no it's not fog, Peter just vapes

dont feel too bad abt not talking/posting much! dw i get it u_u BUT!!! if youd like id like to hear anything u have to say abt milesverse galar.....OR. if theres any interesting milesverse legendary/mythical lore thatd be mega cool too!!! :0

thank you neela!! that means a lot to me

in milesverse galar the main character is gloria and she travels around with her older brother victor (he's 15 and she's 13), hop, and eventually marnie. victor went on a journey when he was 13 but gave up before the first gym. this caused gloria to be extremely disappointed in him and they basically hate eachother now. gloria thinks victor is a failure and victor thinks gloria is an annoying self absorbed brat.

gloria looks up to leon a lot and thinks of him as her real older brother and wants to one day surpass him and become a new unbeatable champion. she's kinda egotistical and thinks she's the coolest guy in the universe. she names her pokemon more and more elaborate and batshit insane things that everyone else either just call it by it's species or shortens the names. she of course have to say their full title out loud no matter what. for example her sobble's name is THE GREAT BLADE OF LEGEND EXCALIBUR THE THIRD but literally everyone just calls him excalibur, exal, or just sobble. no one knows where excalibur the second is. also exal isn't even a sword.

victor is forced to go with gloria by their mom and is basically the brock of the group if brock was actually the biggest hater on the planet. he cooks a lot though it's his special interest.

as for the plot i kinda want to figure out a way to make rose's plan not as fucking stupid as it is in canon but im not sure how rn. maybe make the power thing a more urgent emergency or have it so the energy might run out at any moment or something

as for legendaries i would like to think up entire origin myths for all of them (except for like the aliens and the man made horrors) but that'd be like a very long post so im just going to keep to the arceus family for the most part. i think imaging what pokemythology is like is cool

so basically the legendaries that arceus made are dialga and palkia, then the lake trio, then mew, and then finally giritina because i think giritina being the youngest child is funny as hell.

mew is basically the adam/eve of pokemythology but after giving birth to mortal life they decide being a little shit is way funnier and is now basically a trickster god who causes problems on purpose like giving volo immortality.

another example mew got bored during rgby and started rping as a human basically and becomes the indigo champion. fucks with the kanto trio and probably made their friendship divorce even worse, stole the masterball, stole a truck, had green capture mewtwo for them, takes mewtwo and then fucks off.

giritina isn't like actually evil. they're basically just an angsty lonely teenager with anger issues if they were also worm satan. they get easily attached to any human that's nice to them (volo and dawn) and can communicate to them through their thoughts which have the unfortunate side effect of fucking them up mentally a bit. volo had it worse since giritina was more pissed back then compared to dppt.

arceus is the most out of touch dad who tries to be supportive but always makes everything worse somehow ever. they overhear lucas having an argument with dawn over how lucas feels like he's not as good as his friends since he's not a hero like them and arceus thinks "this lad will definitely be the perfect candidate to become the new hisuian hero" and shoved him back in time. they also gave him amnesia since the last guy (alder) kept whining that he had a wife and kids at home. then after lucas did what arceus told him to arceus thinks that giving him a portion of his power by letting him use an arceus avatar in battle instead of taking him home was a good idea.

dialga, palkia, mew, and giritina all don't like them. dialga and palkia are kinda awkward about it like "haha yeah sure dad" whenever arceus says something insanely stupid. mew thinks they're a weenie and the world would probably be better without them but doesn't try overthrowing them by themselves they just give one eyed weirdos immortality to do it for them. giritina is giritina.

the lake trio are chill they just hang out in their caves for the most part.

Athena

I saw him in Greece. Her name was Athena. His father had chosen his name after Athena from Greek mythology. It was as if that myth had penetrated into his personality. She was an independent woman but extremely lonely. She defined herself in her work. He had failed in all his relationships. He had recently met a man who thought he was different from others. But he said that the fear of losing is always with him. She is afraid to become a mother.

⚡(Send a portrait of yourself or your loved one and I will draw its avatar for you & The original painting will be sent if the buyer wishes.)

that one post vermillionflycatcher reblogged from is odd. literally nobody hates Bhaer for being a "mediocre white man". Most ppl don't think of him at all (and more is the pity!).

the OP used to be a huge Little Women hater and called its fans white bread old ladies, so it's confusing here they are acting like big fans and insinuating he is hated by the masses (please... that would be Amy!).

I don't know the OP of that post, so I cannot nor will I make any final judgment on them and it could very well be possible that this was their first impression and after some time and rereading the book, they understand it better, that can and does happen.

And as for Friedrich, you'd be surprised by how many people really seem to hate his character. He and Amy both get a lot of hate, but Friedrich is hated by plenty for reasons as I have seen described below:

1. He's poor, unattractive and old. Seriously, that is what I see most people comment when there is a Jo x Friedrich picture, edit or video, comments on his it's gross because he is too old, or how they don't like him but only if *insert attractive actor* played him. It's incredibly shallow and mean, especially coming from a generation of people who claim to be all "be body positive" and "don't judge a book by its cover". Hypocrites.

2. He stole Jo away from Laurie. You can't steal what was never yours. Jo never wanted Laurie as a lover or husband, she made that very clear that she saw him as a brother, and her feelings never changed in the later years. She even admits that she would have accepted his proposal not because she loves him any different but because she is so lonely, and she was really hoping that Friedrich would come after finding his note. She was always pining for Friedrich after leaving New York and turning down Laurie's proposal, always him, never Laurie.

3. He's just a shoehorned in character that ruined Alcott's original ending of Jo being a spinster writer. This whole sentence is a big falsehood but no one knows that the story was written in two parts, ending with Meg getting engaged which allowed Alcott to do the second half in a timely and thought out manner, or that her publisher never pressured her in making of the characters getting married at the end, but that Alcott wanted Jo to be married because, if we follow that Jo is Alcott's avatar, then it would mean she could in a way finally be with the man she loved but never could marry, Friedrich being Thoreau's avatar. To say Alcott shoehorned him in is not only a huge lie, but an insult to Alcott and her writing. It was all done with purpose and no one gets that.

4. He hated Jo's writings and made her feel made/cry. This one is the biggest myth that goes around the Little Women fandom, and allow me to repeat it again. THIS. NEVER. HAPPENS! He never hated her writing, he loved it and encouraged her to move forward, he criticized the loose morals of the magazine, the same one she didn't want anyone to know she wrote for out of shame, and how it is not right for kids to get their hands on this. Jo hated writing for the magazine, but she needed the money and he knew that. He never judged her for doing what she had to to help pay for her family, especially since he had been in her place as he is poor himself, he just reminded her that she shouldn't have to sell out and do something that she didn't feel completely in her heart.

Amy gets plenty of hate yes, and this can be a discussion for another day, but it's not completely true that Friedrich is not thought of or gets off scot free. People hate him irrationally because they are stuck on their immature notions of love and because people like Gerwig are spreading falsehoods of how the story went.

the song of my heart (plays in you)

Written by: @thelettersfromnoone

Prompt 108: Everlark fall for one another over a blood transfusion. It happens not once, but twice. His blood runs through her veins, and now hers runs through his. What are the odds they would save each other’s lives? [submitted by @mandelion82]

Rated: Teen and up; mentions of: car wrecks, physical and mental trauma, amputation.

Tags: One-shot, Soulmates, Time Jump(s), Blood-Oaths.

Word count: 2342.

Notes: Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own. Thanks to @javistg and @xerxia31 for being amazing hosts for this exchange ❤️

“The blood [of the covenant] is thicker than [the] water [of the womb].”

“Mama, tell the story again?” Grey eyes peek up shyly through dark eyelashes, fingers curling the folds of her mother’s nightgown. “ ‘bout the dream-people?”

“It’s late, darlin’,” Mama murmurs with a soft smile. She presses a kiss to her daughter’s brow. “Papa will tell the long version tomorrow, hm?”

The girl’s lower lip pops out in a pout- papa is the better storyteller, but she wants to hear the story tonight. She snuggles against her mama’s belly, whispering a ‘night-night’ to the baby they say is growing in there.

“There once was a boy who was called to war, to fight for a king in a land far from home. Though he survived many times in battle, one day, an enemy struck him, and he was hurt, something terrible. At death’s door, his friends brought him to a healer’s house, who saved his life. As he recovered, he grew to love the healer’s daughter, and she grew to love him. In time, when he was recovered, his king came calling on him again. Before he left, the boy and the healer’s daughter made a blood-oath. They drew their own blood, and held their wounds against one another. They vowed that, from that moment until they met again, the song of their blood would call out for one another, no matter how far.”

Her little hand reaches over to mama’s, pressing their palms flush. “Like this?”

“Mhm,” Mama interlaces their fingers, kissing her daughter’s knuckles. “Just like this. Every night, while he was away, all they needed to do was close their eyes, and they could feel one another’s feelings, and see through one another’s eyes.”

“Till forever?” The little girl’s eyes are growing heavy, a yawn coming in spite of her best efforts. “Mama, it’s til’ forever, right?”

Mama doesn’t answer straight away. When she does, it’s soft as a butterfly’s flight; “Till forever, until they found each other again.”

The little girl’s breathing evens out, eyes slipping shut. 

(She’s always wanting a happy ending.)

She’s twelve and using the computer unsupervised the first time she looks it up on a whim. She is meant to be researching poetry, but that quickly becomes dull. 

Instead, the rabbit hole of the web sucks her in.

According to the internet page that comes up, a Blood-Oath Soulmate is defined as a myth, steeped in legend: a couple who, when faced with separation, make a blood-oath that allows them to see, hear, and feel one another across the thousands of miles. 

The origin, exactly, is unclear. It’s a myth with several cultural variants- in her own region, Twelve, and in the northern regions of Åtta, Tio, and Tretton, the war is won, and the boy returns to the healer’s daughter. By contrast, in the southwest, they say the boy earned a glorious warrior’s death, and the girl grieves but honors his memory. In almost all the other regions, the myth is drawn out, many side-adventures and evils hinder the boy’s path home, and by the time the boy finds his way back to his love, amidst a continent of misery, they both are old and grey. It’s not clear where the myth started, some say it’s a retelling of an old Sumerian tale; others, that it comes from Viking oral lore. Some, still, argue that they all are true, that the same fate spreads itself throughout time, throughout the world, in different ways. 

All modern experts, essentially, concur on the matter of the story’s implausibility. The human body replenishes its blood count within weeks, one discussion board points out.

It was just a myth to make humans feel their love could be impermeable, or withstand the tests of distance and challenges, claims another. Or, one user with a profane avatar states, the modern meaning is just guess-work and the cultural context and any kernels of truth will forever be lost.

And everyone knows there’s no such thing as a soulmate.

Kat feels her stomach clench as she quickly exits the browser, lonely in the wake of her father’s death, and her mother’s subsequent depressive episode, and still clinging to her mother’s hushed telling of a love that is palpable down to the bone.

(She can’t decide if knowing it’s ‘just a story’ hurts or helps more. The veneer of childhood is always treasured for a reason.)

She is seventeen when it happens. 

A flash of a medical room. Harsh fluorescent lights. Thick, strong hands trying to block the light out. Starched sheets, scratching skin. A pinch of a needle and stifled shout- 

She wakes covered in sweat. 

Something is wrong, niggles at the back of her mind. Her pounding heart beats out wrong, wrong, wrong. She pushes it away, presses the thought down. She manages to lull herself back to sleep, a deep, imageless thing, but the wrongness sticks with her. 

The next night is nearly identical, except the stranger’s hands are tearing off the bedsheets. A stump of a knee rests where a leg should extend. A panicking voice, a nurse, shouts for help as the struggling and screaming begins-

“Where’s my fucking leg?!”

Kat wakes with a jolt, strangled gasps as she pushes her own blankets off, hands grasping at her limbs, the phantom terror and horror bringing bile up her throat. 

What was that?

A dreamless sleep doesn’t find her again, her eyes bruising with nights of nightmares and days of exhaustion. The hospital, the scratchy sheets, the nurses and medications and injections. 

One week, then another.

She’s in Civics class when it occurs to her. 

The blood drive, at the beginning of May. She’d turned seventeen, and finally weighed enough to donate blood.

Could it be…?

She sleeps in, one Saturday morning, when they are fitting a prosthetic on her stranger; crutches and halting steps as those beefy hands grip support bars.

“Just a step further,” a voice encourages. 

Shame and frustration, and a deep, croaking voice lashes out of the throat-

“I can’t!”

You can, you can, you can, she tries to will the stranger her confidence.

The figure stills, and for a moment, she thinks they can hear her. 

“I’m done,” they say, and in spite of the disappointment on the nurse’s face, a man in a white lab coat agrees, and helps them back into a wheelchair.

Kat feels the sinking failure, the desperate yearning to help this person, this stranger. There are only nurses and doctors, in her dreams. She knows what it means to be lonely, even when there are people around; what it means when you wake up in emotional pain, but have no one to share it with.

She wants to tell her stranger it will all be all right, but the weeks pass and she can only confide her secret to herself. They wouldn’t believe her, even if she could say it in person.

Where is your family? she tries to ask.

They never seem to hear her.

(Waking becomes harder, but she can’t confide in anyone that she wakes wishing she could live in her dreams without them thinking she’s gone mad.)

They are kneading dough, seated at a wood table in a cluttered kitchen. The prosthetic is fitting to the leg, tender today but not sore, exactly. She can smell the flour and feel the silky-smooth texture between her fingers. Smoothe jazz music is playing, from a radio over on the counter. She feels a hand squeezing her stranger’s shoulder.

“Looks good, Pete.” It’s a gruff voice, but not unkind.

“Needs to rise,” her stranger- ‘Pete’!- retorts. They don’t look up, but she can feel a flush on her ‘Pete’s’ cheeks.

“We got some coursework from the school, then.”

(She doesn’t realize this is the last she will dream of her stranger.)

The dreams evaporate, after eight weeks, as abruptly as they had begun.

In the aftermath of her first dreamless night in over a month, she wakes to the dawn breaking with no images from her stranger. 

‘Pete’. 

She tries to will herself back to sleep, compel visions back from the brink. It’s the first night she thinks to try and remember the names of the doctors and nurses, or the location of the hospital. The nametags are foggy in her memories, a nurse Jackie or Jenny and a last name they had abbreviated to, ‘A.’ 

The internet doesn’t help her any more than her own mind can. ‘An amputee named ‘Pete’ who likes to knead dough and is doing high school coursework at home’ doesn’t do much in a White Pages search. 

She writes it all down, then, each snippet and sound she can recall. She keeps the journal under her mattress, knowing her mother won’t bother, and her baby sister wouldn’t dare to look. 

Like a madwoman, she rereads her own accounts, adds notes to it every morning, hoping the dreams will start again. But every morning, the dreams seem more as if they were fantasies, and her journal reads like fiction.

A year passes. 

Her dreams now are either blank, or memories of ‘Pete’.

She could blame it on her family friend, and his stupid insistance that she attend Prom; or maybe the girlfriends she eats lunch with, who guilt her by saying that everyone needs a life outside of school, and after-school jobs.

Kat had only driven into town because she needed a damn dress. Two weeks later, and she would have been exhausted from Prom as she crossed the school stage, collecting her high school diploma.

Nothing pans out the way she imagines it will, though.

She’s alone in the car when a truck in the oncoming lane overturns at a curve in the road.

Pain bursts on her head. Flames against her skin. Crushed metal, and broken glass. In the distant fog of wailing sirens, she can hear first responders attempting to call out to her. 

The only thing she remembers seeing clearly, between the accident and the hospital, is smoke rising into a blue, cloudless sky, through a shattered windshield.

“You lost a lot of blood, Kat,” the doctor says, tone not unsympathetic. “We had to do a transfusion.”

“Oh.”

She blinks, a haze of morphling in her preventing her from fully comprehending. Some broken bones. A neck brace. Burns on her face and arms, but not as bad as they first had thought- she won’t need skin grafts.

All small mercies.

Her sister and mama are there, balloons and flowers and hugs a-plenty. Get-well-soon cards from several classmates and family friends.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” her mama murmurs, as the doctor leaves.

“Okay.”

Mama runs her fingers through Kat’s knotted hair, while her sister clings and tells her how much she loves her.

She’s not numb, not beneath the morphling. But she’s so damn tired and her skin itches under the bandages. 

(She can’t comfort her family while they try their hand at comforting her.)

She is washing her hands in the hospital room sink, when she feels a jolt, a compulsion; a chill down her spine and gooseflesh down her arms. She looks in the mirror, and feels in awe, feels a foreign elation. A burst of affection, a warmth. 

She can’t reckon with it, can’t justify it. 

It’s just… her own face. Sloppily braided dark hair. Healing stitches on her cheek, and forehead. Silver eyes, surrounded by a bruise, set in a narrow face. She gulps, leaning in closer, and trying to grasp the sensation. Out-of-body, might be the right term- dissociative, she’d read about once, for Health and Wellness. 

There’s a knock on her door, the nurse doing a check, and as Kat turns, the warmth dissipates.

The nurse comes in not long after, checks her vitals and asks a series of questions.

“My name is Katniss Everdeen.”

That warmth in her chest is back, the hair at the base of her neck stands straight.

She scrubs her hands over her face, focusing on the simple questions the nurse is asking.

“I’m eighteen years old. I’m graduating from PPH12 in Sommen in one week. I’m at Merchant Memorial Hospital.”

In the bathroom that night, she stares at her own reflection, and wonders if maybe that feeling of someone looking over her shoulder- more like looking through her eyes- if maybe….

She fogs up the mirror, and writes her room number. She stares at it, for a time, before scoffing at own ridiculousness, and wiping it away with her towel.

She only has one day left before being discharged, though she’ll miss graduation and the parties that would entail. She can’t say she is particularly disappointed; she’s never been a party person.

She’s awake when the door to her shared hospital room opens. She pays it little mind. The curtain around her bed is pulled taught, her roommate jabbering away on their phone about the food service as if this were fine dining, rather than a hospital. Kat is reading a get well card, this one signed by the whole senior class and class advisors.

There’s a thrumming in her veins, but that might be them weaning her off of the morphling.

Curtain rings scrape against metal, and she barely glances up, the nurse rounds due any minute now. Normally, though, the bubbly nurse who does the day-shift is already bustling with an overwhelming enthusiasm that makes Kat question how exhausted the nurse is at the end of the day.

Maybe it’s a different nurse or a doctor or mama, or- 

The blue eyes that are boring into hers are ones she has only seen in her dreams; she can finally see blonde curls framing them, familiar thick, strong hands brushing through the curls. 

“Pete?” she croaks, certain she’s finally lost her damn mind.

His eyes widen at the sound of his name, lips parting. 

“I found you.” 

A tone of surprise, as if he’d driven all this way, but in expectation of disappointment.

“Peeta,” he introduces himself, edging closer. His hand carefully takes hold of her own. “And… I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Katniss.”

(Her name has never been spoken as sweetly, and her heart has never felt so full.)

My Adoring Fan Chapter 5

Chapter 4

A/N: A bit of a fluffy chapter as the twins make up

As Aurelius entered the kitchen, both Azalea and Mammon turned their heads to him.

“There ya are,” Mammon says as he leans against the island counter. “Only three hours after your Ma called for you, but, hey, at least you came home.”

“You’re not going to yell at me too, are you?” He asks.

“Well, that depends. Do ya know why what ya did was wrong and do ya understand why you’re being punished for it?”

Aurelius nods. “Yes.”

“Then no, there’s nothin’ I need to say that ya probably haven’t heard from your mother already.” The oven dings and Mammon goes to pull the peppers out and places them on a plate for his son. “Here, have somethin’ ta eat before we leave.” Aurelius nods as he grabs a fork and starts eating.

“Leave?” Azalea asks as she looks between them. “Leave where?”

“Home.” The demon says as Azalea looks surprised. “What, you thought we were bluffin’ when we told you two that if you had one more spat like this that we’d be pullin’ one of ya from the house? Your Ma and I can’t keep coming over here every two or three nights to diffuse a situation between the two of ya like this because ya can’t seem ta learn ta get along. An’ since Aurelius started this by going along with Zulima’s hair-brained idea, he has to move back home until we think he’s learned his lesson.”

“So Aurelius gets punished while Zulima gets away scott-free?”

“No, of course not. Solomon was here earlier ta dish out her punishment and Uncle Asmo will be here shortly ta decide how long whatever her punishment was will last and talk with her about why this was wrong in the first place. Their startin’ to get up fed up with her actions too and this is probably your cousin’s last chance ta prove she can shape up before they pull ‘er out of the house too.”

Azalea turns to her brother with an apologetic look.

“I'll let ya have a few minutes ta talk privately and then we’ll be leaving.” The Avatar of Greed steps out since he knows his children won’t honestly speak their minds if someone is listening.

“Listen,” Aurelius says as he leans his head against Azalea’s, the black streaks in their hair pressed together. It’s a thing they’ve done ever since they we little. “I’m really sorry about this. I knew it was wrong and I still did it anyway. Are you still mad at me?”

“A little bit.” The older cambion sighed, “You didn’t send that audio clip to Max, did ya?”

“Yeah, but if it’s any consolation, she didn’t listen to it and deleted it instead. You really should tell her though. I think you’d be really happy. She definitely likes you back.”

“Why did ya do it? I feel so betrayed.”

“I told Mum that I was just bored but really it was because I was getting annoyed with Zulima talking about how much she quote-unquote ships you two and wishes you’d just get together already...”

“I get that. She can be rather persistent.” Azalea sighs. “If that’s the only reason then I guess I really can’t fault ya for it... How long are ya gonna be gone?”

“Until the end of next term. I’m grounded too for taking so long to get back here, so I’m losing my phone and I won’t get to do any photoshoots for the next three months... I’m think of quitting all together when my contract is up actually. The time off will give me a chance to really decide.”

“Majolish is gonna be really mad that they’ve lost their top model,” Azalea laughs softly. “Hey, the reason ya wanna quit is ‘cuz of that letter, right?”

“Yeah, a little bit.” Aurelius hums. “Actually, while I was running from you, I think I met the sender of that letter- well more like I plowed into her as I was running away. She didn’t seem all that crazy and claimed she didn’t know who I was but I don’t know, I got some really weird vibes so I think she was lying.”

“Hey, I just thought of this but doesn’t that girl who hounded you to start a relationship with her reside at the House of Sorrow? Maybe she’s the one who sent that letter so she wouldn’t have any competition for your attention.”

“I didn’t think of that. It would make sense, actually. “Do you think I should write her back and say I know it was her? See if it was really her and give her a chance to come clean?”

“Why don’t ya do it at school? We’re all bound to have classes with her at some point in the day so being able to get her alone and there be no chance for interference sounds like the perfect opportunity. What’s her name? Is she pretty?”

“She introduced herself as Persephone- you know like that greek myth and yeah she is. Funnily enough, she looks a lot like that idol that Henry was crying about earlier. Her hair and eye color are the same shade of grey as that idol’s.”

“That’s really interesting, actually. When I was talking with Henry earlier, I proposed the idea that maybe she was taking a break to enjoy a normal teen life so I wonder if I was right. Maybe this is something you could actually pursue as far as a relationship goes... If she is that idol then she wouldn’t be interested in dating you for our family’s prestige, fame, or money since she has plenty of her own to begin with. I know you’re lonely just like I’m lonely.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Aurelius pulled back. “I do want to find a mate eventually, but I also just want to survive RAD first before I start looking. It would be nice to have someone that looks at us in the same way Dad looks at Mum- with nothing but love and adoration but not a lot of demons really like us. They mostly just tolerate our existence.”

“You’ll get that eventually.” Azalea smiled. “I mean I got my person so you should too sooner or later, right?”

“Yeah, we-”

“Aurelius, what’s with this letter you have?” Arella asks as she enters the kitchen. “This really worries me, Sweetheart.”

“I got that today actually and I think I know who sent it, but also I’m starting to suspect she wasn’t actually the one who sent it. I’m going to meet with her at school to clear the air over it.”

“I don’t think that’s a very safe idea, Aurelius. From the verbiage in this letter, she could be stalking you. I know from experience with Dad and Uncle Asmo that people like this will do anything to ensure they're the only ones who have your attention.”

“I promise I’ll be safe, Mum. But I have to find out for sure if it’s her or....” the teen trails off and Arella doesn’t like the sound of that.

“Aurelius, has a classmate been harassing you, Darling?”

“Yeah... I didn’t want to tell you and Dad because I didn’t want to worry you guys... it’s been a thing for a while. You would think after rejecting her for the thousandth time, she would get the hint...”

“What’s been a thing?” Mammon asks as he pops his head in the doorway. “C’mon, Buddy, let’s go home.

“Our son is being harassed by one of his classmates and he didn’t want to tell us for fear of worrying us. Also, he received this rather alarming letter today in the post.”

“What? Lemme see that thing.” He takes the piece of paper in his hands and scans it over, eyebrows raising in alarm. “Aurelius this is not okay.  Is this the person whose been botherin’ ya?”

“Maybe...? I can’t really be sure. The implied sender isn’t the person whose been bothering me at school rather a girl that just transferred to RAD but I think it might have been forged by that person so I would avoid the sender at all costs. I want to meet her and confirm whether or not it’s really her.”

“You absolutely will not be doin’ that.”

“Dad I-”

“I said no. Aurelius, ya have no idea how dangerous people like this really are. I’ve had someone like this threaten your mother’s life multiple times back when we had first started officially datin’. Even Uncle Asmo got the same thing when he and Solomon went public with their relationship and other demons found out they had a kid together. I think combined, your uncle and I got close ta a thousand of these types of letters. It got so out of hand that at one point Uncle Lucifer had to step in and deal with it for us. This spells out nothing but trouble for ya and I don’t want ya getting' hurt by some nutcase that has a few bolts loose in the head.”

“Dad, you’re overreact-”

“No, I’m not, you’re not doing this and that’s final. I still have every single one of those letters and I’ll let ya read the worst ones to show ya just how dangerous something like this can get. Believe me when I tell ya this is not something ya want to deal with. And I’m warning you right now. If you get another one of these types of letters, I’m pulling ya out of modeling until you’re at least 1700 years old.”

“But what about my contract? Won’t I get penalized for breaking it?”

“We had a clause put in the fine print that if your father and I felt you were unsafe or were not benefitting from it emotionally or physically for any reason during the term of your contracts, that we had the right to terminate them at any point in time for your safety.” Arella explained.

The teen only sighs. He knows he should listen to his father but there’s something nagging him at the back of his mind. “Alright, I won’t do it.”

“Thank you.” Arella let out a relieved sigh. “We should get going now. It’s late enough as it is and your father and I both have to work in the morning. Give your sister a hug if you wish.”

The twins nodded as they moved to give each other a hug.

“See ya at school, I guess.” Azalea sighed. “Sorry I got ya booted back home.”

“It’s fine. This wouldn’t be happening if I hadn’t started it. Love you.”

“Love you too.” They let each other go and Aurelius headed off with their mother after Azalea gave her a hug goodbye.

“Are ya good ta go back down the stairs in your room without sliding down the railing? Your room is messy and I don’t want ya tripping and hurting yourself over a pile of books. Ask your cousin to help ya clean it tomorrow.”

“I think so. If I need it, I’ll just guilt Zulima inta helping me. She owes me after that trick she organized.”

“Okay,” the demon chuckles as he pulled his daughter into a hug. “I’ll come back ta check on you when I get back from the fourth layer with your brother. Make sure you use that cane, please. It’ll only benefit you, kiddo. I love you.”

She nodded as she let her father go. “Love you too. See ya then...” Azalea watched them go before going to put the plates in the sink and climbing the stairs. She stopped at Max’s doors and knocked, knowing it was about the time she’d be getting ready to bed. When she heard a soft ‘come in’, Azalea pushed opened the door.

“Hey...” She says as she walked in and closed the door. “We should talk...”

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Next

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Killing Care and Grief of Heart (Let all the Broken Pieces Shine, Chapter One)

Info: The Magnus Archives, D&D AU. JonMartin in this chapter, more ships to be added. Rated T. Post-Canon. Jon is amab nb and uses they/them, Martin is a trans guy.

CWs: Character death, stabbing, grief, webs, manipulation, apocalypses, alternate realities 

Summary: MAG 200 from Martin’s viewpoint, setting up what is to come after. The idea of Martin being Orpheus and Jon being Eurydice comes from the poem “Eurydice’s Retort” by Aiden. The poem quoted is the last stanza of Margaret Atwood’s "Orpheus 1" from Selected Poems II: 1976-1986, published 1987. The chapter title is a line from William Shakespeare's Orpheus.

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It’s easier than Martin had thought it would be, killing Jon.

He’s thought about it before, of course, and well before he walked through his own Domain and spoke to the other version of himself. Thoughts of Jon’s death have been a constant companion for the weeks (months? years?) they’ve been walking through the Apocalypse, and for more than a year even before that.

Keeping Jon alive was the whole reason he kept working for Peter Lukas, after all.

The first time he thought about the idea that he might wind up responsible for Jon’s death was some time after they went through Oliver Banks’ Domain, the one with all the roots. Jon had been waxing philosophical that night(?), while they were resting in one of the between-places. They’d gotten to talk about the classics, about story and narrative, about how the dream-logic of everything they were dealing with could be understood through the lens of myth and metaphor.

That was when Martin had brought up Orpheus and Eurydice, pointed out that Jon had played Orpheus in diving into the Lonely to bring Martin out. He had quoted Margaret Atwood’s poem, the one from Eurydice’s point of view. Jon, of course, had never read the poem (and honestly, how is he so in love with someone who could barely stand to read anything once, let alone twice), had questioned Martin as to why he liked it so much. (Martin’s answer: melancholy. It’s about Eurydice not really wanting to come back to the world of the living, after all.)

“But you didn’t want to stay there, not really,” Jon had said, looking perplexed.

“Well… no… I mean, I sort of did while I was in there, but once you got me back out…” Martin had sighed. “It fits, that’s all I mean, and it was the first time you’d really used your powers the way you’ve been doing here. You killed Peter Lukas, you drew me out of his Domain, you’ve been doing it ever since. You’re Orpheus.”

Jon had looked at him for a long moment, with those piercing eyes that always took Martin’s breath away, and then said, “That’s ridiculous. I could never make the mountains bow themselves when I did sing.” (Of course he knew Shakespeare, and Martin did love Shakespeare but in this case he really did prefer Atwood), and then Jon was smiling at him and saying, “You’re Orpheus, love.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Martin had countered. “You’re the one who went in there to rescue me. You’re the one who led me out. Forget the Lonely, I’d have been lost in the tunnels forever without you.”

“Ah, but,” and Jon had put up a finger, “I’m the one who actually died.” He’d grinned, as if he were winning something. “I died, and you could not stand the thought, and so you dove into the underworld of whatever plot Peter and Jonah had concocted, and you sang your sweet words at them, and charmed them, and pulled me out of the hell they were trying to trap me in.”

“But… you’re the one who led me out of the Lonely,” Martin had repeated, baffled.

“Yes,” Jon had said softly, “and the problem with Orpheus and Eurydice was always that Orpheus could not trust that she would return to him. He went into the underworld to begin with because he didn’t trust that the gods would reunite them when he died. When he was leading her out he could not trust that it hadn’t been a trick, that he hadn’t lost her, and so he turned around to be sure. His doubts brought everything crashing down around them.” His gaze had been gentle, soft, maybe a little chiding. “If Eurydice had been leading the way, and Orpheus could have seen her the whole time, they would have made it out together.”

The thing neither of them had said aloud was that in the end, whatever Martin had done to pull Jon out of the “underworld” of Jonah’s plans hadn’t worked. The entire world had fallen in around them instead.

Jon had kept the thing alive since then, occasionally calling Martin ‘his Orpheus,’ usually when Martin was making up some ridiculous doggerel to amuse them both. And Martin didn’t mind, and was honestly somewhat flattered, but it started something gnawing at him. Two things, really: first, that Orpheus was the hero of the tale, and Martin did not want to be the hero, did not want to be the one upon whom all responsibility sat. Making choices for himself was all good and well; he didn’t like the feeling of maybe having to make choices for all of humanity.

The second was the nagging, aching remembrance that in every version of the myth Orpheus ultimately loses Eurydice. Death will not be overcome for long, no matter how charming one’s music. The idea that Jon would die to end this Martin had considered more than once. He hated the thought, and would rather die himself than see his lover sacrificed once more.

The idea that Martin himself would have to kill Jon to save the world? It fit perfectly. He knew it fit the moment he first thought of it, and it felt as if his heart were breaking in slow motion ever since.

Orpheus could not return to the world of light and joy with his Eurydice, after all. It just didn’t work that way, no matter how they twisted and turned to try to avoid the truth.

When they’d made a plan Jon had not wholly acquiesced to, Martin had felt that throbbing ache in his chest again. When he’d gone to talk to Jon, and hugged him, and Jon had talked about how everything was his fault… he knew. He just knew, and he did not like the decision he could feel settling in his chest. Jon was going to do something stupid, and Martin was going to have to be the one to fix it.

He could not trust Jon. That was the long and the short of it, he’d thought, as he’d stood there holding the smaller man in his arms, listening to his sniffles. And because he could not trust Jon, he’d stopped when he should have been following the other man, and turned to the others, and told them to go and blow up the gas main now. He’d turned away, and when he’d looked back, Jon was out of his sight and too far gone for Martin to catch up in time to stop him from killing Jonah Magnus and taking his place in the Panopticon.

Ironically enough, this time what doomed Orpheus was looking away from his lover, instead of looking at him.

So now Jon is in the Panopticon, because he could not be anything but self-sacrificing, and because Martin could not trust him long enough to just go after him, could not trust that he would have been able to talk Jon out of killing Jonah once they’d got up there. He’s in the tower, hooked in as the Pupil of the Eye, and Georgie’s lit the gas main already, and the whole thing is blowing up while Jon screams in pain.

For just a moment, Martin has a fleeting memory of Basira telling him that she’d convinced the police not to just burn the Institute to the ground, and oh, if she hadn’t done that…

Well, no use for that now.

For everything Martin’s said, every moment he’s refused, aloud, to admit that he could kill Jon if he had to, he’s known for some time now that he can if he must. He’s thought about it over and over, turning over everything, thinking about how to kill the Archivist. The answer is simple and obvious. Jon already gave it to him, before they’d left the Institute, and it’s narratively appropriate in that dream-logic mythic way the Fears work. So he knows what he has to do.

Martin pulls Jon out of the Panopticon, and they say they love each other, and they kiss. And then Martin pulls Jon’s head back and stabs him swiftly, once in each eye. Jon only gasps once, the first time, and maybe he’s already dead by the time Martin stabs the other, but he won’t take the chance of leaving the job half-done. It’s clear that it was the right choice--stabbing someone in the eye shouldn’t kill them so quickly, but the Eye was all that was keeping Jon alive, and so he’s dead now, gone.

And so, Martin thinks, Orpheus loses his Eurydice. Atwood’s poem echoes in his mind:

Though I knew how this failure would hurt you, I had to fold like a gray moth and let go. You could not believe I was more than your echo.

Martin sobs, then, just once, and he’d keep sobbing but there’s a rising static, the sort he’s used to hearing while listening to the tapes. And then he sees that actual tape has come into the Panopticon writhing up from between cracks and over stone to wrap itself around Jon, around his legs and arms, trying to drag him away.

Martin cannot speak, he’s too wracked with grief, but he’s damned if he’ll let the Web take Jon from him, not now. Wherever Jon is going, he’s going too. That was the deal. So as the web of magnetic recording tape grabs Jon and pulls him through the air like he’s some sort of insect to be wrapped up and devoured, Martin holds him tighter, refusing to let go.

The tapes are somehow strong enough to pull them both out of the Panopticon, through the air, across the landscape. There are other things being pulled toward wherever they’re going, a thousand or a million, too many to count. Martin can see the web of magnetic tape criss-crossing the landscape, touching all the places they’ve been, the Domains they’ve traveled through, the avatars they’ve encountered. He can see with eyes that should have belonged to the Web had Peter Lukas not gotten hold of him and claimed him for the Lonely. He can see the extent of it all, the scope of the plan, the thing the Web had wanted all along--the Fears, bound up by the Archivist’s Knowing, connected by the tapes at a thousand little points, dragged screaming out of this reality toward the hole at Hilltop Road.

For a moment it strikes Martin as a thing of beauty. Wretched, horrid beauty, but beauty nonetheless. A plan at least three decades in the making, finally come to perfect fruition. Reality re-made in order to allow the Fears to manifest strongly enough for the Web to bind them and pull them out and… ascend.

They fall toward the hole, and then into the hole, and then suddenly Jon spasms in Martin’s arms. Martin clutches him more tightly so as not to lose him, so he’s right there when Jon’s mouth opens and sound begins pouring out. Words, but more than words, and none in his own voice. It’s as though he’s become the tape recorder, playing a statement. People talking--Basira and Georgie and Melanie. The world is safe, it seems. The plan worked. And maybe it’s better than Jon’s dead, because surely whatever the people who remembered ‘the Archivist’ would have done to him would have been far more painful and horrific than Martin stabbing him in the eyes.

The Admiral’s okay. Martin wishes Jon were alive, so he could know that much at least.

The voices echo in the darkness they’re falling through. Basira’s voice: “What do you want me to do with this?” She must mean the recorder she found in the ruins.

Georgie replies, “Leave it. We’re done with tapes.”

“Want me to smash it?” That’s Melanie, because of course it is.

Basira says, “I think… we can probably just turn it off.”

Martin can almost hear the shrug in Melanie’s voice. “Okay.”

There are footsteps, two pairs, presumably Melanie and Georgie walking away.

Basira addressed the tape recorder. “If anyone’s listening… goodbye. I’m sorry, and… good luck.”

There’s a final flick, and then Jon actually speaks, despite being dead, the words resonating in the darkness:

“STATEMENTS END.”

Martin almost sobs, clutching Jon, eyes squeezed tight. He’s not sure he ever liked Basira much, and he really barely knew Georgie and Melanie--and really it’s been so hard, for so long, to be sure he liked anyone much, aside from Jon--but he takes the good wishes for what they are, clasps them into his heart. Wherever the Web is taking them, it has to be better than what they’re leaving behind.

Wherever it is, Martin is sure there won’t be any more recorders, any more statements. They, too, are done with tapes.

Next Chapter

tma entities as wizard101 schools

the eye - balance. feeds off of other fears via statements is akin to how balance takes elements of the other base schools. balance has an element of wanting to know but getting caught up and not actually acting, which, eye.

the spiral - myth + sun. myth is literally about dreams and illusions becoming real. sun is about altering reality, but specifically in small ways that can have a surprisingly big impact- think about how in many spiral statements it’s a slower hunt, a build up. enchanting a spell w sun magic doesn’t seem like it would do much at first, but it’s game changing.

the lonely - ice...? the whole ice-water-cold stuff. the slow moving and steady meander of ice -> the emotionless calm of the lonely. don’t have a lot here

the end - death, shocking no one. the whole draining others health to heal yourself is a thing with the end as well. both the aspect of death as an unhalting finality + trying to cheat death are literally mentioned w the death school description. it all fits,

the stranger - moon + bit of shadow. moon is literally changing oneself into something/someone else, taking on the aspects of another being. shadow warps reality and a chunk of the spells alter the caster into an inhuman amalgam.

the desolation - storm + fire. both schools are the strongest damage wise, able to destroy opponents very quickly. however they both have high rates of failure, especially storm. storm spells are the most likely to fizzle and that can be absolutely crucial to winning or loosing a battle, much like agnes and her doubts causing the downfall of the lightless flame.

the slaughter - storm + ice + star. storm and ice both represent the very different sides of the slaughter. storm is the quick and unthinking violence, coming from nowhere in a burst of anger. ice is the slow creep of war, claiming many in its ruthless advance. star focuses on self empowerment but often at high risk, increasing how hard you hit in exchange for vulnerability, which i think vibes very well with both the unthinking frenzy of anger side of the slaughter and with how in war people will take risks that may or may not pay off

the vast - storm. the aesthetics match first of all, and second of all the exhilaration and excitement of falling that the vast’s avatars adore can be related to the overwhelming power of storm and frankly being able to one hit ko something would be exciting. not a wild amount of reason here just aesthetics and extreme personalities

the buried - life + death. stretching this but buried avatars always are invigorated by their patron (hezekiah wakely, anyone?) and that vibes with the whole. healing thing with life. death for the whole coffin thing and the inability to dig yourself out, having to accept that you will be trapped in the buried forever is akin to having to accept that you will die. realizing inevitablities. (think the train buried statement, how she just laid down and accepted her fate.)

the dark - myth. myth has an aspect of letting the imagination run wild and pairing that with the paranoia of not knowing of not being able to see just what is lurking in the dark? yeah. could also say shadow and/or death because of the aesthetics.

the corruption - life + shadow. being a home, a host, fueling those who you are a home too? life vibes. shadow both corrupts and has the whole backlash element: it’s powerful (think of how many victims jane had. think of the town amherst infected) but leaves you weak (co2 and concrete!)

the web - shadow. again with the backlash thing, it forces you to act in certain ways. going against the self altering shadow spells is a bad idea and the more you resist the more damage you take, but if you cooperate the higher your rewards. which, yeah, that could go with the entities as a whole but i feel like the emphasis of forcing you to take specific actions is particularly web. also spider people are a staple of khrysalis and shadow magic. also grandfather spider.

the flesh - moon. changing oneself into something else is a thing (jared bonetuner) and most, if not all, moon spells polymorph the caster into something inhuman. because it’s a kids game w101 doesn’t have anything actively fleshy, instead opting to use its allotted disturbing content on raising basically-satan, so here we go

the hunt - fire + ice + star. fire and ice have the element of pursuit: fire with the frenzy of the chase, ice with the slow stalking of prey. star meanwhile focuses on self empowerment, enhancing yourself, not your spells not your teammates, yourself. sometimes with risks.

the extinction - balance + life. the extinction incorporates the other powers in a way that is different from the eye, not watching and stealing fear but instead molding things anew from the other powers: the desolation in decrypted, the stranger in concrete jungle, the flesh in reflection. however, life stands out, because one of the major themes of the extinction is replacement by a sentient other. the creation of an other that comes after us, after we are dead. therefor: balance with a life twist.

hope u enjoyed this weird niche post. i have thoughts about wizard101

5, 8, 21, 36, 40, 46, 51!

5. Which fandoms have your written fanfiction for?

I have never been a superly monofannish person, and I have written for a fair number of fandoms, but discounting fandoms that I was assigned for fic exchanges I have written for Gundam Wing, Fullmetal Alchemist, Escaflowne, Mighty Ducks, Inuyasha, City Hunter, Dawson’s Creek, Avatar the Last Airbender, Sailor Moon, Ouran High School Host Club, Eureka Seven, Steven King’s IT/IT (2017), V (2009) and due to my one lone Beronica Fic, I guess you can say I have technically written for Riverdale. About a month ago I orphaned a lot of my older works because they had become a bit incongruous with what I want attached to my name, so not all of those fandoms are still present on my AO3.

Fandoms that I’ve written exclusively for Yuletide as my main assignment are:  Soul Eater, Diana Wynne Jones’ Archer’s Goon, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Claymore, Drive Me Crazy, and Notting Hill.

8. How did you get involved in your latest fandom?

Well this is a fun story, but it is sort of a set of factors that brought me to watch an old 90s teen soap opera in this the year of 2018/2019. I should start by saying back when I was a part of the actual target demo for teen shows I only watch Buffy and didn’t deign to watch any of those other inferior teen shows and actually counted not being a weekly viewer of Dawson’s Creek as a point of pride. (It was very much one of those “I’m not like those other girls” nonsense attitudes, oh bb!Kristen you stupid, stupid girl). I did however osmose certain things about the show because at that time, you just sort of did. So how did I go back and actually watch this show well….

The first factor was that in the back half of 2017 I had the weirdest dream, where I literally dreamed the plot of my current WIP Boy Problems for Disney’s The Mighty Ducks which I had not seen or thought of in years (God told Joan of Arc to save France, God tells me to write steamy obscure dudeslash fic, Thanks God!). 

The 2nd Factor was that in like October of 2017, I watched Riverdale which I binged and then kept through to the winter finale of season 2 and then 5 months later thinking I was free (spoiler: I was not in fact free) and I started sort of following it and now I am here sort of following it week to week, but mostly mocking it while dreaming of my super gay alternative, and being increasingly annoyed with the fandom’s tendencies to make superficial comparisons to other show, a fandom trend I have always hated and that harkens back to Zutara fandom in ATLA (Zutara is not 1xr or Van/Hitomi, thanks). 

And the third factor was that way back in like July or August or some time there was a clickbait article that was basically TV shows characters that should have ended up with someone else/wrong endgame pairings which I clicked mostly because I wanted to see what they wrote about the How I Met Your Mother finale (I love reading takes on the HIMYM finale, I find it fascinating) and well the clickbait article stated that Dawson/Joey should have been endgame. This intrigued me because it contradicted everything I had ever heard/osmosed about the show.

So I decided that I would watch it to draw my conclusions and to see if what I had heard was wrong (which I thought was a possibility because I don’t by my nature trust giant ship fandoms like PJo was back in the day, it’s something I still sort of keep to this day), and I was like I will mock it and at the very least I will be able to have ammo against stupid fandom comparisons and due to a shared actor, maybe pick up good screen caps for like a moodboard for The Fic that had now progressed from being a dream to a thing that actually exists. 

And so I started it and as God would have it, I got invested, and now find that the Clickbait article was wrong, fandom needs to shut up Bughead/Barchie/Jeronica is not like Pacey/Joey thankyouverymuch, and I can’t use caps for a mood board because I would just cry and can’t associate anything from the show with anything else. 

So that’s story about how this dumb binch got invested in Dawson’s Creek years after everyone has moved on!

21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote?

No Joke, the first fanfic that I wrote down and then posted was a Sailor Moon/Gundam Wing crossover that was basically just a retelling of the story of Sailor Moon with added giant robots. If you are like “Please tell me it wasn’t Senshi/Pilots” I am afraid I can tell you that (The pairings were if I recall Heero/Serena, Duo/Amy (What?!), Wufei/Raye, Trowa/Lita (cause they were both tall) and Quatre/Mina (Oh Quatre sweetie, I’m so sorry)) I killed Mamoru, and Relena just didn’t exist because this was set more in the SM universe than the GW one so I just brought over the pilots. It was multi-chaptered and I wrote a chapter a day. I wrote five parts of it covering all 5 arcs of Sailor Moon. 

Yes, I was totally better than those other girls as you can see. And no, those fics no longer exist online. In my defense I was 15 years old, I had not yet realized I was a lesbian and if I were to write that story now it would be Usagi/Relena because that story would be effing amazing.

36. What’s your favourite genre to write?

I enjoy a long slice of life romcom if I’m honest. The plotting of both my longest fics (Boy Problems and Living Arrangements) are the sort of stories that i love to write and come the easiest to me. I am also partial to quiet thematic characters beats and fics that explore characters putting things back together which if I can ever get back to 1xR as a ship that inspires me, I would love to do just a slice of life romance of them paralleling and finding their way back to each other. Also just cute romcom premises are always fun.

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?

I am so off and on when it comes to prose. Like there are times where I can do it and I love it, and other times it’s a struggle and I have to fight from just making everything dialogue (I maintain confidence in my dialogue.)

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?

I think both Boy Problems (Mighty Ducks) and Living Arrangements (Dawson’s Creek) are the most apparent clear examples of where I am right now as a writer, but they are longer and the fandoms aren’t super in anyone’s face. I would say of my shorter one-shots, Save the Last Dance (Gundam Wing) and Once Lost, Now Found (City Hunter) are the most emblematic of me as a writer and my approach to characterisation. I also every once again get into to hugely stylistic gen pieces that I generally feel very proud of like Creation in Nine Acts (Avatar the Last Airbender, a mock creation myth for the Avatarverse, written before Korra was a thing but was not meant as the literal creation myth anyways) and State of IT (IT a short vignette from IT’s point of view.

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

I don’t know if this a thing I love or hate, but I am tired of fandom’s missives of you MUST COMMENT/KUDOS on everything you read. Comments/kudos/likes/reblogs on fanworks (not just fic) are great, but I don’t think that anyone is obligated to do any of those things. I think what I would rather do than rant or gush is to say that I think if you are a creator try to at least find comfort in validation of respecting and loving your own work. Write for yourself first and foremost. I think when I let go of the need for validation was when I really allowed myself to grow and appreciate myself as a writer. I wasn’t worried about what other people would think but just if I can read this and enjoy it and allows me a little more time thinking and writing about characters that I love than I am good, and I post it as a sort of second thought for if I enjoy it there may be others (even if it is one other person). So I guess I would leave it at that. If you’re a reader, don’t worry if you don’t leave feedback, no one is owed it and you don’t have to give any if you don’t feel that you can. And if you are writer, I would urge you to focus and write for you first and foremost and treat any feedback as a sort of treat on top of the pride of knowing you saw something through.

The Boneless Mercies

We made people uneasy For we were women with weapons. Men would not do our sad dark work The Boneless Mercies is a fantasy novel written by April Genevieve Tucholke, and loosely inspired by the epic Beowulf. It follows Frey, the leader of a Boneless Mercy pack, who dreams of glory and fame, rather than the lonely, dower road of performing mercy killings. When she and her pack take a job that leaves them scarred, she decides to change her faith and go after the Blue Vee beast; a monster that’s been terrorizing the land, killing men and razing villages. I had a feeling I would love this book, but I genuinely didn’t realize I would love it THIS much. The more I read, the more the melancholy and sadness gripped me, the more I loved all the characters, even passing ones we spend a chapter or two with, and the less I wanted anyone to die, even the ‘villains’. When I finished the book I was filled with such grief and emotion, that I only remember experiencing twice: at the end of Fellowship of the Ring, after Boromir dies, and at the end of Return of the King when Frodo and Sam say goodbye, before Frodo’s journey to Valinor. The thing that sold this book to me, and gripped me completely was the writing. Tucholke has this melancholic, lyrical prose, that perfectly emulates the prose of Beowulf, and similar epics; it reads like a ballad, like a tale, rather than an ordinary story, and she’s very good at capturing mood, and feeling in her words. The book is rather short, and the characters don’t speak much, but when they do, you get a real sense of personality, and emotion from their words. Frey’s thoughts, and the way she tells the story give more off the character away than any amount of backstory; you feel the way she does whenever she describes anything, from the way the Mercies sleep in a pile by the fire, to the way she performs a killing. The one part of the book that did bother me, was weirdly enough the world building. Like I said, it’s loosely based on Beowulf, so the mythology is heavily inspired by the Norse Gods and tales of Valhalla, slaying Jotun and Dragons. However, what Tucholke has done, is essentially take this mythology and change a few names so Odin is now Oben, Valhalla is Holhalla, Finland is Finmark, the Danes are the Dennish and so on. It started to bug me, because I think I would’ve much preferred the book if Tucholke had simply told her own story set in the Norse myths; she hasn’t changed anything but the names, and even that is so similar that it only serves to confuse you. This is especially jarring, because the lands this tale is set in are interesting. There is the Kingdom of Iber in the south, the different jarldoms, the Scorch Tree, the Green Wild Forest, the Red Marsh. The Scorch Tree in particular was a mix between Rivendale, Lothlorien, and the Tree in Avatar, and this section was the most fantastical of the ones we get. I also really enjoyed how this land was at once magical and not; there are these legends of dragons, trolls, giants and witches, but most people never see any and they spend their lives living ordinarily, the great conquests nothing but tales. It gave the world a sense of time passing, a history and I really liked the bleak atmosphere; I don’t even have to make a reference to the game, you all know which one it is. The plot as well is an examination of these larger than life ballads and epics; in those the heroes are victories, the monsters defeated by a cunning flaw or trick, and even those who die feast in Valhalla. But real life is not like that; wounds don’t always heal, people die and there’s no way to know what happens to them, sometimes you have to make hard decisions, and you wonder if it’s all worth it. And the book doesn’t give an answer; it leaves the reader to decide if they think the story was worth telling, and if the cost is too great, much like Lord of the Rings, which this clearly draws heavy inspiration from. The journey is never easy, and its cost and worth is impossible to determine. As for the characters I enjoyed all of them. The four girls are all different and have distinct backstories and personalities. Like any good epic there are lots of characters to go over so I’ll mention the main ones. I really liked the two witches and how they are shown to be equally powerful, seductive and manipulative; they have their own goals and motives that they keep from their disciples, and each believes the other one must be destroyed. I liked that this book doesn’t paint either one is truly evil; yes the Willows sacrifice boys and spread fear, but so do the Sea Witches; the Willows are just more honest about their intentions. I liked Roth as well; he was a refreshing male characters in that he wasn’t just a love interest, and had some character to him. All the male characters were surprisingly complex, even from what little we see of them. Indigo too was interesting; we get very little of her, but her energy, boisterous energy and confidence was much needed to shake up the status quo of the Mercies. Logafell was likewise a cool villain. I liked that she had motivation, that she had reasons and a character, and wasn’t just a mindless beast. She was a mix between Grendel and his mother, and I really liked her confrontation with the Mercies. Runa started out as my favorite of the Mercies, and though I never stopped liking her, she does get a little lost in the shuffle. She has the most distinct personality, being grumpy, contrarian and a bit mean, but she was the one who had the clearest motivations. I wish her relationship with Indigo was bit more developed. Ovi was the one I liked the least, mostly because she reminded me of Mathias from Crooked Kingdom and had a very one-note personality. Her backstory was the most interesting part about her and I wish she got a bit more to do in the main plot. Juniper reminded me of Samwise; she’s the youngest, the most idealistic and kind of the Mercies. She was sweet and jovial and I liked her a lot; I especially liked her back and forth with Runa. Trigve was the only boy in the group and I liked him. He had a pleasant personality, I enjoyed his relationship with Frey and his refusal to leave the Mercies even though he has so many options. It was nice to see a boy wanting to be a healer, and being the non violent one for a change. And finally Frey. It’s not often that the lead character is my favorite one, but I absolutely loved her. She was driven, fierce, motivated and sought out glory and honor. Ambition isn’t common in female characters, and not only did Frey have it, she made sure to be proud of it, and though she wavered, she knew her decision was true and for the best for the land. She was a hero through and through, and her loss and victory were as inextricably linked as was the quest to begin with. I really loved her. Please, please, read this book. If you like anything of what I said, or love old fantasy like Beowulf, Lord of the Rings or even Dark Souls, and would like a female lead for a change, check this out. It’s absolutely worth it, and it isn’t even very long.

goodreads

An Introduction to the Works of Rebecca Roanhorse

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Rebecca Roanhorse launched into high visibility in SFF with her short story “Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience” in 2017, and her works have continued to wow readers of all ages (she writes fiction for adults, middle grade, and young adults). Her prose is gorgeous, and she takes a hard right turn from more traditional, European-influenced fantasy in her epic new novel, Black Sun. Along with her original works, Roanhorse has also written several Star Wars stories, and is a contributor to Marvel’s new comic anthology Indigenous Voices. If you’re interested in the future of SFF, you can bet your stars that Roanhorse is going to continue to be in the spotlight.

“Welcome to Your Authentic Indian Experience”

Roanhorse’s short story, published in APEX, won both the Hugo and the Nebula. It’s a story about identity, both who you really are and who the world expects you to be. Told in second person, it follows Jesse Turnblatt, who works at a virtual reality Experience, giving Tourists “authentic” Vision Quests that he’s created based on what the typically New Age customers expect from television and movies. When he meets a lonely young man who seems to want something actually real, he realizes that he also needs a friend. But the story takes a Single White Female twist, and leaves Jesse questioning his own reality. It’s a chilling story about erasure and gaslighting that uses SF tropes to maximum effect.

The Sixth World

With Trail of Lightning, Roanhorse’s first published novel, the author entered the urban fantasy genre, telling the story of Maggie Hoskie, a monster hunter, in a post-apocalyptic, flooded world. She’s been trained by a legendary immortal—with whom she also fell in love, but who abandoned her. Now, she’s struggling to decide whether her talent with violence makes her the hero or just another monster. When she becomes involved in solving a string of killings, she accepts help from modern medicine man Kai, who balances her violence with healing. Den of Geek talked to Roanhorse about bringing Native American characters into the urban fantasy genre, and centering Indigenous heroes in the spotlight.

The second novel, Storm of Locusts, follows Maggie out of the Navajo reservation, Dinétah, as she searches for Kai. The medicine man has fallen in with a cult, according to her leads, but Maggie doesn’t think that’s quite right—there’s more going on than meets the eye. Maggie heads out on a post-apocalyptic road trip to track down her friend, and fight whatever monsters she has to take down to save him. Like Trail of Lightning, the book is told from Maggie’s point of view in a clipped, first person present tense voice.

Roanhorse told Den of Geek that four books are planned, and noted that the most difficult part of writing the series was in getting the representation right. Maggie is Diné—Navajo—and Roanhorse is not. “I’ve lived on the Navajo reservation and I’m married to a Navajo man, but it’s not my culture. I wanted to be very careful about the stories I chose to use, the way that I portrayed people and places and everything that went into the world-building I tried to be very conscious that this was going to be a lot of people’s first introduction to Navajo culture, and that I’d have a lot of Navajo readers. I didn’t want to let them down. I didn’t want to get it wrong.”

Critics have praised Roanhorse’s work—Trail of Lightning was a finalist for the Nebula, Hugo, and World Fantasy Award, and it won the Locus First Novel Award—but she has also received criticism from the Navajo Writers’ Association and others for writing Diné characters when she is not Navajo herself. Nick Martin in The New Republic summed up the criticisms, writing an article ultimately supporting Roanhorse and suggesting that, because Roanhorse is also Black, some of the criticism stems from anti-Black prejudice.

Race to the Sun

With Race to the Sun, a middle grade novel for the Rick Riordan Presents imprint, Roanhorse introduces readers to Nizhoni, a Monsterslayer—heir to the Hero Twin of the same name—who has to stop monsters from taking over the world. The mission of the monsters is to destroy the earth (Nizhoni’s first foe, in his human guise, is the CEO of a pipeline fracking on Native Land). Nizhoni has always wanted to be special, but she’s not quite sure she and her younger brother—who takes on the role of Born of Water, the second Hero Twin—are ready for these challenges. Like the Sixth World books, Race to the Sun draws heavily on Navajo tradition and religion and features a fast, first person present-tense voice that makes the action feel immediate. Nizhoni’s personality shines through her narrative, and because she’s a seventh grader, her voice has a lot more levity than Maggie’s. (She also has her horned toad stuffed animal come to life and serve as a guide to her adventure.)

Like several other books in the “Rick Riordan Presents” series, Nizhoni is a chosen hero, given a time limit to fix a grave supernatural problem, who meets up with the supernatural beings of her cultural tradition over the course of her adventures. (The heroes of Riordan’s own “Percy Jackson and the Olympians” books and Roshani Chokshi’s “Aru Shah” books helped establish that pattern.) Nizhoni’s voice also parallels those heroes: she’s got some sass and sarcasm in her narrative that she might not share out loud, but readers are tuned into her inner thoughts, and they hear it all. Race to the Sun includes more of all the things fans love about books from this imprint (which also includes works by Carlos Hernandez and Yoon Ha Lee).

Star Wars: Resistance Reborn

Roanhorse has also contributed fiction to the Star Wars universe, including her Darth Maul vs. Obi-wan Kenobi story in Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Stories of Dark and Light (narrated in audio by Maul’s voice actor, Sam Witwer) and her novel, Resistance Reborn. Set between The Last Jedi and Rise of Skywalker, the novel opens with General Leia still grappling with her near-death—and too-brief reunion with her brother—as she tries to find out why Resistance allies never showed up to help on Crait. Meanwhile, Poe Dameron and his Black Squadron play diplomat while struggling to come to terms with that same question. Is the Resistance really alone in the Galaxy? Unlike Roanhorse’s other novels, Resistance Reborn takes a more classic shared-world style of narration, shifting perspectives among the different characters. Her inner narration of Leia is spot on, depicting both her suffering and her continual ability to move on in spite of it. The tone is reminiscent of the old Star Wars Expanded Universe books, and for readers curious about that same question of why allies didn’t show up until the end of Rise of Skywalker, this is likely to offer a few answers (while giving readers more time to spend with favorite characters).

Black Sun

With Black Sun, Roanhorse moves in an entirely different direction from all her previous work, creating a stunning epic fantasy in a lush secondary world. Like Resistance Reborn, she uses a third-person narration who switches between the characters’ perspectives, but here, she uses beautifully lyrical prose, steeped in the mythology of this new world. Moving in and out of time, Roanhorse weaves together the story of a broken city, once governed by benevolent priests who kept the peace, but now corrupted by political struggles and the interests of foreign nations. The story opens with Serapio, whose mother is engaging in a ritual she’s prepared him for by carving his skin; it culminates in her stitching his eyes shut. As the narrative progresses, readers learn that the ritual allowed Serapio to become an avatar of the Crow god, whose people were brutally murdered a generation earlier by the priests dedicated to the Sun. The point of view characters—Serapio, earnest and justice-driven Sun Priestess Naranpa, and earthy Xiala, a ship captain descended from Mother Ocean herself—are all deeply drawn and sympathetic, even when they are at odds with each other, making it difficult to know who to root for.

In her worldbuilding, Roanhorse leaned on pre-Columbian civilizations, and borrowed a bit from Polynesian navigators, to create a fantasy that feels both familiar and entirely new. “It still seems incredibly rare to find a fantasy inspired by the Americas,” she writes in her acknowledgments. “I think part of the reason is the persistent myth that the indigenous cultures pre-conquest were primitive and had little to offer, when the opposite is true.” Roanhorse’s Meridian is pure fantasy, populated with megafauna such as giant crows that can be ridden, and huge water striders that pull barges, but it shows the richness of being inspired by cultures of North America. The city of Tova borrows designs from the ancient cities of the Anasazi, built into cliff faces, but the divide between the Sky Made who live above and the people of the Maw, who live below in poverty, feels both modern and relevant. Though Black Sun concludes a full story and brings this first volume to a satisfying close, the story is by no means over; Black Sun is clearly the first step in a longer epic narrative, and it’s one readers will be impatiently waiting for until the sequel comes out.

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Whether she’s taking on your favorite franchise characters or in her original works, Roanhorse is absolutely an author to watch.

The post An Introduction to the Works of Rebecca Roanhorse appeared first on Den of Geek.

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Adam & Eve Vs. the Cannibals

So I’m watching ADAM & EVE MEET THE CANNIBALS.

Yep. I’m watching a movie called that. By whichever name you’re calling it (this is a retitling - the original name had no cannibals in it). I like the CANNIBALS title best – obviously. I’m an Italian cannibal movie aficionado, so that makes my preference even stronger. But since I’m only partway through the movie, I cannot attest to the titular accuracy of what is clearly a re-monikering by a distributor for whatever market he was trying to reach. I’m guessing an American distributor redubbed it to make it more sellable to exploitation crowds.

Turns out, though, even though nothing remotely cannibal-y has occurred, it’s a pretty fascinating movie. And a pretty movie.

There is a depiction of Creation during the opening titles. Lots of lava and geological upheaval, plus some nice but probably not overly expensive color FX. It’s a groovy sequence. Following that,  in the fresh, new world, something bursts from the dirt. A membranous cocoon out of which Adam tears himself.

Lonely, he goes on to sculpt the figure of a woman out of beach sand. But the rain comes to wash it away as soon as he’s done. In his despair, he fails to notice that the sand is being rained away from actual flesh. Adam is no longer alone.

And they explore each other and their new life and environment. They watch other animals reproduce (obviously built-in stock nature footage, but it works).

Then there is the serpent. I never realized before this movie how awesome Satan (as per the post-Judaic, Christian re-ordering of the primitive Eden mythos, but that is another chapter in another book entirely) sounds speaking in Italian. With a snake as avatar. Sweet!

Adam keeps trying to keep her from snacking on the forbidden fruit but eventually temptation overtakes and she succumbs. He joins her. Then they REALLY begin to explore each other.

But nature turns on them. A horrible wind blows through. Interestingly, so far God is represented here through manifestation as Nature. I can dig it. Happy God equals serene paradise, a hospitable enviro. Pissed-off God equals storms, volcanos (destructive rather than creative now), even boulders. (This leads to a great Indiana Jones-like scene. The FX are simple but a blast to watch.

Still no gutmunchers, but I’m hooked regardless. I suppose now that they’re booted from Eden and worrying about clothes and such, maybe now their luck will sour and cannibals will pick a fight. Who knows? But I’m on board for the ride.

Now they’re wandering in the desert, an environmental cue for the absence of God. And now the couple is bickering. The honeymoon is over.

NOTE: The loincloth in no way detracts from a strangely blond Eve’s sexiness.

Now, left-turn blinker. The couple discovers that nature is an antagonist to them now (i.e. they are suffering the consequences of God’s displeasure). God’s displeasure here takes the form of a stop-motion animated pterodactyl-ish thing.

At this point, I don’t care if cannibals ever come into the story. Because this movie just gets better and better.

NOTE: The togetherness in facing conflict re-bonds Eve. The archetypal imagery of the Judaic Eden myth is present here, and I even find some progressions of thought from the source. Interesting.

Oh, man. Cavemen. 2001: A Space Odyssey this is not. But exciting it is. Let’s see where this goes. One must wonder if these are the titular cannibals.

Sooooo …  yeah. When you see the tribe of trogs back at their home in the side of a mountain or something, the whole cannibal movie parallels click. This isn’t exactly that, but there this movie (also Italian, fyi) and those cannibal flicks do share a lot of the same touchstones. Even if they are sometimes recontextualized.

And the way they start pawing at the blond Eve strikes a huge cannibal movie chord with me. Think Mountain of the Cannibal God, with Ursula Undress. I mean Andress.

This is just a really groovy primordial lost-in-the-jungle flick. Less violence and more archetypology. Go ask Joseph Campbell.

Anyway. Eventually the war of the sexes re-emerges as a stronger theme. Adam and Eve separate.

Did I mention this is an extremely beautiful movie? Adam may be alone now and left to jacking off and talking to himself, but he gives the film a chance to wander with him through some spectacular scenery. The whole movie has been a thing of beauty so far, and it doesn’t slack off now. Eve goes wandering through some foresty enviros of her own.

This leads her to more primitives. (Like she and Adam have been around for SO long yet.) Not trog, this time, actually more like the spaghetti cannibal movie cannibals, though I don’t know yet if they eat people. I’m starting to suspect not, as I think this title is completely gratuitous, yet oddly not 100% off base. The cavemen weren’t gutmunchers. I’ll have to see if these tribesfolk are or not.

Well, turns out there is a quite a bit of munching – but it all appears to be fruit and vegetables. Unless I missed something vital. Is this a commentary on the Old Testament’s pre-Noahite veggies-only diet as prescribed by Yahweh?

As soon as I say that, I think the captive Eve is being offered an animal to eat …. Oh, yeah, that’s an animal. Still, though, cannibalism this isn’t

And I still have to wonder if this isn’t a deluge-less analogy to the transition of vegetarianism to omnivorism in Genesis.

Uh-oh. Eve is learning to use her female allure, being all sexy and flirty for her tribesman guard. Damn freshy sexually awakened females (in our world, that’s teenage girls), wielding the weapon of their sexuality when they don’t even grok the immense power of those nuclear capabilities.

Still, she’s not without her just motives here. I mean, if somehow I was abducted by a primitive tribe fascinated by my fat (and sexy) ass, I’d flap my balls around if I thought that gave me a chance to manipulate my captors.

Oh, shit, and the cavemen meet the non-trog tribesman. I think some cannibalism just happened, like the cavemen ambushed a non-trog and had a quick pre-battle snack.

What a crazy, wonderful movie.

Yep, the cavemen combine warring with lunching. I mean, eating bits of your enemy is also deadly. Or a freshly killed foe won’t argue if you take a bite. So, yeah.

This actually excels expectations for viewers going in expecting another B-grade gutmuncher. Don’t get me wrong, my love for Italian cannibal flicks is broad and extends beyond the greats .But ADAM & EVE VS THE CANNIBALS solders part of the classic sketti gutmuncher into a wildly different yet markedly analogous piece of cinema. This movie benefits both from its freshness and its familiarity.

The movie is an artistic accomplishment, for sure. And I’m sure it pulled in lots of “exploitation” audiences. All around success? I’d happily grant this simultaneous arthouse/grindhouse status. (It isn’t as if the two didn’t overlap plenty.)

This one’s more of an onion than most Italian gutmunchers. And you never know what’s down in the next layer. I mean, now we’ve got a scenario where the cavemen have captured the non-trogs who captured Blondie Eve.

And, inevitably, Adam shows up pissed and stabbing semi-folks, brandishing his oh so phallic weapon (spear) around. And then we’re on the move, on the river, afloat in a bid for escape and freedom.

Now, I assume you recall that nature is not working synergistically with Adam and Eve, right? Well, let me just say this: Bear. OK, guy in a bear costume, but the scene manages to work anyway. And also to provide one of the scenes neater, if not overly bloody, scenes of violence. In your face, bear. Literally.

Segue. Now the film introduces the concept of pugnacious male rivalry for feminine affections. You could really study this one in a film class. Or psychology class. Awesomeness. They even work in a note of the female civilizing and taming effect on the male.

And then ADAM AND EVE VS THE CANNIBALS features what must be Creation’s first break-up! Or, maybe, just one of its first turn-downs. Still, it’s like high school before high school, right? Sniff!

(You could argue this is a really weird love story.)

Of course, it’s a lot of things. And the remarkable combination works wonders almost as great as Creation itself. (OK, maybe that was a tad hyperbolic. But I think my superpower is hyperbole.)

Awww, love scene. And that anachronistically vocal soft pop is back! Odd upon odd. Nothing if not a singular film.

NOTE: It occurs to me there is remarkably little nudity or violence compared to what you’d expect from such a film. Not that this movie has that big a category, Such A Film. I speak broadly.

NOTE: Adam and Eve stumble onto stock footage of bit cats eating a gazelle or whatever. They gasp. The music sounds oddly like Cannibal Holocaust’s score here. Only a watcher of these movies would notice that, but a watcher of these movies would notice that. A little tingle.

Now there’s snow and she’s in a more robe-y thing but she’s still sexy. Nice high leg slit (note).

I THINK ADAM JUST TOLD EVE “FUCK YOU”!

(*Rewind*)

Nope. Crap, he didn’t. He said “I told you.” As in, “I told you so.” The movie has resurfaced is war of the sexes theme, in a context of Eve feeling like Adam is treating her like a secondary citizen, lacking independence. There is a subtext of his questioning of her creative ability, which points to the patriarchal suppression of the divine feminine. The feminine creative power (womb) was an factor in primitive worship of the goddess. In this scene, Adam is using his creative skill to forge a weapon. She is making a little sculpture of an animal. Adam sees himself as useful and her as needing protection. (Of course, this also alludes to the male war tendency versus the female peace tendency.)

This argument of pragmatism – useful spear versus “useless” cub carving – points to the age-old conflict of what we can call War Vs Art. War can mean here – not necessarily just violent conflict between nations -  any endeavor based on severe pragmatism. The stereotype of the father who sees no practical value in a child’s desire to act rather than, say, join the family business or become a lawyer.  Those who who see creativity for creativity’s sake as without worth since it cannot turn a screw or fire a bullet or only rarely make money (Stephen King versus the world’s unpublished dishwashers who write in their sleep hours and hope – same dynamic as the struggling actor).

I won’t belabor it further. But, like I said, lots of onion layers here. A much better movie than maybe we had a right to expect?

The movie builds toward a tragic mood. Adam and Eve, lost and alone (but for each other, which shouldn’t be forgotten), nigh unto dying on a mountaintop blanketed in snow. Adam is ready to give up. But Eve encourages him. The ultimate transcendence of interdependence is reached. The film and its ideas achieve fruition. Adam and Eve are yin-yang. Only through their tribulations do they gain strength, insight and the ability to prevail.

Wow, an amazing scene of rumbling, cracking ice (more well-placed stock footage – I LOVE creative, mix-and-match filmmaking, sort of blending in found object art with traditional filmmaking). God is farthest from them. His wrath isn’t rage … but absence. The bleak world is breaking apart around them. But, of course, the desert of the soul provides the aridity for new spiritual growth.

Finaly, though, “wrath” recedes and a hospitable world is again alive around them. Life is peaceful. Their relationship with the divine is restored, as well as their relationship with each other. (There is so much subtext here – this film narrative is pregnant with meta like a babies-toting dog mom with a swingin’ ass tummy has puppies inside. I could say so much but it belongs in another essay, which perhaps I’ll get to one day.)

Also noteworthy is the reference to Earth’s cyclical nature, Persephone’s dying and rebirth, the seasons swirl, oroborous. Into this creative cycle is brought the focus point of Eve’s pregnancy. This is the final nearing climax of the film. The movie culminates at the altar of the creative sacred feminine. (NOTE: Again the music has a touch of Cannibal Holocaust melody, but more hopeful in tone.)

ADAM AND EVE VS THE CANNIBALS, neato title aside, is a gorgeous film, substantial. It offers not only grindhouse entertainment but also a heady delve into living mythology and archetypal truth. This movie is a gem and deserves more appreciation, but the nature of its uniqueness would fend off many a mainstream viewer.

I can at least ask you, dear reader (because what kind of egomaniac am I to assume more than one reader?), to go check this movie out. Please. Sincerely.

Why is lack of self worth such an integral part of the human condition? And why isn’t asking other people how they see us part of building up that sense of self more often? Why is the negative and self-flagellation our go-to voice? And why do we just accept all of this as the status quo? (Thank you, MandyPants, for inspiring this sub-tweet).

This comes on the back of a post I wrote the other day [link to 6 Days after #topsurgery: #Selfcare is hard…]

It’s a myth that self-love is an inside job. Especially when thinking overrides feeling and thinking comes from a brain hacked by thousands of external viruses (the voices of others, their judgements and expectations, and our perception of their judgements and expectations; how we think people see us vs. how they really see us).

Please read this theory, it’s SO liberating:

This warped view of self and others’ views of us is especially true for those of us with mental health issues, stress, low self esteem – all of us, in other words – whose internal hard drive is compromised by these viruses, not just the software.

How do you run functional software when the hard drive is compromised? And how do you fix the hardware of your brain with the hardware of your own brain in order to run functional software free of viruses?  More on ways of thinking when your thinking is untrustworthy because of external and internalised stigma here (coming soon).

Self-love as an inside job: the old joke about how many therapists it takes to change a lightbulb: Only one, but the lightbulb has to want to change. Recovery IS an inside job, but if you’re not asking for help from those who can help you, it’s impossible.

S(ave) O(ur) S(ouls): Message written on the inside of a toilet door at Tara Psychiatric Hospital, 2011.

Not very helpful writing a note for help on the inside of a toilet door, when you’re the only one inside it, and the person following you needs as much help as you do… (Yes, psychiatric hospitals can and mostly do cause more trauma than help, but again, it’s about finding that one person who SEES you and LISTENS).

  How did this change (and continues to change) for me?: The waiting to be saved vs. saving myself with the aid of chosen family and healers?

(Also spoken about previously in my post about spirituality. [Link to: Why I’m zen in the midst of chaos: Spirituality for recovering-Christian Atheist Literature Snobs like myself (& images of my text tattoos]).

How can self-love only be an inside job when we don’t live on an island by ourselves and the mirror we look into shows us how we see ourselves, not how we are? The only truly reflective mirrors are those who love us – truly love us, unconditionally; those who SEE us for who we are, no for who they want us to be for them. This is why Chosen Family is so important.

It was one of the exercises they did with me at one of my Tara (psych hospital in Johannesburg) stays [link to Loony bins #lettersfromselvespas(t)sed]. A room full of suicidally self-loathing people writing down good things about each other, then giving them to each other, with that message: if only you could see yourself the way I see you (which inspired my image-making as a ‘photographer’) [link to my website of images created by, for and in honour of all the No one is more YOUer than you” peeps].

  From that day, after that exercise in a Tara group therapy session, I made a point of asking people I trusted what they liked about me (psychologists call this “reality testing”). And I started fighting the programmed lesson that self-pride is selfish and narcissistic and boastful and the innate compulsion to brush the compliments off and started taking them in. Especially those repeated by more than one person, and those that rung true in the deepest part of me that I kept telling to shut up because I was worthless. That’s how the endless (because it’s always in progress)  journey of self love began for me.

  Self love is an unconditional acceptance of self as we are, without the “I can be so much more and so much better”. Self love is “I am enough”. Self love is unconditional. Yes, we can want to be our best selves.

But:

Firstly, this is a continuous process, a being, not a goal; and, secondly, this becoming is only possible through the constant reiteration of unconditional love from those around us and ourselves. 

Which can only flourish in a letting go of those who do not see us, those who do not love us unconditionally. However difficult that may be. Because the only thing more difficult than letting go of “loved ones” and loved things that don’t serve us, is keeping them and self-loathing in our lives. 

Is any of this easy? Fuck no. Is any of this achieved overnight? No, fuck no. Is any of this achieved, a done deal, over and “here’s your certificate”? Only if you’re a monk living in the mountains meditating 12 hours a day.

It’s a process, one day at a time, one decision, choice, feeling, action of “I’m choosing my self-love/self-care/Spoonie  voice over my internalised critical voice” (which is never ours, but our mother’s/father’s/religion’s/society’s and all of them at once).

  Change the metaphor

I loathe the term “it’s a learning curve”. Really? We go from 0 to 50 to 100 and reach enlightenment, self-actualisation, Nirvana, success, the goal, self-love? Such bullshit. Instead of a curve, think of W.B. Yeats’ gyre – a constant widening and upward moving spiral, which narrows again – because nothing is linear.

It’s a two steps back, one step forward dance, which as we get better at it becomes a three steps forward, one step back dance, and more often than not back to two steps back, one step forward – but NEVER to the same step.

I’ve always said there’s no such thing as rock bottom. There are multiple rock bottoms, with each one of them being on a another level, never the same ‘downward’ level.

And speaking of steps: Capitalism with its metaphors of ascending ladders, goals reached, success, perpetual forward motion REALLY sets us up for failure, because it has the antithesis of failure of “success” – an ever-changing target that no one can achieve. And why should we? The “success” that Capitalism allows us to achieve means very little for us as human beings, not corporate automatons.

Of course the artist above depicts this as failure, because in the “success” metaphor of life, this is success, and, obviously, leads nowhere.

So rather than these steps think of steps in this way: Not upward steps, Escher/Hogwarts steps: not success, but growth (growing); not a linear learning curve, but a gyre; not achievement, but being; not I love myself, but, I am learning every day, through those that love me unconditionally, to love myself. Sometimes I’m in the middle of the tornado-like gyre and things are shit, but as things fall apart, they also expand and grow, and so do I. (I love Escher for so many reasons, but also because it reminds me of the magic of Hogwarts).

    Closing thoughts, for now, on this subject:

Why do we not want to heal? Yes, we say and believe we want to heal, but something holds us back. What is it?

I don’t heal because healing = “fitting in”, being part of the status quo, being one of the sheep, not being an individual. Staying sick (depressed, addicted, stressed, whatever) becomes an addiction, a coping mechanism.

I don’t heal because society proves that those that don’t fit in, the Black Sheeps, the Anomalies, the Freaks, the Individuals, are either swallowed by society (treated and made part of the pack), or pushed to the edges of society (jail, psych hospitals, communes in the middle of nowhere) (Read Claude Levi-Strauss on the anthropoemic vs. anthropophagic society).

So I fly my Freak Flag high, to stay an individual, to stay apart from the sheeples, to distinguish myself from the herd. Because “normalcy” and convention and politeness and society and civilisation in all its forms – religion, school, authority figures, etc. have rejected me.

But the truth is: we are ALL freaks. None of us fit in. None of of us are sheeples. Some of us are plugged into The Matrix, and others aren’t. We have no right to judge those who see the world the way the world wants us to see it. Those plugged into The Matrix have stories, hopes, dreams, traumas, insecurities, and want, so desperately, not to fit in, but do the best they can to fit in out of fear.

It is our responsibility as The Fearless, Terrified Ones who want to heal to learn these stories, to speak other people’s languages – their home languages, their cultural languages, their Sandton languages, their Bloemfontein languages, their corporate languages, their love languages; so that we can get over the romanticised and dangerous notion of the mad, starving artist; the square peg trying to be pushed into a round hole. The more we learn we’re not alone, the less lonely we feel, the more we connect with those around us, the more we heal.

Hermit-ting has its place. The mad artist moments have their place. The sheeple moments have their place. (And let’s not for one second argue we’ve never been a sheeple, in some space at some time for some reason). No one is an island. No one has a monopoly on pain.

We are all worthy of love, healing, being heard. There is nothing glamorous about suffering in silence. Let’s stop being so fucking polite and judgemental; ask for help, give help, love others who love us, and allow those who we know on a gut level are good for us into our lives.

There are billions of people on the planet. Rejection from a parent, a loved one, a church, an authority figure, a rapist, etc. is ONE ISOLATED (and sometimes not isolated) incident. Why should it define us?  We are enough. I am enough. I deserve to heal. I deserve to be happy. I deserve love. I just need to prioritise who I expect if from: me, and those who SEE me (in the Avatar sense). The Spoonies. The soulmates. The tribe members. The chosen family.

  As always, this is a work in progress and notes towards the book I’m writing. This is all my opinion as I sit here today. I’m writing as a #notetoself to remember these lessons so that I don’t have to re-remember them as often any more, so that I remember the Escher steps rather than the Capitalist steps. So that I remember my self, my selves, and all the selves I can be.

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Why is self-love so fucking difficult? #selfcare #depression #addiction Why is lack of self worth such an integral part of the human condition? And why isn't asking other people how they see us part of building up that sense of self more often?