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stesierra · 9 months

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Writeblr ReIntro!

I'm posting a new intro because now that I've been on Writeblr a little while, I realize how much information I left out! Hi, I'm Stephanie, I live in the desert with my husband and baby and three cats, and I'm an ace, bipolar fantasy writer! When I was a kid, they said I had ADHD but then I got my Masters degree in biology, so they claim I can't have it. Online tests say I'm probably autistic.

I used to write sci fi twelve years ago but only low tech sci fi about weird aliens, which nobody likes. Now I write fantasy novels! Lots of fantasy novels! I am beginning to post them on my website so if you want to read them, please keep an eye on this post.

My books often but not always have some romance (either m/f or f/f because I prefer female protagonists.) Since I'm ace (and demiromantic), my interpretation of romance and attraction is not exactly what you'd expect from, say, a romance novel.

I am not going to tell you about all my books! I've written eighteen! Four of them are shelved forever! Here's some recent ones (written or revised since 2018) that I haven't given up on. Please ask me questions about them! I LOVE talking about my books! Also, if you want to be added to my taglist for writing samples let me know! Please also tell me if you're interested in alpha or beta reading and for which book! Mutuals only, please!

My books are beneath the cut! As I add WIP intros, I'll update this list with links.

Cast Out

YA fantasy! On her sixteenth birthday, Zisha is cast out of the Plenary Cities for the crime of being born deaf, like her grandmother before her. In the wastelands, she meets Thesil, a depressed and bitter young woman. Zisha wants nothing to do with her — until she sees Thesil's face in a vision. But before she can find out what the visions mean or reach her grandmother's holdings in the wastes, the plague returns to the Plenary Cities. If the disabled really caused the plague thirty years ago, and were cast out to stop the spread, how can it be back when all of them are outcast?

Status: Finished. Being serialized.

WIP intro here.

Now being serialized here. First five chapters up, one posted weekly.

The Bone Queen

This is my NA fantasy about the aftermath of freeing an undead queen and her skeleton army. They take over the kingdom, of course! The main character, Elise, is trapped in Bandrum palace by Aubrey, the ghost who tricked her into falling in love and freeing him (plus everyone else.) He's an animated skeleton now with plans to marry Elise and force her to carry his children. The bone queen has promised him she'll make it happen. Too bad no one cares what Elise wants. If only she had magic of her own...

Status: undergoing a rewrite after developmental edit. Was 109k before revisions. Not available for beta reading.

Draft number? Hahahaha. It has two complete sequels (The Spellbound King (106k) and The Matriarch's Daughter (96k)) I must also rewrite. This series is going to kill me but I love it. My mom, who loves everything I write, complained that it was weird. I'm very proud.

WIP intro here.

First chapter here.

School of Souls

This is my YA contemporary fantasy about a boarding school in the Bighorn Mountains! It's supposed to be a place parents can send "bad" teens to have their problems sorted out, but secretly the founder is using it to train the kids as sorcerers. Even more secretly, the school devours the souls of the students sent there, and the teenagers who graduate aren't the same as the ones who arrived... Warning: does include teenage addiction to sleeping pills and ghosts and and parental death. It's going to have sequels but I haven't written them yet.

Status: Complete first draft. 83k. Available for alpha reading.

WIP intro here.

First chapter here.

The Many-faced Princess

This is YA fantasy with a historical vibe but set in a made up world. Vaguely inspired by ancient Phoenicia. It's about Princess Ameryi, who was blessed by the genderless trickster god, Akihel, to be able to change her face. If her father the king ever found out, he'd have to execute her, of course. Akihel is just plain evil. All the other gods say so. A daughter who's their champion? Impossible. An abomination. So Ameryi will just have to make sure her father never finds out. That was easier to do before the Asirtinsa Empire threatened to invade and her father sent her to secure an alliance with a neighboring king. She's supposed to marry him. Not steal his face and frame him for murder. But sometimes plans just don't work out.

This book was supposed to be about two lesbian princesses who frame the king for murder so they can elope, but both princesses decided to be ace and there was nothing I could do.

Status: Complete first draft. 83k. It's going to have sequels but I haven't written them yet. Available for alpha reading.

First chapter here.

Map here.

Court Phoenix

This is my NA fantasy! Kerra is a blacksmith's apprentice. Not because she wants the job, but because her mother sold her future to him when she was still a toddler who crawled into live fires and giggled as the flames consumed her clothes. Now she's a woman, trapped by the expectations of her family and her village. Until one day, a phoenix crash-lands and dies in her arms. When it's reborn, it chooses Kerra as its keeper. Soon, her dreary future is swept away. A princess from Skyfire, the moving city, offers her a job in the royal court. How could Kerra refuse? Her family's claims that she'll die if she ever leaves the village are just manipulative lies. Aren't they?

Status: Complete third draft. 104k. Available for beta reading.

First chapter here.

The Revenant Trilogy

Adult fantasy. Solving a murder should bring good fortune, but all it brings Mindral Thideet is disaster. Her fame and peaceful life as head researcher at the city of knowledge end abruptly. In retaliation for her investigation into his crimes, Payar Cheref, the head of the powerful Cheref family, burns her beloved cousins alive and scars her face. The scar marks her as a revenant, a body possessed by a godkin, one of the gods' evil children. Her life as a researcher is over. All that's left is revenge.

No one believes her when she denies that godkins have any power over her. But godkins, real ones, are far closer than she realizes. Tearing down Payar Cheref could destroy Mindral, her family, and the nation itself.

-The Halfway Revenant (rewriting draft 4) 120k. Not available for beta reading.

-The Soul-Seer (draft 2) - 130k

-The Godkin's Gambit (draft 2) 121k

First chapter here.

As Immortality Fades

Adult fantasy. Five hundred years ago, one of the immortal and unpredictable Valteifur visited the kingdom of Kathild and granted the young queen Nelone immortality. But there was a catch. She'd live forever, youthful and strong, just so long as her subjects were happy. For centuries, she's met her part of the deal. But when the Valteifur returns to check on her progress, he grants her a new gift: the resurrection of every single person in Kathild who's died in the last two hundred years. Then he disappears.

There aren't enough houses for them all. There's not enough food. And winter is here.

Status: Complete first draft. 98k. Available for alpha reading.

Bi MC, enemies to lovers.

First chapter here.

Stitches and Memories

This one's adult fantasy. Antea's father ripped her mind apart, left her for dead, and vanished twelve years ago, and she's going to find out why. But when constables try to kill her and strange truth magic grows inside of her, hunting her father starts to look like suicide. Too bad going home isn't an option.

Status: I exchanged this with a critique partner and now it embarrasses me. Fourth draft. 122k. Available for beta reading.

Trigger warning: magic seizures

First chapter here.

WIP intro here.

Triangle Park

Contemporary Fantasy. I have no idea who it's for. An elf exiled to the middle of nowhere ends up stuck with an unexpected child. It's about reluctant parenting and protecting the needy. And elves and faeries slumming it in a mobile home.

Status: Complete first draft. 86k. Available for alpha reading.

First chapter here.

Mud-Child

Adult fantasy. Rebeka has always heard that a woman who goes through menopause loses her spark (the magic that lets her create children). If she's had children, it just makes the neighbors a little more fertile. But Rebeka never wanted a man, and she never wanted to raise a child. Not since her twin sister died and her beloved Suza left her for a man. The problem is, the spark leaves a childless woman differently, everyone says. A bitter hag? She'll curse her neighbors. A sweet dim biddie? She'll give her spark to inanimate objects and create a monster. Rebeka doesn't know which she is, but she believes it's a myth.

That was before the clay in her clay pit woke up and called her mother.

Status: Third draft. 109k. Needs a rewrite! Not available for beta reading.

First chapter here.

WIP intro here.

I GUESS I'M WRITING A NEW BOOK

The Giant's Gamble

First chapter here.

I started writing this on Friday the 13th, 2023. LET'S SEE HOW LONG IT TAKES TO WRITE WITH A BABY.

Short stories

The Unfamous Dead

VERY OLD CRAP

The Scribe and the Sphinx

Adult historical fantasy

Status: second draft. Shelved for good. 85k.

The Adrift series

The River's Drift. 100k.

The Waking Mountain. 106k.

Low-tech alien sci fi. Shelved for good.

My first book whose name I forget. About 50k. Exists only as a hard copy in my parents' house.

Taglist so far (tell me if you want to be added or removed)

Tag list for everything

@harleyacoincidence

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@the-dragon-chronicler

@teacupsandstarlight

@vorskra

@wrenofthewords

@amostdelectablescribbler

@mysticstarlightduck

@phantommill

@gracewritesbooks

@aziz-reads

@owlsandwich

@symbioticsimplicity

@squarebracket-trick

@koala2all

@rmgrey-author

@atomatowriter

@cheerfulmelancholies

@delusionisaplace

@janec23

@writing-is-a-martial-art

@authortango

Just chapters and snippets

@da-na-hae

For The Many-faced Princess

@deadlyessencewhispers

@serenanymph

The Halfway Revenant

@acertainmoshke

For Stitches and Memories

@space-writes

@acertainmoshke

The Bone Queen

@janec23

@holdmyteaplease

@digital-chance

@thecrookedwriterspath

@tea-and-mercury

@coven-archives

I love you all!

#writeblr intro #oh my god this is long #why did I write so much #why did I do this to myself #writeblr #writing #writing community #creative writing #fantasy #writers of tumblr

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ffxivtribehydrae · 2 years

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GETTING TO KNOW THE MUN

NAME: Sally

NICKNAME: Enyo or Dusk(y). Also used to be called Angel long ago

FACECLAIM: I claim my own face

PRONOUNS: She/they

HEIGHT: I am 169cm

BIRTHDAY: 3rd of September

AESTHETIC: Rain, dragonflies, autumn, ancient forests and fields of gold, all of these things have very dear meanings to me as well

LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO: #1 by Imagine Dragons. While writing this I am listening to Auro’usk’s playlist!

FAVOURITE MUSE(S) YOU’VE WRITTEN: All my muses have had their time in the favorite spot, and they keep switching one another out from time to time. It all depends on who I am feeling most in the mood for. Though Dusk and Dubus have occupied the favorite spot for the most time!

GETTING TO KNOW THE ACCOUNT:

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO TAKE ON THIS/THESE MUSE(S): I swear it all started as a joke and suddenly I had six kids in my arms that I all gave individual and personal development. I was simply having fun without really thinking about how much work I was taking on. But guess what? I don’t regret it and keep filling in more characters.

WHAT ARE YOUR FAVOURITE ASPECTS OF YOUR CURRENT MUSE(S): To cut it short, I love how the they are all connected as brothers with similar pasts yet are so incredibly different, be it in personality, story, desires and challenges. Whatever mood I am in there is one there I can turn to.

As for the non brother characters, like the brothers’ dad, the twins and my recently added bun boy... Ozodug (dad) is just a whoel fresh adventurer, a little like starting over, which is lots of fun. Zyyn (and Baruun) Himaa are just pure comedic relief and so much fun to write along with @neoma-eltanin, even if writing them is a challenge. Verihiirensammal is essentially the only character I made specifically for plot reasons, so he is unique and special in front!

WHAT’S YOUR BIGGEST INSPIRATION WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING: My characters? Is that a valid response? The freedom to use your imagination, the joy of simply creating. You grow kind of attached to the excitment of developing them and their story when you spend years thinking about them.

FAVOURITE TYPES OF THREADS: Honestly anything that provides something to one or both characters. Be it a heart to heart, an activity to bond over, a short reunion, something to fight about, etc. Best if there is a healthy mix of all kinds of possible scenes!

Tagged by: @sundered-souls

Tagging: @adellennehocoleux @tracytigress @umbralsound-xiv @cadrenebula @under-the-blood-moonlight and really anyone else, just tag me so I can read!

#meme #mun #most important #I am here to simply have fun and watch others have fun with similar interests #I might not interact much #but know that if I follow you #I appreciate your creativity!

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pazodetrasalba · 1 year

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Charm and Strange - from quarks to thoughts

Dear Caroline:

One of my habits, and a useful one for my profession (as it gives me provocative ideas to get the students talking) is to try to read at least one book a year that is really, really far from the things I believe in and cherish, so it's sort of a self-induced trigger, but also a test of my beliefs (Tyrion: A mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge). I gather that you are one of those persons that really enjoys intellectual jousting (you mentioned as much in a post were you explained the pleasures of the rationalist community), but you also sharpen the edge somewhat by expecting yourself and others to follow-up on their rational conclusions.

This comes to mind because reading what you posted above, which I interpreted as you assimilation of the Rationalist Jedi Mind Tricks that have allowed you to internalize the very weird and frequently shocking and unpalatable sequiturs of Utilitarianism / Rationalism / EA -at least that is how they feel from my perspective. Stuff like poly, obsessing with AI, conflating practical with moral judgements, of the 'harvesting organs from a healthy person and any other ends-justify means' type, or rigorously trying to quantify the value of human and animal life. I have been reading some articles about Peter Singer's thought, as he seems to be the main intellectual referent for EA, and find myself so at odds with much of it that he certainly deserves a place in my 'triggering reads' booklist. I would be grateful for a specific recommendation on any one of his volumes.

It would take me too long to nitpick some of my disagreements, but I imagine the most fundamental one stems from my rejection of his axiomatic assumption that the good of any one individual is of no more importance than the good of any other. I mean, this might be obvious from a certain abstract perspective (humans are generally equal in mental capacity and basic worth, and ought to enjoy the same set of basic rights) but I feel is at the same time deeply morally wrong, and that some individuals (and precisely because they are seen as individuals, not as indistinct cogs of an abstract Totality) can legitimately stake a greater claim to our moral support: our family, our friends, our neighbors, those who we can interact with at a personal and human level. I've developed a certain scepticism for 'love for humanity when it is not concrete and grounded, probably as an afterthought of what some of the unpleasant consequences this can effect. Here rings very true for me that Kantian maxim of always treating others as ends in themselves, and not as means, each with intrinsic value and dignity and irreducible to some number or classification algorithm (or in Granny Weatherwax's words, “Sin, young man, is when you treat people like things. Including yourself. That's what sin is.”) .

A very interesting (and ancient!) take on this which I have read about is that between the philosophical confrontation between Confucianism and Mohism in 5th century BCE China, where the Mohist proclamation of indistinct universal love as their key idea and policy goes head to head with the other sides's beliefs in distinctions. i think you would enjoy the Mozi greatly. I recently made a review of it which you can watch if you feel piqued. Whether it be Mozi's, the Gospel's or Utilitarianism's demand to love everybody in the same way, and dream on how wonderful the world would be if such a theory become a fact, I can only scratch my head and ponder at the impossibility -and from my personal stance, even undesirability- of such a world.

Quote:

And it is love that opens our eyes to the true source of the worth of persons: their inner preciousness, unrepeatability, and uniqueness. It is precisely a glimpse of the unrepeatable uniqueness of another human person that inspires love. Once this glimpse is achieved and love springs forth in the soul — as it does like a surprising gift — that love then has the remarkable power of allowing you to see more clearly and deeply the unique preciousness, as well as the humanity, of the person you love. That vision in turn inspires more love.

Peter J. Colosi

#caroline ellison #contrarianism #my issues with utilitarianism let me show you them

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yamayuandadu · 3 years

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Circe by Madeline Miller: a review

As you might have noticed, a few of my most recent posts were more or less a liveblog of Madeline Miller’s novel Circe. However, as they hardly exhausted the subject, a proper review is also in order. You can find it under the “read more” button. All sorts of content warnings apply because this book takes a number of turns one in theory can expect from Greek mythology but which I’d hardly expect to come up in relation to Circe. I should note that this is my first contact with this author’s work. I am not familiar with Miller’s more famous, earlier novel Song of Achilles - I am not much of an Iliad aficionado, truth to be told. I read the poem itself when my literature class required it, but it left no strong impact on me, unlike, say, the Epic of Gilgamesh or, to stay within the theme of Greek mythology, Homeric Hymn to Demeter, works which I read at a similar point in my life on my own accord.

What motivated me to pick up this novel was the slim possibility that for once I’ll see my two favorite Greek gods in fiction, these being Hecate and Helios (in case you’re curious: #3 is Cybele but I suspect that unless some brave soul will attempt to adapt Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, she’ll forever be stuck with no popcultural presence outside Shin Megami Tensei). After all, it seemed reasonable to expect that Circe’s father will be involved considering their relationship, while rarely discussed in classical sources, seems remarkably close. Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women and Apollonius’ Argonautica describe Circe arriving on her island in her father’s solar chariot, while Ptolemy Hephaestion (as quoted by Photius) notes that Helios protected her home during the Gigantomachy. Helios, for all intents and purposes, seems like a decent dad (and, in Medea’s case, grandpa) in the source material even though his most notable children (and granddaughter) are pretty much all cackling sorcerers, not celebrated heroes. How does Miller’s Helios fare, compared to his mythical self? Not great, to put it lightly, as you’ll see later. As for Hecate… she’s not even in the book. Let me preface the core of the review by saying I don’t think reinterpreting myths, changing relations between figures, etc. is necessarily bad - ancient authors did it all the time, and modern adaptations will inevitably do so too, both to maintain internal coherence and perhaps to adjust the stories to a modern audience, much like ancient authors already did. I simply don’t think this book is successful at that. The purpose of the novel is ostensibly to elevate Circe above the status of a one-dimensional minor antagonist - but to accomplish this, the author mostly demonizes her family and a variety of other figures, so the net result is that there are more one dimensional female villains, not less. I expected the opposite, frankly. The initial section of the novel focuses on Circe’s relationship with her family, chiefly with her father. That’s largely uncharted territory in the source material - to my knowledge no ancient author seemed particularly interested in covering this period in her life. Blank pages of this sort are definitely worth filling. To begin with, Helios is characterized as abusive, neglectful and power-hungry. And also, for some reason, as Zeus’ main titan ally in the Titanomachy - a role which Hesiod attributes to Hecate… To be fair I do not think it’s Hesiod who serves as the primary inspiration here, as it’s hard to see any traces of his account - in which Zeus wins in no small part because he promises the lesser titans higher positions that they had under Cronus - in Miller’s version of events. Only Helios and Oceanus keep their share, and are presented as Zeus’ only titan allies (there’s a small plot hole as Selene appears in the novel and evidently still is the moon…) - contrary to just about any portrayal of the conflict, in which many titans actually side with Zeus and his siblings. Also, worth noting that in Hesiod’s version it’s not Oceanus himself who cements the pact with Zeus, it’s his daughter Styx - yes, -that- Styx. Missed opportunity to put more focus on female mythical figures - first of many in this work, despite many reviews praising it as “feminist.” Of course, it’s not all about Helios. We are quickly introduced to a variety of female characters as well (though, as I noted above, none of these traditionally connected to the Titanomachy despite it being a prominent aspect of the book’s background). They are all somewhat repetitive - to the point of being basically interchangeable. Circe’s mother is vain and cruel; so is Scylla. And Pasiphae. There’s no real indication of any hostility between Circe and any of her siblings in classical sources, as far as I am aware, but here it’s a central theme. The subplots pertaining to it bear an uncanny resemblance to these young adult novels in which the heroine, who is Not Like Other Girls, confronts the Chads and Stacies of the world, and I can’t shake off the feelings that it’s exactly what it is, though with superficial mythical flourish on top. I should note that Pasiphae gets a focus arc of sorts - which to my surprise somehow manages to be more sexist than the primary sources. A pretty famous tidbit repeated by many ancient authors is that Pasiphae cursed her husband Minos, regarded as unfaithful, to kill anyone else he’d have sex with with his… well, bodily fluids. Here she does it entirely because she’s a debased sadist and not because unfaithfulness is something one can be justifiably mad about. You’d think it would be easy to put a sympathetic spin on this. But the book manages to top that in the very same chapter - can’t have Pasiphae without the Minotaur (sadly - I think virtually everything else about Pasiphae and Minos is more fun than that myth but alas) so in a brand new twist on this myth we learn that actually the infamous affair wasn’t a curse placed on Pasiphae by Poseidon or Aphrodite because of some transgression committed by Minos. She’s just wretched like that by nature. I’m frankly speechless, especially taking into account the book often goes out of its way to present deities in the worst light possible otherwise, and which as I noted reviews praise for its feminist approach - I’m not exactly sure if treating Pasiphae worse than Greek and Roman authors did counts as that. I should note this is not the only instance of… weirdly enthusiastic references to carnal relations between gods and cattle in this book, as there’s also a weird offhand mention of Helios being the father of his own cows. This, as far as I can tell, is not present in any classical sources and truth to be told I am not a huge fan of this invention. I won’t try to think about the reason behind this addition to maintain my sanity. Pasiphae aside - the author expands on the vague backstory Circe has in classical texts which I’ve mentioned earlier. You’d expect that her island would be a gift from her father - after all many ancient sources state that he provided his children and grandchildren with extravagant gifts. However, since Helios bears little resemblance to his mythical self, Aeaea is instead a place of exile here, since Helios hates Circe and Zeus is afraid of witchcraft and demands such a solution (the same Zeus who, according to Hesiod, holds Hecate in high esteem and who appeared with her on coins reasonably commonly… but hey, licentia poetica, this idea isn’t necessarily bad in itself). Witchcraft is presented as an art exclusive to Helios’ children here - Hecate is nowhere to be found, it’s basically as if her every role in Greek mythology was surgically removed. A bit of a downer, especially since at least one text - I think Ovid’s Metarphoses? - Circe directly invokes Hecate during her confrontation with king Picus (Surprisingly absent here despite being a much more fitting antagonist for Circe than many of the characters presented as her adversaries in this novel…) Of course, we also learn about the origin of Circe’s signature spell according to ancient sources, changing people into animals. It actually takes the novel a longer while to get there, and the invented backstory boils down to Circe getting raped. Despite ancient Greek authors being rather keen on rape as plot device, to my knowledge this was never a part of any myth about Circe. Rather odd decision to put it lightly but I suppose at least there was no cattle involved this time, perhaps two times was enough for the author. Still, I can’t help but feel like much like many other ideas present in this book it seems a bit like the author’s intent is less elevating the Circe above the role of a one note witch antagonist, but rather punishing her for being that. The fact she keeps self loathing about her origin and about not being human doesn’t exactly help to shake off this feeling. This impression that the author isn’t really fond of Circe being a wacky witch only grows stronger when Odysseus enters the scene. There was already a bit of a problem before with Circe’s life revolving around love interests before - somewhat random ones at that (Dedalus during the Pasiphae arc and Hermes on and off - not sure what the inspiration for either of these was) - but it was less noticeable since it was ultimately in the background and the focus was the conflict between Circe and Helios, Pasiphae, etc. In the case of Odysseus it’s much more notable because these subplots cease to appear for a while. As a result of meeting him, Circe decides she wants to experience the joys of motherhood, which long story short eventually leads to the birth of Telegonus, who does exactly what he was famous for. The final arcs have a variety of truly baffling plot twists which didn’t really appeal to me, but which I suppose at least show a degree of creativity - better than just turning Helios’ attitude towards his children upside down for sure. Circe ends up consulting an oc character who I can only describe as “stingray Cthulhu.” His presence doesn’t really add much, and frankly it feels like yet another wasted opportunity to use Hecate, but I digress. Oh, also in another twist Athena is recast as the villain of the Odyssey. Eventually Circe gets to meet Odysseus’ family, for once interacts with another female character on positive terms (with Penelope, to be specific) and… gets together with Telemachus, which to be fair is something present in many ancient works but which feels weird here since there was a pretty long passage about Odysseus describing him as a child to Circe. I think I could live without it. Honestly having her get together with Penelope would feel considerably less weird, but there are no lesbians in the world of this novel. It would appear that the praise for Song of Achilles is connected to the portrayal of gay relationships in it. Can’t say that this applies to Circe - on this front we have an offhand mention of Hyacinth's death. which seems to serve no real purpose other than establishing otherwise irrelevant wind god is evil, and what feels like an advert for Song of Achilles courtesy of Odysseus, which takes less than one page. Eventually Circe opts to become mortal to live with Telemachus and denounces her father and… that’s it. This concludes the story of Circe. I don’t exactly think the original is the deepest or greatest character in classical literature, but I must admit I’d rather read about her wacky witch adventures than about Miller’s Circe. A few small notes I couldn’t fit elsewhere: something very minor that bothered me a lot but that to be honest I don’t think most readers will notice is the extremely chaotic approach to occasional references to the world outside Greece - Sumer is randomly mentioned… chronologically after Babylon and Assyria, and in relation to Persians (or rather - to Perses living among them). At the time we can speak of “Persians” Sumerian was a dead language at best understood by a few literati in the former great cities of Mesopotamia so this is about the same as if a novel about Mesopotamia mentioned Macedonians and then completely randomly Minoans at a chronologically later point. Miller additionally either confused or conflated Perses, son of Perseus, who was viewed positively and associated with Persia (so positively that Xerxes purportedly tried to use it for propaganda purposes!) with Perses the obscure brother of Circe et. al, who is a villain in an equally obscure myth casting Medea as the heroine, in which he rules over “Tauric Chersonese,” the Greek name of a part of Crimea. I am honestly uncertain why was he even there as he amounts to nothing in the book, and there are more prominent minor children of Helios who get no mention (like Aix or Phaeton) so it’s hard to argue it was for the sake of completion. Medea evidently doesn’t triumph over him offscreen which is his sole mythical purpose. Is there something I liked? Well, I’m pretty happy Selene only spoke twice, considering it’s in all due likeness all that spared her from the fate of receiving similarly “amazing” new characterization as her brother. As is, she was… okay. Overall I am definitely not a fan of the book. As for its purported ideological value? It certainly has a female main character. Said character sure does have many experiences which are associated with women. However, I can’t help but think that the novel isn’t exactly feminist - it certainly focuses on Circe, but does it really try to “rehabilitate” her? And is it really “rehabilitation” and feminist reinterpretation when almost every single female character in the book is the same, and arguably depicted with even less compassion than in the source material? It instead felt like the author’s goal is take away any joy and grandeur present in myths, and to deprive Circe of most of what actually makes her Circe. We don’t need to make myths joyless to make them fit for a new era. It’s okay for female characters to be wacky one off villains and there’s no need to punish them for it. A book which celebrates Circe for who she actually is in the Odyssey and in other Greek sources - an unapologetic and honestly pretty funny character - would feel much more feminist to me that a book where she is a wacky witch not because she feels like it but because she got raped, if you ask me.

Circe evidently having the time of her life, by Edmund Dulac (public domain)

#circe #madeline miller #greek mythology #madeline miller circe

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beneaththetangles · 3 years

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Reader’s Corner: Those Snow White Notes, Your Lie in April Revisited, and A Couple of Cuckoos

She’s My Knight, Vol. 1

The premise of this lovely little comic is simple: Ichinose has always been the popular kid, attracting attention from all the girls until cool, collected Mogami comes along, stealing not only Ichinose’s popularity, but also his heart. I’m a total sucker for the Mogami type in manga and anime—the tall, athletic, boyish girl—and she makes a perfect pairing with the pitiful Ichinose, who increasingly, as the volumes progresses, falls apart around her. There’s not much else here—just lots of gags and near-miss moments, so in that sense, She’s My Knight may end up being a forgettable series. But just as Ichinose is the damsel to Mogami’s knight, this series might be rescued, too, by hints that the girl is not as clueless as she seems. But even if that’s not true, even if the series means to simply tease us for endless chapters and results in a series that isn’t unique in any way, the manga would still hit the sweet spot of feel good romantic comedy so well that it doesn’t really matter—this is the perfect volume to open as you sit back, kick your feet up, and prepare to fall in love. ~ Twwk

She’s My Knight is published by Kodansha.*

A Couple of Cuckoos, Vol. 1

Nagi Umino learns quite the shocking truth: As an infant, he had accidentally been switched with another baby, and had essentially grown up his whole life as an adopted kid. To make matters worse, upon meeting his birth parents, and the girl, Erika Amano, that he had been switched with, he finds out that their parents had decided that the easiest way to resolve this whole matter is to have the two of them get married so that all the parents can officially consider both of them their children! With an anime adaptation announced recently, I figured I’d check out the first volume of the manga, and true to the name, it’s quite crazy. With a mess of family relations and some side romantic antics involving a smart girl Nagi has a crush on, this manga definitely has all the fun of a good romcom, and there’s not really too much that annoyed me about it, either, other than that the volume ended way too soon. I also liked how it touches on the awkwardness of trying to connect with a birth family you didn’t grow up with, and I hope future volumes do more with that along with the romance stuff. ~ stardf29

A Couple of Cuckoos is published by Kodansha.

Street Fighter Gaiden: Vol. 1

Videogames have made the transition to manga many times, and some have even done it on multiple occasions, which is the case with Street Fighter. I picked up Street Fighter Gaiden, which has two volumes and focuses on various stories in the SF series, focusing on various characters. Ken and Ryu get their due, and so does Chun-Li, who is some nice panels participates in a drug bust in San Francisco. Other stories feature Fei Long desiring to do something more challenging than be a movie star, leading to travels to Japan and a tragic accident while stopping some criminals; T. Hawk protecting fellow natives from another tribe who are being harassed by Balrog; and the final story, where Guile becomes involved in underground fights while trying to prevent a friend from getting involved with Shadaloo, the secret evil organization of the series. The stories veer from the traditional backgrounds of some of the characters, like Fei Long and Guile, but it’s interesting to read how the author puts them together. Fans of Street Fighter should check this series out! The drawings in the manga looks dated and a little rough here and there, but I certainly enjoyed it and will be picking up volume two. ~ Samuru

Street Fighter Gaiden: Vol. 1 is published by Udon Entertainment.

The Dawn of the Witch, Vol. 1

Witches seem to be making a bit of comeback in manga lately. The Dawn of the Witch, one of the new entries, seems at first blush to add little that’s new to the canon, assembling a weak main character mage, overpowered but very young looking master witch, talented witch / love interest, and a beastman, as they undertake a special type of journey / course assigned by their magic school. However, tropes can be deceiving. Volume one tells a story at breakneck pace, developing relationships, adding backstory, providing action, and dumping a ton of information, which while it could become oppressive, in this manga, is captivating. The world and its history are fascinating, the way magic is used has some uniqueness (including a cursed, talking staff?), and the divisiveness between witches and the church shows depth. The world-building in just this one volume is extensive and engaging, and the story seems to be in good hands, while the art and character design, developed by two additional members of this three-person manga team, are just as extraordinary, bringing vividness to action scenes, boldness to the characters themselves, and lettering and paneling that add further dimension to goings-on. The frequent and obvious fanservice, unfortunately, can be quite distracting; it’s not a coincidence that it takes a back seat once the story ramps up, indicating how unimportant it is. By the last chapter or two, there’s no room for panty shots; we’re swept up into the lives of these characters, the choices they’ve made and are making, and the world they inhabit, which in terms of recent witch manga, is second to none. ~ Twwk

The Dawn of the Witch is published by Kodansha.*

Those Snow White Notes, Vol. 1

Moving to Tokyo after the death of his guardian, grandfather, and teacher, Setsu is a lost soul. Though he carries with him a shamisen, the ancient three-stringed instrument, Setsu is unable to play, haunted by the words of his grandfather which told him he was unworthy of it. But will this move to Tokyo and the people he meets there be just what Setsu needs to find his sound? The first half of this initial volume is one long chapter, and reads like a one-shot, an almost self-contained story of Setsu’s serendipitous meeting with a hopeful actress, Yuna, and the impact the two have on one another. However, this front half of volume one isn’t particularly distinct in any way, and despite a desire to connect emotionally with readers through the young protagonist and and his family, the panels fall flat in this aspect, as do they when depicting the sound of the shamisen, whose tone and rhythm I could feel but not the emotion it gives. The second half of volume, however, establishes the story and characters better. Setsu’s personality is better defined, as is his brother’s, and new supporting characters are introduced as Setsu begins to attend school, setting the stage for a club-centered drama, a la Kono Oto Tomare and Chihayafuru, two other anime centered on historic Japanese pastimes. And like those, there’s potential here, though it will be lost if Those Snow White Notes can’t find consistency and an emotional anchor, which would be a shame, as the first episode of currently-airing anime adaptation showed how a few adjustments could turn this story into something quite special. ~ Twwk

Those Snow White Notes is published by Kodansha.*

Your Lie in April, Vol. 4

I’m continuing my re-read of Your Lie in April and have reached Volume four, a part of this series which can be a tough read. Kousei has finally returned to the piano scene after two years away to find that his childhood rivals have only improved. Both of them were motivated by him to become better. Emi saw him when she was very little and it inspired her to play, believing in her heart to play for joy, while Takeshi is driven to perfection to reach what Kousei had always achieved. Then there’s Kousei himself. In these chapters, readers bear witness to the emotional and physical abuse Kousei underwent as a child and it’s hard to witness. But it does help present a complete picture of the person Kousei has become so far. This is a challenging volume because of what happens, but it’s important to the overall narrative. Beautiful artwork and emotional moments will keep me moving through this re-read. ~ MDMRN

Your Lie in April is published by Kodansha.

Skip Beat, Vol. 17

The “Suddenly, a Love Story” arc is an oddity, a portion of Skip Beat that is quite long and cumbersome, with not enough Kyoko and perhaps too much of the unappealing side of Ren, full of insecurity and lacking much of his initial appeal. Volume 17 thankfully puts the arc to rest with a quick but exciting (and revealing) finale which pits Ren against no, not Shotaro, but Reino, the abusive and perhaps occultist musician. The next arc also begins in this volume, introducing Kuu, a movie star more famous, it seems, than any previous character in the series. Although we get to know him just a bit, he appears to be a rival who could threaten Ren. He also immediately challenges Kyoko, providing the potential for her to really chew up character interactions, something sorely missed in the previous arc. The final chapters of volume 17 feel like a breath of fresh air, hopefully pointing toward compelling chapters ahead—though I fear the problem of an unappealing Ren may be not be solved anytime soon. ~ Twwk

Skip Beat is published by Viz.*

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Reader’s Corner is our way of embracing the wonderful world of manga, light novels, and visual novels, creative works intimately related to anime but with a magic all their own. Each week, our writers provide their thoughts on the works their reading—both those recently released as we keep you informed of newly published works and older titles that you might find as magical (or in some cases, reprehensible) as we do.

#Manga #She's My Knight #Ikemen Kanojo to Heroine na Ore #A Couple of Cuckoos #Kakkou no Iinazuke #Street Fighter Gaiden #The Dawn of the Witch #Mahoutsukai Reimeiki #Those Snow White Notes #Mashiro no Oto #Your Lie in April #Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso #Skip Beat!#Reader's Corner #Articles #Author: TWWK #Author: stardf29 #Author: Samuru #Author: MDMRN

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kaiju-z · 3 years

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“Moonlight Tryst Under The Eclipse”

Right! So! A little clarification is in order! Um. So like. There’s this D&D show called “Role With Me”/”The Ties That Bind”. And the party have recently reached a high-tech Elven city and are learning all kinds of things about the society there. Including that they found fucking God fan fiction. Fan fiction written about Arkanos, God of Magic, who is also the elves’ God. And of Solomon, the God of Undeath. Who is basically enemy to all elven kind, after he convinced a group of them to worship him, in exchange for “immortality”, which is the secret origin of the drow in that world.

So like. It’s them. As like. A ship. They found shipfics and were reading them.

So this is basically inspired by that. And it’s a fic, “as written” by a writer in that world, that city. That internet. So yeah. It’s a fic, within a fic. ó ____ ó;;; That’s it. That’s the joke.

Also yes, you should watch Role WIth Me. Very Dark Souls/Witcher-ish. With a flavor of Bloodborne. Also lots of funnies between the rough stuff that our heroes go through.

An Arkanos/Solomon fanfic by RainbowRunner899

It was meant to be a distraction. A simple. Basic. Get your mind off the ear-splitting screams and wails distraction. A honest to yourself one. And yet here you were. Hours after the fact, still locked in an embrace with the long eared boy scout!

Arms around your body, you can easily feel his fingers trace every smooth pattern and ridge of your back as the stars shimmer and shake under his dexterous touch. Unlike your dark dealings in your domain beyond mortal comprehension, here you are incapable of hiding your intents and secrets. Or at least, the ones you can gesticulate.

Damn him! Damn this know-it-all paragon that bewitched you with his soft voice and alluring eyes! His words, his face, his everything! It drives you to madness! Like that’d mean anything to you, anyways. You were already unhinged. By some slight you yourself perceive as such. You blame your makers for it and have stated it as such to him, many a nights.

Many, upon many, for centuries, long since after he took his foolish followers and ran off into parts unknown, leaving you with your defiled flock of sycophants! You hate them, for they fell so easily and thus, you send them to do all sorts of cruelties. Just to test how far they’ll go for you. When they’d snap. Break. You figure that is why he had come out of hiding the first time, since your conflict. And confronted you.

The two of you had fought for dominance, throwing stars and supernovas at one another, frightening the populace around you. And, had it not been for his quick thinking and raised defenses, you two surely would have exterminated all life in the vicinity.

‘Damn him.’ you think, your face flushing as his hands move to your front, caressing the 8 pack. Damn him for seeing through your ruse that night. Through to the very core of who you were and why you did what you did! All that cruelty and anger! All of it, creating a Seeming of unseen proportions, hiding the broken man in need of help underneath.

Only he saw it! Neither Vanderen, nor Fleetfoot. Nor the old man and the revelry wench got even the slightest idea you had this secret pain! They were too stupid, too blind to see. But not Arkanos. He knew and he punished your body so with the palms of his hands. Your breathing growing heavy to his actions and you contemplate evasive maneuvers.

He reaches for your pa-aaand you grab his wrist. “No.” you go, hissing at him with a glare of pure death. Or undead. As is your aspect.

He looks at you with those gentle eyes. Those honest and wise eyes. “No?” he repeats, questioning you with his pretty little face. You’d bite your lip, if you had one. Then shake your head.

“No.” And you’d get up and try to make way out of the room, specifically by him, to protect you both from prying eyes. “I’m leaving. Going back, I-I have work to do. Monsters to raise. Many dark biddings to be made, Arkanos.” You growled, pitifully to show aggression. But he’s unmoving, unperturbed by your behavior as you struggle to put your robe back on. Damn thing! Did you start putting it with the wrong sleeve forward?! You’d struggle and huff and puff as you forced your head through a familiar opening and then flinch backwards, bumping into the wall.

“You’re having those thoughts again, aren’t you, Sol?” he asks you directly, his voice peaceful, like a river during summer. Disgusting. And beautiful, damn it! So beautiful! You think that as he had been standing right to face you once you put your head through the clothing. “Don’t lie to me. My eyes cannot be tricked, my ears cannot be lied to… and my heart- And he’d reach for his chest, tapping the left peck, before reaching over to tap your own.

You had no pulse. Not that it mattered. You were a god and who honestly cared about pulses, when you would live forever! Or unlive. Or-aaah, fuck it! You’d look away, scowling a boney scowl. “This game ends here, Arkanos. You’ve seduced me many a times before, but this ends now. You know you could never beat me in a fair fight and I know that you can’t backstab me like some mortal rogue under the pale moon light.” you scoffed, grabbing the door handle.

Twisting it, turning it. Opening the entrance and, in your case, the exit from his awkward situation. But right before you’d leave, the door would shut, without you even taking a full step ahead. You flinch, step backwards and bump into his frame. Then you have to straighten yourself as you attempt to prevent flushing of the cheeks. Straightening yourself and your clothing, you scoff. “Of course, right. Your wards.”

“Yes, Sol.” He’d smile a little smile your way and you feel your spine shiver. That cute smile that drove you crazy. After everything you did. All the people you killed and brought back as your meat and soul puppets! And he has the gall to smile at you like that.

“Well, undo it!” you try to regain footing. To find your equilibrium and tower over him, make yourself bigger, like one of those bear things that roam Fleetfoot’s forests. But intimidation does not work on him and you know it. He’s too brave. TOO STUPID, you try to think, but you know he’s too smart for you. Of all of them, even you, with all your dark and vile magicks, he was always the superior intellect.

He’d sigh a light sigh and glance over to the nearby window. It had been darkened off with the Darkness spell, which you made sure to cast, in case one of your flunkies or one of his randomly popped their head through. And he’d walk over to it, tapping it gently with a finger, dispelling. The sky appeared an odd mix of colors. It was familiar. Reminded you of your many birthdays. Yes, even the one good one you had all those millennia ago.

He’d wave a hand to you to step on over and join him at the glass separating you two from the outside. No words were needed. He had prepared the right set of movements, didn’t he?! A pregnant pause. And you go over, though you dare not look upwards at what the sky would be like. You just look down, no head in the clouds. Only down towards the muck.

“There is no shame in what you feel, Sol. You know that, right?” he’d say, side-glancing you every now and then as he faced the sky, while you watched the passerby folk, well, pass by. Wordlessly, you listen to him. And then have to find yourself blinking as the silence became deafening. Like he wanted a direct answer from you.

You’d grimace and cant your head some in a direction of your choosing. “I’ve killed and converted and had them kill… so many people. And you’re trying to psychoanalyze me, Arkanos. Don’t you find the flaw in that?!” he’d sneer. “The daddy of the elves meeting with the step dad of your little traitors. In secret and for centuries now. Isn’t that a little-Don’t you think that’s kind of fucked up?!” he’d not even raise a brow over your foul mouth. He was used to it.

He was used to keeping it occupied, too. Hmph!

“Is it really so crazy, Sol? Is it, though?” he’d smile again, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You. And I. Have such a history, spanning many a lifetimes of many a people. From the short-lived to the ancient. Friends. To rivals. To enemies. To friends…” he’d giggle and your face would change shades. It was a whole galactic party on your features. “To so much more.”

“Fuckbuddies.” he scoffed at your phrasing. He was used to the cussing, but that sort of direct crassness gave you a bit of an advantage… every now and then.

“Call it as you want, Sol. But I know the truth. I peered through your actions and your thoughts and I saw the real you… And I saw the broken pieces. They were there, inside you. Calling, screaming to be reshaped.” He spoke to you with such determination and passion. You’d mistake him for one of those new-fangled “bards”. “Is it honestly that big of a surprise that once you reached out as you did, I would reach back in turn?”

You look away. “After everything I put you and your kids through, how is that a surprise, Ark-“he has a hand on your cheekbone, slowly turning your face in his direction, as you sought to glance away in your shame and woe. “I-I mean-“

No time to finish the sentence. He pecks your face with his lips. Quick and focused. Your spine shivers at his advance. But you don’t really fight it, though you hate him pulling away.

“You are a lonely man, shrouded in a darkness of your own making. Unwilling to show the pain to those around you, fearing their response.” He’d say softly. “But I saw and I felt and I knew that day…”

“You knew…?” you asked.

He’d nod to you with a, well, knowing smile, his cheeks turning pink. It really didn’t take you that much to figure out what he meant.

“O-oh. Oh!”

“Yes.”

“Ohhhhh…” it was all you could say, while he glanced back out the window and you followed his gaze to the sky above. Where the moon had gone before the sun, creating a rare masterpiece that the mortals found fascinating as all hell. But to you? To you this was your birthday. Again, damn it, you’d bite your lip if you had that.

You feel his hand on your person. Fingers entangling with your own. You look to them. And you look to him. His eyes took that “look” again. A familiar one that the two of you would act upon whenever the opportunity struck.

He walked back. And headed to the bed that faced the door, light step after light step, pulling you along. One knee on the bed. A creeking sound. His other knee on the mattress. A repeat. Shifting of weight as he pulled you on over.

You’d open your mouth to speak. “I-“

And he’d answer. “I know.”

Wordlessly, the two of you would lock faces and commiserate as he helped you take off the robe again. This time much slower and to the point than in a simple moment of passion. There was more feeling there.

As he’d undress you and you him, a thought would crawl into your mind.

Perhaps it was possible. Perhaps it was, yes, that the shattered insides of your soul could be put together again. Perhaps he could do it.

To Be Continued.

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Author’s notes: WONDERCRAK! Thank you, dear readers, for all the well wishes and kind words about the last story! Even you, KnuckleTucker3000. I appreciate the criticism on my grammar and took it to heart o w o! Wow, like, wow! So like, I was really excited to get to this part of the story, ‘cause, obviously I finally got to reveal what kinda day Solomon was born on u w u Next week’s continuation’s gonna get extra spicy, tho, so I have to bring back the reminder >8( This one’s for the grown-ups and it’s gonna be tagged NSFW! Don’t read if a Lemon Fic isn’t your thing! I’ll drop the hidden lore bits I’ll be putting in that one!

Stay tuned u w u, RainbowRunner899 out!

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chararii · 3 years

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WIP DUMP 2020/2021

with a small fanfiction progress report (massive post inc)

It's been a long time since I posted anything but that's because I haven't really done much. Art, for me, is an incredibly time-consuming, frustrating and unrewarding experience. Everything I do, no matter how small, takes countless hours because I am striving for something I cannot achieve and my standards are, frankly, too high.

My biggest goal is to be able to draw like my favourite artist but that's simply out of my reach. As such I am stuck trying to imitate what he does without ever being happy about the results.

The artist is called wlop and while I'm sure that everyone has come across his work before, here is a link to his twitter:

https://twitter.com/wlopwangling

and his deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/wlop

I am subscribed to him on patreon and got access to the brushes he uses which are used in the images below. Despite being unsure if or when I will ever finish any of these, I thought I might as well share what I have.

The first one is Alextrasza the Life-Binder from the Warcraft universe. This one was meant to be a gift for a friend and still is, if I ever finish it.

The idea behind it is heavily Dark Souls inspired: as the world slowly dies, she gives herself to the flame in order to keep it burning for the rest of her brood.

I have no concept of lighting so it's all over the place but the idea was to cover it up as good as possible with some heavy colour/effect editing.

The next one is a larger image dump since it's more detailed. My favourite Harry Potter character is, and always has been, Andromeda Tonks with Narcissa a close second. I like to play with AUs a lot and the one I will maybe, eventually, explore in that fic I keep fiddling with is basically Black Matriarch Andromeda.

An AU in which she decided that no boy is worth abandoning her family for and as the eldest of the sisters (I swapped the ages around) and the Black family being a matriarchy, she eventually becomes Head of the family.

Since Helena Bonham Carter is my favourite actress and she played Bellatrix in the movies, I used her as the basis for Andromeda's face and sharpened her features a little, gave her a more prominent nose to try and achieve an inherently aristocratic look.

Other than that, there's lots of raven imagery since those feature on the family crest and I like ravens.

The last one is just a sketch but it's still a wip so. It's one of my Warcraft OCs for this massive Ancient Empire/Highborne worldbuilding project I am occasionally working on. It revolves around Azshara, Tyrande, Vashj and various others.

The idea for those images was something resembling a tarot card set. There are five cards, one for each of the most "important" characters.

The Queen for Azshara, the General for Tyrande, the High Priestess for Neviril (OC), the Handmaiden for Vashj and the Consort for Zashj (OC).

This one is the Consort.

And that's it. I don't know when/if I will finish either of these since I'm currently trying to get back into writing to wrap up some of these multichapter stories I started for some godawful reason.

As for my fanfiction works, I recently published a oneshot about Tsunade and Sakura who both suffer from the consequences of the war. It's somewhat bittersweet and I enjoyed exploring yet another interpretation/version of my favourite character Tsunade.

If you check it out, heed the warnings.

Dead In This House: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30928934

As for the rest, I am almost done with the 5th Changeling chapter and there should be 4-5 left after that.

The next bit for Beware, the Three is the Origin set which is a 3-parter much like the Summons set. Shizune's is first and should be done within a week or so.

As for Loyalty, I am still on the fence whether I want to tackle it now or later but the thought is there.

Into the Depths will be postponed until I cleaned up some of the above wips since that one is something I can't work on alongside other fics. It's tricky and complicated and requires all my attention and I'm not ready to commit to that until I feel like I wrapped up some of the other fics.

Now I'm done. If anyone actually reads this long-ass post I salute you. If any of the chapters I mentioned above get released I'll make a post here because this blog is dead enough as it is.

#fanfiction #fanart #workinprogress #wip #harry potter #andromeda black #andromeda tonks #black family #alexstrasza #world of warcraft #night elf #naruto #tsunade #haruno sakura

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ranma-rewatch · 3 years

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Episode 20: You Really Do Hate Cats!

(CONTENT WARNING: This blog post contains discussion of phobias, child abuse, and people doing the worst thing to intensify those problems. Those things are in the show, I didn’t just bring them up out of nowhere.)

Well, it’s that time again. Time to grab a balloon and tell my friends what I think of an episode of Ranma 1/2. We’re starting the first arc of season two with this episode, though oddly enough I feel like I mostly remember what stuff is going to happen in it. But maybe I don’t remember right? I’d love it if that is the case. Though...speaking of that...there is a certain character I have dreaded appearing in this series, and I’d hoped he wouldn’t appear for a while, but I checked and he appears this season. I...I thought I had more time. Oh well, let’s do this episode and I’ll worry about him when he gets here.

Okay, well, for the most part, this episode is actually a lot better than I remember it being. As it turns out, some of the details mutated in my head in the decade since I last saw it, and I actually thought things were worse than they were.

The episode starts in the Kuno manor, where our favorite swordsman is practicing to once again fight Ranma Saotome. But he’s not alone, because for the first time we meet Kuno’s henchman, Sasuke. He’s a ninja, and he’ll do whatever Kuno tells him to do, but he probably won’t do it very well.

From there, we see Ranma’s dad is training him in stupid ways again, and they get back to the house to find Shampoo has mailed Ranma something from China: a pink cat. That’s a problem, because Ranma has a severe cat phobia. It’s not random, either, Genma directly created it. See, when Ranma was 6, Genma thought he should teach his son Cat Fu, which he heard about from an ancient martial arts manuscript. The way to teach it is to cover the disciple in fish sausage and through them into a room with starving cats.

Obviously, that just ended up traumatizing Ranma, and the very next page of the book would have told Genma that training someone that way is very stupid. Kasumi, drawing on the common misunderstandings people have about exposure therapy, thinks that just inviting a ton of cats to be around will help, but of course it doesn’t, it makes Ranma even more distressed. Sasuke is hiding under the floorboards though, and he runs off to tell Kuno about Ranma’s weakness.

At first, Kuno says something about how he could never cowardly use an opponent’s weakness to unfairly win, but then he still makes Sasuke tell him about it, because he can still use it to win in an honorable way. The plan they go for is pretty ridiculous: they leave a note in Ranma’s locker that Akane’s been kidnapped, and he has to go to the gym to save her. But Akane is standing next to Ranma as he reads the note, so he knows that’s not true.

He goes anyway out of curiosity, only to find Sasuke there dressed up as Akane. With the wrong color wig. Even though the trap keeps failing, Ranma walks into it anyway because he has nothing better to do, until he realizes what is going on: cats. But Ranma manages to fight the fear and pretend he’s okay, hoping to just take Akane out of there, but then it becomes clear Sasuke took the extra step of also bringing an enormous tiger.

That’s when we cut back to Genma and Kasumi, and the old man explains that he tried curing Ranma of his phobia, but his way of doing so was to just keep throwing him at hungry cats, only changing the type of food attached to his body. All of it just made the problem worse, but it also actually led to Ranma developing Cat Fu. When Ranma gets scared enough, his mind just let’s go and he mentally becomes a cat.

That happens in the basement of the school, making it easy for him to beat the tiger and escape, just in time to kick Kuno’s butt without even trying. But he doesn’t stop there, and starts running around the school still acting like a cat. Akane follows him just as the dads show up. Genma says the only way to break Ranma out of it when he was a kid was with the help of a kindly old lady, but she’s dead. So, Genma tries dressing up and doing it himself. That fails, so they try catnip, forgetting that Ranma just thinks he’s a cat, so the stuff doesn’t really affect him.

The situation does kind of solve itself, as Ranma doesn’t attack Akane, as she’s afraid of, but instead curls up in her lap to purr. The whole school is watching, so that’s embarrassing for her, but then he kisses her and she freezes for a second before throwing Ranma into the school pool. Oh, and the pink cat is watching and didn’t like that. The curse activating returns his brain to normal, and Ranma has no clue why he was thrown in a pool. Akane walks home, cursing Ranma for doing that, but sounding conflicted.

So, the big thing I misremembered about this episode was I thought Genma did all the cat stuff with 0 thoughts about how it would affect Ranma and not giving a crap how it affected his son. That is actually not the case, he’s clearly really torn up about the phobia, though he still says some bad stuff about Ranma being ‘unmanly’ for having a phobia. He even tried to cure Ranma, a few times. It’s just that, well, his actions still traumatized Ranma. Sufficient ignorance is indistinguishable from malice, as they say. Genma is still, on the whole, abusive to Ranma in my opinion, but he’s not as bad as he could have been, I have to admit.

This was also just a funny episode. The comedy largely worked, even if some of the jokes didn’t quite land. Kuno and Sasuke were especially good, and I found Ranma fighting his fear both humorous and kind of inspiring. The man has a hell of a willpower. Not going to lie, the Cat-Ranma just immediately going for Akane’s lap and then kissing her was cute, I really liked that. Of course, I’m a sucker for anything with them, so I’m an easy mark there.

It’s also interesting how this works as the first part of a large arc, because if you didn’t know that was the case I can imagine thinking this was just a standalone episode. The pink cat was the impetus for the plot, but it’s what will drive the coming episodes forward.

One thing I found annoying was how different the dub and sub were this time around, in terms of script. The dub had a lot more bashing of Ranma for being scared of cats, including from Akane. That isn’t in the subtitled version at all, and I thought the episode worked a lot better there. I’m always a fan of taking liberties with a localization in order to make the story work better in the new country, but I don’t think we needed Akane insulting Ranma for his trauma.

Hey, a Character Spotlight again! Haven’t had one of these in a bit, and this one is for Sasuke Sarugakure. Let’s start with his voice actors. In the English dub, he’s voiced by Robert O. Smith. Does that name sound familiar? It should, I talked about him recently, since he’s the one who voiced Genma Saotome in the dub as well. His voice for Sasuke is extremely comedic, going for an over-the-top pathetic voice. He makes Sasuke just sound like comic relief, which he is. What’s interesting is what the other actor does with him.

In Japanese, he’s played by Shigeru Chiba, another voice actor from this show in Japan who is just known for a billion things. Standouts include Buggy the Clown in One Piece, Emperor Pilaf and Raditz in the Dragon Ball franchise, and dubbing over John de Lancie as Discord in the Japanese dub of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I was completely shocked to hear him play Sasuke with more gravitas, using a very serious voice that one would expect from a ninja, which clashed perfectly with the situations and his character design to make the comedy far better than in the dub. One of those rare times I’m actually preferring the Japanese version!

As a character, Sasuke is interesting because he’s not in the manga at all. For reasons none seem to know, the creative team for the anime decided to delay introducing minor character Hikaru Gosenkugi, and replaced him with Sasuke. We’ll get to Hikaru when he appears, but I don’t really mind Sasuke’s addition to the show. Giving Kuno a henchman just makes his dynamic even better, and there’s something I just really like to Sasuke’s almost naive way of trying to plot and scheme. I don’t actually have any deep analysis, at least not as of yet, just wanted to give him a moment in the Spotlight for being something interesting.

I didn’t expect to like this episode so much! It wasn’t great, there were parts I didn’t care for, but on the whole I’m happy to see my expectations overcome. I’m putting this episode in the middle of the pack, at the #10 slot. It was fun, but it has a lot of better episodes when it comes to making me smile. (Or cry.)

Episode 7: Enter Ryoga, the Eternal ‘Lost Boy’

Episode 12: A Woman's Love is War! The Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 15: Enter Shampoo, the Gung-Ho Girl! I Put My Life in Your Hands

Episode 9: True Confessions! A Girl's Hair is Her Life!

Episode 2: School is No Place for Horsing Around

Episode 19: Clash of the Delivery Girls! The Martial Arts Takeout Race

Episode 6: Akane's Lost Love... These Things Happen, You Know

Episode 13: A Tear in a Girl-Delinquent's Eye? The End of the Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 17: I Love You, Ranma! Please Don’t Say Goodbye

Episode 20: You Really Do Hate Cats!

Episode 16: Shampoo's Revenge! The Shiatsu Technique That Steals Heart and Soul

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Episode 11: Ranma Meets Love Head-On! Enter the Delinquent Juvenile Gymnast!

Episode 4: Ranma and...Ranma? If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

Episode 5: Love Me to the Bone! The Compound Fracture of Akane's Heart

Episode 1: Here’s Ranma

Episode 3: A Sudden Storm of Love

Episode 10: P-P-P-Chan! He's Good For Nothin'

Episode 14: Pelvic Fortune-Telling? Ranma is the No. One Bride in Japan

Episode 18: I Am a Man! Ranma's Going Back to China!?

Next time we’ll continue this tale with "This Ol' Gal's the Leader of the Amazon Tribe!" which, as you might guess from the title, will introduce a new character. This one’s actually from the manga! See you then, y’all.

#episode 20 #You Really Do Hate Cats!#ranma 1/2 #ranma saotome #genma saotome #akane tendo #tatewaki kuno #sasuke sarugakure #anime rewatch #anime analysis #cw: phobia #cw: childhood trauma

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maine-writes · 3 years

Text

And They Laughed

(A letter submitted to the police by an anonymous source to be used as part of the investigation regarding the 1089 Wagner Street incident.)

Gabrielle, my dearest, and most trusted confidant, I write to you now from my latest sanctuary. It's exact location, I cannot reveal, for there are still those who would stop at nothing to interfere in my research. What I can confess is that the saline scent upon the breeze, brought by the mist and crashing waves, reminds me of home.

Home, where it all began, where formless shades dance in the haunting morning haze. I remember the willow that kept quiet vigil on the hill, watching as countless souls pass it by.

I remember the school we both attended, where the seeds of our curiosities first began to sprout from the soil of our being. Do you remember Ms. Seward? "Knowledge," as she often said, "is the domain of men, the legacy of our ancestors, the gift of God, and the fuel that will drive us toward our destiny."

I fondly remember her words, her insistence in her virtue and dignity. Back then, I wondered why you despised her so, why you often disagreed with her belief. To me, as I'm sure she was with the other boys, she was a saint. It did not help that, being such a gifted young man, she showered me with complements and praise.

But everything changed on that wretched day. Your innocence was stolen, taken by force. I thought Ms. Seward would show compassion, as she preached of having that virtue in abundance. But she laughed, and her infectious cackling overtook the others. You wept in silence and shame as I looked on in horror.

I found the brute, a personal friend of our dearest Ms. Seward. It didn't take long to find someone who would describe him to me, for it was an open secret I had yet to discover.

Spiriting him away was the difficult part, for there had to be no witnesses. A blow to the head, a clever use of a borrowed wagon did the trick.

Beating him until he confessed to his crime was, at the time, excrutiating, for I had yet to develop an appreciation for such things and I was merely fueled by rage. Compared to my more recent work, he was a simple case.

When he told me that Ms. Seward "allowed" him to have his way with you, I realized the audacity of the concept of humanity, the illusion of virtue.

I then realized my purpose, why I was gifted with my intellect. I knew that I alone understood the realities of our wretched world, the lies that we cloak ourselves in.

Taking Ms. Seward was my first artistic piece. She trusted me, one of her most gifted students, enough to follow me to where I was keeping her friend. Perhaps she thought about allowing him to take the fall, or maybe she considered disposing of me and pinning the crime on me. But it did not matter, she foolishly walked into my web.

Her pleas for mercy were like a sweet melody, her pained cries, a dramatic crescendo. She confessed to her sins, her fallacies, her lies. The crackling of flames and the moaning of collapsing metal completed my sonata.

When news spread, a pall of fear befell the town. Everyone suspected anyone, but there was no proof. But you knew, I saw it in your eyes.

So much controversy surrounded you, too much for your parents to bear. When you left, I was heartbroken, but I understood.

The letters we continued to exchange were a source of comfort in the years that followed, as I had to contend with being surrounded by the concerns of insects and pests. I thought I had escaped it all when I enrolled in the academy, but there, all I found were more lowly beasts who parroted the words of the intelligent.

My observations developed hypothesies, which then had to be tested, but they could not for some found them, unsavory. Unethical, they said. Inhumane.

My more orthodox experiments provided promising results. But when I presented them, my peers laughed. They laughed.

When I showed my findings to my professors, they scoffed at the idea of experimenting further.

But then I looked to our letters, where I found inspiration.

Criminals, villains, people whose demise would be welcomed, they were to become my canvas, my raw marble.

Unlike the bovine dullards at the academy, I know you will appreciate my art. You have the imagination, the intelligence. You can grasp the possibilities, the potential.

Imagine cold, dead flesh, imbued with new life and purpose. Imagine prolonging life beyond what God intended, wrestling free of Death's eternal hold. Imagine creating life from the very essences of being, without the natural processes of flesh.

After all these years, my friend, I believe I am close. Although my creations thus far have been unsuccessful, they show promise.

Do you remember your last letter to me? You asked me if there was life after death, you wondered if the next life would be kinder to you. When word came of your death, I knew what had transpired. Your parents were ashamed, they would not admit to what had happened. But I knew.

I promise you, my friend, I will give you that kind life you were robbed of. As Prometheus stole fire to give to man, so shall I with life and the secret of the soul, even if I must pry it from the hands of God.

Intelligence, as I discovered long ago, was the Apple stolen from the garden, a gift that was not meant for man. It is the legacy of the pariah, which will guide us to the inevitable end; our evolution to divinity.

(Writer's Note: As one might guess, been reading Frankenstein and Dracula on my days off. Which I have a growing number of each week...Had an idea for a historical character who was fascinated with the ideas of ancient alchemists and so studied their methods. No name, or a timeline yet for this story or character, if I even develop it further. All I have figured out is that he is an ammoral individual who studies the alchemical process of creating life.)

#writing #alchemist #prometheus

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crystalliccs · 4 years

Text

WHAT IT MEANS TO BE ALIVE. PART ONE. ________________________

Note: Female Warrior of Light/Darkness. Miqo’te. Summoner. Part one is completely sfw! (And it’s not beta read. Do not judge.)

HEAVY PATCH 5.3 SPOILERS.

Word Count: 4844 (read more-cut due to the length) Ship: G’raha Tia/WoL ________________________

The sharp, illuminous blade reflected the light perfectly as he swung it several times in fluent motions – full glad that only for once he could do this without any curious eyes watching him. And yet it was almost as if their shadows still lingered inside the rooms of the Rising Stones, gawking and eagerly commenting his work. Yet the man failed to grasp their fascination for his skills completely; as he understood that he was scarcely more than a fresh beginner in so many aspects. Perchance even far less experienced than them all. And, merely sometimes, he felt at loss – overwhelmed by his very own emotions dwelling inside, as he could sense a trace of pride, of honor. Thus he could hardly afford to rest and enjoy his very own life when he had done naught so far.

With this young body of his, at least.

It was tedious and so very different from controlling his body in the First; albeit he would debate if those crystalline shapes he walked on ever truly had been his in the first place. No, to be quite frank he had to debate if he ever were truly alive as Exarch - shedding off all of his humanity to outlive the eternal slumber for a little longer so that he could reach for the salvation of their worlds. And truthfully, it had made him be far more powerful than he had imagined it would. Connecting his own aether with the collected boundless amount of the sun, all stored within the central spire, he had become far more than the marionette of the voices of the ancient Allag whispering to him whenever he closed his sanguine hues.

It had not been his very own aether which fed his body for an entire century; and most certainly wasn’t an old man - who hardly ever left the Ocular for so many decades - supposed to be able to keep up with true heroes of another world who knew no other life. Yet he had achieved as much; borrowing the strength to do so by shortening his close to now immortal life, step by step.

Oh, he gladfully endured this all – feeling the icy coldness of the crystallization proceeding to cover his chest so ever slowly with every spell he conjured. It had been a slow death – one he embraced should the time arrive.

Yet the time had changed. He could no longer rely on such ancient secrets – nor could he sacrifice what had been bestowed upon him. Another chance.

Even a few weeks after awakening from his long slumber, G’raha was still far from being satisfied of the very condition of his very own body. Though younger and revitalized as he still so very freshly remembered through his younger soul deep inside, it was still far more challenging to use the very own resources of it instead of relying on the power bestowed by ancient technology. Truthfully, it had taken him all this time to remember himself of his common body’s functions, as pathetic and foolish as it was – such as the need to even sleep. Albeit he had undeniably become better in managing such normal needs by now, the Miqo’te still attempted to push himself towards his own limits every now and then, exploring the possibilities.

He had lost count of the many apologies he had mumbled recently, uncertain how to behave or control himself in this new environment when both of his souls still attempted to grasp that he had indeed broken free of his chains. An impossible task, as it seemed. It would take him more than one century of him mostly isolating himself inside the Crystal Tower to not notice certain individuals’ worried gazes. One particular ambitious lalafell somehow always showed her motherly face when he indeed started to feel unwell, gently reminding him to rest. Oh, and it was by far not only Tataru, unfortunately. They all kept a close eye on him.

So, he feared naught at changed – that he was still the very same.

Yet such knowledge only made him strengthen his resolve to work on himself so much more; lest he became a burden to his newfound comrades.

The man had to admit that some very selfish part of him wanted to step out of the Rising Stones and join the others for longer, raising his own cup when they did and enjoying the prepared feast to the fullest. Perchance even catch a glance or two upon the smiling face of his beloved who finally indulged in such activities after all she had done. But how could he? His lips would merely curl into one of these delightful smiles he only had for her whenever she glanced upon him, without him ever saying those words which always lingered on his tongue. Words of affection, of love. And, as he feared, he would merely get teased for it once again. Albeit he had never spoken about such thoughts with anyone, he was quite certain that a few individuals were fully aware of what he truly felt. In fact, he already considered such assumption in the First.

And still his lips remained sealed.

The man quickly twirled on one steady foot, with the tip of his illuminous blade drawing one perfect circle to pierce through a great chunk of wood of the dummy he had used for the past twenty minutes. For once he did not even feel the harsh impact on its sturdy surface inside his muscles – unlike all of his previous attempt over the course of several days. His sanguine eyes widened a little by his own display of strength as he was taking one sharp breath. Soft clapping echoed from the stony walls of the room, as he realized that he was indeed not alone at all. Perchance he had been mistaken that anyone would participate in the festival after all, but he could certainly cope.

Quickly sheathing his sword again, head slightly tilting to glance upon his observer, G’rahas lips lightly opened in surprise.

“One clean cut. You have indeed been practicing a lot, lately – haven’t you? I believe you have been less proficient last time I saw you swinging a sword against a proper opponent”, the Warrior of both Light and Darkness spoke as she took a few steps closer to him, mint eyes glaring with unbelief.

Truthfully, he had hoped she would not become witness of such poor display of skill until he had honed such a little more; yet he could hardly pretend that seeing her was unpleasant in any possible way. Her company never was, albeit this was perchance no convenient time.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, playfully pouting yet her aggressively swinging tail was indeed telling him that she was annoyed. Angry even, mayhap. His eyebrows slightly furrowed as his expression softened into a silent apology as immediate reaction – knowing full well she deserved as much. And so much more.

“But - G’raha, really. Pray tell me you do not intend to hide away here and train all by yourself whilst everyone else is enjoying themselves”, she continued, carefully watching him as she stopped a few fulm in front of him – seemingly judging him with every fiber of her body.

“Oh, about that. Well, I merely considered this as fine opportunity to spar with myself without disturbing anyone else. Though, in truth, I am still getting accustomed to how loud and crowded it can be in the Rising Stones. So ‘tis indeed a quite welcome change”, he attempted to explain with a gentle voice, with his ears excitedly twitching as so very often when he spoke with her.

In the very end he would not dare to say the full truth about his endeavor. Nor that he not solely did it for himself – but also for her.

“Hardly an excuse to miss such a rare opportunity, I daresay. You need the rest more than any of us. Besides, everyone poured their hearts’ content into the preparation. You included. ‘Tis hardly fair if you do not participate.”

“I indeed had one cup of fine ale thus far”, the man shrugged, albeit his facial expression remained the very same. Kind and soft.

“And I had two. This is not a contest”, the woman reminded him, easing her posture for merely a little. She moved around him towards one the many empty chairs near him, which were usually always filled. But not now, when the spirit of enthusiasm had long departed to celebrate outside with everyone else. If she truly ever had been angry at him, it was scarcely noticeable by now.

G’raha could not help but to feel relieved upon such sight, feeling the tension of his still agitated muscles to disappear by merely looking at her. Her small silhouette seemed almost…calm – as calm as one could be before the next raging storm was fast approaching. He knew this too well. And it would come – particularly since the most recent reports from Garlemald had certainly stirred more than one rumor in these halls. It was indeed worrisome, to say at least. Yet perchance this was not the right moment to speak of such topic. If the situation changed, they were the first to know anyway. And until then, well – there was so much to discuss. To consider.

Mayhap his own selfishness indeed drove him to such decision to prepare himself to become her shield if he must. One final burden to bear, one she had not to know of. It had been his choice, in the very end. One he had not to oblige, yet his heart demanded.

For her there was still a chance to enjoy this evening if she left and let him be.

“So, my inspirational friend and hero, pray enlighten me what you seek if you are so unwilling to join the festivities outside. I doubt you have entered the Rising Stones to pry on my poor efforts”, he spoke rather amused, with his velvety tone merely becoming higher in spirits. Of course it was merely a small jest, one he happened to voice every now and then by now, yet genuine curiosity swung inside his very tone as well.

Her eyes widened a little ere she closed them again, her tail curling on her lap in utter defeat. “Mayhap I happen to find it unfitting for myself to enjoy the festivities as well and sought to find a quiet place instead. Not unlike your own idea, as it seems.”

“Ah, it would seem so. Though I fail to fathom how the guest of honor managed to escape unnoticed.” “I have my ways.”

His lips revealed his perfect teeth, a small and yet ever sweet grin as answer to her own she showed after giving such mischievous reply. Truthfully, he indeed felt so much younger when he was with her like this, despite still feeling the nagging burden of his older self at the corner of his mind. In those moments he could almost forget it all – the dark future he had witnessed, the sacrifices he had made just to save countless of lives. She was the only one who could create such oblivion for him – who truly made him feel alive again.

“Perchance now is a good time as any to ask…” The young woman lifted one hand to point it towards the blade resting on his hips, slightly tilting her head. “I have noticed you scarcely ever carry the staff Tataru so carefully prepared for you anymore. Is it not to your liking?”

His chest lifted heavily upon realizing that she had indeed noticed. Suffice to say his eyes had always silently followed her over all these past weeks, even if only to assure himself that she indeed was the same as always. Always determined and strong, prepared to forsake anything in any moment. No, he had even done more than this – eagerly following into her footsteps, even accompanying her once on a small little adventure just as she had promised. Mayhap he had been foolish to assume she would not notice what seemingly everyone else seemed to know already. His ears flopped a little, perchance a little ashamed to admit what he had concealed for the past few weeks.

His hidden struggles, the strains of his muscles and his reckless endeavor just for her sake. Yet could he not at least say as much when she already asked? After his long concealment, of his failed attempts to lie, could he not voice the truth even if only parts of it?

“Well…Controlling my own aether to conjure spells is far more challenging than I had imagined. Though, I believe, I have learned quite well to hold myself by now. Thank goodness for that. Yet there is no doubt in my heart that my poor control of such stand little chance against your mighty summons. However, ‘tis hardly a surprise, of course. When I first woke up in this body again, my mind kept repeating the very same question. And so I pondered… I asked myself what I could possibly do with this newly gained life I embraced. Suffice to say, the conclusion I came to was quite simple. I want to live the very dream of a young boy I once was – and I wish to stand by your side.”

Clenching a fist, he bumped it against his chest a few times, one light smile still visible on his full lips.

“So, I have decided for myself to become your sword and shield henceforth.”

“G’raha…”, she whispered, quietly and slowly rising from the chair she had picked just moments ago, scratching lightly over the stony floor. “You do not have to do this for me.” The thin line of her eyebrows lightly furrowed in concern, light footed steps coming closer once again.

For a mere moment he saw more inside the reflection of her beautiful eyes surrounded by those astonishing long leashes – one hint of an emotion, perhaps fear. An entire tale carefully hidden away inside them, one he yearned to decipher. “So ‘tis as I feared. You still feel the burden on your shoulders, do you not? After all this time… Would it not be possible to make a finer choice than this?”

Her lips began to form more, unspoken words – yet he heard no tone, nor did he know what she attempted to add. Nonetheless he fully understood the true meaning behind them; since he could ask her the very same question.

Why carrying the burden of an entire world when one had the choice not to? Knowing the risks, knowing the countless sleepless nights and the hidden, dry tears deep inside their souls.

“’Tis easier said than done, I fear. You among all should know this as well as I do. You have found and touched many souls on your path – inspired them to act when there was naught left to believe in. In the many moments of desperation, when the hope slipped through their fingers, becoming unreachable by their very own strength, your kindness guided them. “ His lips formed a wry smile, remembering his own naivety in his younger years.

“Of course, I was no exception. And when I first set my mind on this world’s salvation, I realized the full extend of your sacrifices. Over the years the burden became heavier, weighing upon my heart. And yet… No, ‘tis my full intention to live my life to the fullest. Without any regret. And I cannot imagine doing this without you.”

Too many unspoken words lingered in the heavy air surrounding them, taking both of their breaths for a moment. Words, which had always dwelled in their minds, for all this time – and yet failed to ever reach the other’s ears. And whilst their souls had silently yelled in this buried, pitch-black corner inside their very heart, their very own numbness and regret had made them so vulnerable. Those tears they both had pretended to not heavily wear; the immeasurable burden of two entire worlds resting on their shoulders which threatened to make them falter and they attempted to ignore regardless. Always staying silent, always quietly suffering in the very cage they had created – knowing this was the only path they could take.

He recognized this very gaze she showed him now – knew of its meaning. Each shade of her mint colored eyes showed the very same shadows he could see in his very own gaze inside the mirror – the souls of the lost; the fragments of what remained when they had failed. The man watched her reflection inside the mirror for so many centuries; watched her struggling, laying in her own blood and yet mourning for each one she had not been able to save.

He had done the same; slightly smiling underneath his cowl to give his posture strength whilst his fingers tightly clutched his staff over all these years. Listening to the sheer endless reports of their casualties; listening to the refugee’s horrific encounters with the menace they faced every single day.

Even now, after both of his souls had united in one body and mind, and he could glimpse on freedom for the very first time in his life – a true choice given to him – it was impossible to avert his gaze from the path he already had chosen. The dream he once had a boy had long awakened, shaping in pleas of a distant past and mocking nightmares. All of his entire being had yearned to partake in the Scion’s duty; to stand next to the comrades, these friends, he respected – yet some small part inside, deep within, had also seen it as necessity. And, from what he understood, she was so very similar. Albeit given the choice to rest so very often she never did, never hesitated. It was the trait worthy of a true hero who shaped their entire future – yet who also lead onto a very destructive path.

Oh, he knew this all too well.

The short glimpse of warmth, of happiness just to see it withering once again, turning to emotionless dust – never touching one’s own life.

Because those who fought, who did remember - the forgotten, the untold tales no one else knew besides them, had to carry their burden for all eternity.

His face expression changed, sanguine hues filling with a sea of sadness and regret. In truth he wanted to lay it all bare – wanted to speak those hidden words so many moons ago, when he was still believing in his own selfish, pathetic demise. And now, after receiving a second chance he still concealed himself in this veil of silence, ignoring his fast throbbing heart, fearing what her answer would be. An answer he would have given for so many decades as well. Yet if he continued to let his heart wither and die, failing to let his own emotions reach her, he would no longer be able to look upon those faces who sincerely wished for his happiness.

Wasn’t she one of them, in the very end…? He knew that she, among all of them, needed one plain word of affection the most. It was selfish, mayhap… Yet how harmful could it be to set himself free from the chains of his feelings for her? Emotions he had learned to well control, which he had been prepared to take with him when he embraced death itself. No, he certainly would not ponder about such things if there even was the possibility of accidentally hurting her. In truth it did not even matter to him if she returned the immortal love he felt for her – as long as he could ease her indescribable loneliness for merely a little.

“I…’Tis a selfish request, I am certain – nevertheless, I must ask one final thing of you. That you survive, no matter what. And that you will return…to my side.”

G’raha took a heavy breath, calloused fingertips finding her surprisingly thin shoulders to carefully bury themselves into her soft skin. He was scarcely taller than her, a few ilm at best perchance, but this made it solely easier to observe her fair face so very close to his own. Her rose lips already parted, likely in attempt to respond, yet he immediately cut her off, fearing if his own words got lost in hers they would never reach her.

“Every time someone calls for your aid in desperate times, I want you to remember that the very thought of losing you is frightening to me and I can ill afford losing you. This world has long entrusted all their hopes onto you, and with each day I fail to fully fathom the burden you still bear. Nevertheless, I can imagine. And I wish for you to know that before I draw my dying breath, I shall share and attempt to ease the weight you’re carrying. Lest you forget you are not alone.”

His voice had become velvety yet strong, as his resolve resonated with each word he spoke. There was so much more to say – so much more to reveal – yet opening his heart this very way after all these years was indeed quite a challenge. The emotions had long suffocated him until he had banished them, losing his own humanity with each passing day after replacing them with the numb, faceless mask of the Exarch. But no longer.

“G’raha – pray tell me, why exactly are you telling me this”, she asked in a hoarse whisper, finally seizing the opportunity to speak, worrying he might say more. The young hero had not moved ever since he had approached her, but the shades inside her eyes were ever moving, observing – and filled with the very same sadness he felt burning deep inside his soul when looking upon her.

Oh, what would he gave for her to look at him differently – not with the kind, worrying eyes of an hero but those of a loving woman.

“I love you”, he said plainly, lips curling into a soft smile, unable to hold it back any longer. “I do not regret one single moment by your side, nor my… quite selfish actions in the First. It was all for you, to protect you. And it pains me to know you all alone even now, shouldering all dreams and hopes by yourself. Whatever it takes, I will see you finding your happiness. And I… I trust you are well aware that I do not require you to accept my feelings. They are genuine, I assure you – and I cannot imagine any one being more worthy of them than you.”

The pressure of his fingertips on her shoulders grew – not to cause harm but to steady himself for the remaining words which still had to slip his tongue. He would love to indulge in the sensation of his touch for longer, usually shunning to be as close to her to not awaken those lustful desires.

Would she allow him to come closer, even if just for a brink of a moment…? Could she already listen to his loudly throbbing heartbeat and merely bore it for his sake?

His sanguine eyes disappeared beneath his long lashes, not to hide them from her but rather to dwell in his own memories as he spoke. His chest lifted, filled with the emotions of all these moments they had shared albeit ever so briefly.

“Worry not, my inspiration – my only love. For I am eternally glad that your star has charted my course, I will never forget your kindness nor anything you have done to save my own life. So I will not ask more of you than I already have. In truth, I already received so much more than what I had dreamed of. So I beseech you, pray let me aid you in any possible way. Just say the word, my friend.”

His hands felt as heavy as the crystalline form he once possessed when he attempted to lift them from her shoulders again, intending to give her some space. Yet the faint grip of one of her hands found his own, carefully wrapping his wrist to hold it in place. His eyes flung open as he felt the unexpected touch, meeting the pair of shiny mint colored eyes filled with tears, he reckoned. The man’s lips parted in surprise as his reddish ears laid close to his head.

“Why do you speak of such things, asking for naught in return?”, she asked, her voice slightly trembling – yet in apparent anger, with her ears moving agitatedly. “Do you truly never ponder about your own well-being, not even now of all times? After learning that they all wish for the very same… Rammbroes, Krile, Lyna… All good people of the Crystarium. They all wish for you to live your own life. You have already done so much, so pray tell me why you still fail to see this…?”

He did not move nor grit it teeth as her free hand clenched a fist to tenderly beat his chest a few times. As she stopped the fingertips clutched the fabric of his new garment, leaning in her weight until she almost rested inside his arms. Yet just almost. He could feel her hot breath brushing the bare skin around his collarbones, sending an immediate shiver down his spine. His limbs were itching to move, to pull her into a full and proper embrace – nonetheless he did not dare to move, not understanding her current actions.

“‘Tis true, we are indeed so very alike, you and I. And most certainly you are just as stubborn as I am. ‘Tis why I am…glad to know you as my companion henceforth. Yet I cannot condone you to suffer in my place. Ultimately, I solely want to see you finally happy as well. I want to see your dreams lived and fulfilled”, she continued with a small sigh and he noticed, as she lifted her gaze once again to face him, that one single tear had emerged from her eyes.

“Is it truly selfish to want to feel alive for once…? After being so very selfless all the time?”

Her voice trembled with the last questions, making him ponder if they were rhetoric or not. In the very end he was not even certain of whom she spoke. His second hand, yet free from her touch, slowly lifted to meet the warm skin of her cheeks, swiping away the tear with his calloused thumb. G’raha felt her reacting to his touch, barely noticeably even, ere she leaned into the warmth he offered.

“Mayhap not”, he answered in a rather husky tone, ignoring the yearning of his own body and the loud, desperate clutch of his very own soul.

“Then you shall know… I love you too, G’raha.” Albeit her voice had scarcely been more than a whisper to his ears, suffocating in some more tear drops to flow down her cheeks, he felt their meaning with every fiber of his body. It was not before she lifted her hand to gently rub over his own cheeks that he noticed that he had shared in her sentimentality.

For he realized that the woe, the deep sadness he saw inside her mint colored shades for the past moments were not product of her kindness but rather her feelings for him. Such sight made him to finally channel the strength needed to let go. To let go of the very burden he still desperately held onto; the very past in which he had merely chased after his very own death and desperation for all these long years. For the childhood in which he had believed to be cursed, to be condemned.

One past filled with dreams and hopes to believe in a future in which others might find happiness, albeit not himself.

“So perchance, just for once, mayhap just even for this moment - can we not forget and live, breathe? The world will not end, solely for us being happy for only one day. And the others can certainly wait, too.”

“Agreed”, the man mumbled, quickly leaning in to seal her lips with his very own, lest she spoke more than she already had. Truthfully, he was no longer certain if he could bear to wait any longer. Not after waiting more than an entire lifetime for her already, to finally feel her faint touch.

Her sweet, flowery scent filled his nose, sweeping through his entire body like an untamed wave – evoking all of his usually hidden emotions for her. Lips so perfectly shaped and soft moved against his very own in an almost painful slow rhythm, ere he his tongue slightly tickled them, yearning to taste her, to memorize all of her entire being. Immediately he felt her slim arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer as she slightly parted her full lips to give him entry.

None of it was like he had imagined; it was far better than the finest dream he ever had.

________________________

[ END OF PART ONE – Part Two will contain smut! ]

________________________

Sidenotes: I am following my headcanon that – because he is an allrounder and can fit into all roles – he is picking the most fitting role for the Warrior of Light (despite seen with his staff in the cutscenes).

In this case, since the Warrior of Light is a Summoner – which I still daresay should be the most powerful role according to the given canon information – he prefers to become her sword and shield. All of this is, of course, accordingly written to my own headcanons & portrayal and might not fit with other’s.

#g'raha tia #g'raha #sharing some love in the tags for this precious man #Patch 5.3 Spoilers #5.3 Spoilers #★ | THE UNSPOKEN TRUTH ( DRABBLES. )#long post #★ | THE CRYSTAL EXARCH ( IC. )

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

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Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Seeking7 or Seeking!

Commission: I don't offer writing commissions at the moment, mostly because I'm not sure how to conduct or present myself in the market. If anyone would like to request a certain fic or short story from me, however, I'd be glad to work out details with them. :)

Social Media: A03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7 FFnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13334645/

Tell us a little bit about you!

Hiya! I'm Seeking7, or Seeking. I was born in Alabama and raised in California to a pair of the most hardworking Egyptian immigrants you've ever met, and the mixture of Arabic and American influence over the course of my life has had a profound influence on the way I look at the world. My favorite subjects are biology and english, and I aspire to become either an EMT or military medic after I graduate. In regards to hobbies (aside from playing copious amounts of Zelda), I love studying American and Ancient Israelite history, and I hope to one day learn ancient Hebrew and Greek so I can read the original biblical manuscripts for myself!

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing?

While my own brain can usually come up with a certain scene or idea that would inspire me to put paper to pen, it's the people I have around me that encourage me to keep writing. The people on FFN and AO3 who comment and leave kudos on my work mean the world to me (shout out to JoSeBach on FFN and MyWritingisMeh on Ao3 for leaving comments/reviews on each chapter of my fic "Mephibosheth"). The LU fans who come to my livewrites on the discord are so ridiculously encouraging and always let me know that my writing can actually be interesting to some people -- a fact that never ceases to astound me. But most credit goes to my younger sister. Even when I don't show her a work because it might be a little bit extreme or intense for her age, she always lets me know that she's sure it's good regardless. Her unconditional, unreasonable support inspires me to be that kind of person to other fic writers!

What got you into writing?

Three books in particular encouraged me to take writing seriously. "Crime and Punishment" was the first in this process, showcasing just how intense, beautiful, and profound a book with actually very little plot can be. The entire book takes place more or less in the head of a man wracked to pieces by guilt, and Dostoevsky's decision to focus on internal instead of external conflict changed the way I looked at literature. "East of Eden" was next. It wasn't just the book's allegorical nature or the Cain and Abel motif that astounded me - Steinbeck's vivid descriptions of everything from the human mind to sunrise in Salinas has had a profound impact on my own writing. I still reference the first few pages when I write! (actually, if you look at my fic "The Most Sincere Kind of Lie," the opening paragraph is heavily inspired by the first page of East of Eden!) Finally, the biblical Book of Job changed the way I look at dialogue and interactions between flawed characters. The whole book is almost written like an ancient screenplay and deals with heavy questions like the meaning of pain and the meaning of meaninglessness without offering direct answers - which inspired me to try and include those questions in my own writing and handle them in a similar, vague, interperative way.

What's your favorite part of the writing process?

After outlining a fic, I usually start out by writing them like a screenplay with all dialogue tags and action notes written off to the side. When sarcastic banter, silly, lighthearted interactions, or intense conversations with a deeper meaning behind them start to come together, I can't help but smile. That usually gives the the extra inspirational boost I need to go back and flesh everything out so it becomes a story! (if you struggle with writing dialogue, message me on the discord and I'll be glad to tell you everything I know and send you the multitude of resources I have on the subject)

What's your least favorite part of the writing process?

Vetting works for grammatical mistakes turns writing fics into homework! I can't stand posting something and later reading just to find out that I forgot to capitalize a character's name, or that a comma is missing, or that Ao3 or FFN messed up the page breaks and I have to go back in and fix it. I'm not a perfectionist most of the time, but when I come to writing, I absolutely am.

Whats your favorite type of scene to write?

Intense philosophical debates and serious heart-to-heart conversations are by far my favorite kind of scenes to write, and that's because they're my favorite kind of scenes to observe and read! I always leave them feeling like I've gained something intellectually and emotionally, and it's my constant hope and dream to be able to impart the same kind of introspective thoughtfulness on the reader.

What's the hardest for you to write?

Allowing or even plotting for a character to go off the deep end is always such a hard thing to write. Not for them to die, necessarily, but for them to completely lose their morals, priorities, and relationships in search for something selfish or temporary. Writing them making the same mistakes over and over not because they're stupid but because they don't care about the consequences is always hard -- it's like killing off a character and replacing them with the darkest, nastiest version of themselves. Basically, writing the opposite of character development is the opposite of fun. :(

What's your favorite genre to write?

Whatever the hybrid child of angst and fluff is called, that's my baby. I find that a combination of the two can make for a really interesting experience and give me more space to explore different faucets of each character's personality. It's also the perfect breeding ground for some intense, sincere conversations.

What fandoms do you enjoy writing for?

I don't write for a lot of fandoms, just Linked Universe, Undertale, and occasionally LoZ stuff not tied directly to our nine precious boys.

What's the work you are most proud of?

I've only gotten into LU very recently, so at the time of writing this I don't have anything from the fandom that's ready to showcase. I do have some cool Undertale stuff though, at least in my opinion! If you're interested in that, there are two fics I've poured (and am currently pouring) my heart and soul into that I'm extremely proud of. The first one is 'The Reason,' which is just a quick oneshot focused on Grillby being an amazing, hardworking dad, (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24354130) and the second is Mephibosheth,' my multi-chapter pre-canon fic about the lives of Asriel and Chara. '(https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804797)

Is there a specific scene you are particularly proud of?

Going again off the works I referenced earlier, a particular scene in the ninth chapter of 'Mephibosheth' had me patting myself on the back. I can't tell you what it is, though, because it's a massive spoiler. ;)

Is there something you had to work through that forced you to grow as a writer?

At the beginning of my junior year of high school I submitted two works into a competition I was confident I would win. No, not just win, I was sure I would get first place nationally. The competition never had many submissions and I knew that the works I submitted were pretty darn good. As you can probably guess, I didn't win anything. No medal or mention, nothing. I was in shock for a good few days and considering giving up writing completely. Then I realized how stupid I was being for assuming I was entitled to an award, for writing something only for recognition, and for thinking that I should give up on something I love so much just because it didn't supply me with the endorphin rush I thought it would. I made it a goal to improve as much as humanly possible afterwards, and I'm happy to say that I think I'm making progress towards that!

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Every gremlin-like thing the boys do in my WIP LU fic "The Most Sincere Kind of Lie" (by the time this is up, it'll probably be on Ao3) is based off something I've seen my brother and sister do. They're the embodiment of utter chaos and the manifestation of the primal urge to destroy, so they're great inspiration for Link shenanigans. Also, almost all of the banter in 'Mephibosheth' has taken inspiration from one of three places; conversations I've had with my grandparents, conversations I've had with my siblings, or interviews I've watched online. Inspiration for thought-provoking dialogue has to come somewhere that's not my own brain - there aren't enough brain cells to bear the brunt of that creative burden!

Where do you post your finished works?

I post on FFN and Ao3, both under the alias Seeking7. What's that, you say? You want a link to my profile? Well, who am I to refuse?? (AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7) (FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13334645/)

#Meet The Creator #lutrain2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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diminished-fish · 4 years

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References for “A Portrait in Synesthesia”

This fic is COMPLETE now, so anyone who might have been hesitant to follow a wip, here you go! The whole synesthetic package, wrapped up with a nice lil bow on top. :3

For those who might have missed the masterpost: the fic was my contribution to the good omens big bang and is a sweeping, canon-compliant romp through history, told in (almost) all original scenes, with lots of nature imagery and T.S. Eliot. Kind of my own cold open, but with way more feelings and flowers. Also the sea. And an emotionally significant comet.

I had the opportunity to throw all of myself at this project and really enjoyed making it an intense focus for a while. In a way, it was an experiment to see how much I was capable of, which as it turns out, is more than I thought! (there’s a lesson here, probably...). Going this deep with the research and worldbuilding is not something I will likely be doing often for fic writing, but since I did with this one, I figured I’d share a bit of the process.

Under the cut are major spoilers for the timeline, story, and historic events in my recent fic, A Portrait in Synesthesia. I had originally planned to post this information in the end notes of the fic, but at some point, the list got way too long and posting it here became the sensible choice. There is a link to this post in the end notes of the fic, so it will be easy to find your way back here if you get to the end and want to know a bit more about the writing and research process.

The Title:

Putting this bit at the top because I don’t know where else to put it: The working title for this fic throughout the entire writing process was “In Synesthesia.” I almost changed the final title in the eleventh hour to “The Still Point of the Turning World” because of what a prevalent theme Eliot became (that line was also slipped into the story three times at important moments — once for each POV character). I also briefly considered “Always, We Were Enough” as a title, since the conversation with Adrielle at the lighthouse kind of... accidentally became the thesis of the whole story, but that was a bit too sappy even for me, a Confirmed Sap.

And while I’ll be questioning my choice of title for the rest of forever (titling things is hard, y’all), I ultimately thought the more descriptive title was best, and wanted to keep the nod to the song that inspired it all.

Speaking of the song... have you listened to it yet?? It’s great, I promise!

youtube

Synesthesia:

This was my research starting point. Before I dug into any of the historical or astronomical research or even started any serious plotting, I started reading about synesthesia, or, as Psychology Today defines it: the neurological condition in which the stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway (for example, hearing) leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway (such as vision).

Full disclosure: I do not have synesthesia. I spent a LOT of time researching it for this fic and did my best to portray it accurately, in spite of the fantastical elements I added. If I’ve overstepped or gotten something wrong and there are any synesthetes out there who would like to talk about it, I am very open to those discussions. The AO3 comments are always open to that, or you can message me/send me an ask here if you would like a less public forum.

I probably read r/Synesthesia in its entirety, but this thread of first-hand accounts was one of the most interesting to me and provided a lot of the inspiration for how I used the emotional synesthesia imagery.

Besides everyone’s favorite research staring point of Wikipedia, this link is one I got from Boston University’s Synesthesia Project, and it is a pretty exhaustive list of research and books, as well as art and poetry about synesthesia. I have also been working my way through The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales, by Oliver Sacks which is the book that came most frequently recommended to me in my search. It’s an extremely approachable and interesting look at neurological conditions, synesthesia among them.

As it appears in the fic:

In a broad, generalized sense, Aziraphale and Crowley have a few types of synesthesia in this story. Obviously, I gave it a supernatural/celestial twist and a healthy glug of magical realism, but I did try to keep it firmly rooted in the actual condition. The types of synesthesia they have are:

Chromesthesia: they both have this. Sounds, specifically each other’s voices, have a color association

Lexical-gustatory synesthesia/emotion-flavor synesthesia: Aziraphale has this. Words (in this case, emotions, specifically Crowley’s emotional state) have a taste.

Odor-color synesthesia/emotion-odor synesthesia: Crowley has this. Words (again, emotions, specifically Aziraphale’s emotional state) have a smell.

One of the defining characteristics of synesthesia is that it is constant. If a synesthete connects the number 9 with the color blue, for example, then they will always connect them in this way. This was the major difference between real synesthesia and the fantasy synesthesia in this fic. The sensory/emotion connections for Aziraphale and Crowley changed in subtle ways as their relationship evolved through the ages.

The “binding thread” also had nothing to do with synesthesia. That was me wanting to make the spool analogy work for the body swap, baking it into the entire fic because I liked how the imagery fit with the synesthesia, and then leaning into the magic and the soul memory so hard that I fell flat on my face into magical realism. (A True Fact: I have spent a fair amount of time lying on the floor in the past 6 months, shaking my fist at the cute little plot bunny who grew fangs and claws and dragged me down a rabbit hole that ended up being 100k words deep).

Anyway! Research!

Before I get into space and history and flowers... Yes, I admit to absolutely making up some wacky shit about Europa for the sake of fun banter and making a metaphor work. All those pre-Fall scenes on abandoned Earths are 100% a fantasy setting and I exercised the super fun right of a fantasy writer and embraced the worldbuilding (moonbuilding?). I also just thought Crowley would have delighted in tying a moon’s guts in knots, and Aziraphale would have delighted in the idea of whimsy-for-whimsy’s-sake. Please don’t lose sleep over the scientific inaccuracies.

Halley’s comet:

I promise not to bog this down with a billion comet facts, but there were a few particular things about Halley’s comet that had me gasping dramatically about how it’s “A.J. Crowley, but a comet!!” Specifically, it’s orbit and it’s structure.

Halley’s retrograde orbit gives it one of the fastest velocities (relative to Earth) of any object in the solar system. I never explicitly worked the “you go too fast for me” line into the fic because I was trying to do original scenes (this particular story lived between the lines), but... just know that tidbit is there and join me in these emotional dire straits. If you like.

The comet’s structure is what is known as a “rubble pile”, meaning it’s made up of a bunch of smaller rocks held together by gravity (read: a hot god damn mess held together by stubbornness).

As it appears in the fic:

The nucleus of Halley’s comet is shaped like a weird lopsided peanut. In fact, one could almost look at it and say it resembles a contact binary star, if such a thing could be a shriveled, misshapen pile of rubble.

Officially, Halley’s comet might have been recorded as early as 467 BC (a comet was recorded in Greece that year— unclear if it was Halley’s, but the timing and the fact that it was visible to the naked eye suggests that it probably was). This was the year I had Aziraphale making the scroll that causes Crowley’s panic in Athens (390 BC). I like to think that some human, at some point, caught a glimpse of it and tried to bring it to light, only to be written off as a crazed conspiracy theorist.

The apocalyptic depiction of Halley’s comet in chapter 9 (Bithynia) is actually based in fact. The comet made its closest approach to Earth (in human memory) in 837 AD, passing within 5 million kilometers. Its tail stretched halfway across the sky and it appeared as bright as Venus to the naked eye.

1910 Halley’s Comet panic. Bonus: c o m e t p i l l s

Where 1910′s appearance was a spectacular sight and one of the closest approaches on record (coming within 22 million kilometers of Earth), 1986′s was the worst viewing conditions in 2,000 years. The comet passed within 63 million kilometers at its closest approach, and had the sun positioned between it and Earth, making it impossible to see from areas with any amount of light pollution, and almost invisible to all of the northern hemisphere.

Historic events and settings:

Chapter 6 (Ostia): This was one of the chapters that I did a bunch of arguably unnecessary research for, since the history and the meat of the setting faded into the backdrop as the scene itself focused on dialogue and train of thought. The port town of Ostia was incredibly engrossing to read about, and between wikipedia’s ever-branching paths, ostia-antica.org, and ancient history encyclopedia’s entry, it ended up being one of the deeper rabbit holes I went down. My original intent for Aziraphale being in town was as a response to pirates sacking Ostia in 68 BC. I had him stationed there to guard against further attacks as the town rebuilt, and had him lingering because he was swept away by the romanticism of the art and the sea and the constant ebb & flow of people. I never found a way to work this in that didn’t feel super awkward and expository since the chapter was Crowley POV, so it was just left it as background noise.

Chapter 6 (pyramid of Cestius): Beyond being a magistrate of one of the four great religious corporations in ancient Rome (the Septemviri Epulonum), little is known about who Gaius Cestius actually was. As the city expanded, his lavish tomb was absorbed into the city walls (circa 3rd century AD), where it remains what he is remembered for to this day. I took most of my information from here (cross referenced with our lord and savior, Wikipedia) and had a chuckle at this poem by Thomas Hardy.

Chapter 8 (Plague of Justinian): The Yersinia pestis bacterium leaves no indicator on skeletal remains, meaning we rely on written records to track its path through history. The 6th century plague pandemic is the first recorded outbreak of bubonic plague, and for the purpose of our story, a certain distraught chronicler was the one on site, writing that history.

A note/cw: I wrote chapters 8 and 12 in October and November, respectively, and did much of my research for them over the summer. I imagine, given the current covid-19 pandemic, these sources would be less fun to follow up on now. Please be aware that the podcast episodes linked here, and the book cited in the miscellaneous refs section, get into pretty grisly details about illness and pandemics.

Chapters 8 and 12 (bubonic plague/The Black Death): I took a fair amount of my notes on bubonic/pnuemonic plague, specifically it’s path of destruction through Europe in the 14th century, from the two plague episodes of This Podcast Will Kill You. It’s pretty fascinating stuff and the Erins are great hosts, so check it out if you’re into delightful nerds bantering about epidemiology!

Chapter 9 (the death of Peter of Atroa): Peter of Atroa was an abbot whose fame as a miracle-worker landed him in a scandal accusing him of exorcising demons by the power of Beelzebub, rather than God. Theodore the Studite’s letter cleared his name enough to avoid execution, but his reputation didn’t fully recover until after his death in 837 AD, when he was canonized as a saint. Peter and Theodore were tough to find extensive information on without passing through a paywall, so I took these scraps and ran a mile with them.

Chapter 13 (Tlatelolco, the Aztec Empire, the Feast of the Dead): I used this site as the source and starting point on much of my research on the Aztec Empire. And listen… I know it looks like a website for babies, and yes, I’m aware that a lot of the articles are literally written for a pre-teen audience, but it’s also one of the most concise, thorough, well-researched, and — perhaps most importantly — easily-searchable sources I found. Most of the pages cite papers and archaeological journals and I was able to jump to SO many other great sources of information. Mexicolore has my undying love and devotion for making my research process easy and fun and also having lots of pretty pictures.

Most of the physical descriptions for Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco (surrounding landscape, canals and causeways, chinampas, etc.) started here.

Tenochtitlan and Tlatelolco were independent cities, but shared a border (kind of like a city and a suburb) and the small island on Lake Texcoco (located where present day Mexico City is). Tenochtitlan was the capital city of the Aztec Empire, and besides cross-referencing Mexicorlore, the link in the previous bullet point, and Wikipedia, I got a fair bit of information from these essays.

Tlatelolco’s market was the major hub of trade and commerce, and saw 20-40,000 people trading PER DAY. Research on the market started here.

Chapter 14 (Terschelling and the Brandaris lighthouse): While I strove for historical accuracy as much as possible in this fic, I did take some liberties— especially with the island of Terschelling and the Brandaris lighthouse (yes, it’s real!) circa 1350-1435.

The village of Brandarius is based on present day West Terschelling— a settlement founded as a direct result of the lighthouse. In the middle ages, both the village and the lighthouse were named after Saint Brandarius (or Brendan of Clonfert: ‘The Navigator’, ‘The Voyager’, ‘The Anchorite’, ‘The Bold’; patron saint of divers, mariners, and travellers). It’s still a relatively small village today, and it was a surprisingly difficult task to find historical records for Brandarius/West Terschelling dating back to the 14th century that say much beyond “it existed.” I loosely based the village off information found here, and named it “Brandarius” instead of “West Terschelling” based on the information found here.

The original lighthouse was built in 1323, destroyed by the sea in 1570, and rebuilt in 1594. Since there were no records (that I could find) of what the original lighthouse looked like, I loosely based the height and floor plan on the current tower, and made up everything everything else about the interior. The interior was based on information about other live-in lighthouses, specifically this one which is roughly the same height as the Brandaris.

The present day Brandaris lighthouse sits directly in the middle of West Terschelling. For the sake of that sweet Self-Imposed Exile + Cryptid Lighthouse Keeper drama, I took the liberty of making my fictional village of Brandarius teeny tiny and setting it slightly apart from the lighthouse.

Miscellaneous references:

In addition to the podcast, details about plague in chapters 8 and 12 were gleaned from the book The Great Mortality by John Kelly. It’s a cool read if you’re into nonfiction that reads like fiction, but does have some rather graphic passages so proceed with caution.

Yaretzi’s maquizcóatl/Aziraphale’s memento. To clarify, they were NOT the same item. I pictured Aziraphale cherishing the memory of the day by the lake with Yaretzi so much, that once he acquired the bookshop and had a place for all his kitsch, he hunted down a bad luck dragon of his own.

Here is the Aztec creation story about sun cycles and Earth’s rebirths that Yaretzi told Aziraphale. Another version of it.

In the scene in Mexico where Aziraphale briefly remembers, I used an analogy about a moment that hovers and flits away as “quick as a hummingbird.” Besides just liking the words, this was a nod to the legend of the cempasuchil flower. I originally had Yaretzi telling Aziraphale that story too, but the chapter was just way too long and something had to go.

In my very first outline, I had Aziraphale’s grief and personal growth chapter taking place at a Día de Muertos festival in Mexico. When the plot and the timeline finally got ironed out and I realized only half of that story was going to take place on Earth, I ended up focusing on Aziraphale’s brief relationship with Yaretzi instead of the festival itself (she was always the important bit). I also found myself married to the idea of that chapter happening in the 14th and 15th centuries, which meant the scenes in Mexico take place before Spain invaded and the festival was based solely on its Aztec roots. Because the plot shifted in this way, a lot of research went on behind the scenes that never made it into the fic, but for anyone interested in the Aztec Feast of the Dead, Mexicolore was my starting place again. From there, I found my way to reading about Mictecacíhuatl, the Aztec goddess of death, who was the main focus of the festival.

This isn’t research, but it might interest, like… three of you, so here you go. The scenes in Heaven (Aziraphale’s solo chapter in general tbh) were hard to write. One of those walls you hit with writing where you kick and punch and bang your head against it for months (literal months, I started wrestling with it in August and it didn’t come together until the end of January) but can’t seem to make any breakthroughs. Inspiration truly comes from unexpected places though, and when @gottagobuycheese sent me this Gregorian chant generator it actually… worked? I cranked that hum slider up to 100 and left it there for a few days (to the chagrin of my spouse) and lo— Zophiel.

There’s a cool legend about Saint Brendan of Clonfert’s sea-faring journey in search of the Garden of Eden that has nothing to do with this fic beyond being neat parallel. If that happens to be anyone’s cup of tea, the story is here. The tl;dr version is here. My original vision for the lighthouse included carved whales (St Brendan’s attribute) over the front door, and images from this story (the island of sheep, the Christmas island, the paradise island of birds) drawn on the walls of one of the bedrooms used by previous keepers’ children. Continuing the theme of “how stories echo” if you will. It felt really awkward and out of place once I wrote it in though, and that chapter was already so long once I got through all the plot bits I wanted, so it was left on the cutting room floor.

Speaking of taking liberties with the 14th century, I did fudge the timing a bit on the art created by Crowley and Adrielle. Drawings, especially pencil sketches, have their historical roots in the late 15th century, and I’m chalking this one up to the fantastical setting of the Good Omens universe. In a fantasy world where angels and demons walk among us and the earth is literally 6,000 years old, I feel like inventing pencils 100 years early is small potatoes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is the edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Crowley nicked in Norwich. There are some really wonderful illustrations and scans of full pages under that link. I may or may not have lost a few hours down that research rabbit hole for a few throwaway lines (no regrets, I fall like Crowley).

One last rabbit hole...

I saved this bit for the end of the post since it’s not really research and I don’t know how interested people will be in this kind of thing. Also... this is a lot more emotional and personal than the historical aspects of the fic. This is just what I was feeling and thinking while I was writing, and this story is absolutely the kind of thing I expect everyone to take something different away from. If you read the fic, took your own meaning from it, and want to keep that meaning without me tarnishing it by babbling about symbolism (first of all, high five, I love you, thank you for hanging out with me and my stories), then feel free to skip the rest of this post. <3

But! For anyone who wants to know more about what I had in mind with the flowers and nature metaphors I worked into the story, read on!

The tag “it’s an OT3 where Earth is the third” is something I really worked to pull to center stage. In my mind, Earth was a fully formed character who also spent the pre-Fall storyline being jerked around by God and having its memory wiped. It experienced transformations, pain, heartbreak, joy, and love just like Aziraphale and Crowley did, and I wrote it as falling in love with the two of them over the course of the Earth Project, then remaining very much in love for the entirety of iteration 23 (the current iteration). “Memories that are buried in places deeper than the mind” referred to the soul imprints being formed, but also Earth’s buried memories— seeping through the cracks to connect them via synesthesia in emotionally charged moments, allowing them to find each other from orbit in iterations 20 and 21 (music and the sea), and pulling them together in moments of distress like Constantinople and Barcelona.

In the vein of “Earth as a character,” I used plants (mainly flowers), topography, and weather as Earth’s “voice” in the grief chapters when Crowley and Aziraphale were separated from each other and going through their individual arcs. I’m not sure it technically counts as flower language, since all the flowers featured in the fic were wild and growing in nature, but (almost) all of them served a metaphorical purpose.

Flowers:

Jasmine (for the moon): Aziraphale’s flower. Love, beauty, sensuality, good luck, purity. The rational hedonist.

Marigolds (for the sun): Crowley’s flower. Grief and remembrance of the dead, lost love, the fragility of life, creativity, winning the affections of someone through hard work. The fallen artist.

Purple Hyacinth: Earth’s flower. Regret, sorrow, a desire for forgiveness. The witness. These were the wildflowers that grew in the orchard/vineyard on the penultimate Earth, where Aziraphale and Crowley managed to work out the differences they couldn’t by the sea. Hyacinths are also the hazy images they would see in those moments of vulnerability, compassion, and compromise.

A fun aside! In very early drafts, the placeholder name I was using for angel Crowley was Jacinto, which is a Spanish/Portuguese name meaning “Hyacinth.” It was meant to be a reference to both the flower and the Greek myth of Apollo and Hyacinth, but my brain absolutely could not disconnect it from Manny Jacinto (and kept insisting on imagining Crowley calling Aziraphale homie and calling everything dope). Eventually I leaned into the Latin and landed on Joriel, then attached my banner to the Achilles and Patroclus myth instead of Apollo and Hyacinth, but the name Jacinto still makes me think of starmakers.

Honeysuckle & morning glory, climbing the oak tree: Aziraphale + Crowley + Earth. Seen in chapter 10, when Aziraphale and Crowley shake hands on the Arrangement. Two plants whose vines grow in opposing spirals. In nature, they have a symbiotic relationship, twining around each other in order to climb trees, walls, and fences, allowing both of them to grow higher than they could alone.

Or: local woman sees this tweet, hasn’t known peace since.

The deasilwise / widdershins (clockwise / anticlockwise) thing got sprinkled throughout the story, with deasilwise being the “angel direction” and widdershins being the “demon direction.” Halley’s comet, with its backwards orbit, orbits the sun deasilwise, even after Crowley becomes widdershins.

Amaranth: Immortality, unfading affection, finding beauty in inaccessible places.

The garden in the dunes and Petya’s travelling garden:

Where Aziraphale took a methodical, Kubler-Ross approach to dealing with loss, Crowley’s process was meandering and chaotic. The garden in the dunes was where it all came to a head— his way of throwing all of his emotions on the ground like a big jumbled pile of pick-up sticks, then slowly sorting through them and putting himself back together. There was a whole lot of Earth/flower speech going on in those scenes.

With the exception of zinnias, the garden was made up of perennials or self-sowing flowers. This happened “off-screen” as I could never find a decent way to work it in, but... the zinnias which Crowley bullied into being perennials returned to being annuals and died off after he left Terschelling and sometimes I still cry in the shower about it.

Zinnias: Adrielle’s flower. Endurance, lasting friendship (especially friendships lasting through absence), goodness, daily remembrance. This one is also a small self-indulgence on my part since Adrielle was something of a self-insert. My mother loves zinnias and, growing up, our house was absolutely surrounded by them in the summer. Anywhere there was a free patch of dirt, Mom planted zinnias. They’re a scrappy, weird looking flower that doesn’t have a smell and a lot of people find rather ugly... and I love them with my entire heart. There is no flower on this earth that fills me with more whimsy, nostalgia, or childlike contentment. Also butterflies love them.

Chamomile: Patience. Fresh chamomile flowers are very aromatic and smell like apples.

Daisies: Transformation. Also simplicity, loyalty, and new beginnings.

Poppies: Restful sleep or recovery, peace in death, remembrance.

Tulips: Each tulip color has its own meaning, but the most common thing they symbolize is deep love. That said,��I mainly chose this one for their prevalence in the Netherlands, as well as being very colorful perennials.

Pansies: The love or admiration that one person holds for another, free thinking, remembrance.

Lily of the valley: Rebirth, the return of happiness. They also have a very strong, very sweet smell and can grow in cool climates. These were the main reasons I chose it, rather than any of the religious connotations.

Lavender: Silence, devotion, serenity, grace.

Orchids: There’s... actually no deep symbolism with this one. Nothing intended anyway. Orchids, lavender, and cranberries are the dominant native plants on the island of Terschelling. I thought they’d be pretty in the dunes.

I am also a music-must-be-playing-at-all-times kind of person and I came out the other end of this project with FIFTEEN (15) playlists. Some of them are all instrumental playlists that I used to set the mood while I wrote certain scenes/segments, others are lyrical and tell a story or helped me sort out the story, some chapters got entire playlists all to themselves (looking at you, 14th century). The main playlists are linked in the notes on AO3, but I may collect them all in a tumblr post at some point if there’s an interest.

This entire project was an enormous labor of love that took up pretty much all of my free time for six months. So, if you read this far... thank you for coming on such a long journey with me!! Truly, deeply, and from every corner of my heart, thank you for reading. <3

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brohogany · 3 years

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Hodgkin's International Newsletter (December 15, 2020) Meet André Singleton!

André just recently discovered the long-term Hodgkin's survivor family, and we are very happy that he did! We feature Andre in this month's "Q and A"- happy reading!

1. When were you diagnosed with HL? How old were you? I was diagnosed in October 2004 when I was 18 years old. 2. What was the biggest challenge during your treatment? Everything was the biggest challenge for me. I was 18 years old and fought tooth and nail to get to college. I was a freshman at Morehouse College in Atlanta, Georgia. It was 5 weeks into my freshman year and during midterms. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I wouldn't be returning to school AND I was no tasked with fighting for my life. I returned to my hometown, Kansas City, Missouri, to undergo all the blood tests and biopsies which ultimately led to me being diagnosed with and treated for Stage IV HL. Heartbreaking to say the least. So, everything from leaving my peer group to beginning chemotherapy in the winter left my deeply crestfallen. 3. When did you first meet another HL survivor? I met Quiana Parks through her cousin, Adriane Brown, in 2016. She is the same age and went through treatment at the same time. It was an extremely emotionally expressive moment for me. I love her. 4. What has been the most difficult thing about being a survivor? The most rewarding? The most difficult part about being a survivor is the intersections of my survival. Not only am I surviving HL but I am also surviving as a Black man and a gay man. As an artist. As a poor person. It's been so lonely trying to navigate the world with having so many strikes against me. How the oppression of the world really crushes each one of these parts of me and collectively they are crushed. A beloved artist, thinker, feeler, activist and someone who faced breast cancer, Audre Lorde once said, "There's always someone asking you to underline one piece of yourself. Whether it's Black, woman, mother, dyke, teacher, etcetera… that's the piece that they need to key in to. They want to dismiss everything else." I wish the main part of my struggle was at least one of these things that I have been being penalized for embodying (as mentioned in the beginning of my response to this question) but the truth is that they all do and I am punished and denied systemically a chance to live decently. At 18 years old I never had a starting chance to be self-sufficient and independent. I have been tethered to a medical system that has never cared about me. I haven't had consistent care and I struggle with even using the word "care" because it didn't, hasn't and doesn't feel very caring. So, the compounded factors make survival a very very difficult thing. I am often afraid I won't make it to 40 years old. I'll be turning 35 on December 23rd. What a surprise. I feel like I am withering away. The most rewarding has been my ability to understand the shadow side of life. To understand how "darkness" serves me. With such a young and pivotal diagnosis I was ushered into the realm of sickness, dying and death. I have deeply connected with many people who are sick and dying. I continue to honor my dear loved ones who have died. The urgency to care and share what resources I have - whether inner or outer resources - is paramount to me. Creating the world I need/ed for myself inspires me to listen deeply and serve others in whatever way/s that I can. I never personally feel limited but I do feel the limitations that are put on me because of anti-Black racism, homophobia, classism, elitism, ableism and the countless forms of oppression. The struggle has been very real and the truth is that even iron wears down. I can't do it alone no matter how inspired I am or inspiring others find me. I need/ed critical help and support for a very long time. So, I guess the reward has yet to come. Coming? 5. Name the most interesting place you have ever visited or would like to visit after COVID? I would say the most impactful place I've visited is Salvador, Bahia, Brasil. I don't believe that there will be an "after COVID" just like there isn't an after cancer/HL. However, I do look forward to when I will be able to properly visit Africa. I've spent some time in South Africa over the years. But I really see myself spending time in Burkina Faso and other African countries. Burkina Faso is the home of two very important Spiritual teachers that have been major healers and instrumental in fortifying my faith in my body and genetics as an African person. Malidoma Patrice Somé and Sobonfu Somé (may she rest in peace) have written books, journals and lead workshops that are rooted in their traditions of the Dagara Nation/People and they have made this living experience a bit more tolerable. They have reminded me through their words that the reliance on Spirit is essential to not only living but also dying. I have infinite reverence for their understanding and eons of practiced faith which is tremendously left out of the West and the belief systems and all systems that impact everyone. Sobonfu once said, “There is a deep longing among people in the West to connect with something bigger — with community and Spirit. People know there is something missing in their lives, and believe that the rituals and ancient ways of the village offer some answers.” I want to be in a place where this isn't a concept or something you can buy but it is essential to the day to day experiences. 6. Who is the person you admire most? I admire people who endure suffering and really try to make sense of what they have or don't have. The ones that can't help but express what happened to them and how it still impacts them. The ones that keep repeating how they feel because they haven't and don't feel heard. Because I know that this chips away at their Soul/s. That hurts me deeply. But I admire the tenacity and inability to give up in their eye/s and heart/s. The ones that go out with a fight. I never say people "lost their battle to cancer" or "cancer got the best of" because cancer died too when said person departs the physical plane. 7. What would you say to your pre-Hodgkins self? Words of wisdom, advice, "If I had only known..." (Continue to) trust yourself and your heart, mind, Spirit and Soul. Be firm but lead with soft hands, a soft voice, soft heart, soft eyes and love. Always give thanks. 8. Where do you see yourself in five years? Hopefully, still living if the world can give me that grace. I can't be here if others don't see me here and/or want me here. It's not even that I refuse to have the onus on me. I just can't simply do it alone. No one can. Especially not one who has already been fighting vigilantly just to be here on this earth physically.

LINK TO ENTIRE NEWSLETTER

*Bless all the other survivors who contributed to the newsletter + all the folks who know this battle well ... deceased and living. Axé* 😔❣️🙏🏿

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purrincess-chat · 5 years

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Marinette and the Lost Temple CH7

Part two of my thank you for 3.5k followers! So, with the recent airing of Feast, a lot of things in this fic have been disproven, but when have I ever cared about canon? I’m sticking to what I’ve had planned all along, cause fuck ya chicken strips. This chapter was inspired by this image from the Collector.

Read on AO3

Chapter 7

“Why the long face?”

Fu blinked out of his trance, flicking his gaze up to Elder Wei and plastering on a smile.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he said, but Elder Wei knew him better, so he slouched. “My partner had to stay behind, and I kind of wanted to talk to her about something. The elders don’t really trust her, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should either.”

“For what it’s worth, the elders don’t trust you very much either,” Wei shot him a teasing smirk.

“You trust me,” Fu said, glancing back up at him as they descended the mountain.

“I am patient with you,” he corrected pointedly.

“I don’t see how that’s much different,” Fu shot back, and Wei smiled before fixing his gaze ahead.

“You can do great things if you just put your mind to them,” he said. “You have so much to learn.”

“Elder Wei, we’ve reached the edge of the barrier,” Ming announced, and Wei straightened his shoulders.

“Press on. Careful not to get disoriented,” he instructed as the scenery began to shift until they exited the path onto the main road where other people headed for town with various goods to trade and sell.

Fu smiled as he glanced around at all the buildings and people passing as they walked. They only had two hours to free time in town before they were to meet back at the entrance. Wei had the Moth brooch with him, and a Miraculous was the only way to open the barrier to get back, so Fu really didn’t want to get left behind. It was shame Marinette couldn’t come.

His expression fell as he watched his classmates visiting shops together, and a pit formed in his stomach.

Marinette…

There was so much he didn’t know about her, and everything with the elders… He shook his head to clear it. There was no sense in worrying about that now. Maybe he could find her a souvenir and ask her about it when they got back. After all, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Sometimes he wished he didn’t stick his nose where it didn’t belong.

***

Marinette sat in the garden, legs crossed as she attempted to meditate. Attempted being the key word, and after several unsuccessful minutes, she leaned forward with a sigh.

“The key to successful meditation is to separate the mind from the soul,” Master Feng said as he approached, and Marinette glared over her shoulder at him.

“Are you here to formally kick me out?” She asked sourly as he sat beside her.

“Not yet, no.” He smirked, but Marinette was anything but amused. “I get the feeling that you know more than you let on.”

At that she averted her gaze.

“I’ve told you everything I know,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest.

“I believe you have told us everything you wanted us to know,” he said, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “You know something you’re not sharing because you want to protect the person involved, and I believe I know who it is.”

“I thought I was making it all up,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “So what would it matter if none of it is true?”

“A fair point. We have no way of knowing if you are telling the truth, only time will tell for sure, but just know that I will personally be keeping an eye on Fu when he returns,” he said, casting her a knowing look before she stood up and stalked off to her room.

***

Fu smiled down at the small charm in his hand hoping that Marinette would like it. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d broach the subject with her later, but he hoped that this would soften things a little. It’s not like there was an easy way to tell your partner you’d overheard her discussing the destruction of the Order and that she knew this because she was from the future, a future where he was the last remaining member of the Order of the Guardians. Something had always been off about her, but Fu had always assured that everyone from France was strange. It’s not like he’d ever been there.

He closed his fist around the charm with a sigh, shaking his head. She couldn’t be telling the truth. Him? The last guardian? As if. But even still, he didn’t want to believe Marinette was bad. Something in his gut trusted her.

“Fu!” He jumped at Ming’s voice. “We have to leave now!”

“What? Why?” A loud crash sounded from the docks across town, and several people ran up the street screaming.

“There’s a monster attacking, so Elder Wei has ordered all of us to return to the temple,” she explained before darting off with Fu hot on her heels.

They raced past townspeople fleeing their homes, and Fu surveyed their horrified expressions with a frown. There had to be something they could do.

A little girl screamed as her mother dragged her up the street, pawing after the doll dropped several paces back, and Fu hesitated a moment, glancing between her and the path back to the gate. His heart hammered in his chest, and before he could think better of it, his feet were pounding back down the road.

“Fu!” Ming called as he charged toward the monster’s path.

He eyed the giant creature crushing buildings in its wake as he stooped to retrieve the doll, narrowly dodging a tentacle as it slammed against the ground to his right. The small girl hugged her doll tightly when he ran it back to her, and he pushed the mother and the child on before retreating after Ming.

Elder Wei waited outside the entrance, ushering in other apprentices as they approached, and his face softened with relief when he spotted Fu.

“Hurry back through the gate,” he ordered, but Fu stood still, a tortured frown on his lips as he turned back to survey the destruction.

“Elder Wei, we can’t just runaway, can we? People are getting hurt, and the town will be destroyed,” he pleaded. “Isn’t it the job of Miraculous holders to help with disasters like this?”

“You kids are hardly ready to take on such a task. It is best to get you to safety and let nature take its course,” Wei said, and upon seeing Fu’s disappointment added, “There is nothing we can do. I’m sorry.”

“But you have a Miraculous! Make me your champion, and we can fight it together,” he said, eyes baring into Wei’s desperately.

“No, Fu! Now hurry up and get inside,” he ordered with a finality that made Fu’s eyes sting.

“You said that I could do great things if I just put my mind to them,” Fu shot back, and Wei eyed the brooch in his hands with a contemplative frown before offering it to Fu.

“Young apprentice, this is the Miraculous of the Moth which grants the power of transformation. Use it for the greater good,” he said, and Fu eyed it in his hands for a moment before reaching out to take it.

“Nooroo, transform me!”

“Elder Wei!” Ling ran up as Fu’s transformation finished. “I made sure everyone was alerted- you gave him the Miraculous?”

“There is no time to argue, Ling. Fu, transform Ling into your champion. The two of you must work together if you hope to defeat this monster,” Wei instructed, and the two boys eyed each other in disgust for a moment before Fu reluctantly held out a hand to one of his butterflies.

“I’m only doing this to save the town,” he said as Ling offered up his bracelet.

“Just give me something cool,” Ling rolled his eyes as the butterfly disappeared and purple light washed over him. “Seriously, Fu?”

“I’ve given you the powers of the horse Miraculous. We need to get that monster out of town,” Fu explained as Ling examined his costume. “There’s no time to argue.”

“Ugh, fine,” Ling groaned before they dashed into action.

“We need to lure it into a portal and dump it somewhere away from everyone like the ocean or something,” Fu said, and Ling pursed his lips.

“Alright, but let’s hurry,” he said.

“What? No smart comment or clever insult?” Fu quirked a brow.

“We don’t have time for that, Mr. Butterfly!” Ling flicked his nose, and Fu smiled.

“That’s more like it.” He nodded before drawing his sword and charging in.

Fu lured its attention back toward the river, dodging tentacles and slicing through debris that were hurled his way. All of those times he’d struggled in class, every defeat to his classmates, they made him feel like he wasn’t cut out for this, but in this moment, Fu had one goal: to save the town. Suddenly he understood what all of this meant. What being a guardian meant.

It wasn’t about cool superpowers or ancient magic. It wasn’t about being the best. It was about protecting people who needed it and making a stand when no one else will. He finally understood what it was like to wield a Miraculous.

“Now, Ling!” He called as they approached the docks, and Ling activated his power, summoning a portal large enough to encompass the creature.

Together Fu and Ling drove it back until it fell through the portal to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. They threw their heads back with triumphant whoops as the portal closed, sealing away their threat for good, and Ling turned to Fu with a bow. Fu felt a sense of pride welling in his chest as he too pressed his fist to his palm and returned the gesture.

“Boys, we must hurry and return now,” Elder Wei called as soldiers road in, and Fu and Ling let their transformations drop before following after Wei. “Quickly, Fu, open the gate.”

Fu fumbled with the Moth, holding it up and opening the barrier for Wei and Ling as the shouts of military soldiers called after them. He glanced over his shoulder with wide eyes as they readied their guns before slipping through the barrier and racing up the path after Wei and Ling. As soon as he crossed the archway, he collapsed into Wei’s arms, panting heavily.

“You two boys did well,” Wei said, smoothing his hair. “I’m proud of you.”

Fu pulled back with a smile, reaching into his pocket for the Moth brooch but finding it missing. He patted his robes, searching each pocket but coming up empty handed and feeling his blood run cold.

“No…” His eyes widened with realization.

One the other side of the barrier, the army general stooped to retrieve the small brooch from the ground, wincing against the purple light as a small creature manifest before him. Several men raised their guns, but the moment Nooroo appeared, a sly grin curled on the general’s lips.

“Men, it appears that we are about to gain advantage over our enemies. A miraculous advantage.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #marinette dupain-cheng #marinette march #marinette love #master fu #my writing #next chapter is the sad chapter #just a warning

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servus-immaculatae · 4 years

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FEAST OF THE MOST HOLY NAME OF JESUS

The second Sunday after the Epiphany, which recalls the Marriage feast of Cana, was at first chosen as the day on which to honour the most holy Name of Jesus. It is on the Wedding Day that the Bridegroom gives his Name to the Bride, and it is the sign that, from that day forward, she belongs to him alone. The Church, therefore, wishing to honour a name so precious to her with a special feast, could find no day more appropriate for it than that of the Marriage at Cana. But now she has chosen for the celebration of this august Name, a day closer to the Anniversary on which it was given, ‘after eight days were accomplished, his name was called Jesus’; she leaves, however, the commemoration of the Sacred Nuptials to the Sunday of which it has ever been the glory.

In the Old Covenant, the Name of God inspired fear and awe: nor was the honour of pronouncing it granted to all the children of Israel. We can understand this. God had not yet come down from heaven to live on earth, and converse with men; he had not yet taken upon himself our poor nature, and become Man like ourselves; the sweet Name expressive of love and tenderness, could not be applied to him.

But, when the fullness of time had come - when the mystery of love was about to be revealed - then did heaven send down the Name of ‘Jesus’ to our earth, as a pledge of the speedy coming of him who was to bear it. The archangel Gabriel said to Mary: Thou shalt call his Name JESUS. ‘Jesus’ means Saviour. How sweet will this Name not be to poor lost man! It seems to link earth to heaven! No name is so amiable, none is so powerful. Every knee in heaven, on earth, and in hell, bows in adoration at hearing this Name! and yet, who can pronounce it, and not feel love spring up within his heart? But we need such a saint as Bernard, to tell us of the power and sweetness of this blessed Name. He thus speaks of it in one of his Sermons. ‘The Name of Jesus is Light, and Food, and Medicine. It is Light, when it is preached to us; it is Food, when we think upon it; it is the Medicine that soothes our pains when we invoke it. Let us say a word on each of these. Tell me, whence came there, into the whole world, so bright and sudden a light, if not from the preaching of the Name of Jesus? Was it not by the light of this Name that God called us unto his admirable Light? Wherewith being enlightened, and in this light, seeing the Light, we take these words of Paul as truly addressed to ourselves: Heretofore, you were darkness; but now, light in the Lord [Eph. v. 8].

‘Nor is the Name of Jesus Light only; it is also Food. Art thou not strengthened, as often as thou thinkest of this Name? What is there that so feeds the mind of him that meditates upon this Name? What is there that so restores the wearied faculties, strengthens virtue, gives vigour to good and holy habits, and fosters chastity? Every food of the soul is dry, that is not steeped in this unction; it is insipid, if it be not seasoned with this salt. If thou write, I relish not thy writing, unless I read there the Name of Jesus. If thou teach me, or converse with me, I relish not thy words, unless I hear thee say the Name of Jesus. JESUS is honey to the mouth, and music to the ear, and gladness to the heart. ‘It is also Medicine. Is any one among you sad? Let but Jesus come into his heart, and the mouth echo him, saying Jesus! and lo! the light of that Name disperses every cloud, and brings sunshine back again. Have any of you committed sin? and is despair driving you into the snare of death? Invoke the Name of life, and life will come back to the soul. Was there ever a man, that, hearing this saving Name, could keep up that common fault of hardness of heart, or drowsiness of sluggishness, or rancour of soul, or languor of sloth? If any one, perchance, felt that the fountain of his tears was dry, did it not gush forth more plentifully than ever, and flow more sweetly than ever, as soon as he invoked the Name of Jesus? If any of us were ever in danger, and our heart beat with fear, did not this Name of power bring us confidence and courage the moment we pronounced it? When we were tossed to and fro by perplexing doubts, did not the evidence of what was right burst on us as we called upon the Name of light? When we were discouraged, and well nigh crushed, by adversity, did not our heart take courage, when our tongue uttered the Name of help ? All this is most true; for all these miseries are the sicknesses and faintings of our soul, and the Name of Jesus is our Medicine.

‘But, let us see how all this comes to pass. Call upon me in the day of trouble, says the Lord; I will deliver thee, and thou shall glorify me [Ps. xlix 15]. There is nothing which so restrains the impulse of anger, calms the swelling of pride, heals the wound of envy, represses the insatiability of luxury, smothers the flame of lust, quenches the thirst of avarice, and dispels the fever of uncleanliness - as the Name of Jesus. For when I pronounce this Name, I bring before my mind the Man, who, by excellence, is meek and humble of heart, benign, sober, chaste, merciful, and filled with everything that is good and holy, nay, who is the very God Almighty - whose example heals me, and whose assistance strengthens me. I say all this, when I say Jesus. Here have I my model, for he is Man; and my help, for he is God; the one provides me with precious drugs, the other gives them efficacy; and from the two I make a potion such as no physician knows how to make.

‘Here is the electuary, my soul, hid in the casket of this Name Jesus; believe me, it is wholesome, and good for every ailment thou canst possibly have. Ever have it with thee, in thy bosom and in thy hand; so that all thy affections and actions may be directed to JESUS.’ [Fifteenth Sermon on the canticle of Canticles.]

The feast of the Holy Name is of comparatively recent origin, its first promoter was St. Bernardine of Siena, who lived in the fifteenth century. This holy man established the practice of representing the Holy Name of Jesus surrounded with rays, and formed into a monogram of its three first letters, IHS [The Name was, anciently, often written Ihesus; hence, in its contracted form alluded to, the letter H would be given: the E following was virtually included in the aspirate. Translator.]

The custom spread rapidly through Italy, and was zealously propagated by the great St. John of Capestrano, who, like St. Bernardine of Siena, was of the Order of Friars Minor. The Holy See gave its formal approbation to this manner of honouring the Name of our Saviour, and, in the early part of the sixteenth century, Pope Clement VI, after long entreaties, granted to the whole Franciscan Order the privilege of keeping a special Feast in honour of the Most Holy Name of Jesus.

Rome extended the same favour to various Churches; and, at length, the Feast was inserted in the universal Calendar. It was in the year 1721, at the request of Charles VI, Emperor of Germany, that Pope Innocent XII decreed that the Feast of the Most Holy Name of Jesus should be kept throughout the whole Church; he also chose the Second Sunday after the Epiphany as the day, but as we have already explained, the feast is now fixed for the Sunday following the Circumcision.

#holy name #most holy name of jesus #jesus #christ #god #christianity #christian #catholic #liturgy #dom prosper gueranger #order of saint benedict #benedictine #franciscan #Bernardine of Siena #John of Capestrano #christmas #nativity #religion

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