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madsnowstorm · 1 year

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take me home for christmas | j. seresin | part six

all i want for christmas is you - hush kids

summary : jake wants to take you home to texas for christmas to meet his family.

warnings — series, 18+, fem!reader, established relationship, some angst, family dynamics (both healthy and not), mentions of therapy, no religious aspect to the holiday, dogs named after famous texans, anxiety, no use of y/n, little angsty, but mostly internal

notes — i think i got a few cavities writing this one. it's a sweet one. also, mistletoad is a real thing. there are like two installments left. i don't really want it to end because i love jake and sweet pea so much. (i call her that in my head, since that's what jake's mom calls her.)

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“OH, come on!” Your boyfriend yelled at the large television, standing up, hands stretched out. Julie was on one side of him in a similar position and Will was on the other, hand covering his face and head shaking. The Cowboys Christmas Eve game was on and almost all of the Seresin’s eyes were glued to the screen hanging on the wall. You were sitting between Jennifer, who’d arrived earlier that day, and Luke. The three of you were discussing the Army-Navy Game from a few weeks ago. Jake would throw in a random, bitter, comment every so often. The man was not over Navy's loss. You were hoping the Cowboys could pull out a win, just so he could turn his attention towards that instead of the loss.

You could smell the barbeque that Matt (Jennifer’s husband) and Vicki just brought in from the back, so you knew dinner would be soon. June was sitting on the floor in front of you playing with Lily and five year old Oliver, who was Jennifer’s youngest. There were now children running all over and the house felt more like a home. The moment Jennifer and her family arrived a certain peace took over Tom and Vicki that you had not yet experienced. You had a feeling it was because all their children were home and happy.

“Let’s eat!” Vicki called out and you hopped up without a fuss. The Seresin siblings stayed seated, Jackson mumbling something about the game being almost over. You chuckled and got up to head to the kitchen. “Thomas created monsters out of all five of them.”

“Yeah, I can see that!” You thought back over this past football season and how all of your and Jake’s plans revolved around two things; UT and Cowboys games. She was taking some silverware out of a draw and you walked over to help her.

“Can I just say that I am so happy that you are here?” Vicki’s words were as warm as her smile. “You’re like a piece of a puzzle that I have been waiting for…Jake too.” The future was something that you and Jake had discussed before and you both were in it for the long haul. Vicki’s statement added another layer to those plans though. It gave you a sense of relief that you didn’t know you needed.

“It makes me happy to hear you say that.” As screams of all kinds were heard from the living room, she wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you close like a mother would her daughter. You let your arms drift up to hers, giving her a squeeze. The two of you stayed like that until voices began to come closer.

Jake and Cole were the first people to enter the kitchen. Jake’s frustrated frown disappeared the moment his green eyes landed on you and Vicki. His whole body instantly softened and gaze grew warm. You knew, just from the look on his face, how much he loved you. Even as everyone started helping themselves to food and grumbling about the game, Jake was quiet and only had eyes for you. Eventually you started filling up your plate, making sure to playfully bump his shoulder as you walked by him. You didn’t get too far past him though because he grabbed your hand and pulled you back to him.

“I love you.” He declared as though it was the only statement in the world that could ever be true. Before you could return the sentiment his lips were on yours, no care for the family around you. Your cheeks grew hot, but you returned the kiss just the same.

“EW! Uncle Jake!” One of his nieces cried out. It sounded like Evie, who you met that morning.

“Gross!” Will gagged.

“Honestly Jacob,” June spoke up from the entrance of the dining room that sat off the kitchen, near the back door. Through the doorway you could see Jake’s siblings all smirking at the table. Jackson’s shoulders were shaking with laughter as Sophie stuck her tongue out in disgust. “There are children around.”

“Don’t care.” Was his confident reply. He kept his attention on you, but discreetly lifted his middle finger to scratch his nose. June just laughed. You lifted yourself up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his cheekbone before walking around to join his family at the large dining room table.

You sat next to Jenni. Jake joined you a few minutes later, taking the empty spot on your right. As dinner progressed, conversations of all types flowing around the table, his left hand found your thigh. He was talking with Claire, Jackson, and their kids about what Santa may or may not be bringing them. You were in the middle of a discussion with June and Jenni about similar experiences the three of you had at work. June had an almost identical personality to her youngest brother, which you found amusing. As soon as you picked up on that, you knew you would have to invite her out and have the Dagger Squad over, knowing Rooster’s response would be highly entertaining. Eventually, Thomas excused himself from dinner and you looked at Jake, questioning if everything was okay.

“Just wait.” His tone was secretive and caused your concern to morph into curiosity.

When Vicki got up and started to carry things back to the kitchen, you and Jackson moved to help her. Jackson recruited his oldest son to help and while Vicki filled the dishwasher the three of you carried dishes from the dining room to her. June and Jake started taking mugs of all shapes, colors, and sizes out of one of the cabinets while Julie checked on some sort of liquid in a crockpot on the counter. After getting a closer look you realized that the liquid was hot chocolate.

“Momma, where are the marshmallows?” Jake bellowed from deep within the pantry. Vicki turned to respond, but was cut off by a manly yelp. “Hey! What was that for?” You looked over your shoulder, closing the dishwasher door. Jake stepped out of the pantry, rubbing at his arm, a pout on his face. You laughed. June sidestepped her brother, shaking a bag of large marshmallows at him.

“They were right in front of you, moron.” Vicki shook her head and rolled her eyes at the childish antics of her two grown children.

“Cut it out you two.” Her tone was exasperated, but turned so sweet when she set her sights on you. “Sweet pea, will you let the others know that the hot chocolate is ready?” You nodded and did as she asked of you. The kids were quick to heed your words, most of them running to the kitchen. You could hear Luke telling them to slow down.

Once everyone had their mugs full of sweet, creamy, spicy, chocolate everyone gathered around the fireplace. Everyone was spread out over the couch and the floor. Vicki took a spot in one of the recliners, leaving the other one empty. The only person that was missing was Thomas. Before you could ask where he was, you heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

Thomas, dressed in a red Santa suit, stood at the foot of the stairs. There was a large green velvet bag that had some sort of goodies in it. While he didn’t have a beard on his face, the twinkle in his eyes definitely reminded you of the jolly big man. All of the kids seemed to enjoy it, even Will.

“Pawpaw!” Sophie squealed out. Claire took the little girl's drink from her before she ran to Thomas. Oliver and Evie were quick to follow her.

“Now, I think before I pass out these presents there is a story we need to read!” Vicki took out a thin, hardback, children’s book. The edges of the dust jacket were wrinkled with age. There was a beautifully illustrated winter scene and the words “Twas the Night Before Christmas” in a curly script across the top. Thomas sat down and took the book from his wife.

Like dutiful little elves the children followed him, sitting in a semi-circle around the recliner. Julie moved from her spot on the couch to join them, turning Lily around in her lap so she could watch. All eyes were on Thomas as he began to read. His soft twang made the old poem sound melodic and in the middle of the reading you found yourself growing sleepy. Jake noticed and pulled you closer to him; so close you were practically in his lap. He leaned in, pressing his mouth near your ear.

“Now don’t go falin’ asleep darlin’.” You rolled your eyes at him, turning your attention back towards Thomas. The inflections and animation he added as he described the physical characteristics of Santa left you in a state of awe like the children. You even giggled along as he patted his stomach and referenced bowls of jelly.

As the story came to a close, Jake was whispering again. This time though, he wasn’t talking to you. Instead, he was saying the last few words of the book along with his father. No one around seemed to notice and if they did they weren’t bothered by it. Your heart melted. You knew that Jake could be like this. He could put the Hangman persona aside and just be Jake, but it was very rare that you got to see that side of him with others around. The Dagger Squad and some of the other friends you had would think he’d been abducted by aliens. Rooster might even say he’d had some sort of reverse lobotomy. As much as you loved this side of Jake, you knew he was only like this when he felt safe. When there wasn’t an ounce of tension in his body. When there was no need to be the strong and perfect Naval Aviator.

You were pulled away from your thoughts by little giggles. Vicki was helping Thomas pass around gifts to the children. Each of them was being handed a set of pajamas. After all of the grandkids got theirs, the Seresin parents began to pass some out to their children and partners. Each set was different from the other, so no one would be matching. Yours were dark navy and white. The pattern was made up of geometric snowflakes.

“I hate this part.” Jake said softly, looking at everyone holding their pajamas. He looked down at his own pair of pants that were a traditional Christmas plaid.

“No you don’t.” You scoffed in unbelief, lifting your hand to his face. Your thumb ran across his jaw. “You love this. You love every single cheesy, traditional detail for any holiday. Stop lying to yourself.” He just laughed and shook his head.

Everyone split up after that. All the children went to Jackson and Claire’s house to stay the night. You went up to take a shower and Jake told you to come back downstairs when you were finished. You didn’t take too long under the hot water, his request kept you curious. When you were finished you slipped on your new pajamas, admiring both the fit and style, and walked back downstairs.

The sight in the living room took you by surprise. The floor was covered in toys of all shapes and sizes. June, Luke, and Matt were working on putting together some sort of robotic toy, while Thomas and Vicki were looking over some instructions. Thomas sat on the couch with Jenni as they filled stockings. Jackson was wheeling a bike in the front door. Julie and Claire must have stayed at Jackson’s with the kids.

“Well, this is just Santa’s workshop, isn’t it?” You commented with a smile. Jake looked up at you and winked. “What can I do?”

“Help me with this box.” Jake said, standing up, brushing imaginary dirt off his hand. He led you to the corner of the room, pointing at the box in question. Just as both of you bent down to pick it up, Vicki laughed. It didn’t take even a second for the others to start laughing. Jake looked at them in question. June pointed at something above your heads. Looking up there was a stuffed frog, in a Christmas hat, hanging from the light. “Mistletoad.” Jake said, as though he were recalling a long forgotten memory. He then looked at you, a smirk on his face. Dimples were on full display. “Pucker up, darlin’”

“Don’t ever say that again.” You said, leaning towards him. You could hear laughter behind you. He pressed his lips to yours and you sighed happily. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this happy. When you pulled back you bent back down, lifting up one side of the box. “Come on, Santa. We have work to do.”

#jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x f!reader #hangman x reader #hangman fic #hangman series #hangman imagine #top gun imagine #hangman x f!reader #take me home for christmas #hangman x you

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pathological-peoplepleaser-alert · 3 years

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Hospital Playlist : Season 1

So, I recently re-watched season 1 of Hospital Playlist in preparation of season 2 that’s going to be released on the 17th of June, and I have a couple of thoughts that I want to share. Warning: It’s going to be filled with spoilers, so for those looking to avoid that, please don’t read more. Also, this is a looooonnnnggg one :)

“Hospital Playlist” is a Korean Drama that follows five doctors in their 40s who have been best friends since adolescence as they form a band together. While the log-line appears simple, the depth in the script and acting will enchant any audience. The narrative is free-spirited and quirky, reverberating friendships forged by love and time in a heart-warming style.

This slice of life drama realistically tackles what occurs within the white walls of the hospital. From ungrateful patients to the long wait for donors, it has it all. This drama covered plenty of cases, each of them as sad as the next. I recall when Yang Seok Hyeong, an assistant professor of obstetrics and gynaecology, had a patient who delivered a baby with anencephaly. He was considerate enough to not allow the mother to hear the baby’s cries by playing loud music in the delivery room and quickly escorting the baby away from the mother. I teared up during that scene, and I still tear up just thinking about that. I watched it as a case in a K-Drama, but it is many people’s gruesome reality, and all I can offer are my sympathies.

Despite zoning out during the technical aspects and elucidation of medical terminologies, I could feel the gravity of an operation and the burden of Atlas resting on the doctors when they held the scalpel. I liked the fact that there wasn’t any hospital politics. Rather, the show focused on the doctors, as they tried their best to save their patients. I mourned during the losses of life and celebrated with the characters after a successful surgery.

The ensemble cast for “Hospital Playlist” was flawless. The sincerity of the actors and the efforts they had put into studying and understanding their roles were clear as day. The chemistry between them was organic and the banters, natural. While they didn’t verbalise every emotion, the viewers could feel their familiarity, like they were real-life friends on screen. I was on an emotional rollercoaster as I watched this, rooting for them through hardships and cheering whenever they laughed.

“I wondered why my life was getting so difficult. It was really tough. But all of a sudden, one day, I realised how much time I was wasting. Wasting my life away like this because of what she did to me was doing a disservice to myself.”

Jo Jung-Suk did a flawless job portraying Lee Ik-Jun. This was my second time witnessing a drama with Jo Jung Suk, and while I wouldn’t applaud his performance in “Oh, My Ghostess!” (But in his defence, I found that script to be problematic) I absolutely loved him in “Hospital Playlist”. Lee Ik-Jun is an assistant professor of general surgery. He’s funny, sociable, laid-back, charming, and a dotting, single father to his son, Woo Joo.

The first time I, as the viewer, was introduced to him was gold. Naughty little Woo Joo had managed to put a blotch of super glue to a Darth Vader helmet, which was later worn by his father. During an emergency at the hospital, Ik Jun showed up decked in Darth Vader gear and bravely holding a light saber, demanding that the helmet was unglued from his head. He got his wish, but only after performing surgery while wearing the helmet.

Watching Ik-Jun and his son together is heartwarming, to say the least. You can tell how much he loves his son, as seen by the way he prepared meatballs from scratch, including the ketchup, excitedly for his son, only for the latter to claim he wanted meatballs, causing the former to trip on his way to the kitchen. I also adore how most of the bonding scenes we see between them happens over sandwiches. I find that very precious.

Ik Jun is also very friendly to everyone. He warmly welcomes the medical students, greets his colleagues with a smile, and most notably, plays as a matchmaker between Jeong-won and Jang Gyeo-wool, even if it is so the latter could assist him on more surgeries. His relationship with his sister is also beautiful. I love how authentic they are, from their bickering and the hidden ways they care for each other.

Ik Jun provides comic relief plenty of times— I nearly fell off my chair laughing when he mimicked a train, and also upon seeing how adamant he was to eavesdrop on a private phone conversation of Kim Jun-wan.

“I don’t deserve to be a doctor. I can’t control my emotions. I empathise too easily.”

I must admit, Ahn Jeong Won has a soft spot in my heart and is my favourite from the group of friends. An assistant professor of pediatric surgery, Jeong Won gets overly attached to patients and takes every loss personally. Due to his sensitive nature, he’s detailed in everything he does, earning the teasing nickname of “Buddha” from his colleagues.

Hardworking but overemotional, there have been many instances when Jeong Won swears to quit being a doctor after a patient has unfortunately succumbed, and it’s only through the insistence of his oldest brother does he continue his job. He’s immensely religious and has a close relationship with God, and considered being a priest until the season finale.

His interactions with his young patients tug on all my heartstrings. From the gentle way he gets the permission of small children to check their vitals, to the dedication with which he treats his patients and dissolves their fears.

One of my favourite quotes of this drama was said by him, “Do you know why doctors only give vague answers such as ‘We can’t be sure yet,’ ‘We don’t know yet,’ and ‘We need to observe a bit more?’ Doctors must take responsibility for their words, so we must be careful. There’s only one thing we, as doctors, can tell our patients with certainty. ‘We will do our best.’”

Despite being born from a wealthy family, Jeong Won is nearly broke, spending all his fortune anonymously covering the hospital fees of poor patients.

Chae Song Hwa summarised Jeong Won’s personality neatly in episode 12 when she said, “Lastly, there’s you (Jeong Won). Seeing others enjoy good food makes you happier than when you are eating it yourself.”

“If the doctor gives up on the patient, he isn’t a doctor anymore.”

At first glance, Kim Jun Wan appears cold and scary, but there are so many dimensions to his character. He’s blunt, assertive and has a reputation for telling his patients what they need to hear, not that they want to hear.

However, he’s possibly the most caring person, having allowed Jeong Won to, in his own words, “mooch” of him for years now. He was also always nagging and hovering over his friends, keeping a stash of chocolates for them. He stepped up as the Chief of the cardiothoracic surgery department multiple times, whether it was to act as a shield to his mentee or to reprimand his juniors about the importance of (a patient’s) life and how every single decision taken by a doctor has to be thoughtful and absolute because there’s no way to reverse such things.

A great example of his outer versus inner personality is when he’s questioned by a medical student on why he chose to be a cardiothoracic surgeon. While he claimed that he became a surgeon after asking his professor which job would allow him to get the most money, with a glimpse of a flashback scene, it was revealed that when back as a student, Jun Wan was given the opportunity to witness a surgery and then, to touch a beating human heart, and felt life, that solidified his decision to choose cardiology as his field. Recalling that scene gives me goosebumps even now. That was magical.

Jun Wan is also a huge foodie, his only competition being Song-Hwa.

“What have you done for yourself lately?”

Chae Song Hwa is an associate professor of neurosurgery. Discerning without being too critical, she is intelligent and is often the mother hen of the group. Respected by her juniors, she has also been fondly dubbed the ‘ghost’ due to her busy schedule that has left several of her colleagues wondering whether she has time to eat or sleep. She was everywhere and knew everything, which allowed her to quietly look after the residents of the hospital and the patients.

Despite being buried under piles of work, she still made the time to grade her juniors papers, and I’m reminded of one of the first instances the viewers were given of her, which was when she comforted a patient in the elevators of a hospital. The only female professor in neurosurgery, she is kind to her patients.

I adore how decisive she is, being extremely clear about what she wants, drawing boundaries while still being friendly and radiating professionalism to those around her, despite the hardships she might be going through. She routinely goes camping during the weekend and is the embodiment of positive self-love.

Some of my favourite moments in this drama was literally just Song Hwa and Jun Wan aggressively eating like they’ve been hungry since the dawn of time. Song Hwa might have claimed that the reason she ate so rapidly, so full of zeal was because of growing up with older brothers, but Ik Jun was quick to shoot her down and note that they all looked boney.

“My time is too precious for that. I want to live doing the things I like. And the things I want to do right now.”

Probably the most under-appreciated character, Yang Seok Hyeong is a treasure. My first opinion of him was ‘mama’s boy’ and while I was correct, wow, I had not expected the reason why. In his youth, Seok Hyeong was not close to his mother at all, and we could even see him ignoring her phone calls. But after everything that happened with his dad, he grew closer to his mother, developed a new sense of protectiveness and appreciation for her, and I adore that.

He was also the reason the band reunited in the first place, making that his condition for working at the Yulje Medical Center. Despite seeming aloof, he was an open book to his friends. He didn’t like to bother or intrude on people and usually kept to himself, gaining a reputation for being a loner whenever he was not around his four friends.

Throughout the season, he was trapped in a whirlwind of turmoil, from the news of his unexpected brother to his father’s death and his surprise succession to the company he wants no ties with. He maintains a calm exterior and braces through the troubles.

Seok Hyeong lives up to the sensitivity his job demands from him, softly informing expecting mothers about the risks of their pregnancies while encouraging and empathising with them when things get hard.

He prefers to stay in the shadows and allow people the opportunity to sort their messes out themselves, after reminding them that he’s only a call away if they need him. He’s an excellent confident booster and appreciates those who are responsible.

These characters stayed not only in my mind but also in my heart. Each of them has such vivid personalities I can’t entirely capture in words. Their insecurities, struggles, and feelings were so real and incredibly relatable and easy to empathise with.

As conveyed by the title, music plays an important part in this T.V. serial, by allowing the characters to reminisce their college days and also allowing them a breather from their stressful life. There are thousands of words in the English language, and yet, I can’t string together enough of them to express how I felt when Jo Jung Seok sang Aloha.

The doctors use music not only as an outlet to release their frustrations, but also to express their thoughts and feelings. To heal. Listening to the songs and the covers made by the band lightened my heart. The labour they put into practising the songs made the moments more precious.

Through the music sessions in this T.V. serial, I found my affection for each character increasing. I found myself surprised to recognise some of the songs considering they are quite old, but I hummed along and felt the air around me thrum with glee as they sang.

I also found it rather ironic that Chae Song Hwa is considered to be a bad singer (her pre-routine of gulping down raw eggs fascinated me on an odd level) although the actress who plays her, Jeon Mi Do is a talented singer.

Therapeutic and well-written, I marvel at the writer’s ability to weave together arrays of mundane subplots into endearing bliss, leaving lingering positivity after every episode along with a yearning to watch more.

I’m a huge fan of writer Lee Woo-Jung’s Reply series and was hesitant to start this drama, afraid that it would fall short of expectations. But having watched it, I can safely say that those concerns were unnecessary, and whatever expectations I had were only exceeded. I couldn’t recognise any leading plotline of this drama. To me, it simply showcased the daily life of five doctors.

As it is character-driven, there is a slow progression of the drama, which needs some time getting adapted to. It was also a little hard trying to keep track of the multiple characters initially introduced, but within three episodes, I was able to get a hang of things. The dialogues were witty, impactful and sharp, capturing my attention from the beginning to the end. However, despite containing a plethora of humorous moments throughout this serial, there was a subdued layer that focused more on the community than the plot.

I must admit, however, that I found the first episode to be subtly chaotic and slow-paced. I couldn’t grasp the concepts or connect with the characters until the second episode, after which I had no qualms.

I loved the character arcs in this story. It was a pleasure to observe their journeys and diligence as various storylines diverged or amalgamated, how they grew as individuals while maintaining their core values. The flashback scenes were fascinating to watch and compare how they are now to how they used to be.

The cinematography was stunning. I was in awe at how different shades and tones of light could impact not only the setting of the scene but also the mood of the viewers.

I recommend “Hospital Playlist” to anyone who likes to watch T.V. serials possessing the perfect amount of drama, laughter, angst, warmth and love. This serial is a truly rare gem in a basket of rocks where the storylines are solid without being too predictable.

#hospital playlist #season 1 #kdrama #spoilers

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mamamittens · 3 years

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Long Awaited LoZ Thoughts

I’d like to start this off by explaining my background. I have a BA in English with a minor in Humanities. I have lived all my life in the Bible Belt of America, so my PoV of this series is inevitably going to be, at least in part, from the perspective of a Western-centric, Christianity-influenced woman. I have grown up with a deep interest in folk tales and mythology though, and took several classes on ancient cultures, so my base knowledge of religion all over the world is broader than what you’d probably expect. I am not religious myself, I’m actually agnostic. And this is just an in-universe look at the very strange religion of Hyrule. So, to make things easier, let’s just put aside the obvious meta issues with this world. The wonky timeline, complex lore changes between said timelines, and the fact that the whole series has clearly grown wildly over the course of its development without an overarching plot. The game mechanics being game mechanics. All of it. This whole thing will just be me trying to make sense of the world without the ‘it’s just a game, bro’ crutch. I will be drawing on what I know from the many games I’ve played myself, so if I don’t mention a big piece of lore from a specific game, it’s because I didn’t play it. Go ahead and rule out the early games before Ocarina of Time, as that’s the first game in the series I can remember playing. I was legitimately too young to have ever played anything prior to that, having been born in 1996. Now let’s get started, shall we?

So, obviously everyone knows that the LoZ world is said to begin with the three goddesses. Din, Nayru, and Farore came together to create the world and before they yote themselves out of the narrative as direct players, they created the Triforce. A powerful artifact capable of granting a wish and giving their respective bearers undefined power. This is directly from Ocarina of Time and we see their symbol, the Triforce, all over the many games with very few exceptions. Now, to be clear, having a polytheistic religion with three main gods is hardly new. Hinduism has three main gods after all (Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva), and depending on your flavor of Christianity, you have the holy trinity (God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit). There’s even the Celtic goddesses that come specifically in threes (collectively called The Morrigan; Eriu, Fodla, and Banba). This isn’t an exhaustive list of three divine beings, by the way, just know that three is a weird trend in western-centric stories, including religion. But what’s different about the three Hyrule Goddesses? Well, they’re weirdly small for big shot gods. Let me explain.

So, the three Hindu gods I mentioned earlier each handle a specific aspect. Creation, destruction, and preservation, not necessarily in that order though (which god does what isn’t the point, so just roll with me here). These are very broad and powerful subjects. Christianity is much the same, even though it’s a monotheistic religion. God is literally an all-powerful, omniscient, omnipotent deity. Jesus is his son who gave his life to basically forgive all sin. And I’m not totally clear on the Holy Spirit, but these three are clearly Big Deals with Big Ideas behind them. A good rule of thumb for old religion is that the older the deity, the wider the scope of their job or what they represent. Which makes sense. If you had to personify the forces of the universe, you’d probably start with the sun instead of like… whatever god is responsible for the creation of rice specifically. The bigger and scarier the natural force, the bigger deal that god usually is, putting aside politics and cultural trends. Egypt is a good example of this, as their roster of gods tended to change a lot depending on who was Pharaoh at the time and wherever the city center was. Horus is the god of the sun, or at least one of them, and is generally considered king of the gods. Which makes perfect sense for a land largely made up of a desert.

But what are the three goddesses’ rulers of? Power, Wisdom, and Courage. Each with clear elemental associations and people that are obviously affiliated with them. Nayru, Goddess of Wisdom, is clearly associated with water and likely has a close connection with the Zora. Din, Goddess of Power, is associated with fire and has clear connection with the Gerudo (unclear if the same goddess as the one present in the desert temple in Ocarina of Time). Farore, Goddess of Courage, is associated with all things green and of the earth, including the child-like race of Kokiri who perpetually inhabit the forest. Sure, these are broad topics, but not really… the first thing you’d think of for creators of the universe, are they? And it raises the question about the Hyrule people, who are said to be able to hear the gods due to their pointed ears… let’s put a pin in that and move on.

So, we know there are many gods in this universe, primarily because we meet them. For example, Zephos, God of Winds, in Wind Waker. But he’s clearly a fairly forgotten god, as he shares a shrine with Cylcos, God of Cyclones, which is about as bare as it can be. Just what appears to be a Tori gate with two stone monuments with the simple notes to summon them, almost completely out of the way. Which… I mean, I don’t know many gods with their extension number written on their monuments. That would kind of like going to church on Sunday and seeing “Hit me up if you need me, J-Boy 555-TAKE THE WHEEL” written on the podium. And remember, this is a world and game where the gods actively flooded the world and would therefore hold or have held enough power to directly interfere with Hyrule.

And Skyward Sword clearly has divine beings, one of which even flooded a whole area, though they’re subservient to Hylia. Who we will get back to later, I promise. The three dragons (again, that magic number), capable of divine power, though where that power comes from in unclear. The dragons are of a high status though, as evident by their servants and clear reference to high-class dress of their clothes. These dragons are revered, but clearly not worshipped, much like nobles in that regard. A curious note is the parallels to the three goddesses, and how the symbols are muddled and mixed for these dragons.

Lanayru clearly has the symbols associated with the Zora, and by extension Nayru, but is yellow. He also is saved by time travel used to grow a magic fruit, which Link often uses (time travel) in many games to advance the plot himself (and wouldn’t you know it, but mixing blue with yellow does produce green. Weird). Faron is the water dragon who flooded an area, and she is almost entirely blue (as well as unsettling to look at), surrounded by a species clearly related to the Zora though closer to octopi. But her name is Faron, which is weirdly close to Farore’s name, not Nayru. I mean, they are close to locations that resemble their names of course, but it’s still an interesting note. Finally, there’s Eldin, clearly bearing a symbol associated with the Gerudo without any strange mixes of symbols for the series. Oddly, he’s also the most open of the three dragons, especially considering the Gerudo’s traditional stance of being a ‘no-sausage’ club. Not terribly relevant, but I just thought it was interesting to point out. You can consider the Giants in Majora’s Mask on the same level as them, though their status is unclear (Since they’re summoned by a song and can stop the moon from falling, they probably straddle the line between mortal and divine).

Now, spirits also exist in this world, both as the ghostly variety and the more pseudo-divine. Not to be confused with actual divinity. Divine being can be spirits, but not all spirits are divine. In this context, spirits can be defined more as being of power capable of granting aid in return for something. Zephos can change the winds if called upon, but you don’t need to feed him, for example. But the spirits in Twilight Princess need aid before they can help you. And they’re also not very independent and are able to be fooled easily, which isn’t usually a god-like quality. While more physically present than the three goddesses, they’re also not strictly tangible, and seem to be extremely limited to their location. At best, these spirits could be classified as minor deities below the gods we see in Wind Waker. They also share the same abilities in keeping the realm of Twilight from falling over the land of Hyrule, as well as their weakness to parasites of undetermined origin. An interesting note is that they all seem to live in bodies of water. Let’s put a pin in that one too.

Someone that also counts as a spirit would be Fi and her counterpart, Ghirahim. Literally two halves of the same coin, these two are both very limited in power and function. They don’t represent anything on their own and are very dependent on others to achieve results. How or why they were made is unclear, but it is obvious that both were forged at some point, and clearly gained sentience. Even their personalities and allegiances are a bit odd. Fi for her sci-fi appearance and calculating personality in a fantasy land, and Ghirahim for his… well, everything. I don’t know why the root of all evil would make his weapon a full-tilt diva, let alone on purpose. Ghirahim always struck me as odd since his bombastic personality seemed to clash with his ultimate fate of just being a weapon for Demise.

Okay, so the Great Fairies are weird, okay?! Like, really weird. They act as spirits (I can’t think of any that aren’t restricted to a body of water in some form), but are very independent. They also don’t necessarily need anything from Link to offer assistance. Sometimes, just opening the fairy fountain is enough to gain items needed to progress. And there’s also the fact that fairies heal you upon ‘death’, though with a limited heart capacity. Sometimes they need you to do something though, like the Breath of the Wild fairies need rupees to function or items to upgrade equipment. They also usually look human, like Majora’s Mask Great Fairies are clearly just… giant women with color coded accessories. But like, they float. Where Great Faires come from, or even just regular fairies, is unclear. Until Wind Waker, Great Faires were adults. But when you finally meet the real Great Fairy in Wind Waker it’s… a child. With a doll that looks just like the ‘Great Fairies’ you’ve seen along the way. This sort of implies that Great Fairies age and die, though clearly with a different lifetime than most races in Hyrule (the child Great Fairy also only looks somewhat human compared to other Great Fairies, so make of that what you will). And it also implies that all the adult Great Fairies are dead (you’re welcome for that depressing thought), with the last one trapped in a hollow tree only accessible by the power of a God.

In Breath of the Wild, the Great Fairies are both diminished but more powerful. They literally are stuck in a giant flower with water in it, with few fairies around them, and require riches to get stronger. The connection to their new restrictions to this need for material wealth is unclear. It’s also interesting to note that their fountains are no longer places that appear to be man-made holy temples and they seem to be out of the way… well, for a given value of ‘out of the way’ (looking at you ninja village). These fairies can accomplish more tasks, but certainly won’t be doing it for free or with minimal effort. A far cry from their first appearances (no, I don’t consider using explosives a difficult task).

But Fairies are also companions with nebulous tasks, such as in Ocarina of Time, where Tatl follows Link until the end of the game. And Kokiri have their own fairy as a sign of whatever accounts for adulthood in their race. The Skull Kid in Majora’s Mask has two fairy friends who seemed to have been either lost or abandoned. Who or what gives them purpose and life is unclear, though the Great Deku Tree from Ocarina of Time can give commands, it doesn’t seem to be something he does normally? As a side note, it’s really not clear what, if anything he can actually do. Though the relative safety of the surrounding area is clearly tied with his wellbeing in all iterations, he doesn’t seem to directly influence it, or be capable of self-defense.

Now, onto the elephant in the room! Hylia! Who the hell is this?! A more recent entry to the series, her divine roll is unclear (though she clearly guards the Triforce in some capacity). It can be assumed that she’s somehow a goddess tied directly to the Hylian people, but when she appeared is up for debate. Timeline wise, it’s almost like knowledge of her was suppressed for some reason, giving rise to the Triforce mythos we all know and love without hide or hair of her seen. We know that she favored the original Link greatly, enough to shed her divinity to be reborn as a mortal and assist him. How or why is also unclear, though it wouldn’t be unfair to assume she loved him, as divine ladies holding an affair with a mortal isn’t uncommon in mythology (or even male gods doing the same, before anyone brings up Zeus). But she makes a resurgence in Breath of the Wild, with statues and everything, with the three goddesses left to only vague references in the background. Which is super weird, though not uncommon for places like Ancient Egypt. The fact that the ruling family was literally descendant from a goddess is what makes it weird though, since any monarchy worth their salt would milk that until the peasant folk revolted and made a new religion to justify killing a god.

Zelda in every incarnation is literally descendant from the original and still held at least a fraction of that divine power. So much so that a cornerstone of a powerful religious artifact inevitably ends up in her hands (or on the back of her right hand, as it were). But what is Hylia a Goddess of? We don’t know. It’s never said. Anywhere. And that’s super weird, even for a ubiquitous deity. Sure she’s a Goddess of Hyrule but… what does that mean? That can’t be all she is? Her reincarnation is literally locked in a generational struggle against the forces of darkness! What can she do as a Goddess? Well, she makes Link stronger in return for items, but that seems to be it. In Ocarina of Time, Zelda was capable of sending Link back to the past, but that was with a magic item. And we know Hylia isn’t the Goddess of Time, because Zelda references her in Majora’s Mask (sequel to Ocarina of Time, therefore implying that there are more gods unmentioned at that time), when Hylia should be mortal or at least fragmented (because Zelda exists at the time with powers and a Triforce piece). The Guardian of Time in Hyrule Warriors also fell in love with Link before splitting into Cia and Lana (and was unable to fuse back together again), so it’s unlikely that she’s the Goddess of Time Zelda was referring to, though that detail is interesting to note. No, I will not discuss if Hyrule Warriors is canon (either game), as this is already long enough as it is.

So, that brings us to Ganon, or in his original form, Demise. Which… what’s up with that? Who is this guy? He directly opposes the gods and just… gets away with it! Repeatedly! Sure, he loses most of the time, but still. It’s unclear where Demise came from, or even what he is, though judging by Ghirahim’s ‘Demon Lord’ title, it can be assumed that he is some type of demon himself. And that the many monsters we see are also considered demons, which makes sense with how they always work for Demise (or his many iterations) in some form or another. Considering how much it takes to simply seal him away, he can’t be just a demon though.

Demise obviously pulled the same trick Hylia did, which directly sets him up as a counterpart to her, but what does it mean? Why would he do that? What is Demise that he can’t be beat with the power of a Goddess alone and needs not only a brave knight but a blade literally made to counter him? Within the context of religion, the best guess I can make is that he’s some form of a God of Darkness, possibly also Temptation, Greed, and Pigs Corruption. It fits within the narrative since power is often the strongest form of temptation and we know that demons capable of opposing the gods exist. The Horned Statue literally takes Hylia’s blessings in exchange for wealth, and was turned into a statue for it. What it stands to gain from any of it is unclear, but interestingly enough, Hylia doesn’t mind that it closely resembles her own statues. So, this raises the question… why isn’t Demise a forgotten statue somewhere along a dusty road? How did he curse(?) both a reborn goddess and a human in an eternal struggle for the fate of Hyrule?

Being a god is about the only explanation for why he can do the things that he does. It explains why, in every incarnation, he ends up a rule (like Zelda). How he controls so many different species with ease. He corrupts the conflicted as easily as breathing. An interesting note is how Demise in his many forms usually ends up corrupting once good forces in some way, typically with parasites or evil spirits. And with this context, Hylia must be a Goddess of Light, and possibly some form of Will and Purity to oppose Demise’s power. It would also make her a good candidate for looking after the Triforce in that case. And yet we don’t know any of this for sure either, which is, again, very strange considering their presence from the very beginning. Literally.

Now, I want to mention the temples as a last point before wrapping this up, because it has bothered me since I was a wee little whipper snapper. For a place of worship, they sure are hard to navigate, even when they’re empty of monsters. And it’s not like Hyrule doesn’t get this, because the Temple of Time in Ocarina of Time is straight up a church. Just… without pews, so clearly not perfect, but it is possible for people to come in and… worship time, I guess. And no, not the Goddess of Time, because there’s no statue for that. I mean, I know it’s secretly hiding the Master Sword, but it is definitely a church otherwise. What a normal service looks like I can’t say for sure, but it’s definitely not like literally any other temples we see.

Now, I know it’s a little hard to remember, but temples are usually places where one goes to worship the gods (or even just a god). And we know gods exist in a very real way in Hyrule! They still manage to name Zelda the same thing despite having seemingly buried their divine origins, so some knowledge of gods walking the mortal realm exists. But the temples/dungeons we see usually don’t have much in the way of religious iconography, with a few exceptions (interestingly it’s typically the desert area that actually has statues and could feasibly have had a real capacity for worship). You want to be a devout follower of a god anywhere else? Well, fuck you. Hope you brought a sword and a good pair of boots. If you’re allowed inside at all, since it’s usually the local leaders that are only allowed inside for some reason. And most games don’t seem to have very religious people, despite all the references to divinity. Not like we’d expect them to, at least. And I personally can’t blame them. If I tried to join a religion but found only a wall as an entrance, I’d be pretty disheartened too. Then I’d be pretty pissed to find out I needed not only a royal instrument handed down the monarchy, but their freaking lullaby to even get in to the place of worship. But we know they pray to the gods at least semi-often, since that’s one of the inciting incidences in Wind Waker. And they have offering to statues of Hylia.

The temples suggest the bar to impress the gods is pretty high, and not in a ‘sacrifice your eldest child’ kind of way. To even get the chance to reach the inner chambers you better hope it’s been kept well and that you didn’t skip leg day recently. Something I didn’t really mention before is that usually, the less involved the gods are, the more independent the people are from worship. If you worry that your local deity will flood your fields, you’re probably leaving regular offerings at their nearby shrine or temple. But if you know that the gods don’t care about literally anything you do, why worship them at all? Why make statues, art, or temples? Why bother with any of it? The answer is you don’t. So these highly selective temples are pretty weird unless you go with the idea the gods are just really done with people and never want to talk to them unless absolutely necessary.

So, I’ve rambled for over twelve pages now. What’s the point? What does any of this mean? I’m honestly not sure, but I have a sinking feeling that there’s some serious shit going on in the Hyrule pantheon. Mortals have been mostly abandoned to their doom. Gods cast out and forgotten entirely. And somehow advanced civilizations keep forming and getting destroyed with only remnants left behind with zero explanation. Assuming the original gods are even alive at this point, which I’m not entirely certain of. Their death certainly explains how Demise/Ganon keeps getting stronger, looking less and less Hylian as time goes on, if he looks humanoid to begin with.

I wouldn’t even assume it’s entirely voluntary at this point either, as Ganon clearly doesn’t have the same motivations in every incarnation (see my previous post about Wind Waker). I’m rather excited about Breath of the Wild 2, as the implications of dehydrated husk Ganon is compelling. Particularly in light of the character development Link and Zelda have received in the first Breath of the Wild. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ganon/Demise turns out to be a fallen god trying to get back home (a nice parallel to Wind Waker, actually), cast out as a scape goat. Blamed for every form of corruption and greed that naturally follows in his wake. I think I said this before, but it is interesting that he is always reborn among the Gerudo, a race famously all females. Sometimes thieves, but nearly always in a position that would naturally crave power to take control of their lives compared to Hylians. Regardless of the consequences.

Is it true? I don’t know. Probably not, but the fact that I can draw these conclusions in three hours of writing is pretty neat. I have a lot of feelings about this franchise, having grown up with it, but I eagerly await what comes next. And I should probably go to bed. Make of all this what you will.

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anxiouspotatorants · 3 years

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Alright for those who have seen my Mal character analysis post here is part 2. For more context see the intro (and if you, want the whole thing) of said last post. But once again some disclaimers first: I haven’t read the original trilogy and use this to my advantage when analysing Alina based on her show-character alone. I do ship Malina (at least at the writing of this post), so that might influence my interpretation. This is just my opinion, so feel free to disagree. And spoilers for all of season 1 of Shadow and Bone.

Part 2: Alina

Now what I have seen so far when it comes to critiquing Alina, is that her character relies too much on Mal. She mentions him constantly while at the Little Palace, and once reunited with him practically attaches her own hip to his. Some argue that her growth was stunted by their reunion, and that we don’t get to see enough of who she is apart from Mal. And uh, yeah I disagree. It’s not that I find this argument inconceivable, just that after seeing the season twice I don’t really think that opinion holds water. Who is Alina? That is quite literally the mission statement of the season. Alina goes from an outcast cartographer with a small but somewhat reliable group of friends to finding out she’s not only grisha but a special kind of grisha. And from then on she basically has multiple identity crises only to end the season mentally preparing for a new roller coaster of identities. So let me try to map it out.

The power-reveal might happen in episode 1, but we actually find out a lot about who Alina is and was pre-reveal. She’s an orphan and social outcast due to her mixed race status (being half Shu in Ravka is not exactly easy). She’s had one friend throughout her childhood, Mal, and managed to find comradery in her cartographer team. From a young age she has had a talent for drawing, and Ana Kuya encouraged young Alina to direct this skill towards cartography, as this would provide her one of the safer roles in the army, which Alina was doomed to join from the start. As a child she was not popular, but her friendship with Mal shows a girl who was brave, loyal and determined. She was willing to up the stakes to protect her loved one (see: bully scene). As a young woman she still seems to keep that fighting spirit, but has also grown a larger sense of humour. She jokes around with Mal and their friends, but she’s also clearly insecure — repeating her question about Mal’s stories and her decision to hide her jealousy over Zoya suggest as much.

Post-reveal, Alina has to deal with a lot of different people saying a lot of different things about who she is. The grisha soldiers view her as a form of redemption for their people. Her former superiors and First Army soldiers view her as grisha-business. Mal, although Alina never finds out, tries to double down on his pre-established view of Alina until he sees the test. The king makes it clear to Alina that he sees her as a tool to reunite the two Ravkas. And the Darkling tries to create an entirely new narrative for Alina: she’s his other half, his one equal in the world, the one he has been waiting for that will right his his ancestor’s wrongs. Then there’s the Apparat who introduces her to the religious aspect of her powers, and Baghra who first treats her as unworthy of her powers and then as an unready foil to the Darkling. Alina has to navigate a lot of roles at the same time: saint, freak, saviour, tool, rival, enemy, heroine, lover, royal subject, the list goes on. It is through the combined impressions of Baghra and Mal that Alina starts to find herself again. Baghra consistently tries to get Alina to become her own person in harmony with her powers («who are you holding back for?»), but Alina initially twists this pep-talk into shifting her focus from Mal to the Darkling. Once Baghra reveals the Darkling’s true identity and motivations, Alina finally has to make the choice to go out on her own without allies. She outmanouvers the crows and gets in altercations with soldiers before running into the woods and into Mal. Mal’s presence reminds her of who Alina is at her core: an underdog with a lionheart. And the thing is, once reunited with Mal, Alina genuinely starts to change. She isn’t just returning to banter or insecurities or relying on support. She confronts Mal on his assumed silence and pre-established view of grisha. And she doesn’t give up on her new goal and run away with him — she insists on finding the stag, defeating the Darkling and destroying the Fold. She has found her goal and is following it free from the expected roles that have been thrust on her. At the end of the season, Alina might be back to her and Mal against the world, but she is a different woman. She is more confident and more goal-oriented. She has directed her stubborness towards a specific mission, and is preparing to have to battle all the roles that will be thrust upon her in future seasons (see: Zoya’s speech about Alina becoming a martyr before she becomes a saint). Who is Alina? She’s a fighter facing her new bully head on.

But there are two other elements I find important to rant about when it comes to Alina’s season 1 journey. The first is her connection to Mal. The two have been tight since they found each other as children in the orphanage. Alina suppressed her powers unknowingly for years and sabotaged her grisha test out of fear that a positive result would separate her and Mal. She makes it clear in later episodes that this fear of separation is what motivated her actions. But I don’t think it was about just Mal. I think Alina is terrified of being alone. And once Alina is brought to the Little Palace, she has no one. Not Mal, who was denied even a quick goodbye and whos letters are kept away from Alina. Not her cartographer friends, who all died either in the Fold or, in Alexei’s case, alone in a cellar at the hands of Kerch mobsters. She once again faces alienation, not just about her race but her commoner-soldier status, and quickly attaches herself to Genya, who is one of the few to show her kindness. Once she has been made to believe that Mal doesn’t care about her she also gets closer to the Darkling and recenters her world from around one man to the other. She feels pressure to perform as is expected of her to gain acceptance from what she now has to assume is her new home. Alina attaches herself to whoever seems decent enough because it is safer than being alone, especially in a world like the one she lives in. When it is then revealed that the Darkling has manipulated her the whole time, Alina starts to question everything again and journeys out on her own for possibly the first time. It is Mal who tracks her down and helps her out of a predicament, thus providing safe harbour for Alina again. Alina doesn’t just run back to him and regress as a character. As written above, her journey to episode 6 has impacted her to the point where her and Mal’s relationship changes too. The casually joking tone they used to have is much more subdued, and the two have to confront and open up to each other about revelations and feelings. They apologize to each other and show compassion. This isn’t a giant leap from their relationship pre-power reveal, but it still stands in contrast to their tense silences and evasions in episode 1. To put it this way: they bullshit each other a lot less now. And what is important to note is that Alina reunites with Mal for a reason. As implied by the last paragraph, a lot of people have a lot of expectations for Alina. Mal is (as many have pointed out before me) the one person who always sees her as a person instead of a concept. Where others see a saint or a weapon, he sees his friend. Where others see a threat or an unworthy vessel, he sees a girl who stands up to bullies and protects her loved ones. Alina and Mal bring out each others’ humanity, and that is a crucial thing to have in a world that sees them as inhuman: whether as prophetic legends on pedestals or anonymous cannon fodder.

The other point I want to bring up is that I think Alina has a second mission in season 1: navigating who to trust. We know that in the beginning the ones she trusts are Mal and the cartographers. Once in the Little Palace, she starts out by putting knives under pillows and only revealing emotional vulnerability in private. But she quickly starts to place her trust in others. She considers Genya a friend, the Darkling an ally who could be something more, and Marie, Nadia, Ivan and Fedyor as companions. She even becomes receptive to the Apparat from his lesson about Morozova. On the flip side she has an understandable feud with Zoya, and an equally understandable hot-and-cold relationship to Baghra. By the end of the season, Marie is dead and Nadia and Fedyor are nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile the Darkling is revealed as the true villain with Ivan as his underling and Genya his spy. Even The Apparat is implied to become a future enemy. Baghra and Zoya, on the other hand, have proven themselves to be more helpful to Alina — Baghra by exposing the Darkling, and Zoya by turning against him and helping Alina in the final Fold battle. And those Kerch crows who attempted to kidnap her ended up playing just as important a role in her rescue and in letting her go to continue her journey freely. Alina has spent the season learning that people really are not what they seem. Those who call themselves friends of you could be locking you in a cage, and those who wished you harm could turn out to have morals and redeem themselves. And Mal has an entire trust-arc for Alina of his own: he goes from her one friend to someone she thinks has left her behind, only to return and prove his loyalty and how worthy he is of her trust. I think this theme is something that will follow Alina in the next season, especially since she and Mal will be more vulnerable than before. She’ll need to learn when to keep her guard up and who is worthy of her softness.

So yeah, if I haven’t made myself clear enough I think Alina has a massive arc this season and that Mal doesn’t hinder this arc but rather is a reflection of it. Mal doesn’t regress her character, but rather reminds her who she is in opposition to who she is expected and told to be. And being a protagonist who interacts with a lot of characters, she is set up to have just as much of a journey (if not a bigger one) in future seasons. Is Mal going to be part of that? Probably. But he will continue to function as someone holding a mirror up to Alina reminding her of who she is. And Alina will continue to grow and deal with conflict as any protagonist should.

#I had a lot more to say about her than I expected #but I don't mind #but yeah just because this is a fantasy romance story and relationships are a big part of the story #it doesn't mean that Alina is less developed as a character #big shock: relationships can actually say something about a character and help build growth #can’t believe I called Jesper Kaz and Inej ’those Kerch crows’#alina starkov #shadow and bone #shadow and bone spoilers #sab spoilers #malina #alina x mal

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tazzytypes · 4 years

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Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 3

Hey guys! Things are starting to get real in this chapter and Michael will be appearing in the next one (finally). I know I write a loot per chapter for the most part, but I get super into each and last detail. Trust me, it will all make sense in the end.

Read on AO3!

Time was a pesky beast. Sometimes it moved by you like the wind, gone before you could realize it was there. Other times it was thick as honey, your body burning in protest as you waded through it. Too much of either was enough to make you go mad. Then again, her sanity had been on a thread since the bombs dropped.

After 18 months — a year and a half, 547.5 days, or 13,140 hours if you wanted to get really particular — it was a wonder any of them were still alive.

After hours spent in the library, the Three Musketeers had found that nuclear winter lasted about 3 years on average. What they had found, however, failed to specify the radiation levels after those years. Eventually, they threw in the towel and resigned themselves to spending the rest of their days underground. The library instead became their oasis where no other resident dared to trespass.

Em had attempted to start drawing again, but Coco relentlessly asked for her portrait any time she pulled out her sketchbook. She swore the woman could hear the scrape of pencil against paper from anywhere in the Outpost. It was an artist’s worse nightmare.

Timothy had tried to entice the other two to work out with him. After the third meal cutback, they couldn’t even do a sit-up without their head becoming light and the world spinning around them.

The walls seemed to grow tighter and tighter around her. At night, the darkness was so suffocating that Em rushed to light a candle before it swallowed her whole. In those moments she felt like Atlas, smothered by the weight of the world on top of her. If she could just see the blue sky and feel cold air upon her skin she would be in heaven. Instead, endless anxieties plagued her — what if there was a cave-in? Was she running out of air or just panicking? It was so stale and cling to her despite it being circulated by a machine she could not see. She was choking to death and the walls would come closer and closer until they became her tomb.

The stabbing sensation in her hand drew her from the flood of thoughts, hands white as they curled around the cover of a book. Once again, the three musketeers gathered in the library. It at least kept their minds active and it had become Em’s personal goal to read each and every book in the outpost, shelves in nearly every nook and cranny. It was her own personal Alexandria.

Timothy laid back on a couch throwing a ball he had found up and down. The sound of it hitting the palm of his hand was like a metronome, bringing her back in synch with the world.

Emily, on the other hand, seemed to be physically exhibiting the anxiety Em internalized. She was pacing a hole into the carpet, arms crossed and jaw clenched.

“It’s October,” She said as she turned and walked back across the small clearing of couches and tables, “We’ve been here for 18 months.”

“Already?” Em asked, counting weeks on her hand. Wait… when did this week start? Did she count days by when she slept or when she ate? Without sun or a moon, they didn’t even have a concept of night and day. Just periods of sleep and consciousness.

“Already?” Emily echoed, voice going up an octave, “it’s felt like years.”

“Technically a year,” Timothy pointed out, quickly backtracking as Emily sent him a look, “but it’s not like Venable is passing out calendars or anything.”

Emily scoffed, “Venable isn’t doing anything… you know, I bet she’s hoarding food for herself.”

“Why do that when she can just chop up another person and eat them.”

Emily sent him another scathing glare, “not funny.”

Em sighed and shut her book with a loud thump, “What we need is a distraction.”

Timothy closed his eyes and stopped throwing his ball, hand held up in the air, “I think I may face the cannibals if we have to play Pictionary one more time.”

The brunette placed her book aside, biting her lip as she thought of something… anything to distract them from the world.

“It’s October, right?” she finally proposed, “What about some scary stories? We already have a bonfire… pretty much everywhere.”

Timothy sat up, “isn’t our predicament enough of a horror story?”

Em turned on her heel, hands behind her back as she tainted him, “What? Are you scared?”

“No!”

“Then prove it.” A smile finally returned to Emily’s face as she flounced towards the boy, coming to sit at his side. Her expression reminded Em of a cat, content and ready to watch the mice dance. “Tell us a story, Mr. Valedictorian.”

He shook his head and sighed, “I don’t know…”

“Did you guys ever have that book,” Em asked, “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark?”

Emily gasped, “Yes! They made it into a movie, right? I could never sleep after just seeing those pictures.”

“Made Texas Chainsaw Massacre seem like a picnic,” Timothy noted, earning a laugh from Emily. She leaned into him and Em looked to the side towards the rows and rows of books.

“What even were the stories about?” Em asked, turning from the smitten couple to give them some form of privacy, “I can only remember the pictures.”

Emily stood, placing her hands on her hips as she surveyed their surroundings, “for all the book they have in this place there’s got to be a copy. It was a school, after all.”

“I don’t know…” Em teased, side eyeing Timothy, “ … if any of the boys were like Timothy.”

“For the last time: I’m not scared!”

“We’ll see about that as soon as we find that book,” Emily said, pulling the boy to his feet before turning to Em, “Timothy and I can take the first three rows and you can take the last two.”

“Careful,” Em warned, watching the two saunter off down an aisle, “Mead’s only going to buy me saying y’all are ‘just friends’ for so long.”

Timothy’s face flushed red. Emily’s face shined with a look that dared the world to take from her the one good thing she had found among the ashes. “Can’t let Venable control all aspects of our life.”

“Maybe she’s a vampire,” Em said, “some people say they feed on misery instead of blood.”

“She’s certainly got the personality of one.”

With a smile, the two disappeared from sight, Emily’s giggling reaching through the books to Em’s ears. With a tired sigh, she wandered to the other side of the room. Once upon a time, she would spend hours in any bookstore or library she entered. This place, however, seemed to be predominantly filled with books written by old white men. A few newer books were scattered here and there, but they were few and far between. On bad days, Emily and herself would battle for them with rounds and rounds of rock, paper, scissors.

She quickly fell into a rhythm. A state of focus, her brother would have said. He had been writing a book on the subject before... before...

“Thoreau… Douglas...” Em mouthed the title an name of each and every book to keep her mind from wandering to the less than pleasant.

At some point, Timothy joined her. The sound of feet against carpet pulled her from her trance, forcing her to feel how tired her eyes had become. She pulled out of her crouched position, frowning as her back popped and protested.

“You’d think they’d at least have one scary book,” Em noted as Timothy made it to her side, “any luck on y’all’s end?”

“If you count Hawthorne as a horror author.”

“I don’t know… you could count The Birthmark as a horror story.”

“The Birthmark?”

“A woman born with a birthmark marries an alchemist. Instead of accepting her, he seeks out how to obtain perfect beauty and—”

“Guys!” Emily’s voice rang out from a row over, “Come look at this!”

The pair looked at each other then meandered over to Emily. A large tome was in her arms. It was as large as a small child, thick as the old dictionaries from reference sections. As they got closer, Em saw the cover lacked any discernable title and the pages were yellowed with age.

“What is it?” Timothy asked, pacing a hand on Emily’s shoulder.

Emily was clearly in awe, “I don’t know. Looks like some sort of grimoire.”

Timothy frowned at that. His family had never been particularly religious. It didn’t define their personality, but they still went to church every Sunday. The first thing they teach you as a Christian child is that those who commune with Satan are evil. There were two columns of items... one good and aligned with God and one bad and alighted with Satan.

He thought back to his first day in Outpost 3. At first, he had dismissed it as a trauma-induced hallucination. “What kind of school has grimoires?”

“Religious studies?” Em offered. She motioned to the book, “let me see. Not going to lie, I’ve always been fascinated by these things.”

Emily carefully handed the book off to her. It was so heavy Em nearly dropped it as soon as Emily handed it over. Struggling ever slightly, she turned through the pages.

“See anything?” Emily asked after a few moments of silence.

The pages were well kept. A few water marks marred the writing and bled the ink. Most of it was illegible... in some language she didn’t understand with few English translations scattered throughout. The clearest page called to her, a large circular design taking up most of it.

“Summoning circles,” she muttered, fingers tracing over the design and tracing down towards the words written underneath.

“What?” Timothy asked, scooting closer.

“They're used in rituals to summon things.”

“Such as?”

“Good intentions, luck, money, sprits...”

“...Demons” Timothy finished.

“Exactly!”

“So... like a pentagram?” Emily asked, arms crossed and brows furrowed in thought.

“Kind of?” Em admitted, “pentagrams are actually symbolic of fire, water, earth, air, and spirit. It’s actually supposed to be used in protection.”

Timothy looked up at the sky with a bemused laugh, “I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”

“I had a friend that practiced Wicca,” Em told him, “... and I used to get bored and look up random stuff at 3 am when I couldn’t sleep.”

She quickly turned her attention back to the book, “this seems to be summoning... damn! The name is smudged.”

Emily, whose head was resting on the other girl’s shoulder, looked at the other two with a grin, “do we dare?”

“No. Nope.” He said, holding his hands up in the air and marching a few steps away and turning back towards them with a sigh, “I’m not messing with that stuff.”

“It’s the end of the world, Tim,” Em said, “if I haven’t seen a demon yet I doubt I ever will.”

“Maybe we can sacrifice Venable,” Emily whispered to the two, her counterpart laughing while her boyfriend continued to have an existential crisis.

Em seemed to consider the option, “or Coco. Spare us another conversation about influencer culture at the very least... I’d sell my soul for that.”

Smoky laughed and Timothy could only groan, hands covering his face.

“C’mon,” he pleaded, “this is literally textbook horror movie stuff.”

“You don’t have to join if you don’t want to,” Emily reassured before turning back to the other girl, “what do we need?”

Em hummed and read through the list once more, “a candle, a drop of blood, the incantation, and a summoning circle.”

“Really? No sacrificial chicken or anything?”

“I can start the summoning circle if you can get the sowing kit from my room. It’s in my desk.”

Emily nodded and left the room. Em fathered the book and wandered to the tables, putting it down and pulling her sketchbook out from her pockets as Timothy reluctantly followed in her heels.

Not bothering to sit, Em leaned over the table with her pencil in hand. Hair that now curled down to her shoulders fell into her face and she let out a huff before pulling out a ribbon and tying it out of her face.

“Tim,” she asked, not looking up as she carefully replicated the circle, “can you hand me some of those candles over there?”

With a reluctant sigh, the boy shuffled to the corner of the room. Wobbling the candle stand as carefully as he could, he dragged it across the floor and towards the table. It was like watching a child protest bedtime, dragging their feet and taking as long as possible for every task that brought them closer to sleep.

“This is a horrible idea.”

It was Em’s turn to sigh, “these things are like Bloody Mary. It scares us for a moment, but ultimately nothing happens.”

“Did you ever do Bloody Mary?”

She smirked, “The drink or the game?”

Timothy crossed his arms and stared at her, unamused.

“No,” she admitted, finally turning to look him in the eyes, “I was a child and I was scared and I wouldn’t even look in mirrors for a month after I heard the story. My dad finally had enough and forced me to do it... and here I am. Nothing happened.”

Timothy broke eye contact. He wasn’t expecting such an honest response and didn’t quite know how to follow it. How was he supposed to talk about the incident without sounding crazy?

Em watched the slight twitch around Timothy’s mouth. He looked shifty, eyes not focusing on any one thing. She stared at him deadpan and water for him to speak.

Finally, his eyes rested in her. To his surprise, she was still looking at him.

“What?” He asked.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I was a psych major, remember?”

“I thought you switched to English.”

“That’s beside the point.”

Silence. One beat. Then two.

“Out with it,” she insisted.

“Something weird happened,” he blurted as she finished her sentence, her eyes widening in surprise at his sudden forwardness, “when we first got here.”

“What happened?”

Timothy opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of creaking doors interrupted him. Em... maybe he could trust. He knew logically that he could trust Emily as well, but... god, it sounded crazy.

“It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”

Em moved to insist, but as she watched Emily come round the corner she also saw Timothy’s tensions leave his body.

“Forget about what?” Emily asked, looking between the two.

Timothy tensed as Em began to speak.

“He was telling me about a time he had a sleepover and tried the Bloody Mary chant.”

Timothy let out the breath he was holding.

“Dad thought it would be a good idea to play with the circuit breaker,” he finished, sending a grateful smile to Em, “my brother jumped so high he nearly got his head stuck in the ceiling.”

“See?” Emily said, squeezing Timothy’s arm, “you have nothing to worry about. Demons don’t exist.”

“What about Venable?” Em asked

Emily smiles and turned away from her lover, “lucky for us, in her case, it’s only metaphorical.”

The two began to set up the ritual, moving the candles according to the instructions — a semi-circle formation on the side of the symbol farthest from her. Em made sure they were melted to the table to prevent a fire. Then they would summon an actual demon by the name of The Cooperative. The symbol stood front and center, wax dripping onto its corners.

Emily and Timothy stood back, arms linked together. His hands dig into the fabric of her sleeve and she offered a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s going to be fine,” she whispered.

Em began the ritual, book in front of her for reference.

“quaesitor existunt veritatis,” she read, then pricked her finger with a needle. The blood welled up and she pressed on the wound until it dropped and stained the paper with crimson, “pondera excitare restitueret.”

Three times she repeated the phrase, drilling blood into one flame, then the next, then the next. Then she let it sit in silence. One second. Nothing. Another second. Nothing. A third—

“Raah!” Emily yelled, grabbing her boyfriend’s shoulder and shaking him.

“Shit!” Timothy cried, crossing himself as he fell backward off the table he had been sitting on, “get away from me!”

Emily and Em erupted into laughter. It took Timothy a few moments to realize he was in no danger and once he looked up at them they burst into laughter again, holding each other. Someone snorted which made the peals of laughter start up again.

He laid his head back on the ground and closed his eyes, arms draping over his forehead as he calmed his racing heart.

“You guys are horrible.” He sighed, a smile forming despite himself.

“All... Emily’s,” Em said between hysterics, “are some form... of chaotic.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily said, doubling over with tears in her eyes as she grabbed onto the other woman’s arm, “you just—“

Her stomach hurt and her lungs burned and she loved every minute of it. She looked up to Em who made the sign of the cross over her chest before crossing her fingers and holding them out in front of her.

“The power of Christ compels you!” She cries out between shaking breaths, doubling over again. Even Timothy began to laugh, shoulders shaking as he tried to picture what he must have looked like.

“If you three are finished with your magic tricks,” a voice came from the door, Mead’s figure looming as they bit their lips and held their breath to keep from giggling, “dinner is in five.”

Shaking her head, the older woman made her way back to the door, grumbling but unable to hide her amusement, “Damn kids.”

Giggling faded I to unrelenting grins that made flushed cheeks even redder. Em and Emily’s eyes were red and puffy from crying. Gathering up the remnants of their decorum, they held out their hands to Timothy, pulling him up to his feet.

He looked at the two of them up to the ceiling as if he were asking it for guidance.

“Fuck you,” he finally settled, a chuckle escaping him and greatly amusing the girl that leaned against him as they began to walk.

“Careful with that word,” Em warned, walking backward to address the pair, seriousness taunting the fun demeanor she tried to keep up, “Venable would love a reason to cook all of us up for dinner.”

------------------------------------------

No one spoke anymore. There was nothing to speak about. They stared ahead, eyes vacant of life. Their bodies were moving, but their minds had long since given up and resigned themselves to fate.

Coco didn’t even bother with her hair anymore. Gallant had cut it when they hit the fourth-month mark and the humidity had made it curl into the shape of an orb around her head. Gallant himself hadn’t bothered to even change clothes in the past week...or was it two? Em was almost grateful for the pandemic and subsequent quarantine that occurred before they went subterranean. It had taught her the importance of a schedule for her mental health.

Venable was the only one that kept up with appearances. Red hair never had a strand out of place and not a single piece of fuzz could be found on her black dress. She sat straight at the end of the table, back straight as a board and her eyes full of contempt as she looked upon her charges. The ironwoman seemed to be searching for something as she stared at each one of them in turn.

Em did her best to ignore the intertwined hands of the couple beside her. God knows Venable was itching to torture them. Em had faced many people like the red-haired horror. She knew how to ignore something without making it obvious… passive manipulation.

If she was being honest, part of her was somewhat jealous of the happiness her friends had found… but she also knew how dangerous love was, even more so given their circumstances.

Venable’s cane struck the floor like a gavel, heads slowly turning towards her like zombies at the control of a necromancer.

“I have an announcement,” she said, nodding to the half of a cube that sat before them. Em could feel her stomach gurgle, felt the hot feeling of her own stomach acid digesting her organs. “This will be our last breakfast. We’re cutting back to one meal a day.”

Coco’s jaw dropped, but she didn’t have the energy to make a scene, “you can’t be serious.”

“An effective dieting technique,” Evie declared.

“Yeah, so is starving to death!”

Em sighed, running a hand through her hair, pulling it back before letting it fall around her shoulders once more.

“Perhaps we should move meals to breakfast instead of dinner,” Em proposed, “having fuel at the beginning of the day may—”

Venable’s eyes narrowed, head cocking to the side ever slightly.

“Are you questioning my judgment?”

“Yes.”

Damn surviving. She’d rather become everyone’s next meal that deal with the bitch for a single second longer. Starvation had lowered her control and her tolerance for the bullshit Venable had a knack for. She’d rather die tearing apart a tyrant than live bowing her head to one.

“May I remind you that I was assigned to this outpost for a reason.” Venable said, leaning back in her seat and letting the silence sit for a moment before she continued, “and unlike some, I was able to graduate college.”

Em had tried to be kind to the woman in the beginning. She had tried to take initiative by counting resources and assessing tools at their disposal, but as soon as the woman’s cane crossed the threshold her only message to Em was to sit down and shut up.

Gallant scoffed as he looked between the two, “How are we supposed to survive on half a cube?”

Venable pulled her eyes away from Em’s, “it’s not optimal, but also not impossible. Either way, we have no choice. Not if we want to keep eating at all.”

Em, Timothy, and Emily looked to another, trying to look for reassurance but finding none. For once Venable wasn’t wrong.

Gallant scoffed and stared down his fellow residents. How could they stay silent? He wasn’t going to let Venable starve him to death. They should cut the Grey’s meals instead, he reasoned, they paid for their tickets… or at least, Coco’s father had.

“I fucking can’t do this anymore!” She cried.

Sensing the collecting anxiety at the table, Dinah stood and addressed them all, “We don’t know how strong we are until we have to face adversity. This could be an opportunity for all of us to grow.”

“Finish that bumper sticker shit you used to say on your show, and I’m strong enough to shove this fork in your neck!” Gallant yelled, table clattering as he jumped to his feet brandishing his chosen weapon.

Em rose hesitantly, hands up and trying to get Gallant’s attention, “She’s not the one you're mad at.”

The hairdresser didn’t hear him, continuing to rave like a madman and Em fell back in her seat, head bowing and cradled in her hands. She was so tired. She was tired of the tantrums, tired of the hunger. Her ribs were showing through her skin, each and every piece of her spine sticking out as if she were a cactus instead of a person. They were all ghosts. Their bodies had yet to catch up with them.

Before all this she had dreams… to make it big as an artist or an author or anything. Having those dreams crushed made Em wonder if it was better to just give up. Certainly would be more peaceful. If only the grimoire had a spell to bring back her motivation for just living.

Quaesitor existunt veritatis pondera excitare restitueret.

“What was that?” someone whispered beside her. Em realized she had been quietly chanting the words from the ritual. Pulling herself from the fog, she removed her head from her hands and sat up in her chair.

“Nothing.”

Before Emily could note her friend’s odd behavior, the sound of porcelain shattering pulled them back to Gallant’s tantrum.

“What are you going to do?” Gallant demanded, bouncing like a wrestler in the ring and glaring daggers at mead, “Shoot us all? Huh? What are you going to do?”

The First moved forward to apprehend the man, towering over him like he was a child about to be thrown in time-out. Venable rose, opening her mouth to speak.

They were quickly deafened by alarms, red lights flashing. Em closed her eyes, suddenly blinded as she rose to her feet and fell back to the wall behind her.

“Perimeter alert,” The Fist said, “There’s been a breach.”

They all looked to Venable, but she was just as alarmed as they were. Em’s eyes immediately went to Emily’s. She was leaning against timothy, eyes turned up towards the ceiling and her hands curling around his arm. Everyone was frozen, suddenly back where this all began — the emergency messages that blared and told them the world was dying and taking them down with it.

“Back to your rooms!” Venable barked, “All of you!”

“If it’s a breach we should prepare a defensive position,” Em cried over the alarms, “If it’s cannibals—”

“This is my outpost!” Venable snarled, stalking towards her until her face was inches from her own, “and I am telling you to stand down and return o your rooms.”

Em could feel someone tugging at her arm, but paid it no mind.

“The noisiest flies are the first to be squashed,” Venable said.

“I fear more for the wasp in a beehive.”

Another tug forced her to turn towards the source. Emily was reaching out to the brunette, one hand on Timothy who was trying to drag her from the dining room.

“It’s not worth it,” She hissed, pulling the girl close, “pick you battles.”

Em snatched back her arm, “I’m tired of waiting for a hill to die on.”

With one last scathing look to Venable, she grabbed a knife from the table and stormed from the room. If she was to live out of spite so be it.

--------------------------------

Em paced back and forth in her room, crossing it in three strides before turning on her heel and starting the whole process all over again. Her hands ran through her hair, tying it up and taking it down, braiding and upbraiding.

Waiting to see what her fate was infuriated her. Waiting infuriated her. If this was an attempted break-in by cannibals or monsters her room was the last place she wanted to be — it cornered her. No, the best defensive position would be —

She groaned and forced herself to sit at her desk, leg bouncing up and down. She wished she was one of the wardens, working alongside The Fist. At least then she’d be doing something. They all acted like the purples were the ruling class, but it was a lie. The Greys outnumbered them and could take over whenever they could. Venable could have them killed in a heartbeat. What they had was only an illusion. When the time came for them to finally wield it their hands would only meet empty air, leaving them to fall to an unsightly demise.

The alarm had stopped blaring, at the very least. Spared her from another migraine.

She jumped as a knock came at her door, raising to her feet and trying to seem as if she wasn’t in the process of losing her sanity. The voice that left her didn’t feel like her own, detached and far too formal.

“Come in.”

A creak filled the room and a Grey appeared, freshly laundered clothes in hand. She bowed her head to Em as she entered before moving to place the garments on her bed.

“Thank you,” Em said reflexively. The Grey turned to her, eyes on the ground.

“Do you want me to do your hair for you, miss?”

“What?” Em asked, hand going to feel the remnants of braids still in her hair. Heat rose to her neck. She must have looked like a raving mad man. “Oh… no. Thanks for asking.”

With another bow, the girl scurried from the room, letting out a gasp as she ran into The Fist right outside the door. A quick and fearful apology left the Grey before she disappeared down the hall, door left wide opened.

The Fist’s hand, which had been held up to knock, fell back to her side. “May I?”

“Please,” Em invited, rounding the bed to place the clothes the Grey had brought in aside for the time being, “it’s been a while since we last talked.”

The ability to look past the color-coded rulebook Venable enforced served her well as long as the woman never found out. Even the Wardens, strong enough to take her down by force, feared the woman… or perhaps trusted Mead so much that they bought into whatever demands Venable spat out. Em just needed them to doubt their orders if the time came when Venable ordered her death.

“How’s the research going?” The Fist asked, nodding to the pile of book balancing precariously on the edge of her desk. Em spared them a glance and sighed, shaking her head.

“You’d know more than those moldy things,” She said, the other woman smiling ever slightly, “is there anything we can do to create a self-sustaining food supply?”

The Fist’s smile faded, lips twisting as she thought, sauntering over to her books and reading the titles, “I know I once made a post about a special facility made to store seeds… problem is, we don’t have means for inter-continental travel.”

“Would the Cooperative?”

“That would be a call for Miss Venable,” she said with a shrug, “Right now our best decision is rationing.”

“I don’t like those odds.”

The Fist tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the truth was they wouldn’t last the rest of the year even with rationing. She had tried to press for explorative missions, but Venable said they couldn’t expend the manpower. They might as well fire all their ammunitions into the walls.

Em couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that left her. Biting her lip, she tried to think of any other option than sitting and waiting for the end. “Do we know anything about the composition of those nutrient bars?”

“I couldn’t find any documentation,” The Fist admitted, “The cooperative should be able to provide if we keep to the plan.”

The brunette scoffed, “Venable’s plan.”

In two strides, The Fist came to stand beside her. If she wanted, she could have snapped her like a twig. Instead, she placed a hand on Em’s shoulder.

“She was put in charge for a reason.”

They were interrupted by a blood-curdling scream that made Em nearly jump into the woman’s arms. The Fist hurried to the door, ducking her head through the doorway and standing there for a moment with her hand on her utility belt.

“Wait here.”

The door slammed shut behind her and Em moved to follow, but became distracted. In the sudden silence, a whispering sound could be heard. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it. It surrounded her like she was in a giant bubble, sometimes wandering to her left or her right like a beast that kept moving when she turned to look at it.

Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on the sound.

“Quaesitor existunt…” she swore she heard, too faint to be certain. It was a breeze in the trees, gone before you knew it was there, “veritatis pondera….”

No. That was stupid. Demons didn’t exist. She was just being paranoid. Shaking her head, she made her way to her closet. It was a busted pipe, she reasoned as she picked up a candelabra to at leave give her something to see by.

The second the door creaked open, the whispering sound became louder. Then, from the depths of the shadows, a snake dropped down from above. Em jumped back with a gasp, slamming the closet shut and landing on top of her bed. Cautiously, she opened it once more. She stood far enough away to be safe, but close enough to examine. It was black… head rounded instead of pointed…

Em placed the candelabra on her desk and reached for the pile of clothes she had placed aside. Throwing them aside without much care, she founded what she needed in the pile. Working quickly, she twisted the wire of a hangar into as straight of a line as she could manage.

“Hello there,” she cooed, placing the metal in front of the snake and tapping it gently against its mouth. Patiently, she waited until the snake became irritated and bit at the wire. Swooping in, Em grabbed it by the neck the little beasty hissing and thrashing its tail. If it had been a thicker snake, it may have been able to wrangle itself from her hands, but it couldn’t have been bigger than a rat snake.

Once it had calmed some, Em reached for its tail and examined its underbelly. Best thing about an apocalypse was having an obscene about of time to read. There, near the end of the tail, two rows of scales sat.

“You’re nothing but a sweetheart, aren’t you,” She cooed, loosening her grip only slightly. It wasn’t venomous, proving her point as it opened its mouth to hiss once more, wriggling around in an attempt to free itself. She much preferred the company of real snakes to their metaphorical human counterparts.

Keeping a close eye on her new pet, Em walked out the door and right into Miss Miriam Mead. The woman got a good face full of hissing snake and stumbled back a few steps with a gasp. Her tone quickly turned from one of surprise to irritation.

“You too?”

Em smiled at the woman, “can I keep it.”

Mead scoffed and shook her head, but Em could see the fleeting smile on her lips as she procured a bag. “put it in there.”

Mead always reminded Em of a frustrated but amused mother. The smile quickly returned as Em plopped the creature into what looked like a wriggling mass of its brethren.

“First witchcraft, now snakes,” Mead tried to chide, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Does this have anything to do with the breach?” Em couldn’t help but ask.

Mead pretended not to hear, occupying herself with closing up the bag of snakes, “Any more?”

“Not sure.”

They both turned to The Fist as she approached, Mead giving a nod towards Em’s room. Dutifully, The Fist went inside. Both of them stood in the doorway and watched as her room was rummaged through. She was lucky she had hidden her banned items under a loose floorboard ages ago.

By the time she was done, two other snakes had been found and the two wardens wordlessly went on their way.

“Venomous ones have pointed heads, fangs, and a single row of scales on their anal plate,” Em called out once they had made it partway down the hall.

She could see Mead chuckle and shake her head. Em’s eyes flickered from the back of Mead to that of The Fist. The latter clearly respected the former immensely.

Locking the door behind her, she made her way to the library. Venable’s pawns could be easily swayed, but her knight would be more of a challenge.

--------------------------------------

Dinner time came around once more and once more Em had been forced to leave her book-filled sanctuary to play nice with all the residents... not that she was particularly the nice sort when with them. She used to be nice. At least, she liked to think she was.

Why was “nice” always just pretending you weren’t angry or annoyed? If one looked into the human mind they’d probably find that not a single one of them was truly “nice.” Everyone got annoyed, everyone got angry, everyone hated someone else. Yet, here they sat around the table once more, acting like they were refined and polite yet still being shocked when, as always, their humanity shines through.

Philosophical pondering was always far more interesting then whatever conversation was going on between this lot. Today, however, was an oddity. The table silent.

At least they weren’t eating cubes tonight... and she knew what exactly was in the soup. She was drawn from her reverie at the smell of it, mouth watering even before the Greys had entered the room.

They quickly straightened their silverware and gracefully draping napkins across their laps. Perhaps the silence was due to the last outcome of Venable’s hospitality.

Dishes clinked and Em smiles at the Grey who placed her meal before her. She eyes the others, waiting before she took a single bite.

Coco also eyed the food, watching the Greys serve them one by one. Her nose crinkled as she eyes what this evening had in store for them. “I have a rule against eating things with no legs or too many legs.”

“Oh, right,” Andre snipped, rolling his eyes. He had gone from denial to anger to depression and now back to anger in the past year. Grief never did like to be linear. “But you’re fine eating something with two legs.”

“For the last time!” Gallant snapped, “we didn’t eat your boyfriend!”

Mead sighed from her left, “Eat it or don’t. No one’s going to force it down you.”

“Adversity makes strange bedfellows,” Dinah notes, sending a pointed look to her son, “and worse dinner companions.”

Andre’s lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes flickered to anywhere that wasn’t his mother.

“It’s food,” Dinah reminded them all, “and we’re starving. We should be grateful for the fruits of the earth.”

Em quelled a groan as she watched Evie preen like a bird, signaling a story was about to begin. The old woman straightened her back and puffed out her chest before leaning against the table.

“Steamed snake soup is actually quite delicious,” she informed them.

“Jesus Christ,” Gallant whispered from the other side of the table, Evie’s hearing far too terrible to know that they were smiling more at her grandson’s distress than her tale.

“It was the centerpiece of a dinner I attended at Kuala Lumpur with Gina Lollobrigida.”

“The only time I’ve seen someone eat a snake,” Em noted, “was on that Bear Grylls survival show.”

Gallant’s head rose from his hands as he snorted out a laugh. Mead even smiled at her left.

“You’re lucky we’re not making you eat grubs.”

On her right, Emily was nearly buzzing in anticipation. As soon as Mead stopped speaking she was quick to address Venable, sitting on her hands as if she were resisting the urge to raise her hand — the only sign an untrained she could find that would display her eagerness.

“So, who’s in your office.”

Venable was off-put by the question, raising her head as if she had dozed off at the end of the table and was slowly rousing, “I beg your pardon?”

“The alarms went off before,” Emily notes, “someone came inside.”

Em turned to her friend in surprise. Someone was here? In the outpost? From outside? Venable allowed them to come inside?

“Who else is here?” Timothy insisted as Venable failed to respond.

Venable looked less than pleased but masked it well as the patience of a mentor trying to evoke the same quality from their student.

“All questions will be answered in due course.”

“And hoarding knowledge makes the flock more controllable,” Em said.

“Eat.” Was Venable’s only response, tapping her cane to signify the end of this particular conversation.

Em reluctantly fell in line with the others, obediently raising the covering of their soup. Hissing erupted from the bowls, snakes slithering across the table just as scared as the residents that jumped backward with screams of terror.

Mead’s eye’s widened as she witnessed the rebirth of the snakes she had personally beheaded, looking to Venable for answers. The woman had none, eyes widening in horror at the sight before her. This was not her orchestration, her design.

Some people ran in terror, Em froze. This time felt differences a fog had encompassed her mind and the world around her became a distant memory. A buzz filled her body and her ears, the screaming of others sounding far, far away. Did they even exist in the first place?

Her head tilted to the side as the black snake from before slithered towards her, curling around her arm. It feared its head upwards. Not to attack, but simply to look at her. She looked into its eyes and felt like she understood the world in its entirety. The weight of the world was not suffocating but consuming. She wanted to be consumed by it. She wanted —

The snake dropped from her arm to the floor and she was back, blinking away the fog as one blinked away sleep. The buzzing sensation left her and her surroundings rushed over her like ice water on a hot summer’s day.

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon #ahs #ahs apocalypse #ahs x reader #long fic #slow burn #AO3

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islamicrays · 4 years

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Don't over-compensate with your kids. If you feel guilty over a deficit in one department of their life, don't go overboard to make up for it in another. You'll try to correct one initial problem, only to create ten extra problems on top of it.

I'll share with you two stories to show you what I mean.

A few days ago, I took my kids to the pediatrician for a routine checkup. We go to the pediatrician's office quite often, because between regular checkups, sick visits, and scheduled vaccines, for four different kids--we are there pretty much all the time! I bring all four kids with me whenever we go, and so the all-female staff and nurses and doctor have gotten to know us pretty well and know that we're a homeschooling family. They all love us there. :)

As we were getting my 4-year-old weighed and measured, the nurse and I had a serious conversation. She is a young Arab woman, only a few years older than me, with one 11-year-old son. We speak to her in Arabic whenever she's working at the office when we're there, and my kids delight in hearing her Syrian accent (in contrast with our Egyptian dialect).

She asked me, "I know you are homeschooling your kids...but why?"

I gave her a brief outline of my reasons for the decision to homeschool, citing the academic, religious, and social aspects.

She sighed. "Yes, I think I'm beginning to understand. This is a great idea. I wish I didn't have to send my son to public school, but that's where he is. He's 11, and he is getting more and more difficult by the day. I think he gets more unmanageable with every year that he's in American schools. Like you said, the social environment in schools is terrible! He learns from his classmates, so he's already cursing and saying the F-word, having conversations about girls and dating. Last year, this one girl had a crush on him and because he didn't like her back, she started calling him gay. He's also watching horrible shows on TV, and playing the worst games on his ipad and phone. I don't know what to do about it. I feel like I'm losing control of my son," she admitted sadly.

My heart went out to her. I nodded sympathetically, acknowledging the problem with her. "Do you think it's possible for you to cut back or even eliminate his access to all the gadgets? He's only 11 after all, and you are his mom. I know it's hard, but it might be the best thing to do for you to put your foot down and take away the smartphone and ipad. It might help mitigate his behavior."

She looked away. "I wish I could. It's kind of complicated. You see, I'm a single mom, because my husband is مفقود (lost). We came here from Syria when all the violence happened...without my husband. We don't know where he is now; we haven't heard from him since. My parents and siblings are here too, alhamdulellah, so they help me raise my son."

My eyes, at this point, were stinging with unshed tears. My heart was aching for her. I gave her a hug.

I said, "I am so sorry. الله يقرب البعيد (May Allah bring close the distant ones.) But alhamdulellah that you've got your family here to help."

"But they don't really help, not like you think. They are actually the ones who have given my son all the technology. They all feel bad for my son that his dad is gone, so they just give him a lot of stuff. When he's upset, they cheer him up by buying him a toy or a game or a gadget. When he gets good grades in school, they reward him with more stuff. My parents promised him that if he does well on his next test, they'll buy him the newest iphone. I keep trying to tell them that all these things are only making the problem worse, but they don't get it. My dad always says, "This poor boy is growing up without a father, and I don't want him to feel محروم, deprived. So we have to make it up to him." They make it up to him by giving him a lot of things."

I nodded, seeing her plight. "Well, their feelings are definitely understandable. But maybe instead of material things, can they just give your son time? Quality time together, having conversations, going places together, reading?"

She said, "No, they have everything but time. They own a limousine company, so they're always busy, always working. They are rarely around for that long. They have the business to run. I think that might be another thing they feel guilty about."

"Which helps explain further all the gifts," I said. "You know, this is a problem but insha'Allah it's fixable. It will require effort and determination, but you can do it insha'Allah. It's clear that deep feelings of guilt and grief are causing some serious overcompensating, which is only exacerbating the issue. You may need to have a serious discussion with your parents about how your son is doing, and the best way to come together as a family to meet his needs and to raise him in the healthiest way inshaAllah."

Unfortunately, this is not the only story I've encountered of a parent overcompensating when it comes to their child.

A few years ago, I met a mom of two young kids whose husband traveled a lot for his job. His trips (both in America and internationally) took him away from the family for long periods at a time. Just like the nurse at my doctor's office, this mother also had her relatives living near her, but they gave the kids free reign and tried never to deny them any requests, specifically because they felt bad that the kids were largely growing up without their dad present in their day-to-day life. So these kids ran rampant, acting entitled, demanding, and ungrateful.

The mother was complaining to me that she ends up bearing the brunt of the kids' behavioral problems, because she is the only one who attempts to say "No" to them. But the kids, beings kids, don't like to be said "No" to, and they often ignore her orders or whine or threaten to "tell Baba on her once he gets back!"

These kids actually threaten their mother with tattling on her to their father! This is straight manipulation.

The mother is now the bad guy. The absent father is the good guy, an image of him that's reinforced in his kids' minds every time he returns home with lavish presents and overblown gifts.

"My husband himself feels guilty about how often he's away," the mother told me. "So he overdoes it with the gifts for the kids when he comes back. He also lets them get away with murder, since he's not usually home to see them for long stretches at a time. So next to him, to the kids I look terrible! I don't shower them with gifts and I don't always say yes to their demands. So he's become this hero to them, and I've become a monster."

SubhanaAllah.

These two completely separate stories about two different Muslim families have one underlying factor in common: parental guilt, if unchecked, leads to overcompensating and major behavioral problems for children. There are so many cases like this.

You might think that you're helping the situation by giving the kids material gifts in lieu of the time or physical presence that you cannot give them--but in reality, this only makes the situation much, much worse. You are only alleviating your own guilt by showering the kids with more stuff than is good for them, while harming the kids even further by enabling their bad manners and steeping them in materialism.

Kids need more time than money from the adults in their life. When there is a problem, throwing money at it usually only makes it worse.

More than anything else, kids need our time and attention. They don't need as many gifts, or as many devices or gadgets or screens. They just need you, fully focused on them and present with them.

The solution to following unchecked emotion and over-compensating is to use reason and try to find balance. In the Quran, Allah the Exalted commands us often toward al-qist, القسط. For example, in the beginning of surat Ar-Rahman, Allah draws our attention to the perfection of the balance which He has sent down, by linking the notion of balance with the sky:

وَالسَّمَاءَ رَفَعَهَا وَوَضَعَ الْمِيزَانَ (7) أَلَّا تَطْغَوْا فِي الْمِيزَانِ (8) وَأَقِيمُوا الْوَزْنَ بِالْقِسْطِ وَلَا تُخْسِرُوا الْمِيزَانَ

"And the sky--He has raised it, and imposed the balance.

So that you don't transgress the balance.

So establish the balance with equity and don't make deficient the balance."

The sky and everything in it, everything about it, is precisely placed in a perfect balance. If the sun were just a tiny bit closer to the earth, we'd all be burned to a crisp. If the sun were just a tiny bit farther away from the earth, we'd all freeze. The sun, moon, stars, planets are aligned in a precise calculation, without shortages or imbalances. Everything within the skies is perfectly proportioned, and precisely measured. No transgressions, no excesses, no extremes.

No imbalance.

May Allah grant us the wisdom to ponder His ayaat and live them in our own lives, ameen.

Via Umm Khalid

#inspiration #relationship #muslim #patience #islam #parenting #parenting tips #kids

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quentinsquill · 4 years

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Fic: “Minor Mendings and Mistletoe” (The Magicians)

Minor Mendings and Mistletoe

Fandom: The Magicians

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3,057

Warnings: None

Summary: It’s Christmas at the Physical Kids cottage, and Quentin uncovers a piece of Eliot’s past that his friend forever thought lost. Can he make a connection with his crush and discover the truth about his magical abilities at the same time?

Author’s Notes: This is based on a drawing by @highkingfen that completely inspired me! I thank her for allowing me to write a fic based on her wonderful art. Check that out here, along with a bunch of other original and amazing designs at her Redbubble shop, FillorianQueen! Comments and kudos are magic and as always, enjoy!

Minor Mendings and Mistletoe

By Lexalicious70 (aka QuentinsQuill)

“Do we really have to do this?”

Quentin turned from opening several large cardboard boxes to see Eliot standing at the Physical Kids cottage bar, pouring himself a glass of wine and making a show of looking spectacularly bored.

“Come on, El! It’s Christmas!”

“Well technically, it’s February 15th, at least out in the real world,” Eliot replied. Margo opened one of the boxes and began to unwind several strings of multicolored lights as she scoffed in reply.

“Since when do you worry about life outside of Brakebills?” She asked, and Eliot frowned.

“Since you want to turn our cottage into some kind of cheesy Rankin Bass cartoon?”

“What’s so bad about Christmas?” Quentin asked as he unpacked a large artificial tree. “I like Rankin Bass animation.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Eliot sighed, then narrowed his eyes at Quentin as he opened his mouth to reply. “And don’t you dare compare me to the Grinch!”

“If the green fursuit fits,” Quentin muttered as he slapped dust from the front of his sweater. Eliot downed his wine, refilled his glass, and stepped out from behind the bar.

“By all means, proceed,” he said as he headed for the front door. “Just don’t ask me to participate!”

“Wow,” Quentin sighed as Eliot slammed the door behind him. “Who took a dump in his eggnog?” He asked Margo, who plugged in a string of lights and nodded as they came to life.

“Don’t mind El,” she said. “He’s not the biggest fan of Christmas.”

“How come?” Quentin pulled the legs of the tree stand open. While he’d only been living in the cottage for five months, he’d spent enough time with Margo and Eliot to feel like he’d gotten to know them as friends. Granted, he was a bit scared of one and was crushing hard on the other, but they felt like friends just the same. They had even tried to help him find his magical discipline, but to no avail.

Margo paused to pour herself a glass of wine and then filled one for Quentin as well.

“Without going into detail, El didn’t have the most ideal of childhoods. When you think of Christmas, what comes to mind?”

“I don’t know, uhm . . . snow? Going crosstown to check out the lights in Manhattan? Skating at Rockefeller Center with my dad when I was little?”

“Sounds like stuff right out of a Christmas movie,” Margo nodded. “But El’s parents were less about Christmas fun and more about the religious aspect of it. Lots of praying, lots of church services, and not a lot of decor.”

“That sucks,” Quentin nodded as he constructed the tree and began to fan out the branches. “But he’s an adult now . . . he can celebrate any way he wants!”

“I guess he doesn’t want to. Maybe he’s not okay with the memories it brings up, Q.”

Quentin paused and glanced over at Margo.

“How bad can church be?” He asked. “My dad is a lapsed Protestant so we didn’t really go once I turned like, ten, but . . .” He trailed off at Margo’s pointed expression. “Oh. You mean his parents . . .?”

“It’s not for me to give you details, Quentin,” Margo replied. “But let’s just say that some of the first magic lessons Eliot truly applied himself to was how to repress unpleasant memories.”

Discomfort twitched in Quentin’s stomach and he fell silent to focus on shaping the tree. Most of the cottage occupants had drifted away from the decorating efforts, leaving Margo and Quentin to unpack all the boxes. The ornaments had been collected from previous students who had left them behind and they now filled a cardboard box that used to contain a build-it-yourself desk.

“Damn!” Margo said suddenly from one corner. “Q, do me a favor?”

“What’s up?” Quentin asked as he finished assembling the tree.

“There’s an extension cord thing--one with all the plugs--up in El’s closet, up on the shelf above where he hangs his shirts. Grab it for me, would you?”

“Go in Eliot’s closet? Uhm--”

“Yes, go in his closet! Don’t worry about it, I’m giving you permission.”

Quentin glanced up the stairs. He knew Eliot had gone off somewhere to mope or flirt or whatever he did to avoid Christmas, but closets were personal things and the thought of stepping into that space, full of Eliot’s clothes, his scent, made Quentin’s heart vibrate against his rib cage like a frightened parakeet.

“Quentin! I’m standing on my fucking head over here!” Margo said from the corner.

“All right, okay! I’m going!” Quentin turned and headed up the stairs to Eliot’s room. There were only six people occupying the cottage this semester, so Eliot had only closed his door instead of locking it. Quentin turned the knob, guilt pricking his conscience.

Quit being so jumpy, he told himself. Margo told you to come up here, it’s not a big deal, so just grab the cord and don’t be so stupid!

Stepping into Eliot’s room was, for Quentin, like entering a space full of possibility. He took in the bed with its plum-colored duvet, the nightstand mirror edged with photos of Eliot and Margo, and, to Quentin’s great surprise, one of himself. He stepped closer to examine the image and saw himself asleep on the cottage couch, a Fillory and Further book spread open across his chest. He wore his Brakebill’s shirt, tie, and blazer, but the tie was undone and his hair hung in his eyes.

When the hell did he take this? Quentin asked himself. And why?

The possibilities were too overwhelming to contemplate at that moment so Quentin turned to the closet instead. The doors were tightly closed and Quentin swung them open. They folded aside and the smell of Eliot’s cologne, a mix of ocean water and sandalwood, wafted out, along with the scent of fresh clothing. Quentin glanced around like a guilty child sneaking cookies out of the kitchen before he leaned in to sniff at one of Eliot’s cardigans. It was well-worn, almost on the verge of shabby, but the fabric was softer than a baby’s blanket with repeated washings and Quentin allowed it to touch his cheek a moment before he pulled back and glanced up at the shelf above his head. He murmured a few lines of Arabic and let the magic fill him before he rose into the air, light streaming from his fingertips. He pointed them at the shelf and he saw the extension cord right away, coiled up in one corner. There were also a few dusty-looking hat boxes, a stack of magazines with nude men on the cover, and--

“QUENTIN!” Margo roared from the bottom of the stairs, and Quentin gasped as he lost his focus on the spell and the light sputtered and died. He pitched backward and gave a yelp of dismay as he grabbed the nearest surface--the closet shelf. The thing came free of its braces and Quentin shielded his face as he tumbled to the carpet and the contents of the shelf and the slat itself rained down on him.

“Shit!” He gasped as the slat slammed into his right knee and two of the hat boxes spilled open as they hit the floor. The erotic magazines fluttered down around him like wounded bats and Quentin blushed at the array of nudity scattered there.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” Margo demanded from the doorway. “What was that--oh, Jesus!” She snapped as saw Quentin laying among the ruins of Eliot’s closet shelf. “Haven’t you ever heard of a stepladder?”

“It’s your fault!” Quentin shot back as he got to his feet. “I was looking for that cord when you screamed at me! It broke my concentration!”

Margo rolled her eyes.

“I swear, you are the most fragile forest-type creature I have ever met!”

“I didn’t say it scared me, I said you broke my concentration!” Quentin began to gather the spilled contents of the hat boxes which, to his surprise, did not contain a single hat. Instead, Quentin found himself picking up jewelry, unopened packs of cigarettes, dozens of matchbooks, and a few items that defied description (at least in Quentin’s realm of experience) but looked personal enough to make him blush again. Margo picked up the shelf slat and replaced it, shoving the ends back into the casters. Quentin stacked the magazines and handed them over, and she gave him an amused look before tucking them back into their proper place. He glanced around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything and spied a smaller, square box that had tumbled almost all the way under the bed. Quentin bent over to pick it up and something inside gave a chiming rattle of broken glass. Margo glanced up.

“What’s that?” She asked, wiping a lock of hair from her eyes, and Quentin bit his lower lip.

“Whatever it is, I think I broke it,” he said. “Shit.” He popped the top open and peered inside to find a white-and-blue Christmas ornament, broken into at least four pieces. The outside was decorated with painted glass and overlaid with glitter. “It’s a Christmas ornament,” Quentin groaned. “Oh shit, Margo . . .”

“Maybe we can fix it, Q, let’s not panic!”

“What do you think he has it for? You told me he doesn’t even like Christmas!”

“Who knows. El can be secretive, even with me.”

“I think I have some clear glue in my--” Quentin censored himself, knowing Margo would give him that mocking smile of hers if she knew he owned a crafting kit, “--in my room. I’ll take in there, see if I can fix it before Eliot gets back.”

“All right, I’ll see what I can do about the tree,” Margo nodded as she left the room. Quentin carried the box into his room and shut the door before he opened his desk and took out a hinged wooden box with a hand-painted dragon on the cover. Inside was a crafting kit with a set of acrylic paints, scissors, rulers, a pencil set, and other crafting items. Quentin pulled a tube of clear glue from the box and went to inspect the ornament again, sliding the pieces from the box with care. It was broken into nearly even sections, almost like one of those chocolate oranges Quentin sometimes got his dad for the holidays, and he fit the edges together carefully. His stomach sank a moment later when he realized several small pieces would be missing, even if he did glue them. He wiped a hand over his mouth.

“Shit! Shit, shit . . . what am I gonna do?” He asked himself, imagining the look of hurt and anger on Eliot’s face when he saw what was obviously an heirloom, broken beyond repair because of his first-year clumsiness. Shame and panic burned in his throat and then his eyes flew open as a sensation began to fill his chest, like he was taking a breath big enough to inflate a bounce house. He’d felt this way his first day at Brakebills, when he’d made the cards fly around the room, but this was different--this was a warm glow that wore a halo of power, and he raised his hands without directing them. He watched, amazed, as his fingers and wrists worked and the broken sections of the ornament rose into the air, spun around each other, and them knitted themselves into place. The metal fastening that fit into the top of the ornament seemed to give a joyous leap before fitting itself in with a small popping noise. Quentin turned his hands, palms up, dark eyes wide and full of wonderment, as the delicate glass bauble set itself into them.

“Holy shit,” Margo’s voice said from the doorway, and he started and turned, holding the ornament to his chest.

“Did you see that, or did I imagine it?” Quentin asked, and Margo grinned.

“I saw it! You found your discipline, Q! The way your hands worked in a spell you couldn’t possibly know yet?”

“But what does it mean?” He asked, and Margo beckoned him.

“Come on . . . I”ll show you.”

Quentin paused long enough to put the ornament back into the box and carried it with him as Margo led him back downstairs, where she took out a leather-bound book.

“This is a listing of all the disciplines and their meanings . . .” She flipped a few pages and then traced a finger down one before she tapped a paragraph with a lacquered nail. “Here! Repairer of small objects.”

Quentin looked over her shoulder.

“That’s it?”

“Small broken objects are attracted to you, especially those that want to be repaired.” She glanced at the box. “I guess that includes Christmas ornaments.”

The cottage door opened a moment later and Margo and Quentin looked up to see Eliot sweep in, along with a gust of cold air. He unwound his dark woolen scarf and then paused, his eyes widening when he saw the box sitting on the coffee table near the Christmas tree.

“What the fuck--what do you think you’re doing with that? DId you go through my closet, Quentin?” He snapped, and Quentin took a step forward.

“El please, don’t be mad, I can explain if you just give me a minute--”

Eliot pulled a gilded pocketwatch from his vest, clicked the face open, and nodded.

“Starting now.”

“We were putting up the tree and-- and well, Margo asked me to get an extension cord from your closet so I used a spell that let me reach it, but uhm--I fell and other stuff fell too, including that box and--and I’m so sorry, I know I messed up but--” He retrieved the box and offered it to Eliot. Eliot snatched it away but then paused as he saw the ornament inside. He stared at it and then staggered a few feet to the couch, where he sat down hard. Quentin gave Margo a worried glance.

“El? What’s wrong? Did I screw it up? I wasn’t exactly in control of the spell, Margo said it’s my discipline--fixing small things, I mean. I’m sorry I broke it . . .”

“You didn’t.”

“Uhm--what?”

“You didn’t break it, Q. It was already broken. It has been, for years . . . ever since I was seven years old.”

“El . . . I don’t understand,” Quentin said, sitting down, and Eliot blinked tears from his eyes.

“When I was seven, my Grandma Dottie lived with us. She was my father’s mother, but infinitely more kind. This ornament belonged to her grandmother, then her mother, and then her. She always waited until the tree was nearly finished and then she’d hang it up. That Christmas, she asked me if I’d like to help her hang it. I was real excited because it seemed like such a big deal--you know how it is when you’re a kid and an adult asks you for help. I picked it up and ran to her--and tripped over an empty box.” Eliot sighed. “The ornament hit the corner of her rocking chair and broke.” He closed his eyes a moment. “I’ll never forget the look on her face. I might as well have slammed her heart into the floor. She tried to act like it was all right, mostly so my father wouldn’t punish me. Not that it stopped him.” Eliot took the ornament from the box, his big, elegant hands cradling it. “She died two months later, of a stroke. Died in her sleep. I helped my father make her coffin.” He held the ornament up to the light. “I hid the pieces in my room for years and then took them with me when I left home. I would try to use my telekinesis on them but they would never mend right. Either they would knit and then fall apart or the glass would bulge in all different directions. I put it in my closet, hoping one day I’d learn magic that would help me fix it.” Eliot looked up at Quentin and smiled. “Or that the right kind of magic would come along. I guess it finally did.”

“Do you want to put it on our tree?” Quentin asked with hesitation, and Eliot shook his head.

“No, Q. I want us to.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” Eliot rose and offered Quentin his free hand. The younger magician blushed, hope rising in his heart, as he and Eliot went over to the tree. Quentin fanned out an empty branch and curved it upward to give the ornament more stability while Eliot slipped a hook into the top of the holder. He hung it while Quentin held the branch steady, and Margo cleared her throat. Eliot glanced over and she tipped her eyes toward the ceiling, where a sprig of mistletoe orbited. Eliot followed her gaze and grinned.

“Looks like we’re standing under the mistletoe, Q.”

Quentin glanced up and his heart quickened its pace.

“Looks that way.”

“Well then. Who am I to stand in the way of holiday tradition?” Eliot bent his head down and claimed Quentin’s lips, causing the younger man to give a short gasp. He gripped Eliot’s forearms as he was kissed for nearly half a minute. When Eliot finally pulled away, Quentin kept a grip on his arms so he wouldn’t fall into the tree. Eliot tugged him into a hug and whispered in his ear.

“Merry Christmas, Quentin Coldwater.”

“Merry Christmas, El,” Quentin smiled as he watched the ornament wink in the glow of the Christmas tree’s lights, a minor mending that meant little to the world outside but repaired and illuminated a room of memories in Eliot’s heart.

THE END

#my fic #Queliot #Christmas fic #The Magicians AU

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tacitcantos · 5 years

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That Time The Dresden Files Was Still Accidentally Racist

youtube

Link to Part 1

In my last video I looked out how Jim Butcher’s Changes contains some troubling stereotypes about the maya, painting them as violent and their gods as demon vampires of the red court. I highly suggest going back and checking that out before continuing this video. In this one I’m going to look at why it’s troubling to cast Christianity as a positive and heroic force pitted against mayan vampires.

The Christian god exists in the Dresden Files universe, but has a very hands off presence. He does exert his power through subtle means though, and every Christian character, institution, or item in the series is unambiguously good and lacking in any kind of flaw. In Changes they’re also all positioned directly and explicitly against the red court.

The most blatant example of this comes in the final battle of the book at Chichen Itza. In the Dresden Files universe there are three holy swords that are physically incapable of being used for evil without shattering. One of Harry’s allies wields one in the battle, and at one point becomes possessed by a Christian angel or holy spirit, and shouts up at the red court vampires of outer night:

"False gods! Pretenders! Usurpers of the truth! Destroyers of faith, of families, of lives, of children! For your crime against the Mayans, against the people of the world, now will you answer! Your time has come! Face judgement Almighty!"

--Ch. 46, Changes

It’s important to place Changes’ representation of christianity in the broader context of media. In the last video I talked about how while human sacrifice was a legitimate portion of mesoamerican culture and religion, it’s overrepresented in media to the point where human sacrifice becomes the entirety of pre-columbian mesoamerica's identity and cultural legacy.

To illustrate why this is problematic, imagine for a moment if every representation of christianity focused on it’s obsession with sacrifice and suffering. And christianity does have just as much an obsession with both as the maya or aztec religions: Growing closer to God through suffering is a key aspect of christianity: it’s why martyr’s are so celebrated and turned into saints, why until the modern day mortification of the flesh through wearing a hair coat or fasting or engaging in self flagellation wasn’t unheard of among the clergy, and why even in the modern day mother Teresa believed in the beauty of suffering and may have withheld painkillers from patients in her care because of it.

And while drawing a thorned rope through the foreskin of your penis like mayan kings did for the prosperity of their kingdom rightfully sounds horrific, the ritual mutilation of genitals is one of the core tenets of another Abrahamic faith: circumcision in the jewish religion is not just a custom, but an actual covenant and contract with god.

But Christianity’s obsession with suffering isn’t something that’s reflected or engaged with in popular media. We may see Jesus on the cross in artistic depictions, but obsession with suffering doesn’t permeate and define Christianity in fiction the way human sacrifice permeates and defines mesoamerican culture and religion in fiction. For example, The Dresden Files puts a magical spin on only the positive aspects of Christianity, not the ones obsessed with suffering. As we discussed, christian characters and holy objects are unambiguously good in The Dresden Files.

These are the representations Jim Butcher chose, the side of christianity he decided to legitimize by giving magical weight in the books. In his fictional world we see vampire maya performing human sacrifices to quench their blood thirst, but we don’t see monks with backs bloody from the scourge performing dark rituals for Jesus, don’t see angels who want to cause mass suffering to kindle the light of god in people’s hearts, don’t see vampire conquistadors crossing to the new world so they can slake their thirst in the blood of millions.

That last image of conquistadors crossing to the new world and committing atrocities just so that a few souls could be saved through conversion? It’s not actually as fictitious as you might assume.

To fully understand why it’s problematic to cast christians as good guys against evil mayan gods, we have to look again at context and history. While nowadays we tend to think of the religious aspect of the conquistadors as a flimsy pretext in their true hunt for gold, the conquistadors were actually devoutly religious, and very much saw themselves as instruments of God. Here’s a passage from a book called 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus that explains it well:

Famously, the conquistador Bernal Díaz de Castillo ticked off the reasons he and others joined Cortés: “to serve God and His Majesty [the king of Spain], to give light to those who were in darkness, and to grow rich, as all men desire to do.” In Díaz’s list, spiritual and material motivations were equally important. Cortés was constantly preoccupied by the search for gold, but he also had to be restrained by the priests accompanying him from promulgating the Gospel in circumstances sure to anger native leaders. After the destruction of Tenochtitlan, the Spanish court and intellectual elite were convulsed with argument for a century about whether the conversions were worth the suffering inflicted. Many believed that even if Indians died soon after conversion, good could still occur.

--Pg 143

The conquistadors very much considered there to be a moral dimension in their actions, that they could save the souls of the maya from false idols. And in the world of the Dresden Files, they were right: the christian god was good, the maya were ruled by demons, and no matter how many had to die along the way, the conquistadors saved them.

The book never explicitly states this, but it’s the only logical conclusion to draw from the world Jim Butcher’s created. It’s not a leap: it’s all there on the page, validating the atrocities the Spanish committed. It’s the equivalent of writing that there was a cabal of evil jewish wizards that really were manipulating post war Germany, or that africans really were half ape creatures that worshiped dark spirits.

And look, there’s always going to be issues imposing supernatural elements on the real world, on putting a magical spin to real events. Doesn’t it always invalidate real world triumphs and tragedies to say it was really magic at work or some secret society? I don’t think so, but I do think it matters how you do it. To illustrate what I mean, let’s look at another fantasy book that has vampires superimposed onto the real world: Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter, 70% of whose premise is right there in the title.

In the book, ante-bellum plantation owners were in reality vampires who enslaved black africans to use as cattle. So why isn’t that problematic, if making mayan gods vampire is? The answer is history, and what side of the it the story is taking. While it can be argued that it’s problematic for a white writer to be appropriating black suffering for his fantasy novel and that turning the cruelty of real humans into monsters lets them off the moral hook, the underlying thematic message is sound: African chattel slavery was bad, and the people who did it were bad.

And that thematic message about slave owners being bad is a message we still need to hear because it’s not an open and shut case in America today that the south were bad guys or even that slavery was bad.

And it matters that Jim Butcher is essentially putting a magical spin on racist conquistador propaganda, because the Dresden files is a hugely popular book series: as any of the covers are happy to tell you, Jim Butcher is a 1# New York Times best selling author. Changes isn’t an english class short story that will be read by fifteen people, it’s a book in a massively popular series that was read by millions. When a book reaches that popularity level, everything in it has an impact.

And what is the impact of Changes? Obviously it’s impossible to track, but as I mentioned in the last video the maya are by no means a dead people or culture, with around six million living in central America today. What’s the impact on public perception of them from a book like this? Just as it isn’t an open and shut case for some people whether black slavery was bad, it isn’t an open and shut case whether hispanics broadly, and central Americans specifically, are culturally valuable. Not when refugees fleeing violence riddled countries are caged, not when the president repeatedly uses racist dog whistles to refer to them.

Like I said in the last video, I don’t think Jim Butcher did any of this on purpose. I think the air we breath is filled with culturally and racially problematic ideas and he didn’t question them: of course the maya gods were violent, of course the christian god is good, and isn’t the idea of vampire maya just too badass to pass up?

Ironically if he’d stopped to think about his bias’ Butcher could’ve easily written Changes in a way that would’ve sidestepped most of the issue without even having to fundamentally alter the plot. One way to do it would’ve been to shift the red court’s origin to conquistadors who came to the new world for slaughter.

It could even be a plot element that Quetzalcoatl or a proxy of his shows up in the final battle to help Dresden. I mean, it’s not that much of a reach: in the original book Odin shows up to fight in the battle at Chichen Itza.

None of this is to say you can’t like the Dresden Files, or even Changes specifically. Hell, I got caught up in Changes as I was rereading it for this video and forgot just how exciting and well paced the books are. But if fantasy means anything, then we shouldn’t pretend it doesn’t when we run into something we don’t like, shouldn’t simultaneously say it can inspire us and that it’s just mindless fun, shouldn’t shy away from the problematic aspects of it. If anything we should engage with it more, expect more from those authors and stories we love and value.

#the dresden files #dresden files #jim butcher #racism #video essay #book #fantasy series #meso american #mayan #aztec #christianity #vampires

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ringo-ichigo · 6 years

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An Essay on Historical Context and Oracles

Oh how to start this… Well, let’s put this simply: you cannot and should not divorce any gods from Their historical context and the religious practices that surround Them. If you want to draw from the past but update to the present, fine. But to ignore Their context is to do both the gods and yourself a disservice. We come to understand the gods better by understanding how They have been viewed and worshipped in the past. Through this, we can understand what is desirable in worship and what is not desirable. If you rip the historical context away, it shows that you view Them as a thing that you can control, to use as you will. You are acting as if you can make Them into what you desire Them to be, rather than coming to know Them as They are.

Now, I will be approaching this from a Hellenic perspective, so some of these beliefs will not apply to all religions. In Hellenismos, if you remember nothing else, you should always remember this: you are mortal, the gods are deities and thus above you, and to insinuate you are equal or know better than the gods is hubris. Hubris is the one thing that the gods consistently punish. But even if you aren’t involved with the Greek gods, let me be frank: if you’re worshipping something, this inherently places you lower in rank. To worship is to look up to, to acknowledge that something is more wondrous and powerful than you as a mortal. We worship the gods because They are beings more powerful than us and we love Them. We worship Them to show how much we admire Them, care for Them. We seek Their favor as we understand They can influence our lives. If one keeps this in mind, then to try to make the gods fit your own ideas should be abhorrent as it places you above the gods.

But I also dislike when people do this for another reason: it also claims that you know better than the hundreds of thousands of others who have worshipped a god in a certain way. It is self-absorbed and prideful to claim that you know a god better than others, both past and present. That you know better than any other person who was loved by these deities or received guidance from Them or worshipped Them. Nope, you are smarter than all of those people. You are a special person. It’s blatantly obvious when someone claims this that he wants to build up his self-esteem through this attitude.

Can someone be closer to a god than another? Absolutely. One easy example is devotees who choose to pursue deeper relationships with specific deities. But even if you are closer, to flaunt it or state that you speak for the gods as They really are, it’s cruel and disgusting. Cruel, because it can discourage those who aren’t as in tune with the less human. It rubs your perceived strengths in others’ faces, whether you intend to or not. Someone could lose their faith in part due to your boasting. It’s disgusting as it reveals a need for power, for respect, and even sometimes, for control. To be better than the masses, to impart upon them the “truth.”

Those who claim to have great power, such as being oracles, are often those who do not in fact have such powers or greatly exaggerate them. Because ultimately, they are boasting of them and trying to gain attention, not to use them. Those with true power often understand that it is not to be flaunted. That it is a great responsibility and should be used with great forethought and skill. Such power shouldn’t be used to try to dictate how others worship or act. Not to mention, if you are mistaken or wrong, you can lead others astray. The young or new are the most likely to fall for this because they don’t know better and will look for guidance. And to someone like this, a person claiming they speak directly to the gods are of course going to seem like the perfect authority figure. They will seem to be the perfect guide. And if this person is wrong, it can do far more damage than good.

Now to tackle the ultimate reason why I started this essay: to address the claims from @oracleforthegods and @oracleofapollo, but mostly the former’s claims. You have ripped the Theoi from Their historical context and from actual religious practices to mold Them into your own views. You’ve used your gifts not to serve as you claim but as a way to build up your own confidence and sense of self. When you’ve been shown to be flat out wrong, instead of apologizing and actually learning from those who have come before you, you’ve dug in your heels and tried to twist your own words to fit. “Well, I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t explain it well. I’m not good with words.” Oh, honey, you were perfectly clear. That’s not the issue here. It’s that your lies were transparent, and your goals were clear. It’s that you’ve become drunk on your bloodline’s abilities. You’re more concerned with what you can do than with actually honing it or using it well. If you had tried to hone it, you might have gotten some facts right instead of having to fit them retroactively to your narrative.

For instance, Aphrodite. Yes, She is a goddess of war. Not in the same way as Athena, and not as major an aspect of Hers, but still one of Her areas of influence. As people have pointed out, your words confused them on that. But instead of saying “Oh, I didn’t know that at the time” or saying that you needed to look into more, you tried to say “Oh… well, She’s not that way now. She hates war now.” Oh? So does She hate Ares now? In fact, I’d argue these epithets are still equally essential today. But rather than being a literal war, She’s a goddess of love and sexuality. Would it not be fit to say She would fight for those who are violated sexually? Not only does it tie into Her epithets for war, it ties into Her epithets of Apostrophia or “Averter of Unlawful Desires” and Symmachia “Ally in Love.” Specifically, Apostrophia was an epithet in Thebes that can also mean “expeller” specifically referring to the desire for sinful pleasure and lust. I view Aphrodite as an ally in that She will support you in all things relating to your love life including recovery. Not to mention, by your approach, it ignores that Aphrodite has deep ties to the sea as well. Because of Her birth, the Greeks also viewed Her as a goddess to seek for protection during sea voyages. An indication of this is that several of Her sacred places were in port cities. You have ignored historical context, and thus you have divorced Aphrodite from very vital and key aspects of Her cult and Her identity. Ultimately, it reveals that you in the end view yourself as an arbiter of what the gods actually can rule and through that attempting to control others’ religious practices.

Now while we’re on this discussion of epithets, let us discuss where most epithets came from. Many of them either refer to a place considered sacred to the god or even arose from a great deed the god did. For instance, Poseidon’s epithet Soter or “savior” arose because He saved Thessaly from the Persian fleet with a storm. The citizens then poured wine into the sea for Him, created a new cult around this epithet, and possibly even created the statue found off the Cape of Artemision as yet another thank you for all that He had done. To divorce Poseidon from this epithet would be to ignore an act of kindness from the divine. It would be to rob Him of worship. To ignore the epithets is to ignore the gods’ roles and contributions. It is to slight the divine and deny Them praise.

As to Apollon… oh, where to start. To lie about the god of truth? REALLY? Do you have a death wish? Let’s start with the “homophobia.” I already touched on this, but let’s delve a bit deeper into Hyakinthia as a festival. This festival is quite fascinating. For it actually begins and ends with mourning Hyacinth. Now, originally it was thought to be much longer, but the most well documented version we have is a three day festival that took place at Amyklai. This festival is in fact inextricably tied to the myth of Apollon and Hyacinth for it is all about Hyacinth’s death and rebirth. The Spartans would offer to the dead on the first day, a way to mourn Hyacinth. As one would with the dead, and is thus done in conjunction with Apollon as His male lover is struck down by His discus. Now, unlike most funeral rites, this was noted to be very solemn, with a lack of hymns, lack of flowers, and little food. Rather than rejoicing with a feast in the home as was more typical of funerary rites and other festivals honoring the dead; we see no feasting, rather just returning silently back to the house. A deep mourning is participated in as a city. The people mourn with Apollon at the loss of someone dear to Him. Then, the second day is dedicated to festivities. Hymns are sung to Apollon, and, in general, the day was solely praising Apollon for His glory. If we follow the myth, then this is possibly tying into the fact that Apollon transformed His lover into a flower. We rejoice not only at a great act of a god, but at the immortality of sorts bestowed upon the prince. Through Apollon, he is immortalized as a flower. This festival and myth are intertwined; one cannot participate in the festival without the myth to guide one. A festival that allows you to mourn with a god over His lost love. It is as with the epithets: unless one acknowledges the mythology here as accurate, one cannot then practice the religious festival with the proper intent. Yes, it can be seen as a festival of new summer growth, but we view it through the lens of mourning and rebirth from a deep love of a man. If you deny Apollon’s love for Hyacinth, you unravel the very basis of a religious practice.

Also, if Apollon really hated this “lie” about His preferences so much, don’t you think He’d have let us know long ago when there was an entire festival about it? Strange how it only comes up now, and only from you. While almost every other person in the religion who has interacted with Apollon has gotten the vibe of bisexual (if we must place a human sexuality on a god… that’s a whole ‘nother can of worms though. For this essay though, we’ll play this stupid game and use human labels for His sexuality. If/when I tackle the stupidity of human sexualities for the Theoi, I’ll do it separately.). Seriously, there are entire posts of about devotees sharing experiences with Him. One of the most universal ones is the romantic and sexual interest in men and women.

But let us take a step away from the actual religious side of this issue for a brief moment. Imagine you have some person you know—an acquaintance—come up to you and start drilling you about your ex-lovers. Exactly how intimate were you two? How much did you love each other? Did you really love each other? How did you know you loved them? And so on, all questions that were far too intimate for the relationship you have with this person. Most people start getting touchy if you bring up this sort of thing out of the blue and way too casually. Why? Because in the end, it’s none of that acquaintance’s business whom you slept with, how long you slept with them, why you slept with them, etc. Now add into that the baggage of sexuality and anyone will start snapping at you. And if it’s a sibling spreading the talk of your dating life? Oh, boy, I speak from experience here: it’s instant anger. Now, on top of the already intrusive nature of the questions, there’s a violation of trust and privacy. But I’ve had a few art pieces that involved Apollon that I got specific directions from Him on what He wanted. (If you’re wondering how I knew: I had gut feelings, images in my head, tarot readings, and a touch of a manic state.) Guess what? He gets touchy any time love comes up, be it a male or a female. And if this has been happening for millennia? Yeah, I’d be testy too.

But also, your words are that Apollon will flip out if you bring up Him loving males. And then you wondered why that got interpreted as you claiming He was homophobic. Since you’re not able to connect the dots here, that type of anger is frequently seen from people who genuinely are homophobic if you suggest they’re at all interested in the same sex. They will flip their shit if you do that. As my one friend sarcastically framed your representation: “I’m not homophobic… I just… imitate it well?” You didn’t have to state it was a homophobic reaction for everyone to see what you were inferring. Your responses also didn’t dispel that either; rather, they reinforced what you had said. But I will agree with the one who said it wasn’t homophobic. He’s right. It wasn’t homophobia. If we’re going to assign gods human sexualities, then it wasn’t about Him being homosexual so it wasn’t homophobia. Since Apollon would fall into the bisexual umbrella due to male and female lovers by that standard, it was bi-phobic and smacking of bisexual erasure. Color me, the bisexual lady, not amused and pissed.

Let us also pretend for a moment that you had stripped cultural and religious context with a deity from another country like Japan or Africa. Would you still feel fine ripping the cultural beliefs from the god in order to worship Them? Or would you be balking at this as it’s abhorrent to ignore the roots of the god? Newsflash: if you wouldn’t do it to another culture’s gods, don’t do it to the Greek ones. They still have a culture attached to Them, and you are ignoring it because you are familiar with Them due to the huge influence the Greeks have had on modern governments. Heck, if you want an example of what would happen with something more ubiquitous like the Greek gods, try doing this with Jesus. Strip him of all his prophesies from the Old Testament and his lineage and see how well the Abrahamic religions take it. Just because you’re familiar with something doesn’t make it up for the taking and stripping of context.

Now, let us tackle oracles. I don’t know where you came up with this, but I’ll be frank: oracles aren’t the interpreters. A traditional oracle was only the mouthpiece. For instance, the oracle of Delphi would go into her trance, she spoke her prophesy, and then a priest—not the oracle herself—would interpret the message to the petitioner. Similarly, dream oracles were much the same. One would sleep, one would share the dream, and a priest or someone else would then interpret the dream. Reading the signs of birds could also done similarly. Share and then be told the interpretation.

So why is this? Why didn’t oracles do the interpreting? Simple really. To be an oracle, a mouthpiece for the gods, often involved going into a trance or manic state. Not only can it be difficult for the oracle to recall what they said while in that state, it can also be complete gibberish. Not only that, it imitates the gods. (Gee, it’s like you can’t divorce religious practice from Them…) Yes, any god was considered capable of passing signs along, but the most common was Zeus. Apollon, His son, then was gifted with the art of interpretation. The whole oracle to priest tradition imitates Zeus and Apollon’s relationship. It is a reflection of the divine.

But instead you’ve set yourself up as both mouthpiece and interpreter. Which… let me just say, your interpretations need some work since some of them are so false that it’s just ridiculous. Aside from the two I’ve already tackled here, there’s also Zeus. The god of family, of marriage, of fathers, of justice, of government. And you claim He looks for loopholes in the laws to exploit? He is the one whose main job is to uphold the order of both the mortal and divine realms. It’s not just inaccurate; it’s insulting to claim Zeus would do that. It ignores everything from actual festivals to hymns to mythology to cultural practices! It actively spits in the face of all that to say that Zeus attempts to flout the law.

But you’ve also claimed that you don’t take on the role of oracle for glory. Bullshit. To be an oracle is known to be one of the most well-respected positions in any religion. To have access to the divine is considered something to be revered. One need look no further than the Oracle of Delphi to see how much oracles were respected. To claim that title is to claim that glory for yourself. But you know the difference between the oracles I’ve mentioned so far and you? None of them claimed it for themselves. Most oracles were selected by others. It was an honor bestowed, not something they self-identified as. To claim it and spread it around reveals you desire the power and fame it will bring you.

Also, as I pointed out before, with the title of oracle being inherently understood as a position of power, to step into that role is to assume that mantle of responsibility. Oracles worked with the gods and priests to guide people when they needed it. To step into that role means you will be looked to as a leader. You owe those people honesty and knowledge. Not as you know it, but drawing from that, the past, the future, and everything between. To have done little to no historical research… it’s a disservice to the office of oracles, to the people looking up to you, and to the gods you’re “serving.” It’s like barely knowing a person but trying to sell their qualities to an employer or potential partner. You don’t know them well enough to represent them accurately. You’ve scraped the surface and gone “What I learned in high school about the gods is good enough.” Never mind that this doesn’t touch at all on how the cultic practices arose, why we call the gods certain names, what the gods desire from mortals, or any number of other things. Just a surface level understanding is good enough for you. It couldn’t lead to misinterpretations or anything.

But you know the other reason why I know that you are in this for the power? Because you two took a god bringing up someone and turned it into an excuse to try your hands at a witch hunt. Because I heard through the grapevine that the person might have powers like yours. But instead of reaching out to see if you could mutually share tips, you made a post trying to get your followers to seek her out off a vague description. I also know through the grapevine that you two also had a first name as well. Which gets real damn close to doxxing. Gee, it’s almost like you felt threatened, like you feared being revealed as liars, like you worried more about your loss of control and power than listening. It’s almost like you revealed your hand there but tried to cover it by claiming “Oh, I was told to do this.” The gods don’t need you to fight their own battles for them. If someone is truly pissing them off, they’ll deal with it. Trying to claim you have to intercede here infantilizes the deities.

In closing thoughts, I see you’ve had some… financial difficulties. A lot of big ones back to back: house issues, hurricanes, fraud, scammers, and insurance issues. Random thought here, hear me out… have you considered whether these are a sign? Because personally, I saw them and went “Oooh… yeah, I think the gods are mad.” Considering that the person you tried to attack is a devotee to several gods, that you spread false information about the gods, that you’ve been claiming a sacred title as yours, and that you’ve been treating the gods like They’re yours to shape as you will... well, it lines up a bit perfectly. If I were a god, I’d be pissed off at this point. The hubris you’re exuding is incredible. Heck, I’m not a god, and I’m pissed off enough to write an entire essay about your appalling behavior. Personally, that much bad luck would make me stop and ponder. But instead of that, you’ve been digging in your heels and making merchandise that borders on offensive. (Yeah, I saw that too. Color me not impressed.)

#essay rant #call out

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alysaalban · 4 years

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Reiki 4 Symbols Incredible Diy Ideas

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What To Buy A Reiki Master

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#Reiki 4 Symbols Incredible Diy Ideas #Reiki Business Names

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lewigm-blog · 5 years

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Newsletter 3: Lima tell you something about Peru’s Capital…

Me trying to imagine and pose for a cute couple’s picture. Cat has to send me a picture of her sitting on some steps so I can photoshop her in. (Also I wonder what was going on with the couple behind me. I’d like to think that I captured a cute moment of them) Published April 16, 2019

Gypsy Music

“God is a gypsy who plays her violin

At the gate of my heart.

Hidden in the high thin notes of her wild music

is her longing for love.

She plays her rhapsody

Until the tears come… longing, longing to be invited in.”

- Sr. Lou Ella Hickman

After spending a short six hours at the Starbucks in Cusco, I finally finished my pre-Lima newsletter in Cusco… That is to say that I am only three newsletters behind now! I am excited to be writing going through my experience and time in Lima with a broader perspective on what the Lima trip has meant for me. The city has much life and is constantly moving with rushed vendors hopping onto moving buses on highways and throughout every street. Interestingly enough, traffic seems to function better than some major U.S. Cities. Everyone here is an aggressive driver, not much like Jersey or Long Island drivers in the ways they can be careless or distracted, but rather they drive with an attentive, but intense approach to driving. Not all conductors can be characterized this way, but I can say this much about the commercially employed and apparently licensed drivers.

Amidst the bustling movement of people and vehicles, I have been able to draw out three “themes” or questions that capture my time in Lima: Traffic, privilege and more traffic, “Why am I here?”, and “Bohemian Rhapsody” While some of the events and moments I describe while in Lima fall clearly into one theme, most others blend and find their place somewhere in between.

Traffic, privilege and more traffic

As my fellow first year community mate and I arrived in Lima, we were met with an overwhelming heat and cloudiness that pervaded each and every breath we took. It was as if Peru was letting us know that although we had come down 3,000 meters of altitude, we weren’t going to make it through the coastal region without some discomfort. In true volunteer fashion, we were provided with a cheap Altel “dumb” phone (which only worked on speaker phone) to communicate with our JVC community back home for anything migrations related. Another adjustment we had to make was navigating the city without access to consistent internet. We found ourselves downloading, screenshotting and even hand drawing walking and bus routes to move around. It became our nuanced approach to being simple living JVs in Lima.

One of the aspects that struck me the most about Lima was the rhythm and pace of the traffic and the Limeñan people. Our entire first day in Lima was spent attempting to understand the bus routes and system. We stayed at the “humble” Inmaculada Colegio located in Santiago del Surco, which was conveniently located near a major highway (Panamerica Sur Highway). The highways have bridges and other points of access so that pedestrians could make their way to bus stops. Bus companies in Peru tend to be privatized and have specific routes which only added to the confusion. The city of Lima had its own public bus company, but we never made it to that point in our time with public transportation. After failing to describe our destination to nearly 20 buses, we decided to hop on a random bus and see where it took us.

Once aboard, we zipped past several districts and areas of the city, both poor and underdeveloped and also drove through areas that were more touristy and gentrified. One region in particular, San Luis, had me disconcerted and would shift my perspective for the rest of my time in the city. As the bus drivers maneuvered through hordes of stagnant traffic, several passengers hopped on and off to get to their destination. One young man, about my age, made his way onto the bus and stood near a woman in a seat in front of my community mate. I initially thought nothing of him as he appeared to be just another passenger who, like most other Peruvians on public transportation, had little regard for personal space. He suddenly bent over and drew closer to this woman putting his arm around her, speaking to her as a close friend would. I couldn’t hear much of anything over the incessant car horns and chants of street vendors attempting to sell their goods, but after he spoke, the woman seemed distressed as she began to shake her head. He crouched down, and it appeared that he was comforting her. She then opened her backpack and he searched through it, taking out some money. He casually called over a bus vendor selling snacks and purchased a soda with her— I suppose now his—money. In a dramatic and cruel fashion, he opened and drank the soda in front of her, gasping in delight after consuming the first sip of his spoils.

If my description of this event so far hasn’t told you much about me, I am quite weary and observant of those around me, especially in unfamiliar territories. Perhaps it was the inner gringo in me or all the news media clips that my mom and other family members would share with me before arriving in Lima, but I feared for my own safety. In that moment, I felt that my decision to wear Chaccos, Touristy white cargo shorts and a Henle Long sleeve shirt was the worst thing I could’ve possibly done (Picture this but with a different shirt). I experienced an intense pressure and anxiety as my Americanness and privilege seemed surged up as if it was beach ball that I was trying to hide underneath water. I felt very out of place and wanted nothing more than to disappear. I had never seen a robbery in action.

What could I have really done? What if he approached my community mate? I only felt the sweat profusely leaving the pores from my hands onto my knees and shorts as these thoughts passed through my mind. Seeing what I believed to be a casual Jason Bourne-esque robbery on the bus, I only wanted to get back to Andahuaylillas. I struggled thinking about how I would travel the rest of my time in Lima. My community mate and I still had a whole 12 days in the city, and I wanted nothing more than to leave after our migrations process was over. I was never quite at ease during the rest of the trip after that moment but had to pull it together for migrations.

The next few days were spent drawing out maps to the tramites and customs office about an hour walk away. What we expected would be a process that would take a few trips and days was over in a matter of three hours. We left the Inmaculada early ordering an Uber from inside the Inmaculada to take us to the interpol and customs office. We thought we had arrived early enough but there was a long line of others waiting to be let through. One thing to note is that Peruvian lines can be complicated and generally disorganized, but we didn’t know that at the time. With a great wave and influx of Venezuelan refugees, things were backed up for everyone who may have just wanted to renew their licenses, ID’s and file any other paperwork. I was growing nervous after seeing other folks in line pulling out the same sheets of paper that looked completely different than ours. I thought that we had forgotten something back in Andahuaylillas and our trip would be for nothing!

When we finally reached the front of the line, an employee asked me where my papers were, and he noticed that my community mate and I had United States passports. He then loudly exclaimed “Oh you’re AMERICANS?! Why didn’t you come up front and say so?!” and then he took us inside. As we walked past several offices and groups of people, we were told that we had waited in the Venezuelan line and we would be tended to shortly. The process afterwards was clear and simple. We were fingerprinted, had our teeth checked and signed a few documents. Within a few hours we were out of the interpol offices and I was to check up on my religious carnet in a few weeks back home in Cusco. It seemed like an easy process for us but there were many Venezuelans still in lines and I wondered how long they would be there.

For those who may not know, Venezuela is going through an economic, political and humanitarian crisis. The “President” Nicolás Maduro has allowed for much corruption to go unchecked for years, leaving many to flee the country so that they can provide for themselves and their families. Many Venezuelans seek refuge in nearby countries such as Ecuador, Bolivia, Colombia and Peru. Many of the street and bus vendors in Peru today are Venezuelans hoping to make some money to meet up with family in other countries, or to simply feed themselves for the day. It is both sad and amazing to see the resiliency and positivity of many Venezuelans who are grateful for every sale and donation.

During my trip with the tourist bus company PeruHop, I met a Venezuelan named Luis in Paracas who was working in a hostel we stayed at. He fled the country as things were starting to get violent and desperate and he told me how grateful he was to find employment and a place to stay. Most of Luis’ friends and family weren’t so lucky. Oftentimes, even if they managed to leave Venezuela, they struggled finding consistent employment.

The sentiment and tensions that some of the Limeñans had towards the newly immigrated Venezuelans weren’t helpful during the mass migration. During mass at the Inmaculada, some Catholics grumbled about parables or readings that welcomed the stranger and foreigner. This crisis has been going on since Hugo Chavez’ presidency in 2010. It has been nearly a decade and the issues have yet to be resolved. The distaste and disapproval of their migration seemed ironic to me because just a few decades prior, Venezuela had opened its borders to receive Peruvians. I suppose it surprised me to witness a distaste of migrants and refugees in another country. These issues are present everywhere I suppose.

Why am I here?

This question of “Why am I here?” came up often during my time in Lima. After our migrations experience took only a mere 3 hours to accomplish, I wondered what we were going to be doing for the next 12 days. My community mate and I decided to spend a few days on the safe and touristy bus company called PeruHop. It took us to the beach town of Paracas, near the Ballestas Islands or better known as “The Galapagos of Peru.” We also stayed in Huacachina and the area of Ica, home of the largest desert oasis where spent an afternoon looking at the sunset after sandbuggying. This was definitely an experience that I would normally enjoy but given the reason I had come to Peru in the first place, seemed to contradict the JVC value of simple living and solidarity with the people we served.

This was a difficult discernment process because it wasn’t a decision that affected solely myself, but my other community mate as well. I had not been accustomed to living a life of much travel, vacation and privilege before. As some of you may know, I was raised with my brother by a single mother who had sacrificed much to ensure that we were provided with the necessities. Here and there money would be saved up to take a trip to the free Knoebels family park or on the rare occasion, to Dorney Park. Time off and vacationing wasn’t the norm for me, and it was difficult to discuss with my JV community mate since our upbringings were starkly different. I constantly had to ask myself, “Is this really simple living? Why am I spending more than 3 months’ worth of stipend for a trip that most of the people in the Quispicanchi region will never experience? Am I doing this because I want to or to appease the community?” Questions like these surged constantly and left me feeling uneasy and resentful.

I understand that I have many differences with others, but I struggled to find a balance between our different gustos (tastes) and interests during our time in Lima. It was a particular challenge being just one on one with that person, but I (eventually) realized that I was at odds with my community mate because we are different people. I understood the saying “You learn a lot about yourself and others when you travel with them.” It was certainly an intense way of experiencing this saying as it was two people.

I have found that this whole arranged marriage part of the Jesuit Volunteer experience was difficult because well… it’s arranged! In my life, especially leading up to my departure, I tried spending most of my time and energy with the people I cared for the most. I had no problem leaving an event or kindly declining invitations to spend time with acquaintances. I simply did not have the time to casually be wasting time, or at least that was how I bluntly rationalized that decision. I spent time with the individuals who I would consider true friends, the people that gave me so much life and added value to me as a person. I believe that I may have brought a bit too much of that no-acquaintance attitude into Peru. Naturally, I didn’t realize this completely on my own. I had the help of some Jesuit apartment mates for two weeks at the Inmaculada.

Bohemian Rhapsody

Contrary to my earlier descriptions, not all from my trip was a negative experience. I had a wonderful time within the walls of the Inmaculada. With it being the start of the “summer vacation,” the colegio was empty and quiet. The only sounds came from construction, much like the University of Scranton during the summer. Life was still going on, but at a much slower pace. Any other noises would come from the aforementioned Zoo, but mostly from the bird exhibit. Macaws and Peacocks would constantly shriek and call out throughout the days and late in the evening. I never quite grew accustomed to those sounds because they were always foreign and unexpected in the super city.

The time I would spend in the Inmaculada before and after exploring the city with my community mate was a time to order my life and for calm reflection. This was both good and bad because I would have a lot of time on my hands to think about why I am here, which was a frustrating question to ask. I felt that I was just wasting my time and struggled to understand what this time in Lima really meant. I was at odds with my community mate on how to navigate the city. I struggled with the value of simple living after paying for three months’ worth of stipend for PeruHop. I wanted to start working and although I recognized that I would (eventually) appreciate my time adjusting into Peruvian life, but that didn’t make going through it any easier. Interior conflict and resentment was a brewin’ and what I needed was some spiritual direction.

I found that during those times I would write and converse with the Jesuit brothers and priests who stayed in the Inmaculada to reorient myself. I discovered much life and joy within the Jesuit milieu in the mornings around the dining room. It was a time that I would chat with my new source of inspiration and passion for food, Olga. I would always cook an egg in the kitchen so that I could preview what was to come for lunch and hear about her life in Venezuela. I also noticed the routines and particularities of some of the Jesuits. One Jesuit would always have a fruit, perhaps a granadia or a sliced apple, while reading the paper. Another would always ask Olga for an over easy egg. As she would make his egg, he would toast a slice of bread, spread butter and pour olive oil, made from the Inmaculada’s own olive trees, onto his toast. Quite a unique way to do breakfast, but my community mate learned another way to spread butter!

Everyone had a routine and I realized that it was something that I longed for myself. I began asking them about their lives and roles in Lima. Some Jesuits were simply passing through, while others were more permanent residents working within the schools in the area. I really enjoyed my time with the director of the Inmaculada, Father Oscar. He was the parish priest who originally brought JVC to Andahuaylillas. I also enjoyed speaking with Monsignor Alfredo Vizcarra, the bishop in Jaen. His story was particularly interesting because he was sent to work in Chad, where he founded 17 Fe y Alegria schools. He had no particular desire or interest to go to Chad, but that is where he was sent, and he was able to make a difference there. Monsignor Vizcarra told me that although his mission had many successes, the journey was not without any challenges or failures. In that moment, I related to this because I hadn’t clicked particularly with any of my community mates. Perhaps I wasn’t as open to the experience to learn and grow within the JV community as I had once thought…

“Hidden in the high thin notes of her wild music is her longing for love…”

This was an experience of God; a chord was faintly being played that I recognized, something I could hum along to. The initial feelings that I had when I was called to enter this JV experience resurfaced and I felt renewed to be challenged as a person to grow for and with others. The sound that beckoned me brought with it much excitement and fear. It was a call to be more able to find God in all things. In that conversation with Alfredo, I had also asked him about his motivations for joining the Jesuits. He told me that he was called early on in life, but with a well-maintained prayer life and dialogue with God, he found solace as he left his studies of law for the Jesuits.

As he continued to speak, I questioned and began revisiting my faith life and relationship to God. Was what I had only a technical or academic sense of faith? Do I really believe that I am a Catholic? Can I say confidently that I own my faith, that I have a relationship and prayer life with God? I realized that the answer wasn’t clear just yet. Up until that point I realized that I didn’t have a defined and clear relationship with God. I don’t know if anyone ever does reach a constant state of nirvana, but I felt that perhaps I wasn’t even trying. I merely appreciated what the Catholic faith life had added to my life. Sunday masses helped provide an orientation for my life one week at a time. Ignatian Spirituality appealed to me because of its intellectual approach to faith and life. It was as if I was stuck with only talking about Faith, God and sharing stories and reflections of my life without ever being clear that God was at the center of it all.

“At the gate of my heart…is her longing for love…longing, longing to be invited in…”

I didn’t believe in the faith with all my heart. I saw its goodness and potential, but I was not ready to accept it. This was the challenge for which I felt called to face during my time here in Peru. It was also a call to see God in other people as well. I realized something surprising about myself during this reflective period. I had been used to taking on the responsible, big brother role within my family and I was beginning to show some of that with my community mate at times. I had come into this volunteer experience with expectations and desires for what I wanted a Jesuit volunteer to be. Naturally, when those expectations weren’t met, I was going to be inevitably frustrated. I had not given myself or my community mate the space to discover this new world and chapter in our lives. It wasn’t fair of me to do that, and it is something that I have slowly been improving on.

My conversations with the Jesuits and my brief experiences of prayer after that night gave me something more focused to work on; To be truly open to witnessing and hearing God’s call to not only love others, but to allow myself to accept the ways in which others want to love me. I hope that with time and effort, I can continue to explore and renew the commitment to a healthy and holistic relationship with God. To nurture a relationship with the God that is always there, the God that is always beckoning us to let Him in, even when and where we least expect it.

“Is this the real life? Is this just Fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality. Open your eyes, look up to the sky and see...”

Gypsy Music (Or what I call “God’s Bohemian Rhapsody”)

“God is a gypsy who plays her violin

At the gate of my heart.

Hidden in the high thin notes of her wild music

is her longing for love.

She plays her rhapsody

Until the tears come… longing, longing to be invited in.”

- Sr. Lou Ella Hickman

A group of international PeruHop friends after winning Trivia Pictured (Left to Right): Jenz (Our Danish sugar daddy who paid for our drinks) Jary (Holland Native who came for Peru’s international car derby Dakar, Also loves Chipotle more than anyone I know even though he’s only been there once), Jack (An Australian student just traveling and balling on a budget) Me (Inhaling to look decent in the apparently medium sized shirt) Phyllis (My community mate who killed the celebrity part of Trivia) Margerite (German free spirit who was such a kind soul)

The view from the Olive Cerro at the Inmaculada. It was cloudy but a spectacular view nonetheless

Links to Photos:

Lima: https://photos.app.goo.gl/HnVHCALVR6naKB7s6

PeruHop Adventures: https://photos.app.goo.gl/rpkFB8eWsf677aUB8

#JVC Peru IgotroadsinLima

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lohveandfilm · 5 years

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Hedwig and the Angry Pursuit of Self-Love

The syllabus says this week should be focused on our initial attempts to “define” love. I could list off the top of my head probably dozens of films that portray an exceedingly simple concept of love (most of which would be rom-coms). Hedwig, on the other hand, doesn’t provide a simple definition of anything, let alone love. I thought about focusing this blog on the different forms of romantic love we see in Hedwig’s life (Tommy, Luther, Yitzhak), but I was really most fascinated by how Hedwig and Tommy’s dynamic exposed the inner conflicts of Hedwig’s relationship with herself. As we discussed in class, Tommy is the ultimate blank slate for Hedwig; she can mold him to be the perfect performer, partner, lover. I was struck, though, by the fact that this wasn’t the first time the idea of a “blank slate” arose in our conversation. Even before we got to Hedwig, we mentioned a real-life blank slate: Keanu Reeves. Although the mention of Keanu was in reference to his acting, this coincidence made me consider the idea of love in the context of celebrity culture, how that relationship applies to Hedwig and Tommy, and what love of a celebrity reveals about self-love.

I’m less embarrassed than I used to be to admit that the form of love that I’m most familiar with is love of a celebrity. From the time I discovered the Jonas Brothers at age 9 and decided that I would marry Nick one day, there’s rarely been a period of my life where I haven’t had a significant “crush” (admittedly leaning towards obsession) on someone who I would consider famous. As I’ve gotten a bit older and lose the somewhat protective status of “teenage girl” – a group that is often ridiculed* but is at least provided some leniency on the assumption that they’ll “grow out of it” – I’ve started to think about why I find myself so attached to a person I don’t know and, in all likelihood, will never know. Can it even be considered love? It certainly contradicts the idea of love being reciprocal, considering the beloved doesn’t even know the lover exists. The question that always has always bugged me on this topic is wondering if you can truly love someone you don’t know on a personal level, even if you’ve watched and read interviews to the point where it feels like you know them.

At this point, I’ve settled on the notion that a celebrity provides the perfect balance of blank slate and real person; enough of their personality is public that the illusion of “knowing” is maintained, but the rest is left to your imagination, filling every gap in knowledge with an idealized projection of the person they might actually be. Hedwig, similarly, takes what she knows about Tommy and adds to it, making Tommy both a real person and a figment of her imagination. She wants Tommy to be someone with whom she can have both a romantic and creative partnership. Of course, nearly all of Tommy’s creative persona is supplied by Hedwig: she wrote the songs, gave him a stage name, provided his image. She’s also probably the reason Tommy became anything other than a God-fearing military brat for the rest of his life. It’s in this way that Hedwig’s relationship to celebrity deviates from that of a typical attraction. She created the object of her desire, molded it to be nearly perfect until she lost control. Tommy stole her songs and ideas and became famous without Hedwig by his side. In a way, though, Tommy was still following the blueprint Hedwig drew for him. Fame was always part of the plan, but why?

While it seems like Hedwig is in love with a famous person, perhaps she is actually in love with fame. Can a person be in love with fame as a concept, though? Diotima singles out fame as an ultimate goal of love-driven acts because it guarantees immortality beyond the lifespans and memories of our offspring. That is why humans engage in loving relationships at all, so they may climb the ladder of love and end up at a point where they “discern a certain single philosophical science” (Plato’s Symposium, 41) focused on the truly beautiful. Hedwig’s pursuit of Tommy in the name of fame, then, is for a philosophically pure reason. Their creative exchanges are like the speeches and debates of Plato’s time, leading them closer to beauty and knowledge. However, my perception of the characters was that Hedwig provided nearly all of the creativity. How would this imbalance work in the ladder of love? The relationship cannot be one-sided if it is to achieve the ultimate goal. Maybe, though, the relationship does actually have two parties, even if Tommy’s own thoughts and feelings do not constitute one of them. Could Hedwig be both parties?

Tommy is essentially the perfect representation of what Hedwig wished she could be as a young boy. Hansel loved the Jesus cartoon, sang constantly, and dressed effeminately. Tommy is a religious fanatic who takes the stage in makeup and extravagant, shiny clothing. Really, if Hedwig had simply waited a year for the Berlin Wall to come down, or if her mother hadn’t crushed her desires at every turn, she may have emerged into the world as Hansel and become famous in the way that Tommy did. Hedwig, therefore, has recreated her masculine being in Tommy. Hedwig, the feminine being, needed to be reunited with the masculine side she lost. In the “Origin of Love,” Hedwig/Hansel would have been a child of the moon, separated by the Iron Curtain. Was Hedwig’s love of Tommy really an attempt at self-love, then? Even if it wasn’t intentional, I would argue that Hedwig’s creation of Tommy could be seen as an endeavor by Hedwig to accept the feminine and masculine aspects 0f herself through the conversations and philosophical exchanges demonstrated in the Symposium. This is hinted at just as Hedwig draws the cross on Tommy’s forehead, when she moves the mirror in front of her face until we see half Hedwig and half Tommy. Tommy’s movement of the mirror to block Hedwig’s face could even be symbolizing that Tommy is Hedwig’s true form, what she wants to see when she looks in the mirror.

I think she finally achieves this at the end of the film, when she refuses the wig and walks naked into the night, embracing her non-traditional experience of gender and, consequently, the melding of the personalities she’s built in herself and in Tommy. Although I’m sure this is not how Plato intended his story to be interpreted, we have to constantly update our understanding of these tales to a modern context to continue exploring the true meaning of love. The concept of love hasn’t changed since ancient times, but we have. In order to reconcile our reality of love with that of Plato and Socrates, we must, as modern readers, find the similarities in our stories to find the deeper threads of truth.

*The phenomenon of being a teenage girl is defended beautifully in How to Be Famous by Caitlin Moran, which also addresses the idea of loving “a famous.”

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augustusatmousai-blog · 7 years

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Para || Afterglow

WHO: August + Eli WHEN: A few months ago WHERE: August’s house WHAT: (A little NSFW.) A lot of discussion and getting to know each other better (while naked in bed in the afterglow, because fitting). UNFINISHED

Eli, spent and satisfied, rolled over to stretch out on August's big bed, still basking in the afterglow. Damn but the man was great in bed. And on car, on counter tops... Turning his head to look at him, Eli rested a hand on his own stomach and smiled. "You're good at this. Better than I expected, since you have 'I'm a straight guy' written all over you." Leaning over, he kissed August's bare shoulder, then gave it a teasing bite as he grinned up at him. "How long have you been into guys? And don't bullshit me, I know you were married and you're from the south and you've got this whole alpha male thing going on. Combo speaks to closet living."

Augustus would've usually gone still and clammed up at the topic but he felt fucking fantastic, and he was so sated that nothing felt off the table at the moment. "Should've still had 'fantastic, attentive lover' in much brighter letters." Which was clearly his ego speaking, but it's not like Elijah didn't know that he had one. His fingers went up to run through the other man's hair as he turned a little on his side to face him. "Since I was 11. Not really the sort of thing you talk about, or explore. Never did all that much about it until after my marriage was officially unspokenly open and on the way to ruined, but it's been around a long time. You can bench press me with one arm and I'm the one bleeding alpha male?"

Elijah: "Oh, well that too. Got a lot of space for big neon letters, you know. I think I see 'smartass' somewhere on there too." He leaned as if looking down at August's ass, and in fact it was a pretty decent view. Reaching down to grab it, he pulled the man just a bit closer and kept his hand there. He listened, watching August's face as he spoke. "Eleven? And you're from South Carolina? That's rough." Even in NYC there had been discrimation growing up, perhaps especially because of the neighborhoods he grew up in, but from everything he knew about the southern bible belt he had nothing to complain about. "I'm so gay I can't even think straight. Doesn't matter how many muscles I got, it's still pretty fucking obvious what I'm into." Leaning in close, Eli nipped his lower lip. "Right now, that's you. Are you out to your folks?"

Augustus wiggled his ass and presented it a little, very clearly showing off for the sake of the joke. "Please feel free to write it on my ass anytime you feel the need to. It was pretty shitty, even if people were pretty chill about it there were still more than a handful that'd happily chuck you to the wolves and lay it all out for the tabloids as a scandal. Or the bible thumpers. Lot of those." Not that August didn't still have the religious aspects buried somewhere deep in his bones but it wasn't anything similar to what he'd grown with as far as he was concerned. "Specially obvious when you're checking me out. Have we completely stopped even being subtle about the constant sexual appetite? I've stopped counting how often we're gay together." The tone was still light hearted but he had to force it when his parents were brought up. "On their best days they just don't give two shits what I do as a whole, on their worst days I'd probably end up getting a lecture about the Bible and my reputation. Haven't hidden it from them but I definitely never told them to their face."

Elijah: Turned on his side and facing August, Eli rested his head on his bicep and took it all in. They were naked in bed together, having a conversation about some pretty personal shit, and August hadn't kicked him to the curb yet. He had no doubt the man would be polite and courteous if he did, but Eli was starting to relax and feel welcome despite some of his preconceived notions. "Ah, good old bible thumpers. You should memorize scripture and recite it right back at them sometime, the reaction is great." He kept his hand on August's ass and squeezed as he raised his brows. "Us? Gay? Whatever would give anyone that impression? You know, I think it still counts as just one good gay time, since we've been gay for each other since we met." Now he was just having fun trying to fit the word in as much as he could. The thought of August's parents not giving a shit about him, though, had Eli's brows drawing together and his mouth pulling tight into a somber expression. "That sucks, man. I'm sorry. My mom knew as soon as I did, maybe even before then, but she and J and I are tight."

Augustus darted in enough to kiss Eli as close to the lips as possible. It was something he didn't usually do, the whole casual affection thing, but he was starting to get more fond of it by the minute. "Tried that a few time but the splutters usually ended in someone threatening to call my mother. Which really would be the definition of hell and they just didn't get that." It was hard to stop the chuckles that turned into full fledged laughing which turned into belly laughs and it took him a few minutes to calm back down. "No, no, god, stop I'm gonna choke!" He clutched at his side, finally collapsing a little closer to Elijah as the topic got heavier. "Yeah? What was it like growing up with that? Did the support help with the whole... coming to terms with things?"

Elijah: Eli grinned wide as August laughed, the sound like music to his ears. Goddamn it was nice, to make him laugh and smile like that, and it surprised Eli how much he wanted to do that again sometime, and then keep doing it for a long while. Focusing on the now, he drew August in closer to him and moved his hand up to his waist to hold him, thumb drawing circles in his skin. "I didn't have anything to come to terms with, you know? It wasn't some existential crisis for me, once I got to the age where kids start thinking people are attractive, I was attracted to guys and not girls. My mom, she's always been respectful, so I grew up hearing shit about being gay but not from her, and since she's the smartest woman I know I took her word for it and not anyone else's." Leaning in, he kissed along the man's shoulder lightly, barely-there touches of lips without any goal in mind. "I got lucky, though. I started to get that in high school, that people aren't as smart as my mom."

Augustus: Augustus shuddered briefly under the touch and arched up into it, only trying to get some hint of connection being solidified. Like a reminder of everything that'd happened that evening but a little safer for anyone else's eyes. "Yeah? That must have been so damn amazing to not have that worry hanging there. Not influencing everything you do." Maybe there was a little jealousy there but nothing that he'd let show through anytime soon, nothing that Augustus planned on focusing on. His head tilted back to give Elijah easier access to his throat and encouraging it even. "They're not but one parent who's like that is enough that it should be enjoyed. Nothing like most every other parent that I've ever met, but that just sort of... signifies just how great she is. Did she ever hate a boyfriend of yours?"

Elijah: Eli moved his hand to August's lower back, a playing his fingers out to cover more surface area and then gently massaging the muscles there. "There's always something to worry about, but yeah. I'm glad that wasn't." He heard the tone in August's voice, continuing the kisses along his shoulder and neck. He chuckled against the warm skin, shaking his head. "Yeah, most of them. No one was ever really good enough for her boys, but she made damn sure we lived up to that. The only one either of us dated that she really liked was Belle, but I think that had more to do with her being a lost kid than J's girlfriend. Mom has a soft spot a mile wide for that sort of thing. She'd like you, though."

Augustus considered it exactly the warm comfort that always seemed to radiate from Elijah. The man bled warm and now was definitely no exception. "Not surprising if you're anything to go by. Takes a certain kind of person to help people on the daily, to help with pain and suffering and not let it get to them, make them bitter and twisted." It's something he'd noticed a lot in his parents' richer medical-profession friends and it'd taken a long time to learn it wasn't just the money that made them that way. "She'd like me? Why?" August was only someone parents liked when he was putting on a front, typically, but he was also more used to the standard cookie cutter parents than a real parent who genuinely gave a shit about people.

Elijah: "It's part of the job," he said, but the reality was that he chose the job because that was part of him. It just so happened to mesh well, trying to make people feel better and the medical profession. Talking about his mom always made him smile and he hid it in the crux of August's neck, giving him a hickey just above where his collar would fall. Someone would notice later and know that he'd been with someone, and it excited Eli that it was him. "Same vein as Belle, you're a lost soul. Or at least she'd see it that way. In her estimation anyone with too much money ain't getting enough love to counteract it." Taking his lover's hands and pressing them to the pillows above his head, Eli rolled on top of him, careful not to let his whole weight down. "Can we quit talking about my ma now? It's starting to get weird."

Augustus 's fingers ran another path through Elijah's hair and settled at the base of his neck with fingers properly tangled. "She's not wrong. Wouldn't mind letting a mama fuss over me a bit," Augustus admitted, free hand trailing over Elijah absentmindedly until he had a semi-lapful of Elijah and the grin came back easily. "Only got weird when you got frisky," he teased as his hands found a familiar resting place on the man's ass and held him in place. He leaned up for another kiss and let it linger for more than just a few beats. "Would you rather discuss the boner I've currently got digging into my thigh?" God, it was stupid easy to fall into this familiar want with Elijah, easy enough he didn't hesitate to seek out the areas that he knew were going to make him react with such familiar noises.

Elijah: "Maybe I'll try to fly her out here soon, she's never been to California and might get a kick out of it." And the idea of his mom meeting August, strangely, didn't phase him in the least. Although why would it? They were just friends anyway. Eli dropped all thought of his mother as August grabbed his ass, automatically rocking his hips against the other man. "I would rather discuss you. Get to know you better." He tried for more kisses, glad for their close height because it meant not having to bend or adjust. And god, there was so much more room to work than in his car. "So you've known for a while you're bisexual. Unless your wife was a beard?"

Augustus was admittedly excited at the prospect. Having never really had close family of his own the idea of someone treating him as such was exciting - even better if it was someone who he was already really close friends with like Elijah. "You can ask whatever you'd like to know," Augustus assured him, hands going to both sides of his hips to hold him in place and get the most out of the positioning. "Not a beard. Pretty sure I'm biromantic and more homosexual if the internet is to be believed. Guess biromantic and bisexual would work? There's a lot of terms, I'm really not sure. Is that weird?"

Elijah: "Look at you, with all the self-aware terminology! It's not weird, not at all." He shook his head, bending again to catch August's lips in a brief kiss. "I'm impressed. Most people, anyone who doesn't hang out the internet anyway, just kind of goes for the typical box that gets closest. Gay, straight, lesbian. No extrapolation or examination of the boxes." Hands wandering up the man's chest, Eli smiled down at him and shook his head. "You're new to this though, yeah? This," he said, indicating himself and the room as if implicating the whole situation without saying the actual words

Augustus leveled a look at Elijah but snorted out a laugh instead of smacking out at him. "Google was my friend. Sterling was also a huge help since he's as gay as they come and knew a lot about the LGBT scene and the terminology surrounding it. Kind of brought me a list when I mentioned being confused.." Which had been a constant source of anxiety growing up, but now that they were older it wasn't quite as big of a deal as it used to be, especially since Sterling was good enough at charming the higher society that most people didn't care. "Yeah. Very new to this." Not that he knew exactly what this was but August was new to it either way. He tugged Elijah in for a kiss and used it to distract himself briefly from the heavier conversation. "Well, this this. Not sex with a guy," he clarified, though he still didn't try to pinpoint what "this" really meant.

Elijah: "Sterling huh? Any chance you can introduce us? Only if he's as hot as you." Eli grinned along with the joke, and it was a joke. Not only was he absolutely not that shallow, despite his weak spot for guys who look like August with the confidence to match, he somehow couldn't imagine up and fucking August's best friend. His smile softened against his lover's mouth and he deepened the kiss, sinking into it wholeheartedly. It wasn't just sexual, and it wasn't just because he liked to kiss, but because of the man he was laying on top of. Hell, he didn't know what all of it meant either, just that he wanted to keep doing it. The mood felt heavy, too heavy suddenly, and Eli shifted so that he was between August's legs, pushing them out to the sides with his hand under the knees, his erection pressing against August's ass as his voice took on a teasing tone. "But you're definitely a top."

Augustus "He can't hold a candle to me on his best days." August's grin was cocky but he took it as the joke that it was. If anyone could, it'd be Sterling - or Elijah - and he knew that all too well. It was all too easy to sink into the mood that had his mind racing to try and figure out when and where it'd switched over into something much more serious. There was no real one place he could pinpoint but August figured that it was one-sided, at least for now. That was something to have a genuine discussion over and that hadn't happened yet, and maybe it wouldn't, he didn't know but didn't want to push or rush anything either. The movement brought an unintentional groan and head falling back. "Top. Yeah, top. Never done it any other way."

Elijah: Eli liked August cocky, liked that he knew how hot he was and how much Eli wanted him, even on a bad day. If the man ever had bad days, which Elijah was seriously starting to doubt. The big reveal that August had never bottomed before wasn't all that surprising to Eli - he'd been with a lot of guys, and while they were all individual there was a pretty obvious difference between the ones who liked strictly to top, the ones who just liked to bottom, and the ones who didn't particularly care as long as they got dick somehow such as Eli himself. Although, August's reaction wasnt exactly a negative one. "Yeah? Why's that?" He didnt want to goad August into doing something he wasnt uncomfortable with, and hell the man probably wouldnt be able to take him even if he wanted to at that, so he tread carefully. Even so, his hands slid down August's thighs to his ass, spreading him so that the tip of his cock could brush his hole, watching his face to see how that went. "I won't lie, having you inside me feels amazing."

Augustus couldn't deny that if felt good. Not as good as being on the opposite end of things but it was just enough for there to be a shudder that went through him, a thought that started to form even if it didn't complete himself. "I...." For a second, Augustus wasn't really sure if he should be honest, since he knew how it could come across, especially given why he tended to think the way he did. "Wasn't very manly, y'know? Already screwing with what my parents want by being into guys, it felt like even more of a betrayal to... Be on the.... receiving end. Didn't feel right." For a second he could do nothing but whimper but August tried desperately to keep his body from betraying him. "Tell me when and where and I'll fuck you silly anytime you want." His voice had gotten gravelly low, and he knew it.

#miaapara #augustus: Paras #paras: Elijah

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