room. Over four thousand pounds of it. Photos aren’t permitted of the hair out of respect, but I don’t think that I would show it to you even if I could.

We saw a display case filled with empty cans of Zyklon B, the industrial pesticide that the Nazis used to murder prisoners by the hundreds. It wasn’t chosen because it was fast or clean; it was chosen because it was cheap and readily available. It wasn’t fast, and it wasn’t clean. Many prisoners survived the gas only to be burned alive along with the dead in the crematoria.

We saw another barrack block that was used as a special prison within the camp--used for disobedient prisoners and anyone the guards felt like making an example of. Some rooms were so crowded and poorly ventilated that the people inside them suffocated. Some rooms were divided into small, unlit standing cells that prisoners had to climb into through a hatch at floor level. I could barely fit into one by myself, but the Nazis would put four men in each. Another set of cells was used for testing various poisons on prisoners until Zyklon B was selected as the one for mass implementation.

We saw a wall where other disobedient prisoners were summarily shot, and a gallows where twelve Polish Christians were hanged inside the camp for trying to help Jews escape.

We saw the once-electrified fences that still surround the camp. Built to keep inmates in, it became for some their only means of escape. Many prisoner records ended with “fell against the electric fence,” and no foul play from the guards was involved.

We saw the quarters of the camp commandant Rudolf Hoss, where he and his children would play in their pool while watching the camp prisoners go about their daily work.

And we saw the gallows where Hoss was hanged after the war.

We saw the gas chambers and the furnaces. We saw the room where countless people were murdered, and the holes in the ceiling that carried the agent of their deaths.

We saw the crematorium in the next room with three ovens and a custom-engineered three-track cart system for carrying the bodies from one room to the other as efficiently as possible.

Jessica described her previous experience at Auschwitz as “intense.” I get it now. As we walked around, at first I didn’t feel anything at all. It was too much–numbing. But as we left back under the cursed gate, I could feel myself beginning to shake, with emotions too intense to file away under any pre-existing label.

Absolute horror. Absolute rage. Absolute disgust. Absolute sorrow. Absolute shame–not for any sense of having been a part of it, but for knowing that I am of the same species as the beings who did this.

I wanted this place to be enshrined forever and never forgotten. I wanted it burned out like a festering wound. At some places we’ve visited, Jessica and I have taken small rocks as tokens of our visit. But when I thought of taking a rock from this place, I felt physically sick. I’m glad I came, but I don’t want any of it to leave with me. I resented even the dust that clung to my shoes.

After a short break, we rode over to Auschwitz II, also known as Birkenau.

Birkenau wasn’t a military base. And it wasn’t a labor camp, either. It was purpose-built for extermination.

One half of the camp is built from bricks taken from the Polish villages that were leveled to make way for the camp. The other half is filled with prefabricated wooden structures. Not even barracks, they were originally designed as stables for German officers’ horses.

I always found it strange that a camp dedicated purely to extermination would need such a massive amount of living space. The simple, horrible answer is one of massive mathematics.

Ninety percent of all the prisoners brought to the camp were sent directly to the gas chambers . The remaining ten percent were used as slave labor to maintain the camp and run the crematoria. But by the end of the war, that ten percent amounted to over one hundred thousand people.

Combined, Auschwitz and Birkenau could kill and burn thousands of people every day. But even that wasn’t enough to keep up with the greater thousands that were shipped by train every day.

We stood on the exact spot where people were divided into those who would die now and those who would die later.

By the end of the war, the gas chambers and ovens weren't enough to keep up with the flood of people being shipped to Auschwitz by the Nazis for disposal. They had to be supplemented by firing squads and mass pyres. But the pyres didn’t burn as efficiently as the ovens, and they left more evidence for the Allies to find when they finally arrived at the camp.

We saw some of the crematoria sites in Birkenau. Before abandoning the camp, the Nazis blew them up in a vain attempt to hide what they had done. They knew exactly what they had done.

Near the crematoria stands a monument to the more than 1 million people who were killed in this single camp complex of Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Back in the living quarters of the camp, we saw a barracks block that was used as an open latrine by the prisoners. We saw another barracks block that was reserved for women who could no longer work, where they were kept under guard until it was their turn to be sent to the crematoria.

Throughout our trip, Jessica and I visited many powerful places. Some positive, some horrible. But every time, I left feeling like I had gained something from the experience. Except Auschwitz.

Auschwitz doesn’t give. It only takes. As we left the Birkenau camp, I felt that something had been ripped out of me–that I was leaving as less than what I was when I went in. I could say it was innocence, or a sense of humanity's inherent goodness. But it wasn't really something that could be summed up as cleanly as that.

Auschwitz is a place of ending. It is the end of the line–both literally and figuratively. It is what happens when an ideology based on fear and superiority over others is taken to its natural conclusion. And while we may have defeated the Third Reich, we haven’t changed human nature. I don't think we ever can.

As long as there are humans, there is the possibility that this could happen again. We can’t defeat it once and for all like in a movie or fairytale. We can only commit to standing vigilant. Words of fear, words of superiority, words that divide the world into us and them–these are the seeds of the next Holocaust. And while we can’t–and shouldn’t–stamp such words out with force, we should treat them with the grim respect that they deserve, lest they flower while we ignore them.

I don’t think I’m a better person for having seen what I saw. But I might have a better awareness of how bad I could become under the wrong circumstances.

That is why I think it is important that these places be preserved in perpetuity, and that anyone who can should see them in person. Not just as a monument to the dead, and certainly not to shame the guilty as if they are monsters set apart from the rest of us, but as a warning to all humans who will ever live that they too are capable of such things.

Next Post: Salt, Cemeteries, and Castles (Krakow, Part II)

Last Post: Schindler’s Factory and St. Mary’s Basilica

#180abroad #krakow #poland #auschwitz #history #ww2 #holocust #never forget

[cluelessnu]

Avengers: Infinity War Not Really A Review So Much As Lots of Thoughts Part 1

I don’t normally do these cause I really don’t have a lot new to say that someone else can’t articulate a lot better, but god I’ve seen a lot of people just decide they’re not seeing this because of spoilers they didn’t like and while I don’t think this will change anyone's mind; I can at least be another positive thing out there.

I saw this also saw it on the 25th and need to go again cause some details are fuzzy.

I personally loved it. Thought it was extremely well done and juggled all the characters movements back and forth well and there were awesome interactions that honestly I’ve been waiting years to see! And sure there were a lot of moments that were easily predicted and you can already predict elements from Avengers 4 but being able to predict something doesn’t actually take away my enjoyment.

Take an example of Thor Ragnarok actually; Hulk vs Thor, Thor is repeating ‘Suns getting real low’ and we get a second to think that Banner is listening under there but then he’s grabbed and thumped in a call back to Hulk vs Loki. A completely predictable moment which you can see coming from miles away. Still fucking hilarious.

I found that feeling a lot during Infinity War (and towards Avengers 4) 

Brutal fucking start. You can really feel the fear in the air but also the pure glee from Loki at calling in the Hulk, thinking it would work. The fact that he comes back when it doesn’t work made me happy to see that progression in his character; the love for his brother coming before his own survival. 

I’m sad that Valkyrie, Korg and all the Asgardians died off-screen here but I also understand how quickly that established Thanos’s power and then cemented it by beating the crap out of Hulk. (Note: I didn’t actually see Valkyrie in the piles of the dead but Zigzag assures me she was there.)

Loki dying was almost assured but god it was brutal to watch him twitch in Thanos’s hand. They did not hold back there and Thor crawling to his brother was heartbreaking. 

If Thor has any say in using the stones to fix things after this; I honestly predict Loki & Valkyrie coming back, not sure about Heimdall, purely because Heimdall got a heroic last act in this scene and that seems a fitting send-off? (Technically Loki did too but I don’t see Thor not bringing his brother back given the chance)

Bravo on Heimdall’s aim at hitting Strange’s house, Asgardians breaking Strange’s staircase should be a running joke.

----- I’m just adding breaks here at major scene changes

This scene with Tony and Pepper felt too long? and while I’m glad that Pepper isn’t just missing from the movie it feels weird that their relationship has gone through several major beats so completely off screen that I buy their dynamic less and less over the movies. Which is sad cause I really do like the pairing. Although I think I agree that Pepper would be the one who doesn’t want kids at all. 

Also, bigger and more obvious arc reactor inserted. Seemed weird to give that an offhand one line to explain it? Didn’t feel necessary. 

Exposition with Strange and Wong was exposition and that’s fine.

The fight scene with Thanos henchmen was cool even if I still hate the quick million edit cuts style that these movies do. (I’ve been ruined since Fury Road). Peter popping in to save Tony and just trying so damn hard to help makes my heart clench with happy feelings. I remember thinking the Iron Spider armour was stupid in the comics but I will admit to loving it here. (Tony attempting to save Peter is also adorable)

Hulk throwing an internal temper tantrum and refusing to come out was good. I actually rather enjoyed having Banner this whole movie but I am curious how he’s going to resolve this problem with Hulk.

And off Tony flies into his worst nightmare in space. (And FRIDAY cutting out was sadder for me than Pepper.. why am I so attached to Tony’s bots?)

and Banner is fucking lucky that phone is old as shit cause there is no way it would have survived otherwise. Also, I don’t buy that Tony would have it on him at all times but whatever.

----- Onto Thor and Guardians.

Thor being absolutely 100% done with being nice and polite here was both perfect and so sad. He’s now a man on a mission, not just for revenge but to prevent others from having to feel how he feels right now, having lost everything important to him and just not caring anymore. I think if Thor dies in the act of killing Thanos he will be content to finally not be left behind.

Quill was a bigger man-child than normal, and I hate it. I usually enjoy his character despite that but yeah no love here in this scene.  

No love for Quill/Gamora either. They were moving towards something in GoTG2 but skipping right to wherever their relationship is here with kissing that doesn’t appear to surprise either of them I don’t buy. 

--- Back to Tony, Peter (and Strange I suppose)

I’m completely biased and have nothing by love for everything Tony and Peter in this scene. Peter really was the stand out whenever he’s on screen. God, I just want to pinch his cheeks. 

Completely understand Tony’s reasoning for taking the battle to Thanos. At not wanting another battle of New York or Sokovia with so much destruction. Honestly, don’t think he expects to win either. 

--- Wanda and Vision

This is the relationship I really buy this time around. I will admit that the last two movies with Wanda didn’t make me feel anything for her but in this one, I did feel for her and totally buy them running off in secret for the last two years just to have moments together.

And then we have Cap catch the spear, fight fight, and off we go.

-- Rhodey!

I really do need to see this part again but god does it feel like everyone is just backpedalling on the accords so fast like they were always a horrible idea (which I still maintain that they were not) and I think Rhodey would be the least likely to backpedal at all. Seriously though, that scene needed just one line to say that Rhodey still agrees with the Accords in principle but not what Ross has twisted them into.

Also nothing with Banner and Ross, I feel like there should have been something, but since we’re largely ignoring Betty Ross’s existence and all.

Ugh Bruce and Nat. Sweep that away as quickly as possible but well at least they didn’t ignore it completely.

----- Back to Guardians

Everything that Zoe Saldana did with Gamora in this scene was beautiful and heartbreaking and I love it as much as I hate how much it hurts. Just her curling up and her face as she sobs at thinking she’s finally killed her father was just.. so well done. My heart broke for her.

I do appreciate that what they’ve attempted to do with Thanos over the whole movie. Trying to make him more than the purple dude in a chair who does nothing by showing his motivations and his relationship with Gamora. All madman’s logic obviously and it scares me to see people saying his ideas are correct. 

I mean I still don’t care at all for the character and only like the scenes he’s in for the other characters with him at the time but I see and appreciate what they were trying to do.

----

Ya know what? This got long. Breaking it up into a couple of parts seems smart.

#nu original #infinity war #infinity war spoilers #spoilers #ramblings of the nu

[minijenn]

Universe Falls Preview

Here, have some fuckin cuteness. That’s basically what a lot of this chapter is gonna be is cuteness. You know, until we reach the parts with the pixelated yandere, then we hit horrorville but for now, fluff: 

“Ok, everyone! We gotta scoot in closer to make this one work!” Steven said, pulling in tighter to Connie as Dipper and Mabel did the same. The kids had spent most of their morning in a rather lighthearted selfie-taking session, mostly since there wasn’t really too much else to do and also because it was a generally relaxing pastime. After the hectic, daunting past few weeks they had had, all four of them had taken to reveling in every laid back, lighthearted moment they could manage together, knowing better than to ever take advantage of them again after how close they had all gotten to losing such peaceful times on a number of occasions.

“Alright, I think we’re ready,” Connie grinned as all the others did the same in preparation of the photo as she held her phone out further. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” all four of them proclaimed in bright unison as Connie snapped the picture, only for her to notice something was off about it as soon as she got a look at it.

“Aw, Steven! You blinked!” she scolded playfully, giving him a light shove.

“Whoops! Sorry…” the young Gem blushed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey, we can always take another one!” Mabel suggested blithely, running over to the other side of the clearing. “Hows about we try one with the view of the temple behind us? It’ll be so pretty!”

“Are you sure we don’t already have enough selfies already?” Dipper asked with an amused chuckle as they all went over to join Mabel. “I’m pretty sure Connie’s phone has gotta be running out of storage space by now.”

“Mm, actually, I think we should be good for a few more,” Connie noted, checking her phone once more.

“And besides, a group of friends can never have enough selfies!” Steven quipped cheerfully. “Huh, you know, those are some pretty good words to live by. I should really write that down...”

“Save it for later, Universe!” Mabel jokingly ordered as the kids all clustered together again with the temple in view behind them. “We got more selfies to take! Now, again, this time with feeling: cheese!”

The others all repeated this, bearing their biggest smiles as Connie attempted to take the photo, though it was a bit challenging seeing as how the screen and the camera button were both facing away from her, despite her continuously tapping at where she thought it would be.

“Did it take it?” Steven asked in a mumble, still holding his wide grin as he waited for the snap.

“I don’t know…” Connie replied, also maintain her smile as she continued her attempts at hitting the button.

“Maybe try pressing it again?” Dipper suggested, getting somewhat impatient with holding up his own smile, even though it was clear Mabel was ready to keep hers as long as she had to.

“I’ve been pressing it,” Connie assured, her grin starting to falter a bit as the photo still failed to take.

“You guys look cute.”

Steven gasped upon hearing this casual interruption to their selfie session, his photo-ready grin turning into a genuine one as he glanced across the yard at the familiar mailman who had just arrived at the shack. “Jamie!” the young Gem exclaimed excitedly as he ran over to greet him. While Connie, Dipper, and Mabel didn’t really know this young mailman, they followed suit, though not as bombastically as Steven did.

“What’s up, Steven?” Jamie asked coolly, his large sunglasses giving him an even more laid back look. “Long time, no see.”

“Ohhhhh myyyyy gosssshhh!” Steven shouted enthusiastically as he rushed to give Jamie a high five. “It really has been so long since I’ve seen you around here, Jamie! Oh, by the way, these are my friends: Connie, Dipper, and Mabel! Guys, this is Jamie: the mailman!”

“Greetings, Connie, Dipper, Mabel,” Jamie said to the kids with an amicable grin.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Dipper greeted affably.

“Nice to meet you, Jamie,” Connie nodded politely.

“I love your sunglasses!” Mabel quipped, beaming.

“Heh, thanks,” Jamie smirked as he adjusted said shades.

“So, where have you been all this time, Jamie?” Steven asked curiously. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here since the beginning of the summer!”

“Oh, you know, I’ve been spending some time where all the big movies are made…” Jamie began, his smile turning daring and dramatic. “Just a little place called… Kansas!”

“Kansas?” Dipper asked, confused. “Uh… don’t you mean Hollywood?”

“Oh, wow! Kansas!” Mabel interrupted, thoroughly impressed. “I heard that place is super glamourous! Did you meet any big-name movie stars while you were there?”

“But of course,” Jamie assured, crossing his arms.

“Like…?” Steven pursued eagerly.

“Like…. Uh… well… a bunch! I-its pretty hard to keep track of particular names when you’re rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, you know. But I did receive plenty of valuable inspiration while I was there.”

“Oh, are you an aspiring thespian?” Connie asked.

“Why, yes!” Jamie proclaimed with a bold, performer’s bow. “Yes, I am.”

“Wow! I didn’t know you wanted to become an actor!” Steven noted in amazement.

“That’s because-” Jamie suddenly paused, pulling off a dramatic spin as he clenched his fist passionately. “I’m very good at acting.”

The kids all got a good laugh out of this brief preformance, all four of them applauding it as Jamie bowed once again. “So that must be why you’re wearing those super cool sunglasses in the first place, huh?” Mabel asked, pointing to shade shades that read “movie star” across the top of them. “Cause you’re on the fast track to becoming a movie star yourself?”

“Uh, well, no…” Jamie blushed awkwardly, lowering his shades a bit. “I just bought these at a souvenir shop. I missed being a regular old mailman, so I just came back. And, uh, both you and Mr. Pines got a lot of mail while I was gone, Steven…” The mailman dropped the heavy sack he’d been toting, pulling it open to reveal an abundance of packages and letters that were long past late.

“Looks like the postal service has really been slacking off,” Connie noted, bewildered by all the undelivered mail.

“Jamie’s the only mailman who comes all the way out here to the shack and the temple,” Steven explained.

“Oh so that explains why Grunkle Stan’s been so upbeat lately!” Mabel exclaimed in realization. “It’s cause he hasn’t gotten any bills since the beginning of the summer!”

“Well, if that’s the case, then he’s in for a pretty major disappointment…” Dipper mused, glancing at the pile of overdue invoices intended for Stan lying on the ground.

“I’m also gonna need a lot of signatures as well,” Jamie said as he held his sign pad out to Steven.

The young Gem smiled, seemingly cracking his knuckles in preparation only for them to make no apparent sound at all. “Your knuckles are so quiet…” Connie said, impressed.

“My hands are polite,” Steven replied with a proud smile. Before he could sign however, the kids were caught off guard by a sudden rustling in the nearby trees, a familiar figure emerging from them a moment later.

“Oh! Hi, Garnet!” Mabel greeted the Gem leader first, though the other kids soon followed suit as she began to approach them.

“Who’s Garneeee-” Jamie trailed off, his jaw and his sunglasses dropping in awe as he glanced up and got his first glimpse of the Gem leader. Her form was stunning as she smoothly sauntered forward, the droplets of water drenching her sparkling in the midmorning sun. Her shades and neutral expression gave her an air of alluring mystery, one that Jamie couldn’t help but be immediately compelled by.

Her confidence only continued as she reached the group, placing a hand on her hip as she looked down to the group of kids with a casual greeting. “Howdy.”

“Hey, Garnet, whatcha up to?” Steven asked. “And why are you all wet?”

“I was just at the bottom of the lake, checking for signs of Lapis and Jasper,” Garnet reported. “Or at least as close to the bottom as I could get to…”

“Wait, what?” Dipper cut in, immediately interested in this development, seeing as how this was apparently the first time any of the Gems had done anything about the Malachite situation at all. “Did… did you see them?”

Garnet let out a soft sigh, shaking her head with apt sympathy. “No. It seems as though Malachite has trapped herself underneath a thick layer of ice just a few hundred feet down, one that spreads across the entire lake bed. I tried my best to penetrate it, but I had no luck. I’m sorry, Dipper.”

The most Dipper could do upon receiving such disparaging news was let out a small sigh of disappointment as he hung his head. He supposed it did make sense that Lapis would make herself and Jasper even more inaccessible than they already were, for the sake of protecting them all from the orange Gem’s fury. But, that didn’t change the fact that Dipper still wanted to help Lapis, just as much as ever, especially after how his last true lead has been so brutally destroyed. And though such a feat seemed even more out of reach with what Garnet had just told him, Mabel subtly reminded him that they’d get there someday by simply placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, one that this time, he didn’t push away.

“W-wow…” Jamie spoke up softly, looking to Garnet in complete amazement. “How are you able to swim to the bottom of the lake?”

“It was easy,” Garnet shrugged, adjusting her shades. “I’m a really good swimmer.” Jamie’s jaw simply fell even more upon hearing this, his eyes widening as he noticed the Gem leader’s visor seemingly change colors from pink to blue, as if by magic. Still, Garnet didn’t seem to notice how awestruck the mailman was with her as she readjusted her posture. “Excuse me,” she said before swinging her arms out gracefully, all of the lake water flying off of her form in a singular flash of light.

An astonished gasp finally escaped Jamie at this incredible sight, his heart pounding as he continued staring at the Gem leader and nothing else. Even if Garnet herself didn’t really pay the mailman’s clear awe any mind, the kids started to take notice of it, prompting them to exchange something of a confused glance. In fact, his wonderstruck gaze only continued after the Gem leader as she bid them all farewell and began making her way up to the temple, with Jamie watching her almost longingly until she had completely vanished from sight.

#damn im a little fuckin wet for garnet after all this too imo #she sexy as fuck #jen writes #universe falls #soos and the real girl #uf preview

[mileheitcity-blog]

Field Trips in Amsterdam

The first week in Amsterdam was filled with field trips around the city.  We made our first stop on June 25 to a Food Forest on the other side of town.  I found the very concept of a Food Forest intriguing.  P Patches and other urban gardens are quite common around many major American cities. Many years ago, during my days with the Boys and Girls Club back in Denver, we did numerous summer activities at one of the local organic gardens in town.  It was quite valuable for the kids, all of whom lived in the heart of one of Denver’s Food Deserts.  The only grocery store in the neighborhood was the Dollar Tree, which had no fresh produce or really any other truly nutritious foods, so these urban gardens were somewhat of a lifeline for these kids.  This Food Forest, though, was an entirely different animal.  Built into an old schoolhouse, the Forest makes use of plants that grow naturally in the Netherlands, instead of intentionally planted like at garden. It’s naturally, and strictly maintained.  A greenhouse takes care of plants that need more heat or sunlight.  All of the pathways at the Forest are natural as well, adding to the natural feel of the entire idea. Everyone who comes to the Food Forest puts in some work as well, which reminded me of Israel’s kibbutzim, or commune farms.  Everyone partakes in the labor there, and all wealth generated at a kibbutz is shared.  After we all spent time learning and working, we got to share some of the mint tea and lemon couscous made with ingredients freshly picked by classmates, a nice cap to an extremely hot and sticky day by Dutch standards.  It was, in a sense, like organized foraging.  This particular concept could work in some American cities to alleviate stresses caused in food deserts, but does require some natural foliage to exist.  Cities like Seattle, Portland, or Minneapolis might be able to make use of mild summers, while cities like Atlanta or Charlotte could make use of a lengthy growing season and abundant flowering plants.  Cities like Phoenix, Denver, or Salt Lake City might struggle without a natural tree canopy, but could still perhaps find other ways to grow food-producing plants that naturally thrive in a more arid environment. While they are not producing for commercial purposes, a concept such as this could do wonders where fresh food is otherwise scarce.

On June 26, we visited the Tropenmuseum, or the Museum of the Tropics.  In the museum’s great hall a curator explained that museum was once a celebration of Dutch colonial riches from Indonesia and Suriname, formerly the Dutch East Indies and Dutch Guyana respectively, but now the museum makes great effort to acknowledge the true colonial legacy of brutality and slavery. The bottom floor of the museum is a temporary exhibition dedicated to the diversity of all peoples entitled “What Makes Us Special”. The exhibit does a great job of displaying differing religions, music, styles of clothing, and the ripple effects of cultural appropriation. The second floor is the beating heart of the museum: permanent exhibitions on Indonesia and Suriname. The exhibit is, compared to other exhibits in the United States, unflinching and uncompromising.  Slavery and exploitation are openly discussed, and the people affected are deeply humanized. For example: they are referred to as “slaves”, but as “enslaved people”, as their condition of servitude does not define them or strip them of their humanity, but instead was forced upon them by others.  The writers and curators do not shy away from clearly stating how an item was received and go to great lengths to acknowledge the people these items came from. I knew very little about the country of Suriname before going to this museum, so that whole section was also quite educational for me.  The Surinamese people went through great struggle to gain and maintain both their freedom from slavery and their independence, and the exhibit does a wonderful job of showing their struggle. The Indonesian exhibit is equally as impressive and respectful towards the Indonesian people.  Their treasures are tactfully displayed with honesty and acknowledgment. The differences in the Asian and American colonial legacies are also highlighted.  This exhibit alone makes the museum worth the entry fee.  I cannot picture a similar museum in the United States, or any other colonial power, being so frank and honest about its own role. It was really quite refreshing. Upstairs from the Surinamese and Indonesian exhibits were two more temporary exhibitions: a highlight of the hajj (the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca as required by their religion) and of modern Japan.  I found the exhibit on the hajj very powerful and inspiring.  While I’m not Muslim myself, the relationship of pilgrimage, of place, and of spirituality crosses numerous religious boundaries.  For me, I felt the same about my trip to the Western Wall in Jerusalem back in high school.  For others, it might be the Church of the Holy Sepulchre or Varanasi.  The exhibit truly humanizes those who much of the Western World has decided to dehumanize and set aside as an enemy. I learned more about the hajj than I ever knew before, and am definitely inspired to learn more about this tradition.  The exhibit on Modern Japan was fun, but more of an emotional fulfillment than truly educational.  I got to geek out on some of my favorite franchises and movies: Sonic the Hedgehog, Akira, Street Fighter, and many others.  Overall, the museum was a really neat experience: honest, frank, self-aware.  It’s an experience I hope to have in the United States one day.

Our next stop after the Tropenmuseum was the OBA, or the Amsterdam Central Library.  The first thing I noticed when I walked in was how clean, well-used, and integrated into the city the library is.  When we got inside, we were shown some of the details of the place and how the Dutch have made their library so warm and inviting for everyone. The children’s section is set apart from the rest of the library on a sunken floor, allowing extra space for young ones to make a little bit of noise and ruckus.  The kids even have age-appropriate interior decorations, including a large doll house filled with knitted mice, and their own maker space where an art teacher might help them release a little creative energy. Upstairs is even better for the adults: a café on the second floor and a cafeteria with a view on the seventh floor humanizes the patrons somewhat and encourages users to stick around in the library a little while longer, the shelves are easy to navigate and well organized with good signage, books and media are separated onto different floors to avoid confusion, and they have a dedicated spaces for job training for anyone who needs it, Dutch language immersion for ex-pats and refugees, a wide array of periodicals, comfortable seating to both lounge and study, and of course, fast and reliable free WiFi delivered on a one-month free pass for guests. For locals, the WiFi is included with their membership fees.  Unlike libraries in the United States the OBA does charge a yearly membership fee for their services.  At first, as a class we were somewhat taken aback. But seeing the OBA in action it started to make sense. Because each patron has a financial stake, they seem to take better care of the space they occupy. The membership fees also allow them a much larger budget than most American libraries, and they can truly cater to those who pay.  The fees are not cheap at 40 Euro per year, but are still low enough to be affordable for most Amsterdammers.  The membership fee also allows them the flexibility not to charge late fees, which is essentially unheard of in the United States.  In the States, it’s assumed that you won’t bring your materials back on time without the threat of some kind of financial penalty. But at the OBA, the patrons are already buying in, literally, so they feel a stronger responsibility to return their materials on time and in good working order.  They don’t seem to have too much trouble with people keeping materials.  Overall, the effects of true user buy-in are easy to spot in such a place.  The very idea of listening to people who use the library and innovating it in such a way in the States seems far-fetched, but here in Amsterdam they’re miles ahead.  

The next day, on June 27, we visited the Van Gogh Museum.  While I found the exhibition halls themselves somewhat crowded and a little bit underwhelming, their adaptations to accommodate blind and disabled visitors are truly revolutionary. The museum curators do a great job of highlighting the textural elements of Vincent Van Gogh’s work to build tactile three-dimensional models that provide a multi-sensory experience.  A scale model of Van Gogh’s “Bedroom” even comes complete with all of Van Gogh’s favorite accessories like tobacco and absinthe.  The model is identical to his painting, right down to the decorations on the “wall” and the placement of Van Gogh’s clothing.  Blind folks and people with other forms of sensory problems can often find a museum a deeply unwelcome space.  Traditional art museums, in particular, are often the least accessible: everything is completely consumed visually.  Touching the works is usually not only frowned upon but in many cases outright prohibited. Viewers are expected to be quiet and move through galleries with extreme care.  Interactive exhibits are almost completely non-existent.  Access to the space itself is often limited to abled people, or least people who walk without the assistance of a White Cane or a wheelchair.  But this is completely the opposite: they’re bringing an immersive art museum to people who otherwise wouldn’t find the space accessible. Even as a sighted person (with my contacts in of course), I found the entire experience illuminating. If I were indeed blind, I would be ecstatic that there were an art museum I could attend and feel welcome, feel that I could actually interact with the paintings as everyone else can.  They also had a completed tactile experience of Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers” that allowed the user to smell the eponymous flowers Van Gogh so eloquently paints. I do wonder how this might work in North America, as our painters generally use different techniques than Van Gogh, but immersion still might be possible: audio clips and narrations of Roy Liechtenstein’s pop art works for example, or tactile scale models of “American Gothic”. All told, while I found the rest of the museum itself less impressive than the Tropenmuseum, the tactile experience of Van Gogh’s paintings might have been my favorite field trip element so far. 

Our final stop for the week was a walking tour of the Amsterdam Street Art Museum.  This museum makes very inventive use of existing structures and spaces to enhance the displayed artwork. Much to our chagrin as librarians, archivists, and preservationists, we were all stunned that each piece of artwork was going to disappear within five years of its installation. The artists commissioned for this museum put together some truly unique and beautiful work, and they have to do it quite quickly and efficiently.  Their studio is literally the street. The museum coordinators do a great job of integrating their vision directly into the community much of the art serves, as well as digitizing the collection for posterity.  I was definitely struck by the fleeting, mobile, and almost overlooked style of this museum.  If we were not on a tour of each work, I would have merely assumed it was just a popular place for some amazingly detailed graffiti and a few large murals on brick.  The art itself is very well-integrated into the neighborhood: it looks like it belongs there.  Commissioned artists do a really great job of utilizing existing surfaces and locations as part of their art installation: towering brick walls, small concrete cornerstones, unused doorways, utility boxes, even a bike storage bin.  This is easily a concept that could do well in the United States where street art is quite common and local communities are often looking to find ways to prevent people from tagging blank spaces and turning them into eyesores.  I also found the idea of a tour itself to be rather immersive: in order to see the art you had to physically interact with the neighborhood as an organism, you had to walk through the well-worn paths and interact with the people who lived there.  It wasn’t just modern spray paint art in a giant hall, it was literally art on the street.  The museum was not perfect: perhaps a guide map or some signs pointing you in the right direction if you wanted to take a self-guided tour, but overall it was a really cool experience.  The artwork was fantastic.  Also I think our friendly host may have admitted to knowing who Banksy is, or at least he insinuated it when he dropped the name in reference to one of the more prominent artists along our walk.  But that’s a story for another time...

Our first week was a whirlwind of field trips, museums, art, food, and culture.  This is a vibrant city with a lot to offer, and the heritage sector in the States could learn more than a thing or two from the way the Dutch have innovated. Food Forests could feed communities without access to grocery stores or fresh produce.  The public library can do its part to generate more buy-in from users and create a more welcoming and inviting experience for everyone. History museums can finally start reckoning with and addressing the darker side of colonialism and capitalism. Art museums can adapt their space and their works to become a part of a neighborhood and accessible to all.  Truly revolutionary and innovative. 

Next week: eh, who knows, probably more field trips maybe? Maybe some of the smaller differences between the Netherlands and the States? Or day-to-day life in the Netherlands? Maybe a museum tour of the ones I visited on my own? Like I said, who knows, next week’s topic TBA

[bornfromscarletcords]

Haven Illuminating: A Wolf Paradise Story

Hi so I finished writing a trilogy of books; The Shackled Wolf Chronicles. I think it was a solid story but I still felt there was some room for future developments with the world and the characters. You could say I wanted to give them another chance at true happiness or something. So this is the beginnings of a fourth book which will ideally provide them with a worthy legend, a personal paradise. It didn’t start out exactly how I expected but I’ve enjoyed writing it so far. Here is an excerpt from what I’ve written.  

Greetings, you may know me as N, though I’ve been called any number of things before. I’m what you might call an Angel of stories, though many people are weary of me because instead of being good or bad I tend to be a little on the grey side of the moral spectrum. With that said, although I may not be the most popular person because of my disposition, it does make me unusually qualified to tell these disturbing tales. Something you need to understand when entering this world is that it was forged from the ruins of another place, not unlike a phoenix reviving itself from the ashes of its own death. Still this doesn’t mean things are exactly the same; many things have changed actually. However, do not be discouraged as enjoying the developments in things we once cherished is one of the subtle miracles of existing. Well here I am just talking non-stop, and I always chide people about being too glib. I’m not sure if you could call the people you’ll meet in these tales my children, but they were entrusted to me by the powers at be and I like to think, even when they do not remember me, that I am one of their truest friends. So, in the spirit of friendship let us embark on yet another interstellar epic quest.

HOWLING DREAD

He woke without much memory of his life. He had the vaguest inklings of what his name might have been but he couldn’t tell for sure. All that was really clear to him was the name of a very dangerous and troublesome person known as Evan. There was a note in his hand, it was from Evan, he tried to read it and received a terrible pain in his head for his trouble. Still, as if his eyes were some movie screen the words began to play out for him; they stepped away from the blur of ink and letters that was the majority of the message.

“Yes well I can’t tell you everything all at once. Or at least I choose not to. One because it would be extremely uncomfortable for you and I would like to give you an honest chance to survive this time around. Second I doubt much of it would make sense, not to say that you’re mentally incapable I mean, you were one of the baddest hombre’s in the universe so you obviously knew something. It’s just that my mind tends to operate in dimensions that are unusually brutal to those not familiar with them and most of my notes come from there so...IDK just take my word for it on this one. Third reason, and this is super important, it’s cause I don’t want you to kill me, at least not just yet. Knowledge is armor as they say… What? That’s not the phrase? So I’ve been saying it wrong this whole…? Oh whatever. Anyway information kills and as I mentioned you’re a pretty bad hombre so I don’t want to take too many unnecessary chances with you. Anyway, what you need to know for this leg of your journey is that you are Frederick. Frederick; Fenriel, Dread Lord to Wolf Kind. And I wouldn’t stick around unless you want a blood bath because some wizards are coming to kill you. Good luck.”

The words stopped burning in his vision. Even as they were born into existence he felt them weaving about him. Evan had declared him, knighted him Frederick, and so Frederick he was. It was so simple, so powerful, so damning. The universe had claimed him, scarred him with existence and in this act they had awakened a terrible pulsing in his core. There was something hungry within him, something that craved the death, of all things. Frederick growled.

He was dressed in perplexing garments. They had something in common with the gear used by military personal, swat teams, or black ops. He seemed familiar with it though he wasn’t entirely sure why. He tested his feet, they were clad in combat boots which seemed heavy and quiet. His body felt unique, like it occupied the room with its gravity, holding great masses with its form yet beyond simple for him to maneuver. He knew it hadn’t always felt this way, that there had been such terrible days of such disgraceful weakness.  He was wearing a black hood and cloak which were the same color as the rest of the fabric he was wearing. He was in a cellar, dusty, unassuming. He had been sitting but something had called him to stand. Was that a new scent in the air? The beast was on him in moments. Well perhaps raging within him was more accurate. He was nearly brought to his knees as his body began to tear and un-tear itself but eventually they settled on maintaining his more human skin.

You, you still breathe, you can still resist me. I thought you shattered beyond repair. I am annoyed and impressed. Our enemies hasten after us. I demand their death, the form of the beast will serve us well in hastening their demise.

“Ease down great wolf, they will die eventually, but we have more substantial prey to feast upon, let me use them as bait so that we might unravel this mystery a little more.“ Frederick thought to the the great animal within. The wolf was quiet for what seemed like an eternity but could have been little more than a second in the world of humans.

Fine, I like stories. But do not mock me with cowardice; end them, on your own terms but end them and end all who stand in the our way. We will make a banquet of this world and all worlds who stand in our light.

Frederick was...humbled. A conversation with that monster who shared his soul always left him a little distrustful of his ambitions and pride. He shook his head and drew just a little from the deep well which was his power and the wolf’s. He couldn’t see them but he knew a darkness had descended on the white of his eyes , while his irises went from a deep brown to a burning silver. They were not human eyes.

There were five of them and they were approaching fast. It did not seem humanly possible but then he remembered that his opponents would be magic users. He tested the word in his mind; Wizard. It seemed special, like something subtle had been altered about it, that those who claimed it were touched by a stranged system in this place. Then he figured out why the word seemed weird, it was written in Evan’s handwriting. Frederick started moving...he was very fast, faster than he thought possible even amongst the great races of creation. He was rushing out of the basement door, all at once being enveloped by the night air when he heard the explosion. From what his senses told him something had caved in one of the walls of the basement. At least three of the wizards had gone into the opening, looking for him no doubt. He focused on his escape but soon two figures occupied his view. They were wearing a similar cloak as him, though theirs were brown. The first raised his hand and Frederick didn’t even need his inner beast to tell him he was casting some sort of dangerous spell; he could feel the death in the air. Frederick rushed the caster and spun, hooking his arms around him before sending the man crashing into the earth many yards away. He was injured, but a few broken ribs wouldn’t kill him which admittedly left Frederick mildly disappointed. He turned on the second wizard. He didn’t even give this one a chance to work his magic, at least not noticeably. He cracked the man’s neck, he was dead before he hit the ground. He looked relatively human as far as Frederick could tell but then again many things could ape man, just look at the wolf himself. He patted the dead wizard down quickly. Aside from some garb which would have made quite the favorable impression at a comic con convention he didn’t immediately see anything of use. Then he found it, it wasn’t a large thing which made it simple to carry, just a journal of sorts. There was what looked like an animals skull on the cover, but the writing was not something he immediately understood. He hooked it to his belt and ran off, a strange blur to even the most perceptive of beings.

Frederick ran for a couple of hours, he didn’t tire, or ache, in truth he felt like he could have ran forever. The world just sort of fell away in flashes of acceleration. Still he decided to stop. He knew the beast within, how clever and how cruel it could be; relying on its talents too extensively could cost him in the other portions of his journey. Regardless he had traveled far enough, or at least he figured the many miles between there and his starting place should be enough to buy him some moments of reprieve. It was a simple forest. He had found a cave which must have been the den to some great bear at one point or another. It was long gone now, perhaps searching for better territories someplace less disturbed by humanity. It would be more than enough for Frederick. He patrolled the territory a little, marked a nearby river in his mind, and returned to the cave to rest. He slept in his cloak and gear. When he awoke the stars were out in the night sky. It might have only been a couple of hours but something in the air told him it had been much longer. Days maybe. He had done this before or at least this was not an entirely foreign thing to the wolf within. A type of hibernation though for what reason Frederick couldn’t tell. He began to walk, wondering if the sleep had cost him the advantage of distance he had had when he felt the moon’s tendrils grasp and bend at him. That’s what sold it for him, it had only been approaching approaching its zenith when he’d last seen it, maybe three quarters full at most, now it was full and blazing in his body and mind. He didn’t wish to destroy his clothes in the violence of his change so he disrobed quickly. His naked flesh was than bathed in an eruption of magic from the depths of the soul that was his and the world’s.

The change was painful. Part of him knew this wasn’t always so or at least didn’t have to be but he accepted the burden. Sacrifice could strengthen him, prepare him for the dirty work of finishing this devilish plot. His body broke, twisted, shifted and roared. It was a slow process, and an insightful one. He was angry when it was finished, partly because of the pain but partly because the moon beckoned deep portions of the beasts self and the beasts was driven by rage, by vengeance. He needed to kill. If only so that the wolf would respect him enough not to fight him on every issue. Like a token of camaraderie; the price which was to be paid in order to operate with one another in some semblance of sanity.

The wolf who was Frederick, who was Fenriel, who had been The Dreaded Lord Of All Wolves, was a great beast indeed. Frederick knew the world, most worlds if not all, to be driven by perspective. The nature of magic was to alter perspective, so hard facts did not always survive an encounter with it. Still Frederick had been a creature of order, albeit his own order so he was not entirely comfortable with leaving the chaos of magic unchecked in his mind and the minds of those who were his. If he had to describe his wolf form, though with effort he could claim many, he would describe it as the following: around three hundred pounds of fur muscle and death made arcane, with a coat of a deep blue almost black or a murky green, and with silver coloring around his feet and lower legs. He looked like a wolf yes, but he also looked like a monster, or a large dog, or a frightening shadow, it all depended on who was looking, where and why. He padded along on his large paws, vaguely admiring the sharpness of his paws which he could use for running on rough terrain and for killing prey. He ran some more, breaking out into a loping gallop. His senses painted a perverse universe for him in that forest, a thing where spirits and ghosts were as tangible as living prey experiencing another type of life which he could end as well. He felt like the boundary between all things, it was a hungry feeling. He brought down a great deer-like creature, though it was a bit too large so maybe it was an elk. He couldn’t tell he was too distracted by the awesomeness of the moment. Not only could he kill again but he could even eat his prey this time around. And it was a divine feast, rich and hearty. Then an awful idea came to him and like many of Frederick’s awful ideas this one had his spirit smiling from ear to ear with large sharp teeth. Paw on carcases thick hide he pushed himself up and off the ground rearing back his head and with a power that could crush a galaxy he howled. The sound rang out through the night world emitting an almost palpable push, bending the trees slightly, sending animals rushing away, and sending ripples in the fabric of space. For a moment he worried that he had given himself away but the beast within assured him that any sensible creature would be moving far in the opposite direction of him for reasons that had everything to do with the mysterious fashions of survival. And if they didn’t, and they were challenged instead, then he and Frederick, Dread Lords both, would just kill all who stood against them. Ah the simple almost charming death-like calculations of the wolf; there were few things like it, Frederick mused.

Frederick spent the duration of the moon’s zenith in his beast form which meant he was a wolf for about three days. He was tempted to simply doze and let the wolf run wild and free but he knew better. Maybe if he was an ordinary animal, or a more tame monster, but he was neither. His creature was a menace to life everywhere only extending small yet brutal mercies to those it claimed as its pack, its territory. So Frederick remained aware though not controlling while his beast did his best to ignore his constant observation without forgetting about it. The wolf had peculiar needs often subtly guised in normality (whatever that was). For example, it needed companions. And who doesn’t need someone else to shoulder the burden of existence, every preacher needed his flock, every patriarch his household, and every cantankerous rogue his merry band of fellows. There was something of these ideas within the monsters need but there was also a hidden complication to it all. It was not only a thing of flesh but a thing of spirit. Though man had his science which rattled off theories of alternate dimensions and parallel selves the beast simply had its existence rooted in the boundary between life and death. To all things it was tied but its mastery of these things came in its ability to transform them in its image to spread to multiply, to transcend itself in a pseudo infinite revolution. It needed people, it needed consciousness, it needed portals from which it could pour its terrible will through and beyond.

With this said Frederick was not surprised when the wolf found others of their kind. The wolf assured him that they would not be detected even as their senses scanned the pack of werewolves. Frederick didn’t doubt the wolf’s skill but he still felt that some more caution was needed. The other wolves were miles away in a the city, greatly shielded by the scents of cigarettes, automobile emissions, general waste, various metals, restaurants, people, etc. Why could he sense them despite all of these obstacles, well the Dread Lord was an experienced tracker, he was in general a great cosmic power, and he held ties to all wolves (especially werewolves) in one way or another.

They weren’t doing well, many seemed fresh, newly changed from humans, while others seemed tired after looking after the young ones for so long. It was only a guess but it didn’t seem like they had a well established internal structure yet. It looked like, in general, they answered to a rough burly looking wolf who seemed powerful enough to command their obedience but just barely. If he was their leader than it wouldn’t be long before they mutinied and destroyed themselves in their clumsiness. The Dread Lord called to the winds and they whispered the burly man’s territory, Frederick would find him.

Many strange and disturbing events had taught Frederick not to believe in coincidence, well in truth he didn’t believe in much of anything, excepting himself...barely. More to the point in a world full of magic and intersecting dimensions it was safe to assume that there was usually a cause for everything though the causes weren’t always satisfying. In short Frederick assumed that somehow his discovery of this almost-pack most certainly had something to do with how he was to solve his problem with the wizards, or even better, with the enigmatic Evan. The burly man lived in a small apartment and his name was Eduardo Guerrero or at least that’s what the kind lady who owned the neighboring shop said. Guerrero, Frederick liked that name. Eduardo was a contractor and had even helped construct some of the buildings in that region of the city. Where was this city you ask? Somewhere in New Mexico. It was called something like La Estrella Negra but the name wasn’t Frederick’s biggest concern just so long as it knew that it belonged to him at least as long as he stayed there. He was sure he must have been quite a sight in his strange cloak and warrior’s garb but he also knew that most people would forget he was ever there or pray they never saw him again. He knew how to fade in the memories of others or to simply scar their minds so badly they all but wished his image away. He knocked on Eduardo’s door, there was no answer, and yet Frederick’s nose told him that Eduardo was definitely in the apartment. He checked the door knob, the door was open. He pulled it and walked in.

There was a blur of movement than a deadly dance as Eduardo advanced on Frederick with a knife and a hammer. Frederick dodged when he could and maneuvered Eduardo here or there with gentle yet firm grapples. However when the blade's edge came just a hair too close to Frederick’s throat he knocked it out of the man’s hand with such force that he was sure he heard bones break. But Eduardo just spun with the momentum and charged with the hammer. The scuffle went on for a couple of minutes though there was surprisingly little noise coming from either participants, and for all his fury Eduardo seemed unusually practiced at limiting the collateral damage. Still Frederick grew tired and in a swift movement grasped the hammer, through it into a wall and knocked Eduardo to the ground.

“Enough!” Frederick said, power all but dripping from his words. One of them had managed to slam door shut during the fight which were good, the last thing they needed were bystanders watching them.

“You, I felt you even when you were on the street over there, like an earthquake pulsing with death and sorrow and despair. You are no ordinary wolf.” Eduardo said. Frederick nudged his inner beast, so much for going undetected. The wolf gave its equivalent of a shrug and a toothy smile, it liked throwing its weight around.

“No I’m not very ordinary and try as I might I doubt ordinaryness would ever take for long, in me. I did not intend to harm you, not this early at least but now you have me in the mood for ending lives.” Frederick said.

“If you mean to kill me than get on with it, i’d rather be dead than your slave.” Eduardo said. His eyes flashed gold, the eyes of a beast. They tried to stare at Frederick but after a couple of seconds they all but dove to look at the ground. Frederick raised a brow.

“I haven’t been in the business of slaves for quite a while and even when I did have them I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about it. No I didn’t come here for slaves, though I am in need of a pack.” Frederick said.

“You leave those children alone.” Eduardo said.

“They need leadership and as you have just seen I am more than capable of handling their aggressions. Also although they are newly turned, children seems like a stretch, if you are attempting to appeal to my sympathetic side I’ll stop you now, there is little there. Plus as I’ve been saying I don’t intend to harm them.” Frederick said.

“Your the one who turned them aren’t you, by proxy sure but you’re behind it all aren’t you?” Eduardo said. He was uncertain. Frederick racked his brain.

“I’ll admit there are a couple of gaps in my memory, but I don’t think I’m responsible for that merry band you’ve gathered up, they don’t fit my usually M.O if you want to call it that. You said by ‘proxy’ which means someone else got their hands dirty. If you know who this person is I would have you take me to them.” Frederick said.

“And if I refuse.” Eduardo said.

“You misunderstand me, I wasn’t giving you an option.” Frederick said kneeling down to look at the man with eyes burning silver. Without even touching Frederick placed the some of the weight of his existence onto Eduardo who seemed to be sinking into the floor.

The two were in Eduardo’s car after thirty minutes. Enough time for Frederick to shower and snack on some of Eduardo’s food. Werewolves tended to be pack animals like regular wolves and packs needed structure. Some werewolves were frustrated by being obligated to obey the orders of more powerful werewolves, others welcomed it as a reprieve from the stress and uncertainty an unclear chain of command could create, either way the wolves had a need to carry out these decrees as if they were essential to their survival. From a certain standpoint they were; the beasts were all intertwined and this connection was super charged when they acknowledged each other as pack, like many cells creating a larger organism or entity. Of course the more willful could resist or outright refuse with enough power behind them but a decent pack master, alpha, generally had incentives in place to discourage this. Rules, synchronicity, harmony, kept packs healthy, kept them strong. In short, although Eduardo didn’t like Frederick much, and although he might kill him if he showed weakness Frederick had little to nothing to fear from the other wolf so long as he wielded his greatness efficiently; this was almost second nature to Frederick.

Eduardo was muscular and about average height, he was a furry man even in his human skin. His scalp was covered with shaggy dark hair, his skin was like golden chocolate most likely do to his hispanic heritage, his face was made of rough yet pronounced bone patterns. He wore jeans, t shirts no one would miss, durable boots, and a simple leather jacket which would do well in the heat or cold. Frederick wondered how he looked in comparison with his skin nearly the color of night itself his short wavy hair (though he’d worn it longer before) and his wiry frame. Frederick had been called beautiful in certain places but beauty had its costs just as much as its advantages, plus Frederick, when in the right mood, could work a couple of miracles to change the state of his appearance. He decided his current form would do though he admitted that perhaps in the future he’d go for a more physically foreboding visage.

On the drive Eduardo, grudgingly, filled Frederick in on what he needed to know about the pack and its ‘creator’. She was a police captain for the Estrella Negra police department. Her name was Alice Weaver. Her mother was Haitian American while her father had been from the Dominican Republic. He hadn’t stuck around long as the story went. She was known for being ruthless, cunning, and unusually determined which might be why she managed to become Police captain at the young age of 35. That was three years ago. From what the rumors said she was taking some experimental drug or something because ten months ago she began acting strange. Not only did she seem to lose ten years in terms of appearance, she was more energetic, quicker and stronger and not “humanely” so. This all would have been fine if she wasn’t becoming prone to outbursts of great rage and what looked like a “predatory” glare in her eyes. She’d always been a little twisted, people said, but now it was getting ridiculous. Everyone was terrified of her even her bosses. What people didn’t know, and what Eduardo was all too privy to was that their captain had been transformed, transfigured, transmuted into a werewolf. Eduardo who admitted to having been a werewolf for over a century, knew the tell tale signs though he was a little late with his analysis as he’d been attempting to live alone away from packs for awhile and had been deeply invested in his isolation. When he did realize that he needed to step in, or at least someone did, it was already far passed his ability to fix. Captain Weaver was a very powerful werewolf, more powerful than Eduardo which meant his wolf had a strong need to obey her commands. This might have worked out well if these weren’t the only problems but something else was amiss with the wolf woman, something underhanded and despicable. When she was changed or shortly after she’d been afflicted with a curse of some sort. Eduardo said he didn’t notice it at first but as the months dragged on its pattern became apparent. When the full moon came she was called into her wolf skin like most werewolves in Frederick’s dominion, but she was also called to seek out man. Hunting was natural but she wasn’t going to kill and feed she was going with the intent of making other werewolves. Almost every time she went out a new werewolf was made, a process which was not easy at the best of times. She was clumsy but not as clumsy as she should have been for someone so green. There was another force at work pulling and pushing strings. Frederick was sure that his Wizards were connected to this.

They found her on her lunch break near one of the parks, she was feeding the ducks in the nearby pond. Her hair was short dark and curly. Her skin was the color of nutmeg shells. She was fairly attractive even with her scowl and brooding disposition, even while she was sitting Frederick could see the outlines of a quality figure underneath her uniform.

“I told you not to bother me when I’m eating.” She said gesturing to Eduardo; he was visibly unsettled but Frederick placed a hand on his shoulder and he managed to continue moving. Her eyes had flashed the beast’s gold when she’d said it, it did not seem intentional.  “And you I don’t know but whoever the hell you are you need to get gone, I’m not a fan of special treatment.” She said. Frederick liked her already.

“You’ve been creating a lot of stray pups Captain. I don’t condone your habits but I have to say I’m impressed. So few casualties and such a high yield in survivors, its almost prodigal. Still something tells me you’re not the one at the reins when it comes to this issue.” Frederick said, his voice was quiet yet direct, a chill seemed to enter the air. Alice glared at him for a moment all the while her hand ghosted around her fire arm. He didn’t doubt she could have fired at him with the same ease she’d used when tossing bread to the ducks. Part of it was experience but the other part was something else entirely, it was the instinct, the need, the choice to kill that would have shaved off so many seconds and so much tension. It would have been as natural as breathing. Frederick was almost disappointed she didn’t shoot at him, but even he knew that causing such a scene in such a public place would have made his mission even more difficult.

“You’re a wolf.” She said, it wasn’t a question. Her hands were interlocked above her lap. She looked like a tiger studying a dancing deer.

“Of course, I am the wolf of wolves.” Frederick said doing a slight bow.

“He says he can help you Alice, and you need it even if you won’t acknowledge it.” Eduardo said.

“Since when did I allow you to use my first name.” Alice said.

“You don’t have to like me, god knows I don’t like him, but he knows things Alice, he can fix this mess.” Eduardo said.

“So what makes you so special?” Alice said looking unimpressed.

“Many things, but I don’t feel like using the centuries it would take to explain my many deeds and legends to you. Simply know that I am a very efficient problem solver and that getting on my bad side is a quick way to end up killed and, well, eaten.” Frederick said. He smiled but his eyes were burning with the power of his beast. Alice stared into his eyes, she lasted about a minute before her gaze fell to the ground, she seemed surprised...annoyed.

“Eduardo says I’m cursed.” Alice said

“From what he’s told me that seems likely.” Frederick said.

“You can fix that?” Alice said.

“Probably, unless you mean your newfound wolfiness. I can’t or won’t fix that, I don’t have much of an interest in humans and I doubt my own wolf would allow me to undo such a fine specimen as you.” A bit of the dark hunger lingered in Frederick’s words and whether she was conscious of it or not Frederick could see the worry enter her face. Frederick unhooked the book from his belt, he tossed it to Alice. “Recognize any of that.” Her eyes widened like she’d seen a ghost.

“I remember seeing this symbol when I was...turned.” Alice said.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t a willing transformation.”

“It was a violation.” Alice said.

“Changing someone against their will generally is in my book yet it happens all too frequently in this world of monsters which is yours and mine. Just look at those miscreants you made, I doubt they chose the fate you forced on them, not consciously at least.” Frederick said.

“I didn’t mean to, I can’t help it whatever it is, they have their hooks in me, working me over like I’m their puppet. It’s disgusting, I’m disgusting.” She said clenching the book tighter. There was a slight swell of energy around her.

“You are many things darling, though I don’t think disgusting is one of them. You shouldn’t blame yourself for the evil of others but when you submit to that evil, let it corrupt you beyond recognition, when you lose yourself that is when you are beyond the reach of my mercy. But look at you, all fire and iron, so far from broken I’m almost amazed. You’ll do just fine once I’m done with you.” Frederick said. Eduardo and Alice both exchanged a look of suspicion and concern, the dark hunger was back in his voice.

“What do you intend to do?” Alice said.

“That would be telling.” Frederick said. Alice raised a brow. “Words wouldn’t do it justice, first we need to gather your pack, and yes they are yours, well mine first but I don’t intend to stay here forever, so you can keep them. The rest will become clearer once we’re all in close proximity.” Frederick said. He retrieved his book and then he and Eduardo began to walk away.

It was a couple of hours before Alice joined them, which gave Eduardo plenty of time to introduce Frederick to the “pack”. There were about sixteen of them. Most were new, turned within the last ten months, but others were older like Eduardo. The older ones tended to be other lone wolves with a soft spot for strays who Eduardo had contacted to help him keep the new ones alive. Part of Frederick thought he would have been better off just culling the young ones before they were fully invested in the brutal world of wolves but he’d lucked out with Frederick’s arrival. The pack sniffed about him for a while and at first some showed signs they’d give him trouble like with Eduardo but in a matter of moments he had them kneeling to him. It was clear he was the unquestionable head of the strange band. They were using an abandoned building as a meeting place. Eduardo said it wasn’t scheduled for renovations for a couple of months plus few people liked coming to that part of town. The wolves all seemed a lot less restless and a lot more comfortable with this knew firm source of leadership, some even began to doze in corners as they waited for Alice’s arrival.

When Alice did show up she was in her civilian clothes, sweat pants, sweat shirt and running shoes, she even wore a baseball cap to keep her face hidden. The pack stirred slightly when she showed up but when it was clear she wasn’t going to challenge Frederick for role as pack master they settled by down quickly. Still a good portion of the new wolves were noticeably afraid of her.

“So why’d you call me out here?” She said scanning the room.

“Because you’re their leader, so you need to lead. Can you change on command?” Frederick said.

“Yes, but I prefer not to. I’m only bound to change others on the full moon so I won’t go rogue on you.” She said.

“Good. From what I’ve seen, and I’ve seen quite a lot, werewolves are pack animals. We draw strength and power from one another. I’ll handle the brunt of it today but like I said, eventually I’ll leave and the responsibility will fall to you unless one of these welps gets bolder. The pack is like a castle and as Alpha you’re in charge of its defenses. You push here, pull there with many slight actions that ripple into great events. Many days your competence and strength will decide whether your people live or die, whether they suffer or thrive.” Frederick said.

“I don’t need to be lectured.” She said. Frederick Ignored her.

“All of you prepare to change. I’m sure Eduardo has been tutoring you in the ways of wolves but it should go without saying that if you cannot shift from beast to man at will you are a liability to your pack and yourself. That aside. One of our own needs our help today. She has done terrible things but only because terrible things were done to her. You don’t need to forgive her just yet but helping her save herself could end many tragedies before they even begin.”

“She hurt us. ” Said one of the new wolves.

“She’s evil.” Said another.

“She’s not evil, just misguided, like all of you. Wolves run in packs. A pack is only as strong as its weakest member. You all need each other to survive which means working together, fighting together, killing together, and succeeding together. You fail together, you triumph as one.” Frederick said and even as he spoke he willed a bit of his magic to start the beginnings of the change within the wolves. They all stripped down. Frederick wasn’t a fan of being naked, carnal pleasures excluded, he felt too vulnerable, at least in his man skin. The body of the beast was covered in warm fur, layered with deadly muscle and armed with wicked teeth and claws, it was an efficient killing machine unlike his clumsy man body. He snuck a few glances at Alice’s amazing figure before focusing on the task at hand. When they were all naked and all but buzzing with the magic of the pack Frederick began.

The room started to snap with the heat of the magic even as the space seemed to bend and ripple to its potency, it was like being in a pressure cooker. The wolves all shifted and it was a slow ugly process but necessary all the same. Some needed more help than others and Frederick nudged their spirits and minds in the right direction. It was all over in maybe a half an hour. Eduardo’s wolf was a grey furred creature weighing somewhere in the mid two hundreds. Alice’s wolf was dark brown almost black in color though she looked a little smaller than was typical. Frederick didn’t doubt that she was dangerous though, sometimes it was the slighter ones who were the most dangerous. He nudged her into the middle of the pack, and she was obviously uncomfortable having her back to so many predators. She began and stopped a couple of snarls, showing teeth but she was unsure of whether to use them or not. Frederick quieted her uncertainty by rubbing his face against hers, after this some of the other wolves did similar acts. Small gestures of kindness and warmth often accomplished with delicate touches. Before long she was calm, or at least as calm as a werewolf can be. Frederick left the great wolf within to manage their body of flesh while his mannish spirit stepped towards Alice. He placed a hand on her head and stared into her eyes deeply. He called to the moon.

All at once foul, insidious magic began to pour out of Alice like she was a cauldron of malevolence. She began to panic again and Frederick could feel that something had separated a crucial point of connection between her and her beast, she was going mad. He’d been expecting something like this though And even though the magic sought to spread, to the other wolves, and to the world outside, it found purchase in neither. Instead Frederick rejoined his wolf and let its great power unleash itself on this strange enemy, tearing and burning it until he slashed out its roots within Alice. The magic crumbled away useless and decayed. Alice paced around, she almost looked happy.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur for Frederick and the pack, fighting that despicable magic had exhausted much of their human minds. Eduardo had picked the building because it was very close to a secluded path leading out of the city and into the forest. The wolves followed it to run and hunt as one.

The next couple of days were relatively amicable at least for Frederick. Freed from her curse, Alice became almost pleasant to her new vassals. Leadership came naturally to her. Meanwhile she assisted Frederick with his investigation of the strange wizards who had been harrassing the both of them. Alice remembered pain and great fear when she’d been changed but she’d never gotten a clear glimpse of the beast which had done the deed and part of her doubted that there had been one. A lot could be accomplished with magic and whatever had happened to her had been the result of a great and terrible magic. She’d been chained and caged for a couple of days as the men in brown cloaks performed experiments and spells on her. She managed to escape, eventually but she still wasn’t sure if that wasn’t a part of their plan.

Frederick’s own research revealed that the journal was written in some type of code, a code which he gradually began to understand though he was far from fluent. If he was right then the Wizards were bent on harnessing the powers of great creatures to fuel themselves. It was hungry magic, beast magic. And it seemed that they had a talent for using a creatures own strength against them. Deciphering the code for too long gave him a headache however, not as bad as the one Evan’s note gave him but unpleasant nonetheless. He decided to walk off his frustrations by exploring some of the city. He hadn’t discarded his Cloak and gear but he decided that blending in would help him in the long run so he had Alice buy him some more conventional garb. He was dressed in jeans tennis shoes a brown jacket and a long sleeved black shirt. He had just eaten a burger and downed a soda when he realized he was being followed. He’d had a suspicion some was tailing him for a while but the presence  seemed so faint he thought it might have just been an overly curious animal or some mugger who was going to get much more than he bargained for. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to lure his purser into a dark alley where he might kill them quickly or lead them into a public place where they might be less inclined to act recklessly. He decided on the latter and entered one of the local malls. He ended up walking into one of sports departments. He was playing around with a football when they...well, she approached him.

She was an attractive woman. She had long red hair tied in a ponytail. She had very striking hazel eyes. She was...unusually pale. She was wearing a fringe jacket, jeans, cowboy (or maybe cowgirl in this case) boots, and steel colored sundress. She was thin yet well proportioned. Frederick sniffed the air. She was a vampire.  

Frederick didn’t particularly like vampires. Admittedly they tended to be more useful to him than humans as they had a longevity and durability that rivaled his werewolves, but he often  regarded them as being inherently evil. Sure Frederick wasn’t exactly the picture of altruism and moral integrity but in his mind his need for death and dominion had more to do with the purity of his beasts focus. He was a scion of nature, a direct product of the universe’s own initiatives  not an aberration of it the vampires were.

“Any reason in particular that you followed me here, night child?” Frederick said.

“Because before I killed one of those troublesome wizards, they told me that someone who looks and behaves a lot like you would have some answers that I am keen on obtaining.” She said in a hushed voice that would have been undetectable for most humans.

“I only deal with your kind when I have to.” Frederick said in the same hushed voice.

“I’m not jumping for the joy at the chance of running around with mongrels, but I would like to do this the easy way so that things don’t become more complicated.” She said.

“That’s weird because it almost sounds like you’re threatening me.” Frederick said smiling with teeth that seemed far too sharp to be human. His eyes were burning silver.

“Just don’t underestimate me.” She said her hazel eyes turning into a infernal scarlet, her pupils narrowed like a snakes. If this continued like this they’d be brawling in middle of the store. Frederick was beginning to regret not taking that dark alley route.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private.” He said.

“Maybe we should. Meet me in front of the museum downtown in an hour. Come alone and be prepared to talk about our wizard ‘friends’”. She said.

“You think you can give me orders.” Frederick said.

“Consider them strong suggestions.” She said. Frederick huffed and walked away.

He ended up going to the museum anyway though wasn’t especially happy about it. The shadows seemed thick around the place, which must have suited the vampire’s...disposition. She walked out of the darkness as if materializing from thin air five minutes after he arrived.

“Had to make sure you weren’t being followed.” She said.

“Let’s just get to the point. The less effort I waste on you the better.” He said.

“Fine, but we should at least know who we’re speaking to. I’m Karoline with a K, and you are?” She said.

“Growing impatient and hungry.” Frederick said.

“There’s no need to be rude.” She said.

“The wizard you killed didn’t tell you my name.” Frederick said.

“Maybe he did maybe he didn’t either way I’d like to hear it from you.” She said.

“You may call me Frederick though I’ve gone and go by others.” He said.

“Right so, about a month ago, Frederick, I was in a coffin soundly sleeping. I wake up not knowing who or what I am until I read this note by this guy named Evan. He basically tells me that the city I was sleeping in was being scouted by a clan of Wizards who wanted to harm me in some way. If I stayed where I was, then by the morning they would probably capture or kill me, so I started running. Over the next couple of weeks I engaged in a game of cat and mouse with the wizards, I killed my fair share but they just kept coming so I figured I might as well learn something about them. The one I cornered told me about you, a great wolf of wolves, potentially the most powerful werewolf in existence. I asked him why, if you were so powerful, hadn’t the other vampires I encountered warned me about someone like you. The man said the world had been altered, things were rearranged and hidden like a haze in the mind. Then he told me about his arch-wizard Evangelo”

“Evan?” Frederick said.

“More or less what I’m guessing. He’s a bit of an upstart in their band but he’s striking hard and fast apparently. He specialized in some type of siphoning magic, a thing that devours. He taught the basics of it to the others and has them targeting great sources of magic from which they could draw power from. Apparently whatever they “eat” they acquire as their own.”

“This was a rather talkative wizard.”

“He didn’t seem strong willed, plus I was torturing him so he had incentive to give me what I wanted.” She said.

“Is that the end of your tale.” Frederick said.

“That’s the gist of it so far. You gonna fill me in on your end.” She said. Frederick thought about it for a moment. She had given him useful information. Eventually he told her the synopsis of what had occurred to him.

“This Evangelo seems pretty weird.” She said.

“Yeah if he is the same as the Evan who gave us these notes then he’s obviously more than what he seems. If he truly wanted our power to fuel his wizards, than it makes no sense to tip us off moments before they would have captured us. And if what he says is true, then his powers go beyond what most creatures, even supernatural ones, would be used to dealing with.” Frederick says.

“He kind of sounds like a trickster, like Coyote or Anansi.” Karoline said.

“That’s a solid point.” Frederick said, he’d encountered tricksters or at least those related to the archetype before, it was seldom a simple and leisurely occurrence. “I am a little fuzzy on something. If he is targeting great powers, then that means it’s not unlikely that you’re more powerful than you appear to be. Which means there’s something you’ve left out of in your story.”

“Like you’ve told me every detail about your extensive existence.” She said.

“Well I haven’t avoided the fact that I’m one of the most deadly creatures creation has ever known.”

“Well I wasn’t a queen or something, no Night Court ever served me, at least that I can remember. I did have a reputation though. There was an era where I was less than agreeable, to everyone really but especially other vampires. Maybe I had been altered by some spell or maybe some tragedy had just pushed me over the edge but I killed a lot of my own kind. They retaliated of course but for some reason every time they thought they’d finished me I would just return, no one knew how or why. I was barely conscious during this period so I only heard about most of the details after the fact but from what I understand they hadn’t been lacking in creativity or thoroughness with their attempts to end me. They called me the ‘Berserker’ the ‘Undying One’. I wasn’t popular but I was feared which is sort of better in its own way.” She said.

“That does sound like an interesting set of abilities. A worthy haul if you’re attempting to make warriors who don’t tire or expire.” Frederick said he looked her over as if he wished to test the limits of her ‘endurance’.

“Do you always look at people like that?” She said.

“Only when they become interesting. Well, regardless it seems we have a common enemy or at least a shared obstacle. Plus I can’t say I don’t want to learn more about your abilities. Would you be willing to entertain a momentary alliance.” He said.

“And I thought you didn't like me.” She said.      

“I don’t like most people, it doesn’t stop me from seizing a promising opportunity.” Frederick said She looked him over for a while.

“Fine, but no experiments, I’m not your lab rat.” She said then she melted back into the shadows as if she’d never been there.

“We’ll see,” he said to no one in particular, “Note to self, stop talking to self.” He said to himself. He walked back to his den in Alice’s home.    

#Dread Lord Werewolves Paradise Light Shackled Wolf

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Lucas Morel on Teaching Colson Whitehead’s “The Underground Railroad”

Colson Whitehead’s novel The Underground Railroad, which won the 2016 National Book Award for fiction and the 2017 Pulitzer Prize, presents teachers of American history and literature an opportunity to immerse students in the harsh reality of slavery, but it also presents pedagogical challenges. The Pulitzer committee called the novel “a smart melding of realism and allegory that combines the violence of slavery and the drama of escape in a myth that speaks to contemporary America.” Not an ordinary historical novel—some have called it an example of “magical realism”—it aims at symbolic rather than literal historical truth. Whitehead invents an actual subterranean railroad, with a variety of trains, train stops, and conductors, to dramatize the varied and threatening social terrain an escaping slave had to cross before attaining freedom. This is only one of many liberties Whitehead takes with history as he tells the story of Cora, a young woman fleeing a Georgia plantation with a savagely cruel owner.

Professor Lucas Morel taught the novel to students at Washington and Lee last fall. We asked him about guiding students through the fantasy aspects of the novel toward the historical reality it depicts.

We expect historical novelists to vividly evoke a time period. Whitehead seems to lift incidents and trends from across three centuries and transplant them all into one decade. Why does Whitehead depart from fact in this way?

Historical novelists face a problem. The closer the history depicted is to the facts, the greater the challenge to keep the reader suspended in his disbelief and to let the plot, characters and dialogue do their work. Instead of just following the story, the reader wonders if this or that episode really happened.  (Just as with Spielberg’s Lincoln movie, in which Daniel Day Lewis acted his way to a record 3rd Academy award for Best Actor, every historian is asked, “Did Lincoln really say that?”)  The reader begins to treat the novel as a documentary rather than a tale that uses a mixture of fact and fiction to tell a larger truth. Colson Whitehead actually has a character say, “Sometimes a useful delusion is better than a useless truth.” No clearer statement of the grand aim of his novel could be made!  This remark occurs near the end of the book, as if to answer an objection in the mind of the reader who knows the story has played fast and loose with American history. It’s just one of several heavy-handed statements put in the mouths of characters to make sure the reader gets a lesson Whitehead wants them to learn. These statements depart from the usual rule of fiction-writing: “Show, don’t tell.” Still, Whitehead’s novel—even though I disagree with some of its teachings—raises questions about such important issues in American history and political development that I believe it’s worth reading.

Regarding his compression into a decade historical events and incidents that actually took place across a few centuries, I’m guessing Whitehead wanted to deal with race and America in one fell literary swoop.  Race still matters, still infects how Americans relate to one other socially and especially politically, even after the Emancipation Proclamation, the end of the Civil War and the ratification of the 13th-15th Amendments, not to mention the achievements of the modern Civil Rights Movement and the election (and re-election) of a black president. Whitehead must think that it needs to remain a subject of discussion that extends beyond the domain of politicians.  He does present events of which most Americans are probably not aware.  One wonders whether his readers will be shocked more by his depictions of these events or by the subsequent discovery that they actually occurred!

Does this work as a story?  For the most part, yes.  That’s due to Whitehead’s craft, e.g., the way he gets the reader to invest in his protagonist, Cora, who attempts to escape from a plantation through an actual underground railroad—the greatest conceit of the book, but one I also believe works.  It invites discussion and reflection upon the nature of the American regime and how an individual or society can move from expressing mere will, self-interest, and force to pursuing justice, self-government, and civilization.  The great political question of right versus might is a central theme of the novel.  Although I disagree with Whitehead’s rendering of the meaning and significance of America and her development as a nation, he does prompt readers to ponder these things.

How might teachers deal with the historical background of the novel?

In interviews, Whitehead indicates he researched extensively American slavery and the slave trade. He wouldn’t need to draw much from outside the long American experience with slavery and accounts of what the worst enslavers and overseers did to maintain control over large numbers of slaves.  One particularly garish event of torture in the beginning of the novel struck me as almost beyond credulity. But perhaps the author meant to convey that, because the law and social practice sided with the enslaving class, there was little that a master could not do when it came to enforcing his will. It’s true that slave owners occasionally set ghastly examples to ensure the strict obedience of the rest of their slaves. Whitehead depicts a contest between the brutalization of human beings and the spirit of freedom, showing how the humanity of the enslaved expressed itself in the most trying situations, even in the pecking order slaves imposed upon themselves—a semblance of culture—and in Cora’s resistance to injustice even in the slaves’ internal affairs.

Whitehead gives the devil his due, that’s for sure, but he also shows the tremendous ingenuity, improvisation, and agency of human beings subject to the near-absolute control of legal masters.  Here he has learned from Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, which illustrates how those treated as second-class citizens and considered inferior by nature display their humanity in ways that are misunderstood or simply overlooked by those in power. For example, Ellison’s invisible man is able to power 1,369 light bulbs in his apartment without the Monopolated Light and Power Company tracing that current drain to his hole in the ground! In a very similar way, Whitehead shows us an incredible underground railroad, an engineering feat accomplished apparently by the black slaves themselves. In this Whitehead asks the question, “Has this country been built by hands and minds that we don’t have a clue about—or deliberately left out of our histories?” And this work is heroic. As free human beings, they risked their lives to build something they themselves may never have gotten the chance to use.

The novel should motivate those unfamiliar with the history of race in America to learn more about its role in our social and political development. In classrooms using the book, students might research and report on incidents in the novel that appear historical. It would take a student only about 8 seconds on the Internet to discover that the Underground Railroad was not a literal railroad, and then he could research what it actually was. Other students might research incidents that did occur in our past yet not in such a short space of time.  A reminder at the outset that Whitehead’s novel is a work of fiction would be in order, and that by working upon our imaginations, the author seeks to engage us in important questions regarding the human condition—and how our founding and development as a nation may have reflected, improved, or retarded that condition.

The novel prompts us to ask: what would it take for Cora not simply to flee from oppression but also to find safety, security, and prosperity for herself and those she loves? Is true community possible? What are its requirements, and what are obstacles to it? And can these thrive generation over generation?  Lincoln addressed these questions pretty much throughout his public career, from his Lyceum Address of 1838 to his most famous speech at Gettysburg.

By the end of Whitehead’s novel, Cora seems the lone survivor of the many who sought freedom and the few who tried to help them gain it. Does Whitehead think you have to be a person of extraordinary character and will to free yourself from an unjust political and social system?

Only a small percentage of slaves attempted to escape, and fewer were successful in the attempt. (Resistance most likely took other forms.) Whitehead illustrates the tremendous difficulty of escape, especially for those furthest from a free state border. In part, he’s countering those who, imagining that they themselves would never have allowed themselves to become enslaved or to remain in slavery, claim that African American slaves were somehow content with their misery (this seems a veiled form of white supremacy, analogous to those who wonder why Jews did not do more to avoid or escape their plight under Nazi Germany, a question Hannah Arendt discussed in her controversial book, Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil).

Still, I think Whitehead fails to offer a completely honest account of America.  While illustrating the ways slavery contradicts America’s highest principles, he gives short shrift to the power of those principles and the individuals of various races who struggled—ultimately successfully—to bring those principles to bear on America’s development as a nation, both politically and socially.

I keep using the word “development” because America is and remains a work in progress—and this not because its principles are flawed or its people any more deficient or vicious than those of any other nation.  As President Bill Clinton remarked in his First Inaugural Address, “There is nothing wrong with America that cannot be cured with what is right in America.” Yet for Whitehead, the distinctive aspects of America are its flaws. The character Lander, an orator, writer, and escaped slave residing on Valentine Farm in Indiana (a former slave state), seems to speak for Whitehead in observing that “America, too, is a delusion, the grandest one of all. . . . This nation shouldn’t exist, if there is any justice in the world, for its foundations are murder, theft, and cruelty.”  He then adds, “Yet here we are,” suggesting that good happens despite America, not because of it.

For me, the most redeeming feature of America is the clearest expression of its noblest ideals and aspirations: the Declaration of Independence.  This document appears twice in the novel, first as the memorized speech of a slave (Michael) who gets trotted out to amuse the guests of the vicious slave-owner Terrance Randall. Later, a more favorable rendering of the Declaration’s principles occurs on the Valentine Farm, where Cora finds sanctuary.  But even here, its principal truths, declared to be “self-evident,” are not taken as such, but rather likened to “a map”: “You trust that it’s right, but you only know by going out and testing it yourself.”  In the end, Whitehead seems to say that freedom is what you make of it. President Obama liked to say, “that while these truths may be self-evident, they’ve never been self-executing” and “while freedom is a gift from God, it must be secured by His people here on Earth.”

But what test does Whitehead envision to prove the truth of the Declaration’s claims?  How would one refute the argument made by Ridgeway, the novel’s slave-catcher par excellence and Cora’s nemesis, that freedom is simply the will of the stronger?  “The American imperative,” Ridgeway calls it, declaring, “If the white man wasn’t destined to take this new world, he wouldn’t own it now. Here was the true Great Spirit, the divine thread connecting all human endeavor—if you can keep it, it is yours. Your property, slave or continent.”

Would you say Ridgeway represents one pole of American thinking about liberty: that it resides in a particular people’s “manifest destiny” —or that free government is simply a matter of “popular sovereignty”?

That view has been maintained by Stephen Douglass and by Southern Confederates, but it is not the view expressed at our founding. I see equality and liberty as in a way the same thing. According to the Declaration, to speak of liberty is to speak of that which we possess equally. I have no more and no less liberty than you do—that’s the meaning of American equality. The potential conflict is between equality and consent. We possess equality and liberty by endowment from our Creator, or by nature. What we are not given is the security to enjoy and exercise them. That’s where human beings have to do their work. It’s as if God says, “Here’s liberty; good luck with that!” Jefferson reflects the Lockean view: people first understand what they have by God’s endowment or by nature, then they realize they are vulnerable without a way to protect this. That’s why it is also self-evident “that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from consent of the governed.”

Jefferson’s slaves had the same amount of liberties naturally as he did, yet they were being deprived by law and practice of the free exercise of it. The question is, did the Founders set us on a course where the structures of society, as well as the ideals, could work together so that over time, as Lincoln said, we could press into reality that which was true but wasn’t being respected? American political development is a long effort to get people to channel their consent to the equal protection of what we all possess.

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