#history is a story we tell ourselves about the past

[wiisagi-maiingan]

In the books about Judaism I've been reading, there's a repeated emphasis on Jewish history being taught as something that happened not just in the past, but also to the people telling the stories in the present. The narrative is "it happened to us, to me" as opposed to "it happened to them."

This is something I've also noticed a lot in Native communities. They massacred us, they took our children, they banned our traditions, they forced us off our lands. There's no distancing ourselves from our ancestors, from the Native people of the past; their suffering is ours, their grief and pain and fear live in us.

I think this is a vitally important part of how certain groups interact with history; when your people are constant victims of extreme hate, of prejudice, of violence, you cannot afford to distance yourself from the past. The moment you do, you forget and you relax and you aren't prepared when that violence rears its head again. Because it will. If our history has taught us anything, it's that periods of quiet and "peace" (in the loosest sense of the word) for our people are the exception, they're temporary, and we need to remember that to survive.

#not to say that this is an experience exclusive to native and jewish communities #i'm just speaking from my own perspective as a native person and prospective convert doing research

[pariahsparked]

updated tags

#「 in character ⚔️ some people allow themselves to be controlled by regret 」 #「 headcanons ⚔️ my scars remind me that i did indeed survive 」 #「 mirror ⚔️ our mistrust of the future makes it hard to give up the past 」 #「 about ⚔️ these fragments i have shored against my ruins 」 #「 musings ⚔️ you're just another story i can't tell anymore 」 #「 asks ⚔️ looking back you do not find what you left behind 」 #「 memes ⚔️ the only thing new in the world is the history you do not know 」 #「 meme replies ⚔️ i had my chance and sometimes there are no second chances 」 #「 open ⚔️ focus on the present because that is where i am destined to live 」 #「 starter post ⚔️ we got more yesterdays than anybody 」 #「 starter call ⚔️ a medicine cat has no time for doubt 」 #「 crack ⚔️ i found my frequency crystals speak to me 」 #「 dash ⚔️ no one saves us but ourselves 」 #「 ooc ⚔️ from the desk of the cinnamon bunny 」 #「 save ⚔️ memories are dangerous things 」 #「 promo ⚔️ we can never go back again ; that much is certain 」 #「 self promo ⚔️ there's no one i'd rather be but me 」

[floweroflaurelin]

So Pixlriffs’ finale is a masterpiece and I’m experiencing a lot of emotions right now ✨🌻✨

For my own reference I made a transcript of the monologue and thought I might as well share it! It's under the cut to avoid spoilers but the whole first 8ish minutes of his video are typed out. I recommend watching at least that much, if you haven’t yet, because it’s really something worth hearing.

We are not done.

Not yet.

Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But before they fade into obscurity, as so many events do, there is one more story left to be told.

[It is the Story

of

the World.]

It’s important to remind ourselves that history is an account of events remembered—and there are so few left who remember, so it mingles with myth and hearsay, folklore and fireside stories. This is the account of just one man, and others may recall the tale differently. Others still may decide to change the narrative to suit their own ends. And this, it must be said, is no bad thing. So it goes.

[Sun setting

over

our Creation.]

—

In a long-lost age before records truly began, our world was built by Titans (or so it is said). The lands they created became home to people who would seek to emulate and even to surpass that act of creation, and that would eventually bring about their destruction. But destruction is simply part of a cycle. Nothing is ever truly lost.

Those who foresaw the destruction fled before it could bring the walls of their homes down around them. And many who had been downtrodden and overlooked saw it as their chance to find a new life for themselves.

Thus began a great migration, leaving behind the old nations of the world and striking out for somewhere new, a life untethered from the follies of their former state. And though the road was long and treacherous, and many fell behind in the wake of such an awful endeavour, new bonds were forged in the fires of adversity.

As time passed, and more joined the great caravan, the host became a nation of its own, a glorious congregation sharing one purpose, singing the same resolute song. Though the road was long, they were homeward bound.

And a home they found nestled in a mountainous landscape, one that might have been carved by the very bones of the gods themselves. There they planted roots, drank deep from the water, and continued to grow. The farmers sowed new fields and raised new flocks. The work of many hands turned to building a new city. And together the architects conceived a castle upon a great plateau that would stand as a monument to their past apart and their future together. To them, the castle itself would tell the Story of the World.

Stone-whisperers from Mythland and the Grimlands, well-versed in masonry of all kinds, sculpted its walls from the abundant rock of the nearby mountains quarried for the glory of their new capital. They wrought rock and iron, carved and timbered their great halls, and raised mighty towers to stand atop the grand cliff.

The mages of the Crystal Cliffs brought knowledge of magic and the beauty of gemstones, and theirs was the sanctum at the heart of the castle, ever-seated at the Ruler’s left hand: their shield and protector.

A tribute was raised to Gilded Helianthia, whose ruler was still revered in the hearts and minds of many, and in time she became their warden against the spectres of the past, carrying the twin burdens of light and shadow on her shoulders; a burden with which the people of Rivendell were all too familiar.

And below, far below, the engineers of Pixandria sought to reproduce the jewel of their empire. A mechanism that would surpass the work of the Copper King himself.

Not all who came to found the Ancient Capital remained for long. Like dandelion seeds, the people of the Overgrown were scattered on the wind, alighting on the mountaintops and valleys. The vast majority of them came to settle in the rolling meadows of Chromia, which was renowned for the richness and beauty of its dyes for lifetimes after.

In the absence of their king, the nation of Mezelea resettled in new badlands, establishing laws and ordinances of their own. Many of them had been armour stands before the king imbued them with life, and some found this a hard habit to shake.

The people of the Cod and Ocean empires, bereft of the waters that gave them life, took to diving in the rocky pools of vast caverns and their affinity for stone grew. Over many generations they adapted, becoming the green-skinned race that folk came to know as goblins—their pointed ears the only remaining vestige of the fins they had once had.

For the gnomes of the Undergrove, this was a homecoming! They had long dwelled here before their exodus through the Nether and the fairy circles of the Evermoore welcomed them with open arms.

And the villagers of the Lost Empire, hiding in plain sight amongst the caravan of peoples, sought to find a place where they would be unburdened by this facade of humanity, standing at last on their own two feet.

But the boundaries of this land were ever-changing, and the nations soon found the cataclysm they had left behind had weakened the walls between their world and others. Waters rose and fell unpredictably; incursions from other realms were possible, bringing chaos in their wake. The tide of history churned and rippled.

None now remember how the Capital fell, only that its remains have lasted: an epitaph to all they had achieved together.

And just like before, new nations would arise. The pirates of Eversea ruled the waters from their secret cove. The inventors of Cogsmeade arrived sailing in from the air on their skyships—only to find whole buildings floating in the golden kingdom of Stratos. Rumours abounded of a Sanctuary hidden in the deepest jungle for those who knew the way.

Their tales are better told by those who knew them well. Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But for this tired historian, it is perhaps best to leave these things in the past and begin to look towards the future.

For whatever comes next, we who have sown the seeds can only hope for a bountiful harvest.

#empires smp #pixlriffs #empires spoilers #empiresblr #empires s2 #empires pixlriffs #transcript #CHILLS. ACTUAL CHILLS. #this set fireworks off my brain btw. I want to make all the things right now #im busy at the moment but I will make things! I will! I must!

[nayialovecat]

The Ink Demonth 2023 - Day 25. Cycle

Day 25. Cycle Crossover: Cube Escape Me: Bendy. No. Bendy: But it's a good idea! Me: No, it isn't. They are corrupted soul. You have corrupted body. Minus and minus don't make a plus in this case. Bendy: :c

If anyone doesn't know what this is about, I'll explain. Cube Escape is a series of point and click games created by Rusty Lake and telling the story of a very messed-up family... There is a lot of brutality, a lot of dreamlike things and metaphors, and the whole thing revolves around Rusty Lake - a lake where memories melt and get lost. The entire series is, so to speak, a psychological reflection on the consequences of our actions, dwelling on the past and tormenting ourselves with bad memories. Also reincarnation in contex corrupted soul. Bad memories can corrupt the soul, and corrupted souls... well... are creepy. Really, really creepy.

My first game in the Cube Escape series was, if I'm not mistaken, The Mill, and then I played Seasons (second one, first one is The Lake), and then I tried to play it in order. The plot is very complex and with each subsequent game we discover more fragments of the past of the Vanderboom family (and people associated with them). Certain recurring motifs and a feeling of anxiety create a unique atmosphere - a bit of horror, a bit of crime-story, a bit of psychological drama plus a very oneiric narrative. Is it enough if I say that after playing Case 23 (which, nomen-omen, I never finished), I had nightmares and was afraid to go to the toilet in the dark? And I played it when I was a grown woman X"D

I love this series and am looking forward to the next parts. We already know the history and fate of individual characters - but new threads are constantly emerging. I'm honestly waiting for the next chapter of Paradox (I hope there will be one more) and I just noticed that Underground Blossom, announced some time ago, has been released... Guess who won't be able to complete all the Ink Demonths before September? XD

I decided to have some fun here and make a gif. Art has a lot of symbolism - firstly, it is a perfect square. Secondly, the colour changing from white to black - also corresponds to the theme of black and white cubes (with bad and good memories). Plus both textes of Corrupted Soul come from "Cube Escape: Seasons" in inverse order :) I highly recommend the game. It's really great.

Bendy and the Ink Machine (c) Joey Drew Studios Inc. Cube Escape (c) Rusty Lake Sammy and the Ink Machine (c) Nayia Lovecat

#The Ink Demonth #Bendy and the Ink Machine #Sammy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #SATIM #Cube Escape #Rusty Lake #Bendy #Ink Bendy #Ink Demon #Corrupted Soul #Nayia recommends #The Ink Demonth 2023 #crossover

[lillie98]

I headcannon Mike Wheeler as autistic (because we share the exact same strain) and I have a theory regarding Season 5. Many autistic people, including myself, have a warped sense of inherent danger. We will throw ourselves into dangerous situations not fully understanding the risks involved. It’s a dangerous situation, sure, but not so dangerous we should avoid it. Mike also has this problem, what with him diving head-first into every fight. He wants desperately to be a hero, to prove his worth and might as a person—to be remembered. If that means doing something stupid like getting himself killed, then that’s what it takes. It’s heartbreaking, but that’s the world he lives in. Hopper, Eleven, Will, they’ve all sacrificed their lives in some capacity to save the world, now it’s his turn.

Eddie touched on this concept with his “Don’t try to be heroes, not today. There is no shame in running,” but Mike doesn’t see it that way. In his mind, those who run are cowards, afraid to face their fears and fight for what they believe in. Has Mike been a bit cowardly these past two seasons by avoiding his feelings for Will? Yes, absolutely. But that’s his arc. Mike has to understand his actions, why he’s hiding, and the serious danger everyone is in. He has to face the music. Where does this lack of inherent danger come in? Glad you asked.

We all know Mike wants to be a hero. He wants to go down in history as someone good, someone who put others before themselves and saves the world. The Brave Knight, The Paladin. Paladins swear an oath of bravery and loyalty, vowing to avenge any threat that dares harm their allegiance (Byler anyone?). Something will threaten to harm/kill Will in Season 5, and Mike will have none of it. They’re not doing this again. Thus, Mike will throw himself in front of Vecna/Demogorgon/Brenner, etc. to protect Will, not fully comprehending the danger of the situation. He’ll be a hero. Unfortunately, this risky act will most likely cost him his life (temporarily). He doesn’t have to die. He’s the heart.

Lucas says, in the Season 4 hospital, that Max’s heart stopped for over a minute, but it miraculously started again. She is alive. El’s love for her conquered death itself. If we go on the “Will Has Powers” theory, then his love for Mike will conquer death and revive him. Mike only needs to be presumed dead, to be out long enough for Will and El to feel the effects of his death and consider joining Vecna. Because without their HEART, they’d fall apart. Both of them.

Back to what Eddie said, there really is no shame in running. Will doesn’t need Mike to do some egregious, knightly act of sacrifice to prove his love for him. His love is already enough. Will loves Mike for EXACTLY WHO HE IS. He always has, and THAT is the real heart of this story. Mike is not a hero because of what he does, but because of who he is. The way he loves, the way he stands up for what he believes in, the way he treasures his friends and protects them. The way he makes Will feel safe just by being there. That’s what Will fell in love with, not some fantastical DnD character that never actually existed.

Like Mike said in Season 2, “this isn’t DnD, this is real life.” DnD characters are fun, and it’s exciting to dream about slaying dragons or exploding orcs with your Magic Missiles, but that’s not real. It’s a game and it will end. Hit Points don’t magically restore you after a Long Rest and Healing Potions don’t deal 2d4+2 Healing. Actions have consequences and danger is real, even if your brain tells you it’s not. Paladins, Clerics, Bards, Rangers, their not real people. But Mike Wheeler is (in this context) and Mike Wheeler is enough. He is so enough. It’s time he wakes up and realizes he doesn’t have to be the Hero, slay the dragon, and make everything better, because it was NEVER HIS FAULT. Bad things happen and, sometimes, we can’t fix them. All we can do is stand beside our partner, hold their hand, and fight along with them—to remind them they are never alone. That, in and of itself, is truly heroic.

#stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #byler endgame #byler #byler is requited #mlm love #autism #autistic mike wheeler #stranger things analysis #stranger things headcanons #stranger things 5 #mike wheeler loves Will Byers #hero complex #dungeons and dragons #paladin #cleric #neurodivergent characters #Mike Wheeler is the Heart

[deusluxuria]

Someone on here a while ago asked me if I could elaborate on a post I wrote about (anime) Fugo's Stand being a metaphor for some effects of trauma.

(I just now wrote a whole-ass thing in Evernote about this, and then Evernote damn ate the whole thing lol - I'll try to write a smaller thing then)

(Content warning: mention of p3dophilia / CSA in a fictional story)

Fugo desperately begged his teacher (who had already done something to him in the past) to leave him alone. His teacher didn't. That's when Fugo beat him with the book. Only to be ostracized for it, accused of "seducing" his teacher for better grades (when he was a child??), and exiled from his own family.

With Purple Haze, an embodiment of his rage, no one can come near him ever again.

Trauma can be infectious like a virus when we let it guide our rage to harm others -- rage makes the body strong, but the mind weak. Trauma can make us lash out to protect ourselves in ways that we may deeply regret later. Especially unresolved trauma; unacknowledged trauma.

Purple Haze is uncontrolled rage. Because Fugo can harm people with it, without the intention of doing so.

"If you don't heal what hurt you, you'll bleed on those who didn't cut you."

And unlike his teammates, he can't even safely throw a punch with his Stand. There is no way for him to use it without the possibility of harming people he's trying to protect.

The abuse of Fugo was never brought to justice. There were never repercussions. Things went in the polar opposite direction. So his pain stayed inward. And just as a balloon will burst if you keep adding air to it with no release, so will a person full of suffering that has been willfully ignored by everyone.

Furthermore... Fugo rarely uses his Stand. As if he's afraid of it.

He's ashamed of the unhealed parts of him that can make him dangerous even to his own friends.

Everyone on Bruno's team has a history of incomprehensible trauma. But it's clear to me from Fugo's Stand -- and from his refusal to follow his friends rather than a violent, tyrannical boss who tried to kill his own daughter -- that he doesn't know where to begin with his heartbreak.

Maybe he has never talked about it -- about the devastating betrayal by his teacher, his school, the law, his parents. Maybe he's never fully realized that the outcome was beyond unfair and that he didn't deserve any of that. Maybe he doesn't yet understand that there is life outside of trauma, or he has never had the chance to realize that.

I see him as someone who still thinks it's his fault (whether that's in his soul and not so much a conscious thing, or he believes it so much that he would tell someone else that he deserved his trauma).

Everyone was against him after he attacked his teacher. There was no one to confirm to him that his teacher was a monster and that he had been completely abandoned. It would've been easy for him to believe what the masses were saying about him, as he had no support system whatsoever.

There was no one to protect him. There was no one on his side.

It's possible that, because of this, Purple Haze is the way it is because Fugo never learned to control it.

Stands are representation of the user's soul. And Fugo's soul was lost, heartbroken, scared, and enraged.

#fugo might not be in my top faves as much as he used to be but #his story was there when i needed to hear it #fugo pannacotta #pannacotta fugo #golden wind #jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #i was just talking about something like this and #idk people say it can be such a relief to talk about things but #opening up about being a csa survivor feels horrible #everyone experiences trauma differently but #i feel like that one sometimes is just.. it feels like u never recover in any way #but thats just where i am with that currently

[m4rs-ex3]

lines so? fucking raw? i cant believe theyre from tdp

"lots of things are hard. like magic, but you figured that out didn't you?" "...yeah. somehow relationships seem harder."

"history demands nothing! i make history. it does not make me."

"we all want peace and we all want love, but violence tests us. in a twisted way it converts us to its cause. because pain and loss feel so terrible inside, you want to hate. you want to hurt someone else... people are still hurting, and they are still angry. we can't ignore that. or pretend it will go away. somehow we have to hold it all in our hearts at the same time. we have to acknowledge the weight of pain and loss, but open up our eyes and allow ourselves to hope and maybe forgive and love again."

"we gain nothing if we throw away the chance to learn and grow."

"back then, when i was just a little one, the other elves saw me as a doe. but i knew. i always knew, that i was a buck. i chose [this] name." 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

"i'm a mess" "no, you're not. it's okay."

"you're too good to feel this bad about yourself."

"most people believe that reality is truth and appearances are deceiving. but those of us who know[,] understand we can only truly trust the appearance itself. you can never touch the so-called reality that lies just beyond the reach of your own perception."

"it seems i am a crown without and adult, and you're an adult without a crown."

"justice [is] more than fair decisions and fair consequences. true justice [is] a fair system. the blindfold gives us a way to test the system. that i should use it to imagine i had not been born yet, and that i did not know if i would be born rich or poor, what color my skin would be, what culture or practices my family would have. that a fair system should be fair no matter the accident of my birth. that the rights, and laws, and opportunities within the system should stand to protect and empower everyone."

"i've had his letter for a few days now, but i-i just can't bring myself to open it. i don't know. i know it sounds crazy, but it's like, right now, there are words he hasn't said to me, and they're all right in there. they're just waiting to come to life. but then once i read it... once i read the last word... then he'll really be gone. forever."

"i know i'm not your birth father, but in my eyes and in my heart, you are my son. i see myself in you. i'm proud of you. and i love you unconditionally."

"the great lie of history. advisers and scholars will tell you that history is a narrative of strength. they will recount stories of the rise and fall of nations and empires. they will be stories of armies, battles, and decisive victories. but this isn't true strength. it's merely power. i now believe true strength is found in vulnerability... in forgiveness, in love. there is a beautiful, upside-down truth, which is that these moments of purest strength appear as weakness to those who don't know better."

"i've tried to be selfless as a king, but, as a father, i have a selfish wish. and that is for you to be free. reject the chains of history. do not let the past define your future, as i did. free yourself from the past. learn from it, understand it, then let it go. create a brighter future from your own hearts and imagination."

"sweet words can be more dangerous than hidden daggers."

"i feel so overwhelmed with everything, i-i have so many thoughts, things racing through my head." "sometimes you just need to focus on the present, take a deep breath, and just be. sometimes, things can get so complicated that our minds can't quite sort them out alone. but when you slow down and let yourself breathe, your spirit and your body can catch up with your mind, and help out."

"to know something truly, and deeply, you must know it with your head, hand, and heart. mind, body, and spirit. i love you with all of myself, and i always will."

"i think i've heard about this... a philosophy of accepting you are already dead... so you will not fear death. what a beautiful challenge you've given me. i must come up with something you will fear... more than death."

"we're all a mess sometimes. me? i'm usually a mess."

"there is a cycle in the world. life and death. it is at the core of all things. the moon embodies this cycle. bit by bit it will fade away: then bit by bit it will brighten. death is frightening. birth can be as well. yet they are two things that connect us all. kings and commoners, rich and poor, elf and human--each one is equally vulnerable in the beginning and in the end. let that fact be humbling. let it bind us together. remember that as life inevitably leads to death, so also does life come from death. this is a cycle, not an ending. for those you have left behind, think on all they have given you. for those who will come after you, think on all you will give to them. know that you are always connected."

"white lies are illusions you build with your words to protect the hearts of those you love."

"they're gone. i'm never going to be okay with that, but i guess i have to face it."

"you're not doing this without me. i let you jump into [there] alone and i knew right away i made the biggest mistake of my life. i could have lost you. we do this together. don't try to change my mind." hindsight is a bitch

"i like being alive."

plsplspls rb with urs

#how does callum's stupid ass always manage to say exactly what i need to hear #tdp #the dragon prince #also harrow wtf were you on holy shit

[lambergeier]

2023 bookpost 🥳🥳🥳

43 books read this year! about 2/3rds of last year's number, but i fell off pace in summer and for the last two months and never actually have a target or care about my pace anyways, so 43 is a good solid number imho. as last year, full list with light commentary below, recs are bolded:

JANUARY

Neuromancer by William Gibson

The Browns of California: The Family Dynasty that Transformed a State and Shaped a Nation by Miriam Pawel (i am punished for my desire to learn more about the two governors brown's effects on the state of california with: family hagiography. should have known tbh)

Between Two Fires by Christopher Buehlman (SOOOOOO GOOD. apocalyptic/religious horror in 1350's france during the black plauge. for fans of the terror, and fans of people who are in love but for whom the love won't alwayshelp!)

The Mirror and the Light by Hilary Mantel (hilary ilu u were one of the greatest novelists of the past hundred years it was an honor to be alive at the same time as you. this could have been 200 pages shorter. ilu tho)

Did Ye Hear Mammy Died? by Seamas O’Reilly (short, sweet childhood memoir of the irish writer/comedian who, famously, tweeted that story about meeting the president of ireland on ketamine.)

FEBRUARY

Either/Or by Elif Bautman (girls can i tell you. i didn't realize this was a sequel until like 100 pages into the book. that was on me.)

Two Doctors Gorski by Isaac Fellman (ah mr fellman. lol)

The Swimmers by Julie Otsuka (really cool piece of fiction, first half told from the collective viewpoint of a group of regulars at a public swimming pool, second half about the one specific swimmer who's losing her independence to dementia. short, packs a punch)

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier (UNDEFEATED!)

One Man’s Terrorist: a Political History of the IRA by Peter Finn

Nightcrawlers by Leila Mottley (love to see local 22yos succeed wildly. does NOT mean this book was good god bless)

MARCH

The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa

The Passenger by Cormac McCarthy

Stella Maris by Cormac McCarthy (to be clear, if you are not a cormac mccarthy fan, these books will not make you his fan. they are very much about this man's incredible hopelessness regarding a world that has invented and used the atomic bomb. what can be redeemed, etc etc. i loved them, despite a major part of the plot being consensual sibling incest, they were beautiful and phenomenal, they were not light reading)

APRIL

A Smile in his Lifetime by Joseph Hansen

Glory by NoViolet Bulawayo (cannot recommend the audiobook highly enough. emma read the paper copy to catch up to where i was in the audiobook so we could listen together on a car trip, and she agreesTM that the audiobook is the way to go)

MAY

Barbarian Days by William Finnegan

The Dark Lord of Derkholm by Dianna Wynne Jones

JUNE

We Don’t Know Ourselves by Fintan O’Toole (really really really cool nonfiction about ireland since the 1950s, part autobiography, more parts cultural history of a very quickly changing nation. fascinating to read this within 12 months of finn's one man's terrorist, which was a very leftist history of the IRA, and keefe's say nothing, which was an only very slightly leftist history of the IRA that was most interested in like, how compelling the history is (not a drag on it). o'toole not as big on the IRA as the other two! understandable!)

JULY

The Binding by Bridget Collins

The War That Killed Achilles by Caroline Alexander (for all fans of the history of the story of the illiad!!! short and passionate!)

Flux by Jinwoo Chong (solid new debut scifi - who thought it could still happen!)

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jeanette McCurdy

The Witch King by Martha Wells (this book sucked ass!!! have mentioned this several times already this year!!!)

An Oral History of the New York Commune, 2052–2072 by Eman Abdelhadi and M. E. O'Brien (some things about this book were fun, many were infuriating, absolute worst had to be the insistence that in the future: therapy would solve even more problems that it does today :))

The Last Samurai by Helen DeWitt (see my beautiful wife's post on the subject)

Stay True by Hua Hsu (beautiful, deserves the pulitzer, not 100% my thing but still very good)

AUGUST

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver (the voice was hard to get used to for the first 50 pages, but i ended up really liking this tbh. i've never read copperfield, so not sure if that improved the experience)

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner

The Boys by Katie Hafner (a mistake to read this, but at least the twist was funny! there wasn't anything else in the book, but only a partial waste of time at the end)

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin (finally read this, which has truly polarized my extended social circle, but i ended up liking it. i didn't always get what it was doing 100% of the time, and didn't so much feel compelled to find out, but i tore through it and will always be a sucker for a story about that doesn't fix you but does keep you alive. can see both sides of this debate)

American Overdose: The Opioid Tragedy in Three Acts by Chris McGreal (we have to kill every sackler. solid history of the epidemic. EVERY sackler.)

SEPTEMBER

The Season by Kristen Richardson (half-baked history of the debutante social ritual. but, not like there's many other histories of the subject!)

All the Horses of Iceland by Sarah Tolmie

Big Swiss by Jen Beagin (funny, contained extensive dirtbag lesbian behaviors, but lacked some heft at the end)

In Memoriam by Alice Winn (do you s2b2? do you want some solid, tome-like origfic? do you want all of those things and also siegfried sassoon rpf? well great news!)

Now We Shall Be Entirely Free by Andrew Miller (pleaseeeeeee tell me if you have read this or do read this it was SOOOOOO GOOD and i had NEVER heard of this guy before!!! fantastically written prose, everything builds with infinite dread to a single horrible punchline, i am still wowed thinking about it)

The Trees by Percival Everett (haha hey wanna get fucked up. dark dark dark comedy)

OCTOBER

Flowers from the Storm by Laura Kinsale (really enjoyable if slightly overlong romance novel that i got off a rec list for historical romances with disabled love interests. does a really good interesting job of giving the love interest full breadth and agency despite severe processing impairment following a stroke)

Mobility by Linda Kiesling

The Rachel Incident by Rachel O’Donahughe

NOVEMBER

NO BOOK NOVEMBER MFS

DECEMBER

Not Even the Dead by Juan Gómez Bárcena (would also like to know if anyone else has read this so we can try and figure out what the fuck was going on right at the end!! also the fact that this is primarily about mexican history, written by a spaniard, with the specter of the US very prominent in the book is like. hm i would love to be able to read some mexican press reviews of this lol)

When Crack Was King: A People's History of a Misunderstood Era by Donovan X. Ramsey (picked this up following the opioid book, which discussed but didn't go deep on how the country's reaction to the opioid epidemic was so vastly different from the crack epidemic. put a lot of stuff into context lmao.)

WAIT AT SOME POINT THIS YEAR I REREAD RUMO AND HIS MIRACULOUS ADVENTURES BY WALTER MOERS. I DON'T KNOW WHEN. DIDN'T WRITE IT DOWN. BUT I DID REREAD IT. 44 BOOKS. shout out to mr. moers for writing some extremely fucking creepy books for teenagers <3

okay i was gonna do more about like general trends and vibes of this year's books, also about the four books i am still reading rn lol, but i have been typing for soooooooooooo long so i'm just gonna reblog with more thots in the morning. stay prepared everyone

#book post

[granulesofsand]

🗝️🏷️ discussion of RAMCOA with nonphysical examples, sh/suicide

For every person I see opening up about RAMCOA, there’s another telling the world to never so much as glance in its direction. We are shit at tone sometimes, so not to be rude, but I do have reasons I dislike the silence.

Reading about tortured children should never be comfortable, and if you have no reason to suspect a similar history, you can filter away the nastiness. We will never be able to have that ignorance, even if our front-facing alters don’t remember.

If you do suspect a history or end up having one, congrats! Time to start deprogramming. Chances are if you went through this flavor of hell, the stability you have is a cover for your involvement, past or current. Either way, I’ve never seen someone survive without any side effects, and addressing the problem is the only way to actually solve it.

Omega (death/sh) programs can be activated by looking into trauma material. Any trauma material. And a good amount of other stuff, like trying to leave your area or not reporting back to an assigned group member. Our omega programs have been passively problematic for years, and our first active cases were around 4 years old. It’s a common program line, and some groups install functioning versions very young. We did not know about any kind of abuse at 4, despite being trafficked and regularly hurt our whole life. It was triggered by existing too close to a ritual site, and we had sh behaviors and runaway attempts for ‘knowing too much’.

We were taught by abusers that what they were doing was good and normal at the same time they were teaching us we were dirty for living it and nobody would believe us. Pretty much all of that category was just convincing us not to tell on them, with punishment for breaking cult rules. We’ve read about survivors taking the ‘Golden Rule’ as ‘Silence’, and we have a similar experience. Any breaking of the quiet without direct harm at their hands is another inch towards safety. If we can convince ourselves they really did lie about their omnipotence, we can shake some programs based in those beliefs.

We were told that our system/body specifically was bad and wrong, and that these things happened to us because we deserved it. We don’t hold the same standard for outsiders, and their stories make us think we might not have been predestined for the life we got.

Outsiders who have no trauma history, and sometimes those who do, can be pretty insensitive. We have been harassed for having been sexually assaulted, called names for telling/not telling parts of our story, and insulted in various unpleasant ways because we were forced to perpetrate. We still commonly get a reaction of disbelief, even after months of building trust and then giving only vague summaries. The more people hear about this form of maltreatment and its effects, the higher their tolerance will be when someone needs them to show up.

It makes us feel more secure in our own memories when other survivors have similar experiences. To know that it can actually be that bad, it isn’t the norm, and others have gotten out and started healing is more weight off our shoulders I knew we carried. I, and other alters, have shame pits that we can sink into quick. The pure validation of knowing it happened, the flex tape of understanding it wasn’t their fault, the basis for comparison we have never had in anyone but our abusers. It helps us, even if it also hurts.

Silence is what they wanted. ‘They’ being the pedophile rings, cults, and other organized groups that rely on programming children and anyone else they got their hands on for profit. I genuinely do believe more people fit into our community than currently admit, and the gray doesn’t become visible until you open your eyes to the damn black and white.

#did osdd #dissociative identity disorder #traumagenic system #actuallydid #ramcoa #tw ramcoa #ramcoa vent #ritual abuse #organized abuse #mind control #manipulation #did system #osddid #sysblr #syscourse #polyfrag system #polyfragmented system #system

[billthedrake]

I can’t do brother stories like @underthemattress2 but this is inspired by his writing.

A HOMECOMING THANKSGIVING

I pulled Austin into a hug but his grip was even stronger as he pulled it in. "Fuck, Chase," he growled right into my ear, almost a raspy whisper. "So good to see you, bro." A million thoughts were going through my head but among them was the realization that Austin had packed on some muscle over the last year... and he had a cologne that smelled nice.

"You too, bro," I muttered as I pulled back and got a good look at my twin brother. The whole plane ride, I had rehearsed in my head how I'd get along with him over my holiday leave. I had a week in the States and didn't want it messed with by the lingering tension I had with the dick head.

Only he wasn't in dick head mode now but was kind of normal. Freakishly normal. Regular hair cut, preppy clothes, kind of a clean-cut ex-frat look. "You cut your hair," I muttered, my first thought coming right out.

Austin stepped back, grinning big and wiping his hand suavely through the medium-short profesional hair cut he had now. "I started my finance job, Chase," he said. "Gotta impress those fuckers," he joked. Then his face turned a little more serious. "Or maybe I should be calling you First Lieutenant Farrell now. Congratulations on the promotion. Mom and Dad spilled the beans."

I gently punched him on the upper arm. Solid, of course. I'd have to ask Austin about his fitness kick. "It's just Chase," I smiled. "But thanks."

Austin nodded, and the eye contact was heavy. Just like when we were teens, before we grew apart. Then he snapped out of it and leaned up to pick up my oversized duffle from where the Uber had dropped me off. "Let me get this. It's too fucking cold to stand out here."

***

I don't know how often twins were like us, but Austin and I were opposites in so many ways. Like polar, butt-heads opposites. He'd rebelled, big time, against our parents, against the expectations of being a twin, against everything. Joined a punk band, did drugs that were harder than I was comfortable with, challenged me not to tell. The more he acted out, the more I was the Good Kid. Played sports, got along well with teachers as well as fellow jocks. I wasn't naturally a great student, but I worked hard at school and once time for college came I lined up a good ROTC scholarship for the Marines. Austin gave me such guff for going the military route, and part of me worried I did it as a fuck-you to him.

That seemed in the past now, that first night when Austin and I hit the local bars that became an unofficial high school reunion the night before Thanksgiving. We each made the rounds, since we hung out with different people back then. But two hours into the night, we found ourselves talking among ourselves. Austin was asking me a million questions about the marines, and after a while he was filling me in on his new girlfriend.

"You and Jill serious?" I asked. Since things had been frosty between me and Austin, we didn't really catch up beyond the holidays and the news we'd hear from our parents.

He shrugged and flashed me a grin. "We'll see, bro. I mean, she's great, but I'm just 25. I'm not in a rush for anything."

"That's cool," I said. "Still, I'd love to meet her sometime."

"I tried to get her to come but family's huge for her, so she wasn't missing Thanksgiving upstate." He took a sip of his beer. We'd agreed to uber it so were letting loose. "So, Chase... you more into dudes or chicks these days?"

He shot me a knowing look. I mean we had our history, Austin and I, back before we had our falling out, and even a couple bouts of hate sex after. Including a heated session the night before I shipped off for basic.

I grinned. I almost hesitated to tell him, like this was some sort of trap. "Haven’t been with a girl since 17," I admitted.

"Might be harder to find a Republican gay dude to date," he smirked.

"I'm not a Republican, fucker," I growled, laughing at the way he was able to get under my skin. "Just want someone traditional, you know?"

Austin shrugged. "Just hope you have some fun before you line up that Times Wedding page material."

"I do OK," I lied. For all my boasting, the fun I'd had in college seemed to have dried up when I was full time military. It was like guys loved the idea of a rugged Marine but didn't seem to click with what I wanted. Or maybe I was just too fucking picky.

But I didn't want my brother to see my vulnerability. I looked at Austin and added, "Look who's talking...." I nudged his elbow, like he was one of my Marine buddies. "I can't get over how cleaned up you are these days, bro. And when did you get so big?"

"You like the big boys?" he laughed. His eyes lingered on mine, connecting more silently. Fuck. We may be polar opposites, but we were twins and had that telepathy thing going on.

"I do," I replied. My eyes took him in. He was my height, of course, 5'11" and with his new hair cut and fresh shave he looked really fucking attractive. Of course, I was looking at a version of me, but somehow the narcissism fed the taboo of it.

"I'm not Marine big," Austin chimed in. "But I have a buddy who got me into Stronglifts. It's been pretty quick progress."

I had to surpress the lewd thing I wanted to say just then. I came up with the more restrained version. "Well, you're looking amazing Austin, for real."

He leaned in more. I could smell that cologne again. "You wanna go fuck around somewhere, Chase? For old times sake?"

It was like I was 18 all over again, only instead of a grudge fuck, it was... something else. I thought of a million reasons I shouldn't go down this road, but only one word came out of my mouth. "Yeah."

His lips curled into a smile which made him even more attractive.

The Uber ride home our fingers connected and interlaced, and I felt my heart pound. This was naughty as hell, and most of all I was bowled by how seductive Austin seemed these days. My twin brother had learned some major game in college.

We tried to be quiet as we made out way through our parents house. Mom had turned one of our rooms into a work-from-home office, so me and Austin were shacking up in my old bedroom. Most of my stuff was put away in storage, but there was mix of my sports trophies and Austin's punk posters, and instead of my old double bed there was now a queen big enough for two.

I had that careful instinct as I silently closed the door, like I had learned in the times I'd had sex back in the day. I just as quietly latched the lock.

Austin was already stripping down, removing his sweater and winter clothing and lazily tossing it onto the floor. I was about to tease him for being a slob but I stopped myself when I saw how jacked and toned his upper body was.

"Jesus, Austin," I whispered. "You're fucking hot."

He winked. "Show me that stud marine body bro... looks like you got five to ten pounds of muscle on me."

His eyes were on me just as appreciatively as I stripped while he got onto the bed and peeled off his jeans and briefs. We were really fucking doing this. Like out of control teenagers.

"How often you make it with a guy?" I had to ask. I almost asked where his girlfriend fit in the picture, but that was Austin's deal, he could figure it out.

"Every couple of months," he answered without hesitation. "It's too easy to get laid in New York," he explained.

I almost lectured him, like I did when I was younger. But I realized the idea of my brother having sex with other guys was hot. Austin was the kind of man not to put a label on his sexuality, but the lusty part of me was glad the dude-oriented side of his sexuality was getting regularly indulged.

As I removed my underwear finally, Austin saw my bone, rock hard and jutting out from his abs.

"You trim your bush," he observed.

"Yeah," I explained as I got onto the bed. "I dated a guy into it that way... guess I liked the look and feel of it."

"The feel?" Austin asked as he scooted up to me, running his hands along my lightly hairy torso. I wasn't the only one who'd packed on muscle.

"You know..." I blushed as I explained, "when I guy licks me there." I wasn't even sure I felt shy given me and Austin's history. But I did.

"Goddamn, bro," Austin chuckled. "I used to find your goody two shoes act annoying, but now..." he looked me right in the eye as his hand continued to explore my body. Mine reached out to touch his too. "It's frickin' turning me on."

Austin leaned in, and I turned my head slightly to the side, and our lips touched. This was our first kiss in... how long? Even our grudge fucks didn't have this. But that brother lip lock was pure heaven. I was even the one who took the initiative and snaked my tongue forward, between Austin's parted lips. And like that I was French kissing my twin.

He grunted into my mouth, and practically sucked my tongue in, before we battled them softly. Austin's hands now openly groping my muscle, pulling me tighter to him.

I rolled on top of him. I half expected him to object, like he'd do when we were 18 and in this very room, vying for top position. We'd both fucked and gotten fucked - along with every other bit of sexual exploration - but Austin made it seem like I was asking a huge favor every time I topped him.

Not now. "Fuck me, Chase," he whispered hoarsely. Softly even. I guess the old habits of sneaking this behind our parents' back hadn't died for him either.

"Yeah?" I asked just as quietly, confirming but really hoping he wouldn't change his mind.

"Never been pounded off by a Marine," he grinned with a wink, looking up all over my muscled torso and openly running his hands up and down my knotted triceps.

Austin nodded. "I got a thing of lube in my bag, if you didn't pack any."

I slid off him and off the bed. My dick was rigid as ever as I strutted over to my duffel. "Didn't think I'd be using the stuff for THIS," I whispered as I pulled out my TSA-sized container of slick.

"You got a favorite position, Chase?" Austin asked excitedly as he watched me slick up my rod just before getting back on the bed. This was a 180 from those "at least let me sit on it" whines from back in the day.

"I like mounting a guy flat on his stomach," I answered, getting horny just by saying that out loud. "But we don't gotta do it that way, Austin."

He just grinned and said, "Happy Homecoming, bro," and flipped onto his belly, hiking his meaty ass up. If we had time for the rest of that holiday weekend - and I hoped to hell we did - I wanted to explore that muscle gym-bro ass of his. Bad. But I knew this physical connection was overdue and the moment was about the spontaneity of fucking. I crawled on and started kissing along his neck and behind his ear. That made my brother hump excitedly into me.

"You always get this horny when you drink?" I teased him. We were both tipsy from the bar, I knew.

His reply was already getting that bedroom voice. "I do, actually. Fuck me, Chase. Put that Marine dick in me."

I reached down and lined up my prick to tease his hole. No matter how worked up Austin appeared or acted, I wasn't gonna shove it right in him. But I sure as hell nudged that pucker, remembering those more heated fucks in this room, or his. I leaned up and gave the back of head a kiss, remarking on how much shorter his hair was though not buzzed like mine. I plopped off to his side and reached for the lube.

Austin looked up at me in a dreamy smile as I reached down and started fingering him. Gently, one finger, then two. Slowly.

"You're good at this," he said. "You've gotten better."

"I love you, Austin," I said softly, right before a third finger pressed into his hole.

He took in a soft inhale of breath. But I knew after a second it wasn't too much. He nodded and I slid those digits more deeply into him. "I guess I was a shithead to you growing up."

My cock throbbed. I'd expected him to wisecrack at my admission. Like he had when I was 15. Instead I got deep honesty.

"We were both shitheads to each other," I said. "It took me a while to realize I was part of our dynamic. You know, passive aggressive and all."

"Oh I know, Chase," Austin laughed. Even as he was putting me in my place, I found that laugh so sexy. "But I love you too, man," he said, not dropping the smile. He was confident in a way I wish I was. "You know that, right, brother?"

I kissed him. Hard. More tongue, and this time it was like we were trying to suck the breath from one another. Bring the life of each other into our bodies.

I couldn't take any more. Once Austin humped against my hand and moaned into my mouth, I extracted my fingers and crawled back on top of him. The penetration was intense. It had been so long and feeling the Austin's body craved me made me rock hard and excited.

Once I was buried in my brother, I paused and kicked along his neck again. His bucking ass was the signal to go for it. I started fucking him. Steady deep pumps in and out of Austin's hot hole.

If you're a gay guy who has a twin of course you know how everyone immediately wants to see you have sex with your brother. I'd act dutifully annoyed-offended if guys ever brought it up, but now I couldn't think of anything but how hot they'd be watching me and Austin go at it. Twin sex between two brothers who'd not had it in too long.

I'll thank the alcohol for making that fuck last. I didn't get my nut right away, and Austin seemed to be on a slow climb to orgasm, too.

We tried to be quiet and keep the bed from squeaking, so I didn't fuck fast, but I just kept that long slow pump in and out of him, covering that hot-bro ass of his tight from behind and feeding off his energy. The longer we went the sweatier we got, his toned body slick against mine, then downright wet as I fucked him.

Seeing him reach for some lube and then move his hand down to the dick pinned next to the mattress was the trigger that got me there.

"Oh fuck, brother!" I grunted, entering orgasm. Still a whisper, but probably too loud.

Austin let out a series of masculine grunts. "Umngg ummg ummmg," he cried and his bowels clenched against my cumming dick.

I fired a couple more rounds of liquid into him, then collapsed onto his body.

Finally I rolled off him. I expected him to dart off the bed to go clean off, cause in addition to the sweat and lube, I'm pretty sure I sauced his hole and crack up big time. Instead he plopped on his back, his identically matching genitals thick but half soft, as he looked at the clock. It was after midnight now.

"Happy thanksgiving, bro," he laughed.

I laughed too. The naughtiness of our fuck and the way we'd gotten carried away made us both find humor in the situation.

We kissed softly but had to take a break from the erotic stimulation. I pulled back and patted his thigh. "So, Austin, what the hell has gotten into you?"

"You mean wanting to bottom?" he asked.

I was curious about that, but that wasn't what was on my mind. "No, I mean you. Clean cut finance bro... all that shit."

He grinned and gave a soft shrug. Unlike his earlier confidence I could read vulnerability in his face now. "I dunno, Chase. I guess once I moved from this shitty town, I had less to rebel against, you know?"

I didn't know, but I just listened to my brother.

He continued. "I'm still the smart ass cynic, I think. But sometimes we just become different people when we grow up."

If it hadn't been for the alcohol, or the intensely satisfying sex I'd just had with Austin, I wouldn't have said the next thing I said. "Fuck, man, you're gonna think this is messed up.... but sometimes I think I haven't found a boyfriend cause I keep looking for you."

"Oh," my brother said. His body tensed up.

"Yeah, sorry," I apologized.

"Don't be sorry," he said sternly. "It's not fucked up, bro. It's fucking beautiful."

"Yeah?" I asked, daring to look into his eyes again now as my heart pounded.

He nodded, getting that smile of his back. "I'm not gonna be a prick tease to ya, Chase.... I don't think I could give up women. But I'd give up those New York guys."

My dick firmed up. As I looked down I watched it jerk back to erection. Austin watched too, and we both chuckled at the spectacle. "You like that idea."

"I'm getting carried away," I hissed. "But damn straight I like that idea."

Austin looked back up at my face with a grin. "You know, you've gotten really fucking good in the sack, bro."

"I could say the same about you," I said.

We kissed again. Slowly. Despite my newfound erection neither of us were up for round two. Not yet.

Finally we nudged foreheads against each other, like lovers. "You know," Austin whispered. "Maybe we can convince Mom and Dad to go do some Black Friday shopping, and we can have some alone time."

"Hell yes," I hissed, reaching down to wrap my hand around his tool, which had grown firm again. As I felt him up and relished how identical it was to my dick an idea occurred to me. "Maybe we can fuck in front of the bathroom mirror."

Austin's face broke into a lewd grin. "You fucking perv... I love that idea. We'll fucking do it."

We made out some more but finally we were getting sleepy. As I turned off the lamp and pulled up the covers, Austin spooned up behind me, wrapping his arms around me. "You know, I don't think I'm the only one who's changed, Chase," he said softly.

"Yeah," I agreed before we were silent, other than our breathing as we drifted off to sleep.

#drakestories

[hqsenvs3000w24]

To learn from the past is to better the future...

This week we were tasked to pull apart and inspect the following quote:

There is no peculiar merit in ancient things, but there is merit in integrity, and integrity entails the keeping together of the parts of any whole, and if these parts are scattered throughout time, then the maintenance of integrity entails a knowledge, a memory, of ancient things. …. To think, feel or act as though the past is done with, is equivalent to believing that a railway station through which our train has just passed, only existed for as long as our train was in it.

(Edward Hyams, Chapter 7, The Gifts of Interpretation)

To start, it makes sense that there is no particular worth in old things like artifacts, however there is worth in integrity, and integrity means keeping together the parts of a whole. This means that in order to maintain the integrity of a historical event, we need to maintain those ancient things that make it what it is. In order to maintain the integrity of the whole, you have to remember why it was ever important in the first place, and that is what makes it important to give merit to the ancient things that make up a whole. In the sciences, we learn about system thinking, and that the whole is merely the sum of its parts. In order to properly remember and interpret history, you have maintain the integrity of all the little things that make that historical event important.

To say that “the past is in the past” is to say that moments are only significant or important if they happen directly to you, and that there is no merit in remembering history, as we weren’t there and therefore it has nothing to do with us. In reality, interpreting history helps us understand ourselves, where we have been and what makes us who we are (Beck and Cable, 2018). History allows us to find inspiration in the stories of creators, leaders and survivors. Interpreting the past gives us the opportunity to learn from others’ mistakes and successes, and create a better future using that knowledge.

One of the most important lessons I took from this week’s content is that we need to always consider when interpreting history is to make sure we are doing so accurately and respectfully. The lessons we can learn from the past can be powerful, and it’s important that we’re portraying the past in the way the story was meant to be told, and avoid bias or personal attachments.

Beck and Cable (2018) said that “every natural site has a history and every historical site has natural resources.” I thought this quote connected this week’s content with past content. Although we have been focused so far mainly on how to interpret nature to others, history and nature have always been intertwined, and it is important as an interpreter to be comfortable with both. Tied into this concept (and every concept) is the impact of privilege that we talked about a few weeks ago. In Canada, it is always important to be aware and mindful that the nature and history that we are interpreting has been skewed by colonialism. One of the most respectful things we can do as interpreters is ensure that the stories we are telling about the history of the land reflects the actual truth.

Besides first-person and third-person interpretation (Beck and Cable, 2018) I think that writing is one of the most common types of interpretation of history (and nature) that we see in the world. All over museums and archives, natural parks and conservation areas, the written word can be found interpreting what you are looking at. Interpreting through the written word makes it possible for there to be an absence of a live interpreter while at the same time forcing a person to pause and interact with the item or place, as well as capture someone’s attention, so that they might learn something new (Hooykaas, 2024). Writing plays an important role in the interpretation of both nature and history, and is also something that helps keep memories alive.

What’s one way you have (or someone you know, or somewhere you’ve been) used writing as a way to interpret nature or history?

One way I interpret through writing is to write down important memories I’ve had (both good and bad) and that way I can go back and reminisce or pull guidance from an experience I’ve lived through :)

- All for now!

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018). Interpreting cultural and natural heritage: For A Better World. SAGAMORE Publishing.

(Edward Hyams, Chapter 7, The Gifts of Interpretation)

Hooykaas, A. (2024). Unit 06: Nature Interpretation through History. [Lecture notes]. ENVS3000 Nature Interpretation. University of Guelph.

[devouredbyflame]

The Gods are Not Their Stories

Storytelling is a great part of how the Gods come to life today. But They are not unique nor beholden to Their stories. The stories that were told were because of the Gods who came before Their stories. The humans back then knew the Gods enough to speak of Them with as much familiarity as one would a friend, lover, or companion.

Today, we are only just scratching the surface of who the Gods are today and there’s so much more to know should we believe that the Gods are capable of telling Their own stories should They choose to. We can keep retracing our steps back towards the original source but we will only find more confusion unless we ask the Gods Themselves Their own opinion about what They are doing and how They need to express Themselves better.

Talking to humans is just the start of this and “UPG” then becomes more important than just personal experience if this is how we get to know who They are in more depth and gravity than any of our stories combined have to say.

However, we have to get past the point of holding onto tales that don’t mean anything to us anymore. We don’t know who They were back then to Their people because most of Their followers didn’t need to write it down in storybooks because the Gods didn’t need stories to get the humans to know Them. Their people knew Them as well as they knew each other and would make stories out of their direct correspondences and experiences that would happen as normally as a festival or feast.

It’s not worth trying to recover what is lost as it is gone. We cannot rewrite history and rewrite the stories already told, but what we can do is ask the Gods to help us build together the kinds of relationships we had with Their followers back when They worked with humans and get Them to tell us Their stories and what we need to know. Otherwise, we will only keep going in circles ourselves until we figure out what really needs to happen.

Our stories only hold a speck of what is the case with Them and were retold by Christians whose ancestors who kept the Gods were dead and long gone.

If you like my posts and others like it, check out my blog.

I am taking a hiatus from writing as I am currently working on a book and making some serious headway on it. You can find more information on my blog as well about where it’s going.

#deity work #devotional polytheism #mysticism #norse gods #norse paganism #norse polytheism #deity worship #paganblr #lokean #pagan blog #norse mythology #celtic polytheism #polytheist #greek polytheism #norse deities #greek gods #deity devotion #deity communication #deity #deity witchcraft #storytelling #devotional mysticism #deities #divine communication #gods #pagan resources #beginner pagan #norse pagan #hellenic polythiest #polytheistic

[enbycrip]

I'm sorry I've been quiet recently. I've actually been doing big things offline while still right in the middle of symptom management for flare- ups.

Firstly - I'm working on my History postgrad (Masters) dissertation, exploring how the emergence of capitalism affected disabled lives in early modern Britain and Ireland. I'm currently getting a draft chapter on intellectual and learning disability in some shape for my tutor to go over, and also feeling like the wrath of several angry gods while buried in articles about Tudor professional fools.

Secondly - I ran an experimental LARP, a live action roleplaying game, with a friend of mine. If you don't do live roleplaying, think about something a bit like a cross between playing D&D but fully acting all the parts rather than sitting around a table and narrating, and experimental improv theatre, but focusing more on storytelling as experience between participants than performance.

Ours was set in a post-apocalyptic society after a pandemic-related societal collapse and featured a meeting between a group of people trying to survive as a collective on a self-sufficient croft and a bunch of refugees from a collapsing state-run camp. Given I'm a queer disabled person, the game was actively queer including trans inclusive. We had a *lot* of queer, including trans binary and nonbinary, and disabled participants, and I'm so chuffed at how people leaned into and explored how their marginalisations affected these stories and their experiences of telling them. It was really important to us to put a particular focus on accessibility and inclusion, which I'm really pleased to say seemed to come off really well.

Big things that are really important to me, and of course my body has taken the opportunity to react and has stuck me on the toilet for a lot of the last couple of days. IBS is part of my hEDS, but given how much codeine I need to take it tends to affect me the other way much more these days. I can't say I enjoyed revisiting a big feature of my pre- opioid life all that much, tbh 😜

I am a huge believer in both history and art of all kinds as a site of resistance. They are how we understand our past and our present, and how we conceptualise our future. Humans are narrative animals. We need to tell stories to understand ourselves, our lives, our societies, our pasts and our futures. The skills to deconstruct stories and understand how they affect us are vital and essential ones. These are part of my work in the ongoing revolution; the one to build the world we *need* as our current world is crumbling.

#disabled #disability #larp #lrp #nordic larp #history #post apocalyptic #academia #disabled academia #storytelling #life update #heds #just ibs things #the narrative animal #queerness #trans binary and nonbinary

[oscars-dumbass-central]

the lucky one

1094 words

"As Herons we are explorers, historians, documentors, we learn the history of the places we visit and remember the past so others do not have to. Committing ourselves to memory and writing, we discover things no-one else has thought possible, and we find things which people have forgotten,” Scott leaned towards him, so close that their breaths mingled together in the cold night air between them. A small smile danced across his lips as his eyes refused to leave Owen’s, “So, Owen, what is your history?”

//or, I took a crumb of lore and ran with it

“Where were you before?” Scott asked, voice light and quiet as if he did not want to disturb the stars which glittered high in the sky above them. 

Turning to face him, Owen propped himself up on his elbow. “What do you mean?” 

“Where were you before you came to the isles?” He continued to stare up at the stars, eyes tracing constellations and patterns which no one else could see. He would do that every night, lying up on the roof of the larger wagons, watching the stars as if they were the most wonderful and brilliant thing he’d ever seen and he was witnessing them for the first time once more. 

“A lot of places,” he huffed out a small laugh, falling back onto his back to look up at the sky. “Which ones are you looking at tonight?” 

“None in particular, they’ve told me all their stories already,” he finally turned his head and met Owen’s eyes. “And maybe you tell me yours now.” 

Huffing, Owen turned to stare up at the stars, trying to find the invisible lines which seemed to show themselves so easily to Scott. “Not going to happen any time soon, you know that right?” He pushed himself up and crossed his legs, staring down at the forest lurking on the edges of the Herons’ camp. “It’s a long story and—” 

“I have time,” Scott is sitting next to him now, he didn’t even hear him move, his legs hanging off the side of the wagon's roof and his coat forgotten and laid out flat. “And I want to know.” 

“It’s… it’s not a pleasant story,” He stared down at his hands, fiddling with a ring on his right hand. It's silver and engraved with fine details, some of which have eroded over time from use and wear, but one thing is still obvious in the patterning. A stylised tree in the centre of the ring stands out, a small citrine crystal with its bright warm colours standing out against the cold metal. 

“None of our own histories are exactly pleasant either,” Shrugging, he leaned forward trying to catch his gaze. “And the more you try to obfuscate your past, the more I want to know everything about you.” 

Sighing, Owen looked up at him, “What would be the purpose of you knowing it?” 

“We are Herons.” 

“I–”

“As Herons we are explorers, historians, documentors, we learn the history of the places we visit and remember the past so others do not have to. Committing ourselves to memory and writing, we discover things no-one else has thought possible, and we find things which people have forgotten,” Scott leaned towards him, so close that their breaths mingled together in the cold night air between them. A small smile danced across his lips as his eyes refused to leave Owen’s, “So, Owen, what is your history?” 

Owen broke their eye contact, shifting away from him slightly and hunching over into his lap. “It’s not all that much really,” Before Scott could interrupt with another sentence about how he wanted to know it anyways he continued, “My parents were wealthy, father a minor lord. My mother, she died when I was young, too young. All I can remember about her is how she smiled and how when she laughed it made it seem like she had brought the sun down into the room with her.

“My father didn’t take it well, they had married for love after all, but my father’s parents swooped in. They never approved of my mother, seeing the marriage as him stepping below his class and setting for a ‘woman better off on the streets than in a house’. I didn’t see my father much during my childhood, my grandparents always looked after me and tried to make me learn my place in the world and how the servants’ children— the only other kids around —weren’t people I should associate with.” 

“And now here you are, with pirates and thieves.” 

“Now here I am,” he laughed dryly, blinking tears away as he continued to fiddle with his ring. “They sent me off to a school to learn how to be a proper lord one day, filled with some of the most horrible kids you could imagine. It was tortuous being there. Sometimes I wonder if they sent me away because they didn’t like me in the first place, saw me as ruining the family line with my mother’s blood. 

“By the time I was old enough to be a ‘man’ and was able to come back home, my father had remarried to a woman who always saw me as disposable and a bad influence on her children. I didn’t even know I had siblings until I got back. They were young, my sisters were four and my brother only two. He was sickly, had been since he was born, a complication with the pregnancy apparently. 

“I think my step-mother was somewhat happy when she caught me with the stableboy. Gave her a reason to send me away. Keep me away from her impressionable children, make her son the inheritor of my father’s fortune. Joined the navy for a while, learnt how to sail, met some people who were my family for a while. 

“We were in a battle against a smuggler’s fleet and…” he trails off, tears silently rolling down his cheek and soaking into the collar of his shirt. Scott hasn’t moved since he began speaking, leant forward slightly in order to not miss a word. “Three of them died, all at once, fell overboard and never came back up. In that moment I just thought to myself ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ and then I was shot. They tell me I was lucky to survive, but I don’t think I’m lucky. I was stuck in a hospital there for two weeks listening to the other men around me dying. I recognised a few of the people around me, and I had to listen to the men I had fought alongside as brothers with die as I laid there unable to do anything. 

“And yet, they said I was the lucky one.” 

It takes a long few minutes before Scott breaks the silence stretched taut between them. “Sometimes being lucky is being able to remember the people you lost,” he shrugged, unable to come up with an adequate response to the story he had just heard. Owen didn’t respond, only nodded quietly and continued to fidget with the ring on his left hand. 

#pirate smp #pirate owen #pirate scott #scott smajor #scott #owen #owengejuicetv #i took a crumb of lore and RAN #og oscar #oscar's writing #scurvyblr

[dawnssummers]

wait in fool for love is spike an unreliable narrator? can u talk about that? im autistic and literally cant see more then whats told to me (its a curse)

hello! okay i typed a whole thing and then it would not SAVE and i lost it all as well as the motivation to try to recall what i had said but let us try again. the thing is i think he is an unreliable narrator To Buffy, and it's just that we barely actually see him narrate if that makes sense? like the flashbacks we see =/= spike narrating

these tags from @chasingfictions live inside my brain from a post debating whether spike actually told buffy everything

crucially for an episode that is buffy asking spike to talk about his past we do not get to know what spike said to buffy for most of the episode and my assumption is that it was highly editorialised because - as said above - he wants buffy to see him in a certain way, as capable and the slayer of slayers. but what we see is the cut from 'i've always been bad' to william being a failpoet. by the time it cuts back to spike and buffy in the bronze they are suddenly playing pool and all we know is that he said Something about being turned

as a result i think ffl does very interesting character study and especially is interested in interrogating spike's posturing. which is pretty clear from school hard like he literally gets knocked out by an axe like this man is pathetic but the way spike constructs himself is made clear ("there's death, there's glory and sod all else, right?"). we see who he was at various points in time and who he is now and it's not that the spike we see is Not spike either, it's that he is all of this at once. and then the bronze alley (THE ultimate liminal space of buffy the vampire slayer to me) is where we get more of spike's words to buffy and we get the recreated fight interspersed with flashbacks, with present and past finally converging in Every Slayer Has A Death Wish. which starts getting into the buffy developments of ffl which i am also obsessed with but that's a whole other thing to unpack. generally i feel that throughout the series spike is pretty prone to only telling/sharing a specific version of events based on his own views. like he very much has a specific way of viewing himself and the world and a lot of things r interpreted through this filter, the way he talks about angel + his 'confrontation' with robin in lies my parents tell me are good examples of like 'okay this is very clearly just how u feel'. even his crush rant. looping back, if we want to look at spike as a figure of/accidental metaphor for colonialism then making himself look good and capable in ffl actually tracks quite well with real life curating of history it's just that the producers also forgot to frame woc dying on screen as like a bad thing. anyway.

ffl does also work in conjunction with the titular darla episode of angel as a two part whirlwind backstory kind of thing which is another extra-narrative reason why we see these scenes play out. but yes im rly interested in how ffl plays w narration and narrative framing! the super short answer is that spike IS an unreliable narrator but we as the audience do not actually see him narrate. we only see the flashbacks juxtaposed with how he speaks and acts in the main timeline and these position him as an unreliable narrator of the story that buffy hears that we ourselves can only guess about.

#anon #💌 #i hope this makes some sense i feel that it doesnt... spike vs having a sense of self and spike vs who he is was and will be #and spike vs how he sees himself and the world and how he wants the world to see Him.

[yepthatsacowalright]

In a platonic and intellectual way I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure right now. The Danels (Daniel Kwan & Daniel Scheinert, creators of Everything Everywhere All At Once) just did a talk at SXSW. It's called 'How We Pulled Off Everything Everywhere All at Once.' Except as soon as they got on stage, they announced that they've already given that talk several times elsewhere, showed QR codes to watch those on YouTube if you're interested, and then pivoted to talking about so much real shit about humanity, inequity, climate change, the past, the future, now, storytelling, art, paradoxes, self-care, religion, addiction, AI, etc. instead that I still feel my brain vibrating about it. Some highlights (that I probably transcribed poorly but tried my best): "The earliest cultures, a lot of them, all around the world, believed in animism. And for those who don't know, [animism] is this belief, this story that they told themselves, that every living creature, rock, tree, river, had a soul, had a life. And a lot of modern people...kinda laugh at that, and think it's a little silly. But regardless of what you believe, that story was actually really beautiful, because it kept things in balance, right? There was this really beautiful relationship with the world around them. When we invented agriculture, we couldn't just force an oxen to drag a plow, because that oxen had a soul. And so we changed the story of the oxen and said, 'Oh, actually we're not all beautiful, soulful things. We're gonna lower the value of this one thing.' And you see this happening slowly throughout history, every new achievement. We've done it to the trees. The trees are incredible, beautiful things that provide food, water, shelter, cooling the Earth, giving us the oxygen we breathe, and we've reduced their story to $70 of lumber at Home Depot. And, like I said, some of this is necessary. Even the oldest cultures who believed in animism would kill, would chop down trees, but there was a narrative where there was grieving, and there was respect, and there was gratitude, and that has been lost. And we have slowly created an entire world where everything is disposable. Our shoes, our cars, our phones...we're all culpable, we're all responsible for this. But the worst part is we've done it to the people. And these devaluing stories, they become normalized and compounded through generational amnesia. And we slowly move the threshold of who is valuable and who isn't.

For instance, modern capitalism and the capitalist workforce only works if we are able to compel people to work, because we can't force them to work. And so we had to change the story we told ourselves, and say that your value is your job. You are only worth what you can do. And we are no longer beings with an inherent worth.

And this is why it is so hard to find fulfillment in this current system. The system works best when you're not fulfilled.

Which brings me back to AI.

There's gonna be a lot of people who are saying how amazing AI is, and it is. It's magic. It's probably going to solve cancers, probably gonna give us a lot of climate solutions. This is a powerful thing. But I'm really terrified of this new story we're gonna have to tell ourself in order to accept this new convenience, this new progress. ...to imagine what [AI] will do within this current system, within this current incentive structure...this is the same system that brought us climate change, income inequality, and the general lack of gratitude and understanding of our worth and the worth of those around us. And so one of the things I'm realizing we all have to be doing...is we have to really rewrite the system story, and center what is truly valuable." "We are addicted to a system. We know how to solve our problems, we understand what a lot of the solutions are, we just don't know how to actually have the will to do it. And so if you look at us, collectively, we are on step one. We are finally, after decades, admitting that there is a problem, specifically climate change amongst other things. And now we need to be actively thinking about, okay, what kind of stories are we gonna be telling to bring us into that second step?" HIGHLY RECOMMEND watching the entire 1-hour talk. I promise it does not feel like an hour, and it is 8000% worth your time:

#the 'oh you're giving us a Standing Ovation. i thought you were leaving! thank you' at the end <3 #at a certain point i had to start pausing to transcribe #because there was a quote here and there i wanted to grab for myself #and then i let it play like #'...oh' #'oh wait i'm just gonna... #'...i'm just gonna need to keep pausing and typing ALL of this i think.' #'like maybe the entire rest of the talk.' #and then i felt the walls of hyperfocus close in #came out the other end in the usual NEED TO PEE/HUNGRY/TIRED/I DON'T REMEMBER BEING ALIVE FOR THE PAST HOUR fashion #WORTH IT #storytelling #writing #humanity #ADHD #animism #ikigai #community #addiction #false dichotomy #AI #capitalism #SXSW #daniel kwan #daniel scheinert #everything everywhere all at once #eeaao