#I moreso than Pamela.

[scribe-of-maat]

Ranking DC Pride 2023

9. Love’s Lightning Heart (???, ???)

Starring The Flashlight and The Flash, I think? When he called the dude “Ray” in the beginning I thought it was gonna be The Ray, you know? This only scores so low because I’m not at ALL familiar with anything Multiversity and this story especially seemed to be absolutely thick with that corner of DC lore. I get there’s a Parallax type of thing happening but... this was kind of hard to follow for a payoff that’s pretty lukewarm if you’re not well-versed in who this story’s about.

8. My Best Bet (Jon Kent/Superman, John Constantine

This is hit especially hard in my ranking because it’s the last story in the book and the only thing DC Pride about it is that it stars two Bs. They’re popular queer characters but I’m here for stories that are specifically ABOUT LGBT stuff, not about LGBT people doing stuff. There’s nothing to really talk about here.

7. Found (Xanthe Zhou, Batwoman/Kate Kane)

I’ve been meaning to read Spirit World, and since I hadn’t gotten around to it Xanthe being LGBT was a surprise to me, but not as much as Kate Kane showing up was. It feels like someone threw a dartboard at WLW women and plopped in whoever came up, cuz I guarantee if I flip the newest Batwoman issue open to a random page she’ll have a girlfriend-slash-situationship that won’t be too happy about her seeming receptive to some flirting. But hey, I like Xanthe more now so there’s give-and-take.

6. And Baby Makes Three (Xiomara Rojas/Crush, Harleen Quinzel/Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley/Poison Ivy)

I like Crush. I can’t claim to have read much of her, because for now that means enduring way too much Damian Wayne, but she seems like an incredibly interesting character. But I could not tell you why she’s here with Harley and Ivy. This, moreso than anything else, has a less than negative chance of being referenced again and it’s giving me even more of that dartboard feeling the last story did. Plus if there’s one thing Harlivy can do, it’s carry a story by themselves. I wish we’d gotten something about JUST Crush, is what I’m saying. I feel like this was a status update for Crush, like her washing ashore was meant to bridge the gap between this story and whatever she was doing the last time she showed up.

5. Teamwork Makes the Dream Work (Natasha Irons/Steel, Nubia)

Listen, I will always have space in my heart for the Irons family. I love Natasha, and I love John Henry, and when DC lets either out of the ether every other year I’m front and center. That, and the recent super-push Nubia has been enjoying made this story one I was pretty excited to read when I realized who it was about. But THIS ART. These faces are TRASH. Even without looking it up I feel like there’s a 0% chance DC would give a nonblack artist this story, so it makes it especially confusing as to why the characters look like THAT. The actual content was fun and even though Io needs to come up off our queen posthaste, I didn’t have any (other) complaints. But it’s SOOOOO UGLYYYYY.

4. The Dance ( Minhkhoa Khan/Ghost-Makes, Thomas Blake/Catman)

I knew Ghost-Maker was bi prior to reading this, somehow. I’ve been meaning to read anything about him because his design is so awesome but I was only really guessing this was Catman alongside him. I really don’t know anything about him, so this ranks so highly just because of Ghost-Maker. I don’t really have anything else to add here since this story’s ultimate purpose seems to just show off muscley dudes post-sex.

3. Anniversary (Lucas Trent/Midnighter, Andrew Pulaski/Apollo, Alan Scott/Green Lantern)

These showcases tend to have like, one story that directly addresses inequality if you’re lucky. This is that story, and it’s such a good one. Midnighter and Apollo’s fame as the canon gay Superbat sort of eclipses anything else about them, but that reputation is put to excellent effect here. Plus, Alan Scott, one of my favorite Green Lanterns, finally shows up. Revitalizing that old slogan to make it clear the LGBT isn’t going anywhere was fun, too.

2. Subspace Transmission (Jules Jourdain/Circuit Breaker, Jess Chambers/The Flash, Andy Curry/Aquawoman)

Jess was an extremely fun and memorable character from the start like, half a decade ago and that holds true here. I was super uninvested in the Circuit Breaker part of this story. I don’t know who that is, and even after reading this I genuinely don’t care. This made my heart hurt for more Teen Justice and Future State stuff in general. That Jackson Hyde cameo at the end was also perfect.

1. Hey, Stranger (Connor Hawke/Hawke, Tim Drake/Robin)

I was definitely in diapers the last time these two characters spoke to each other. When there’s been THAT big a gap in timeframe I can’t be sure how emotional a reunion can be to a modern readership. None of that matters to my enjoyment, because Connor Hawke is far and away my favorite Arrowfam member and his recent resurgence (even if too much of it is attached to Damian Wayne for my taste) has been such a blessing. DC only trots this guy out three times a year but god do we eat good each time. They just need to do a LITTLE more with him.

[shallowseeker]

You know what's crazy ( ⊙_◎) ? Literally everybody and their momma said to Dean that Cas is in love with him, But at the same time we kinda have just as much saying Cas doesn't have feelings for him. Most iconically Naomi (which honestly slay for her),Pamela kind of , and just as much blaming dean for cas's "downfall", Ishm, Uriel, Hael. Demons knowing abt it.

Would love to know abt your theories on how they know that Cas was specifically in love than deep friendship

Hello! I hope you don't mind me adding your second part to this:

Pt2 I got kind of more to say but sent too quickly, anyways! Like angels can understand emotion especially the ones more in control, angels have felt before, Lucifer and anna and other fallen angels so it's not like it's a new concept and that cas was unique in that matter but yea curious on why you think the angels knew cas was specifically in love

///

This is a lovely ask, and I struggled to do it justice all week and I...just can't. So my answer will run the gamut of all the vibes. I hope you don't mind! :D

Biggest giveaway?

Cas's default is -> he's a big dick

The theorem: As Cas is to Sam (read: mean), Cas is to most everyone else.

Support: Cas was by Ishim's definition, "the angel's angel," he exemplified everything warrior-angels should be. In the words of Naomi: "swift, brutal, no hesitation."

Behavior: Sam is Cas's friend, but Cas is also kind of a dick to Sam. He gets annoyed with Sam, even pretty late in the series, especially when Dean's not around (when Dean went to AU world, Cas was abrupt with Sam, rolling his eyes and making lil digs, especially when they're interacting with Gabriel). And well, the crux of my argument is that think that's actually his default with all angels/people.

Dude was stationed with Uriel. At one time, they were the biggest assholes in the garrison, okay?

This default serves to highlight the ones he's gentle with:

The list of the people Cas "babies" is vanishingly small (Dean, Meg, Samandriel, Claire, Hannah, Charlie maybe, Jack, Mary, and eventually Rowena, only occasionally Sam). He's much meaner with his actual friends, and almost all of his close friends are a little mean.

That's my fun answer, anyway. :-D

My serious answer is, however, a little contrarian...I hope you don't mind, but I wanted a little variety today. I'm not gonna support all this with text like I usually do, but it's one of the things I'm going to focus on in my next rewatch. Maybe!

TLDR for below; I don't think a lot of people really knew. We confuse misrepresentative-innuendo and conceptualized-loyalty for “romantic” understanding at our own risk.

///

I don't think everyone and their mother actually knows that Cas is in romantic love with Dean

Or at least...not in the capacity that certain phrases are emphasized in fanon.

That's not to say I don't think some characters suspect. I do.

But I think some of the soldier-angels shriek moreso over shifting loyalties and perceptions of corruption. They perceive the shifting of Cas's loyalty to the human family as corruption and abandonment.

In fact, I think Cas bedding down with his human family could be a sore spot for the angels in particular; it's like God abandoning them for humans all over again. I'm not so sure they view that abandonment as romantic...only that Dean is the root of the problem.

TLDR; I think most recognize it as devotion, but I don't think it's well-parsed, especially for the soldier-angels. I think their assumptions run the gambit, from fealty to devotion to fanatical, and I can easily, easily see them viewing Cas's allegiance to Jack with the same kind of unhinged grief.

//

In the world of SPN, I think much of the romantic and sexual needling comes down to warring power dynamics and simple verbal sparring/one-upmanship

Characters will do anything to get the upper hand and feel in control in a dicey situation, and those barbs often come in the form of misrepresenting, diminishing, and disrespecting other characters' relationships, whether those are relationships with their parents, siblings, friends, comrades, or other loved ones.

In SPN, we get numerous equal-opportunity jokes about sexual attractions, incest, love, affection, weakness, etc etc etc.

TLDR; I think the one-off innuendos are often not a real commentary on the truth of any relationship but simply...disrespect.

//

Some examples to consider:

Balthazar - Often held up as proof that Bal thinks Castiel is "in love with Dean," I don't think Bal's line "The one in the dirty trenchcoat who's in love with you" means much at all. I actually think Balthazar's one of the least cognizant of parsing the complexities and differences between romantic/filial/friendly/etc emotion. (He's also a gloriously morally gray dude, our first meeting with him is him taking possession of a child's soul, after all.)

I mean, sure we got Balthazar saying Cas "is in love with you (Dean)", but we also got him calling Cas Sam's boyfriend. Either my man Balthy does not parse the complexities of relationships, or he's just...simply being disrespectful and diminishing Cas's relationships to his human fam in any way he can. It's about the one-upmanship in the conversing.

I don't see a of of compelling evidence that even angels like Balthazar parse Castiel's emotions on anything more than a superficial level.

///

Hael - "When Castiel first laid a hand on you, he was lost!" I tend to file this one under assumptions of fealty and mission-oriented devotion. Yes, they fear Dean has a corrupting effect. But you could argue the same about Jack. That when Cas laid a hand on Kelly's stomach, he was lost—became a terrible weapon laid at the feet of the child instead of Heaven.

So, I'm not sure that the desperate bleating of warrior-angels can be conceptualized as romantic. I think it's far more likely to be mission-oriented. They want Cas to have devotion to The Authoritarian Company/War Machine and they perceive Cas's "new" human-oriented locus of morality as Needy Little New Family.

It's the same way authoritarian governments seek to sunder "blue-collar" soldiers from their families, purposely stationing them away from their hometowns so their loyalty is divided and dehumanization of the enemy gets easier, too.

A war machine like Heaven wages an overwhelming, all-encompassing war. The British Men of Letters and Hell are big war systems, too. American hunting is a medium war, their guerilla tactics and case-by-case approach a smaller scale, still. A family is an even littler one. (Kelly Kline's name, in fact, means "little war.")

///

Crowley - In season 10, we get Crowley needling Cas about burning through his grace to "save his boyfriend," but he also jokingly calls Sam "Dean's wife."

At core, it's disrespectful teasing, seeking to misrepresent, to get a reaction, to have power in the conversation. That's kind of Crowley's MO. Just because Crowley says something sexual doesn't mean we make the assumption that it's true. People that are verbally sparring, and especially men that are in a tense power dynamic, talk like this all the damn time, especially when we're mixing social classes. It can get real crass and real mean...real fast.

It doesn't mean it's meaningless in the context of being revelatory. Crowley and Rowena both desperately want to be included in any social group they can worm their way into, and quite badly, so there's often real emotion hidden within their barbs.

My point is you have to consider the source and speech patterns of that character before taking that ball and runnin' it downfield.

///

Innuendo, innuendo...

Another example is Zachariah's "erotically codependent line" with regard to his brothers. This barb has the sole purpose of invoking a class stereotype to make Adam lose hope and respect for his "lower class" bros. It's literally the classist "hurp-durp-Alabammer-cousin-fuckers" trope.

I personally tend to take innuendo primarily for what it is: incessant, pathetic barking.

In general, I take the demons' words with a grain of salt. They're always coming from the weak position and always hurling as much innuendo as they can to undermine and disrespect any relationship.

Even the demon Cas sits with in season 14 who says, "How'd you lose Dean? I thought you were joined at the everything," is just a crass attempt to have power when conversing. He could just as easily have made this comment about Jack or Mary or Claire and landed the same with respect to have a tonal upper hand.

Strategically, they don't have to assume Cas is in love to recognize the weakness of caring. They can say anything ugly about any person he appears to care about.

And very generally speaking, innuendo is typically lobbed from a weak/insecure position. The saying goes:

"The louder the bark, the weaker the bite."

Take for example, my man Crowley and my homegirl Rowena--almost always coming at a situation from the weak position. Crowley lobs barbs, innuendo, and faux-affection left and right. (So do other "scrappy" characters, like Dean, Rowena, Bela, every demon, Balthazar, etc)

Generally, we see this speech pattern emerge from Hell-oriented characters, which makes perfect sense, as Hell is the bottom "rung" of society, and Hell-oriented characters and witches often have the weakest social currency. These characters've got the biggest chips on their shoulders!

///

Mary vs Dean's speech patterns

Despite their similar natures, this is a big, very fascinating personality diff between Mary and Dean Winchester. Mary prefers to attack from the stoic strong position (more like Cas, Sam, etc), and she rarely mouths off. Dean is more drippingly sexual and "mouthy" because he's used to being IN the weak position. (Mary had a stabler homelife, we can suppose, at least when it comes to this.)

"You're the bottom in the relationship!" Crowley barks at Cas in season 6. Meanwhie, Cas isn't even threatened, thinking to himself quietly in TMWWBK, "I was stronger and smarter than him." Not threatened in the slightest. It bites Crowley in the ass eventually too, "You like to bend 'em over quick, don't you?" he laments at the beginning of season 7.

Likewise, Cas too gets more verbal when he's coming from the weak position with other angels. Take for example Michael in season 15, "In the worlds of a friend, you had a whole oak tree shoved up your ass." Cas rarely engages in this kind of false bravado, preferring to keep his aces up his sleeve. But with Michael, he is definitely coming from a strategical weak position with a goal in mind: goading Michael to act.

Goaders and Goad-ees

There are exceptions to the rule, like when you get sadists such as Alistair, Lucifer into the mix. I think more often than not, the goaders and the goad-ees reveal structural weak-strong dynamics.

I'd even argue that Lucifer's volatility keeps him in an emotionally vulnerable position in perpetuity. He's almost always trying to get reactions from those around him because he "needs love, he had a jakced childhood." We see this with Cas, and the effectiveness of his gray-rocking with Lucy. In season 12, getting a reaction from Cas becomes a stand-in for getting a reaction from Chuck.

///

So, that's my opinion.

I think most of the screeching and barbs are mostly power dynamics in action, not proof of knowledge per se and certainly not proof of understanding the nature of how deep Cas's feelings go

Are there exceptions? Sure.

A few of them, like Anna and Samandriel and Hannah, seem aware of Castiel's "too much heart" but I'm not super convinced that they conceptualized this as being about Dean in particular so much as about being who Cas is as a person with respect to his past rebellions.

Uriel knew something was up, I think, but it's hard to tell if his needling was more disrespectful like Balthazar's or not.

Naomi knew something was different for sure. Interestingly, she seemed aware of both Dean's and Cas's feelings, which makes sense as her work is in intel.

On that note, I think it’s interesting that the ones who truly conceptualize Cas's feelings tend to also recognize Dean's. Very few truly "knowledgeable" characters see one side in a vacuum.

I'm not sure that Ishim contextualized love outside of obsession, but he was jealous and seemed particularly jealous that Dean appeared to return the feelings, "That's what I thought." implies that.

I think of all the characters, Lucifer knew. He's got one of the higest cognitive empathies in the show. He knows it so well, he doesn't even need to resort to innuendo to tease them about it. (See the simple, effective: "CAS!") Same with AU Michael. Like Naomi, they seem to know and acknowledge both sets of feelings.

///

Close family and friends

Beyond the scope of this, but I think a lot of the fam n' friends knew what was up to some degree, but that didn't typically come out in the form of disrespect or teasing once they knew about it for real, especially characters like Bobby, Mary, etc. Eventually Rowena, Crowley, Ketch etc probably could tell something was up.

Now, are soldier-to-soldier relationships life-of-death kinda intense? Yes. Because of this, I think some neurodivergent characters that are more "cerebral" when it come to emotions (*cough* Sam) could be a little slow on the uptake. :-)

[fumikomiyasaki]

"Mine!" Any of our Chaotic Ships? :3

Love potion

As Fennec spotted a cake on his desk at first he thought it was another one Pamela made but given the Ghost kids love their pranks it was far different than he imagined it to be. He arrived at Crystaleon wanting to gift her the cake instead but before he could it might be best to try it himself... so he placed a blanket he had in his back down, relaxed under one of the trees and munched on it... he didn't expect it to taste that good really... however Venomia was quicker here than imagined.

"Fennec? What a pleasant surprise."

However as he looked upon her he felt odd... like a sudden urge to be close took him over... he got off the blanket and offered his hand.

"Please take a seat, I brought something to drink and to eat."

He tried hard to surpress whatever this feeling was but it was hard... the cake slice he wanted to give her he ate himself so how could he keep her close.

"Are you alright... you seem kind of nervous?"

"Its moreso that... I am fond of you and... I don't know how to express it... I have the feeling of... wanting to hold you tight and never let go."

He leaned his head on her shoulder and put his arm around hers as she blushed.

"I see... I didn't expect you to be that attached but... I don't mind it-"

Eventually she noticed him leaning pretty close... the two tumbled back a little as they layed next to another and his hand brushed her face.

"You really are just to beautifull that I don't deserve you but still..."

"Fennec..."

However as she leaned closer to him holding his hand she noticed something off about his eyes... they didn't seem right... as she noticed that she looked back at the tables cake crumbs.

"I see... so that is why..."

"Whats wrong? Do you not want to be clo-"

"No, I do care about you Fennec but... for your sake we need to get back to my dorm."

Eventually the gods took care of his love potion problem in the cake his gaze grew in annoyance as he was normal again... but he also avoided Eye contact with Venomia a little.

"I must have been annoying to you during that time, I am sorry."

"Not at all... it was actually kinda sweet."

A blush crept up his face... having a hesitant glimpse back at her...

"I was at least honest I had feelings for you but... don't expect me to be this lovey normally... I can't with it."

She showed him a soft smile and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know... I still love you anyways."

At least his feelings got across maybe the love cake wasn't that bad after all.

At this point Barry grew very desperate to the point of using any methods he could to get to his goals... and so he took the chance and brew a love potion to try to win one of his crushes affections... to his own luck he saw Carol who just got ready for tutoring get a small drink from a soda machine and leave it unattented for a short while cause someone asked her something... this was his chance... as he poured in the potion... now he only had to make sure he was the first she saw after she drank it... yet before he could approach her she quickly rushed off somewhere to his surprise...

His Luck has run out... she had a small chat with Keisuke as she drank a bit of the Soda... foiling his plan quickly... he should have bought the targeted on instead.

However little did she know what just happened. Keisuke and her walked off to read something together.

Eventually as they sat down on a bench together he noticed her getting up from it and put her arms over his shoulders.. pressing her body a little against him which surprised him.

"C-carol?"

"Go on, I am listening just... I wanted to be close if you don't mind."

A bit confused her turned back to the book... still with her body weight a little against him it was a bit hard to focus. Worse was she was leaning pretty close to his ear which the little breath lingering made it more harder on him again.

"I love you so much, Handsome... listening to your voice... holding you close... it makes me happy."

"Where d-did that come from-"

As he turned his head to look at her he noticed her face a bit red, her voice was undermined by small huffs as she looked at him loving. She walked in front of him and leaned down to be face to face, holding his chin.

"Kei... if you want to you can do anything you want with me..."

As he was closing his eyes as she leaned forward suddenly they were interupted by someone yelling.

"I can tolerate to look at this... even if I caused it."

"Urgh Barry... can you just leave me alone?"

"Guess... that sadly hasn't changed..."

He tried to explain about the love potion he put in as Keisuke sighed looking at him.

"Are you really that desperate... fine if you know a way to cure her, I will think about telling the staff about this."

"I will I promise."

Later even if she cling hugged Keisuke for a while they found the antidote, she firstly bowed and apoligized although a deadly glare was aimed at Barry.

"I am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Keisuke... I..."

He put a hand on her shoulder.

"You weren't yourself, don't worry about it."

She gave him a warm smile before turning to Barry.

"You however... if you dare something like this again I swear-"

"Eeeeppp... I am so sorry."

What a mess of a day... however Keisuke did realize the faint smell of apples still on his sweater... blushing slightly... maybe later they could continue on reading.

[capmanranger]

Oh my, thank you for sending me that. I'm willing to bet that's accurate because, hell, why wouldn't it be at this point? What a nightmare this whole thing is! If it weren't Pamela Anderson, it never would've happened. They still think it's okay to treat her as an object to this day. It just infuriates me because I've liked her since I was young. She's such a good, sweet person and doesn't get nearly enough of the credit she deserves. Has she made plenty of mistakes? Of course. Has she had trash taste in men? Obviously. But she doesn't deserve this, no matter what someone may think of her! I do wonder though - why do you think "I, Tonya" worked and this show more than likely won't? Because the Tonya story also contained serious subject matter with dark humor mixed in there. I just think it's a combination of Pam not collaborating with them and the fact that it's all just so extra personal, you know? What do you think?

Well to be honest, I never saw I, Tonya so I can't really speak on it. I know Nancy Kerrigan wasn't thrilled about it but ultimately it was Tonya telling her story and, from what I heard, upheld the crime that was committed.

This is so completely awful on practically every level but ultimately it's like this is happening all over again and, while I think she's healthier and stronger than before, I wouldn't want to be her having them dredge all this back up, especially against my wishes. God only knows what take they'll have without her input, esp since aren't the main decision makers males? Oh and to make this any kind of comedy?? There's often ways to incorporate humor but I just don't see how with this, esp off the trailer.

Plus I gotta say, outside Lily's amazing transformation, I just don't get the idea the quality will be any good. Sebastian looks like Tommy in stills but I only saw his own quirks and mannerisms in the trailer. I imagine they might be going for the amateur porn theme but it screams cringey and bad acting, even moreso in the gifs I've seen people make. Ugh. They give me the creeps.

[gothamsworst]

Can I ask for HCs with Riddler, Poison Ivy, and Music Meister with an s/o that is--for the most part--lawfully good? Like, the s/o fell in love with the rogue as a person but isn't too keen on the crime and vilainy shtick?

The Riddler (Edward Nygma):

But where’s the fun in that? The “villainy schtick” is pretty much what his entire reputation relies on. You came into this relationship knowing that. You can’t just expect him to change now!

Still, he hates seeing you upset, and you both know that. Fighting with you bothers him. But at the same time, how else is he supposed to prove that he’s better than The Batman?

Enter: P.I. Edward Nygma! He thinks it’s a joke at first, but the more he thinks it over, the more attractive an idea it becomes. Yeah...yeah! What better way to beat “The World’s Best Detective” than to become an Even Better Detective?

Poison Ivy (Pamela Isley):

She understands where you’re coming from, but you’ve got to try and see things from her perspective as well. In her eyes, what she’s doing isn’t villainy, it’s resetting the natural order of things.

Still, she knows how much it upsets you when she takes things “too far,” so she tries to tone down on the more Extreme aspects of her work. Moreso focusing on the Ivy part of her nature than the Poison part.

She also makes sure to have more antidotes on hand. There are innocent people who tend to get caught in her plans. And, contrary to popular belief, she’s not entirely heartless towards humanity.

Music Meister (Dennis Prowell):

Come on, taking over the world has been his whole thing! He can’t just give that up because you bat your lashes at him!

...

Fine.

[idkwhoiamanymorebutwtf]

Below imma put my reasoning for each of these if you were confused about why I put certain characters where I did.

(note that this is about the show Harley Quinn 2019 so most things outside of this show won’t be taken into account when discussing the character’s alignments)

James Gordon as Lawful Good: He’s group and order oriented, and will cooperate with authority in all cases. You’ll never see Gordon team up with anyone who isn’t strictly on the ‘good’ side of things. He’s convinced that order and laws are absolutely necessary to assure that goodness prevails and continued to uphold the law even when Batman was gone.  A lawful good being kills whenever necessary to promote the greater good, or to protect himself, his companions, or anyone whom he's vowed to defend. In times of war, he strikes down the enemies. Gordon was very much willing to kill Two Face and basically went into an all out war against Harley. He admitted himself that he got into the police force to shoot bad guys. So long as it’s within the letter of the law and the people in question deserve it, he’s very much willing to maim and kill. Gordon responds to authority and when there is no authority figure around he does his best to uphold the law on his own.

Bruce Wayne as Neutral Good: He, like most neutral good characters, values life and freedom above all else, and despises those who would deprive others of them. Neutral good characters, including him, sometimes find themselves forced to work beyond the law, yet for the law, and the greater good of the people. Multiple times throughout the series he teams up with people the law dictates he ought to be fighting, like when he helped Harley in season one and even sacrificed himself to save Harley and Ivy, or when he helped Harley and The Joker get the Justice League back in season two. He’s a super hero, he tries to stay within the law, but he’s willing to work with those who aren’t strictly on the side of ‘good’ if it’s for the sake of goodness.

Barbara Gordon as Chaotic Good:  A chaotic good character acts as his conscience directs him with little regard for what others expect of him. He makes his own way, but he's kind and benevolent. He believes in goodness and right but has little use for laws and regulations. Babs, within the context of the show, does work with law enforcement, but she isn’t exactly bound by codes and laws. She worked with Harley and Ivy to take down the Riddler in Season 2 (and lets be real lawful characters...probably wouldn’t work with criminals) and she actually tries to befriend and hang out with the two. Working with them wasn’t just because she had to and there was no other option, she actually wanted to be friends with two criminals which again shows that she isn’t exactly bound to the law. In fact, she actively goes against it when she warns Harley about Gordon coming to take her down and tries to dissuade her father from going through with it, actively sabotaging the police to do what she believes is the right thing.

Pamela Isley as Lawful Neutral:  A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition, or a personal code directs her. Order and organization are paramount to her. She may believe in personal order and live by a code or standard, or she may believe in order for all and favor a strong, organized government. Traditionally, when people think ‘lawful neutral’ they think the latter of those possible motivations, someone who believes in the law and government, however in Ivy’s case she’s much more dictated by a personal standard. A lawful character trusts someone or something better than he trusts themselves, but they still pick which thing that is, it doesn’t have to be the laws of the land, it can be anything so long as it’s a solid principal or code or set of ideals rather than “whatever I feel like at the time”. Ivy’s moral code focuses mainly on saving the earth and she doesn’t every stray from that. She has a strong ideal that she’s completely dedicated to and doesn’t ever really change. She’s an eco-terrorist, and terrorism is usually enacted over incredibly strong beliefs. She isn’t exactly ‘good’ because although her goal is respectable she does things that most people consider immoral to get there, showing she isn’t too concerned about doing what’s good towards people. However she also doesn’t exactly go out of her way to harm or do evil (i mean she hurts people who try and hurt harley or the environment but this is moreso a form of vigilante justice than doing something ivy sees as immoral because she inherently believes that most of humanity is below the environment and below harley too “she’s my only friend but that’s by design, because she’s the only human I think is worth a shit”.)

Harleen Quinzel as True Neutral: True Neutral character’s fully think of good as better than evil. After all, they would rather have good neighbors and rulers than evil ones. They’re just not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way. True neutral characters are known to behave in a good, moral way towards friends and allies. They support the people who support them, often out of genuine love. True neutral characters also typically only go out of their ways to hurt people who they think deserve it. Basically people who tried to hurt them or their loved ones first. Beyond that they don’t care. They don’t go out of their way to hurt people who don’t deserve it but if these people haven’t done anything to earn this character’s affection then these people don’t really matter. True neutrals often believe in lex talionis forms of justice. True neutral individuals do not lack interest, ambition, or passion--they value their own well-being and that of friends and loved ones. They may struggle passionately on behalf of themselves or others, as well as feel compassion for those they barely know. But overall they aren’t bound with any loyalty to doing what’s good. They aren’t bound to the law. They don’t feel an obligation to go against morality or law just for the sake of it either, though. I honestly think this is the most fitting for Harley. She doesn’t see any reason to follow the laws so she doesn’t. When someone fucks with her she’ll fuck right back, but generally she isn’t known to go out of her way to hurt people. It really feels like she’s mostly out to protect herself and her own. She’ll fight for things her friends care about and to help the people she loves. She has no qualms about lying and killing when the people in question hurt her or someone she cares about, though. She said herself that she can’t really even be considered a bad guy. Harley turned down the chance to take over the world because she isn’t evil and doesn’t want to inflict unwarranted suffering on random people, but at the same time she’s taken down multiple people who mess with her with little remorse for doing so. The broader conflicts between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ and ‘law’ and ‘chaos’ don’t seem to mean much to her, she’s just out to protect her and her own.

Selina Kyle as Chaotic Neutral: She, like all chaotic neutral characters, strives to protect her freedom first and foremost. Chaotic neutral characters follow their whims without any regard for good or evil or law. They often don’t have much actual concern for personal relationships. Chaotic neutral characters do not necessarily want others to suffer as a result of their actions, but do not care if others do suffer. They tend to behave in a good manner towards friends and allies, unless their friends and allies do not agree with them. Within the show, Selina has betrayed her allies multiple times, first abandoning her to steal a blood diamond and leaving Ivy to pay for her hotel bills, then stealing the the diamond Kiteman wanted to use to propose. She generally isn’t concerned with the wellbeing of Ivy, Harley, or any other allies, and prioritizes her own interests over all else with very little loyalty to...well...anything.

Darkseid as Lawful Evil:  A lawful evil villain methodically takes what he wants within the limits of his code of conduct without regard for whom it hurts. He cares about tradition, loyalty, and order but not about freedom, dignity, or life. He plays by the rules but without mercy or compassion. Darkseid is difficult to please and demands grand gestures of obedience and power in order for people to prove themselves, as was the case of Harley and Doctor Psycho offering to conquer planet Earth for him. Any acts of betrayal or disloyalty towards him is met with anger on his part and an oaf of vengeance. Despite this, he is not without a sense of restraint, as was the case of him returning to Apokolips after Harley refused for a second time to rule over Earth. He keeps his promises (when he offered harley the ability to rule earth after she showed her strength, for example), but doesn’t take kindly to disobedience or disloyalty and is undoubtedly evil, going out of his way to maim, kill, and conquer.

Edgar Cizko as Neutral Evil: Neutral evil characters are primarily concerned with themselves and their own advancement. They have no particular objection to working with others or, for that matter, going it on their own. Their only interest is in getting ahead. If there is a quick and easy way to gain a profit, whether it be legal, questionable, or obviously illegal, they take advantage of it. Although neutral evil characters do not have the every-man-for-himself attitude of chaotic characters, they have no qualms about betraying their friends and companions for personal gain. These characters willingly cooperate with anyone who will further their own ends. They often seek the easy road to fame and fortune, with little concern for the people they trample along the way. They value strength and ability alone. If the neutral evil can use laws to weaken those who stand in the way of his success, he will use them. He may betray a family member, comrade, or friend if it is convenient to do so and it advances his agenda. Dr. Psycho was fully willing to completely betray Harley over an offer of power, something that everyone else on the team viewed as reprehensible (this is why he’s the only one who i’d consider ‘evil’, btw, because king, clayface, harley, and ivy all value their friends/allies over power and control and view each other as friends wheras Dr. Psycho was willing to betray all of them even after everything they’d all gone through together). He does whatever it takes to elevate himself and goes out of his way to hurt people (like trying to take over the world or broadcasting revenge porn of harley and ivy into the sky).

The Joker as Chaotic Evil: As Harley said, he’s a sociopathic narcissist. As with all Chaotic Evil characters, he is hot-tempered, vicious, arbitrarily violent, and unpredictable.  Thankfully, these character’s plans are haphazard, and any groups they join or form are poorly organized.The Joker may be a ‘genius’ but he often fails to really think things through or execute plans successfully (I knowwww I said we were just analyzing this show and not the character’s other appearances but there’s such a good example from another show to what i mean when i say the joker isn’t as effective as he could be. remember when harley literally came closer to killing batman than joker did and improved his original plans? and the only reason batman survived was because joker threw her out a fucking window and screwed everything up? yeah.) He’s smart and powerful and rutheless and all that but he doesn’t think things through or organize his thoughts well enough.  The major precepts of this alignment are freedom, randomness, and woe. Laws and order, kindness, and good deeds are disdained. Life has no value. By promoting chaos and evil, those of this alignment hope to bring themselves to positions of power, glory, and prestige in a system ruled by individual caprice and their own whim. The chaotic evil creature holds that individual freedom and choice is important, and that other individuals and their freedoms are unimportant if they cannot be held by the individuals through their own strength and merit. Thus, law and order rends to promote not individuals but groups, and groups suppress individual volition and success. The Joker abused his girlfriend ruthlessly, goes out of his way to hurt innocents, tries to kill people on a regular basis weather they deserve it or not, and generally goes out of his way to exert his power over other’s simply for the sake of proving he’s dominant to them.

[delilah-briarwood]

GUG...?

Ah yes. My Bastard child of an AU. All of these are unsurprisingly Jason related because I love my dumbass child.

So the most obvious one for this AU is that Jason Todd is nonbinary. They have far bigger things to worry about than gender - such as technically being a zombie.

Despite how close the two are, it took Jay a long time before they were comfortable calling Pamela ‘mom’. Partially because Catherine Todd still means a lot to them and it felt almost like betraying her to call someone else ‘mom’. Not to mention Sheila Haywood. But eventually, they begin to feel more comfortable with it and they start calling Ivy ‘mom’ - a title that they don’t give easily.

Tim really is Jason’s favourite sibling. Even if they’ve tried to kill him a few time and the most perfect human (Cassandra) exists, there’s middle child solidarity between the two. There’s a strong sense of solidarity between the two - moreso than Jay really lets on.

Whilst Tim may be their favourite sibling, it’s Dick, Bruce, and Alfred who give the best hugs. Whilst they’re still distant from Dick and Bruce, Dick is still their big brother and Bruce is still their dad; their hugs always give some degree of comfort when Jason hits rock bottom. Alfred’s hugs just feel like home.

Jason keeps a scrapbook. It’s full of photos of their family and friends; dumb selfies and ones from important events. No one but Roy knows it exists but in Jason’s worst nights - when they struggle to ground themself in reality - then the scrapbook is always a good reminder of reality and what’s important to them.

Jason is 100% a theatre kid. Kori once threatened to throw Jason and Roy off of her ship in the middle of an Outlaw mission because they were doing a two person rendition of Newsies. The only musical she accepts on missions is Les Mis.

[thelioncourts]

I'm going to be starting college in 2019 and I've always loved to read. I know you majored in English and I was wondering what you liked about it, what you didn't like about it and what I should expect. I'm nervous about declaring a major, but I think English would be the best fit for me.

oh goodness ! first of all, congratulations on thinking ahead about college. second of all, congratulations on thinking about your major. third of all, congratulations on thinking about english literature!

english literature is, obviously, very near and dear to my heart. books and words have always resonated with me in some way, and getting to spend four-ish years studying them and becoming well-versed in their history and impact was the best thing. but, english literature as a major and college as a whole are not quite what i had expected. so in the most concise possible way, i will attempt to avoid rambling whilst trying to tell you about my experience.

i think the first thing i should say is this: if you declare english literature as your major, do not let people around you question that decision. you’ve probably already heard it, but the biggest thing that happens to english majors are people in their life or even strangers making that face and saying, “what are you going to do with that?” before immediately assuming you’re going to be a high school english teacher. english as a degree is extremely versatile, making its own arsenal of skills and tools that would benefit almost any employer. do not let people make you feel bad for your declared major, and do not think that you only have to teach.

that all being said, there is no shame in teaching either (in fact, i’m applying for grad school to get my masters in english so i can teach). teaching english is so valued and so needed. the benefits of literature on the minds of children and adults are endless and not simply limited to ‘read “to kill a mockingbird” and tell me your favorite character, next’

another important thing to remember, i think, is that just because you delcare a major does not mean you have to stick with it. there is no shame in discovering something new about yourself and declaring a new major. you can still love books and words, but not want to study them every waking moment. be open to change. luckily for me, literature was everything i needed in my life. i knew it was right for me every day i was in school. but i had a friend who was a psychology major her first year, an english major her second year, and finally declared early childhood education her third year and fell in love. it’s different for every person out there and it may take time. or it may be perfect for you from the start. just pay attention to your mind and where it veers, and pay attention to your heart and what it wants. you’ll figure it out.

now, as for the major itself, this may sound obvious but: be prepared to read and write a lot. when i say a lot, i mean 211 books in 3 1/2 years. when i say a lot, i mean 200-300 pages worth of essays a semester (this is if you take 3+ english classes a semester, however). it is time consuming, it is frustrating, and it is so rewarding all at once. you will finish a class and be so proud of yourself that your heart sings. and you will finish another class and run out the door and never ever look back. you will get around to reading classics and find that you love every word on the page (pride and prejudice, anna karenina, lolita, on the road, mrs. dalloway, etc.) and you will get around to reading classics that you despise and will question their popularity always (wuthering heights, pamela, the old man and the sea, the art of war, wuthering fucking heights). you will read books you’ve never heard of in your life, you will learn things about history that will blow your mind, you will learn that nothing has ever really changed in the world, it’s just a lot smaller. 

you won’t have a lot of time to read and/or write for fun, and when you do have the time, you won’t want to because it’s all you’ve been doing for five months straight and you would like to not stare at a word document or a page of a book for another year, thanks. you will also feel guilty for not reading and writing in your free time and you’ll try, but often your mind will be so exhausted of words that you’ll end up watching law & order svu reruns for six hours instead.

you will come across some of the most pompous and self-absorbed english majors in the world. you will find people who only read james joyce and can list a million reasons why there hasn’t been a book of worth published since 1974. you will find people who will compare everything to their own writing and end up telling the class about their superior writing style and process. you will find people who think they like books, but they just really loved the harry potter series as a kid and don’t read anything else. you will find pearl-clutchers that will throw a fit about reading lolita and flowers in the attic or books with any blatant sex scene because that’s “not what they wanted to learn about in literature.” you will find that uncomforable topics can lead to some of the best discussions in a classroom because it’s topics like these that are all throughout our history yet no one talks about them. 

you will come across professors that want you to look at books with a detached analysis. you will come across professors who are passionate it makes you passionate. you will come across professors that struggle to separate their own love of a topic or book or author from your possibly different look at the same thing. again, it is frustrating, but it can be so rewarding too. 

i think the worst part of college for me, however, was taking the classes that were not english. i loved my literature classes so much and saw very little use in my other classes that i grew really jaded with the entire concept of undergraduate degrees. i was the first in my family to go to college, and so i didn’t know exactly what to expect. what i thought college was is more of what graduate degrees are; where you take classes only pertaining to the subject of your choice and you become an expert on it. i found that every class i struggled with made me angry even moreso by it not being an english class. i would look at my math classes or environmental science and go ‘this isn’t even close to what i want to do with my life, what does it matter?’ so when you have an english class that you really enjoy, make certain you spend as much time ejoying it as possible. it’s not always easy to do that. 

most importantly, don’t feel like you have to adhere to any specific timeline. things will happen for you on terms that are different than they are for other people. breathe, and remember you are more than your grades and your future career is not going to be destroyed by one bad grade or two or three. you are fine and you will excel in ways that you may least expect. 

[fumikomiyasaki]

I’ll send in Artemis, Fabian, and Aimée for the oc interaction question! Sorry if it’s too many ocs!

Oc interaction

I am happy about the work, don't worry.^^

Artemis: A friend I can totally see for Artemis would be Aiden, they are both hunters, Skilled with the knife and they could make whole trips while Aiden makes them Food. Aiden is not the most social given the rumors surrounding him and his bad reputation he doesn't want to get it to others, but I can see Artemis hear of him and his talents and he also has respect for stronger women to the point he had a crush on Emma sooo... I just think she could get through to him and together they could hunt enough food to provide for a big group and it could get him to be more open about himself.

Crush obviously Fabio but that is our ships... aside that... Sylva maybe. She would love her gold eyes and might find her pretty. Also Jin-lou as friend of Sylvas Artemis could help her with braids, I rather stick with Fabio being the main one though.

People that dislike her... i don't think there is aside the usual Dorothy, Saneria who hate every one but moreso... Eleafy would be fearfull around her. Maybe cause they look like a deer and I feel Artemis accidentally grabbed their horns once not realizing they are not an animal.

Fabian:

Flynn is my number one pick as buddy. They are on the same wavelength, can both be dramatic, probably as a team fool people well out of money, have a similar goal, both know pain well even if I do feel Fabian does keep a bit of distrust towards him but... I can still see it be a decent friendship of two thieves just doing their thing and sometimes working together for benefit yet moreso going after their own agenda.

I have more ideas for Dislikes than crushes tbh... I know for sure Camilla, Rubina and Sindren would hate his guts... mainly cause.. for Rubina may love Flynn but only cause of the past and she still finds him unbearable. Given both Sindren and Rubina would walk on the become Police he would also hate them back while Camilla is the main force of often scruffing him by the neck and getting him caught. If he steals anything from Riddle she is sure to get him caught imidiatly and maybe even punch him for it. Phobetor he also likely would have problems with. Crushes I mean jokingly Barry hates to like him but what else can I find... Pamela might work for him. She bakes a lot so she can make him strudels, she is caring but has no braincells so he could use her well but also likely be interested in her... as well as she often gets bullied so maybe he could help her out for benefit... this is all I can think off though.

Aimée:

Paula would be a bestie for sure, but i can also see Gilly be a good friend to her. The three could make each others nails, chat about things... go shopping together, talk about love and crushes as well as just have a good time trying outfits and enjoying make up.

Kuze is our ship, obviously he has a crush on her... but aside that Leroy might also like her just cause she reminds him of a magical girl he likes.

And for someone that dislikes her... Julian was previously in ignihyde and I don't think he likes the whole act she puts and they got into trouble cause he tried to call her out on it. I feel he just very much is not fond of her at all.

[glittership]

Episode #77 — "The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen" by Jenny Blackford

  Direct download here

And here’s the RSS feed: http://glittership.podbean.com/feed/

Episode 77 is part of the Autumn 2018 issue!

Support GlitterShip by picking up your copy here: http://www.glittership.com/buy/

The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen

by Jenny Blackford

    Dumuzi—my beautiful brother Dumuzi, lovelier than the first green shoots of barley rising from the dark mud of an irrigated field—Dumuzi was dead.

Father had not spoken for six days. Not long ago, he’d been a great king in the fullness of his manhood, but now he was hobbling around the halls of the palace like an old grasshopper waiting for death. His hair was gray; his face was grayer still.

Mother was quiet at last. For six full days and nights she’d wailed and screamed on her wide bed of gold, tearing her soft face and her lovely breasts with her nails, pulling great lumps of curled and scented hair from her luxuriant head, berating all the gods for their cruelty to her. The people said that she was no mere mortal beauty but a goddess walking on earth with us, and she did not disagree; but even if this were true, it did not diminish her fury against the other gods.

[Full story & transcript after the cut.]

  Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip Episode 77 for the longest March, 31st, 2020. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing this story with you. Our story for today is The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen by Jenny Blackford read by Marcy Rae Henry and Amber Gray.

Before we get into the story, I’ve got a few things to say. First of all, much love to everyone out there in the world as we face this pandemic together. Love to all those who are suffering, whether from the virus itself, from loss of or fear for loved ones, from financial uncertainty, or from the fear of what the next day will bring. As in most times of extreme disaster, we’re seeing both acts of extreme sociopathy and extreme kindness. Please do what you can to stay safe. Once you’ve got your own oxygen mask on, see what you can do for others.

GlitterShip was originally going to run a full-sized Kickstarter in an attempt to increase our rates, but a combination of finances, time, and the magical world of Keffy-is-still-working-on-a-PhD made that deeply unfeasible, which only became moreso when the pandemic started really ramping up in the States.

That said, we are running a much smaller Kickstarter at https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/keffy/glittership-a-queer-sfandf-magazine-going-for-year-4 in order to fund the next year of GlitterShip through the end of 2020. The much smaller amount is designed to get us through the year and pay off some previous incurred debts. That said, there are also a few stretch goals just in case. If we go considerably over our goal, we’ll pay authors more, yay! As of this recording on March 31st, the Kickstarter is about 2/3 of the way funded. The Kickstarter is live until 9pm United States Eastern time on Friday, April 10, 2020.  Thank you so much in advance for helping me keep GlitterShip going.

Finally, this episode is from the last issue, but there’s going to be a new issue released extremely soon as we get back on track!

And now, onto “The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” by Jenny Blackford, read by Marcy Rae Henry and Amber Gray.

Jenny is an Australian writer and poet. Her poems and stories have appeared in Cosmos, Pulp Literature, Strange Horizons, and more. Pamela Sargent called her subersively feminist novella, The Priestess and the Slave, “elegant”. She won two prizes in the 2016 Sisters in Crime Australia Scarlet Stiletto awards for a murder mystery set in classical Delphi, with water nymphs. You can find her at www.jennyblackford.com.

Marcy Rae Henry is a Latina born and raised in Mexican-America/The Borderlands.  Her writing and visual art appears or is forthcoming in FlowerSong Books’ Selena Anthology, Thimble Literary Magazine,  New Mexico Review, The Wild Word, Beautiful Losers, The Acentos Review, World Haiku Review, Chicago Literati, The Chaffey Review, Shanghai Literary Review, Damaged Goods Press/TQ Review.  Her publication, The CTA Chronicles, received a Chicago Community Arts Assistance Grant and Cumbia Therapy, her collection of Spanglish stories, received an Illinois Arts Council Fellowship.  Ms. M.R. Henry is currently seeking publication of two novellas.  She is an Associate Professor of Humanities and Fine Arts at Harold Washington College Chicago.

Amber Gray is a theatre artist and lover of stories. She enjoys mimicking and creating character voices, especially in song, for her own amusement and the annoyance of those around her who have to put up with it. Thank you to Marcy for being such a good friend and neighbor, and for inviting her to have such a fun time with this project.

  The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen

by Jenny Blackford

      Dumuzi—my beautiful brother Dumuzi, lovelier than the first green shoots of barley rising from the dark mud of an irrigated field—Dumuzi was dead.

Father had not spoken for six days. Not long ago, he’d been a great king in the fullness of his manhood, but now he was hobbling around the halls of the palace like an old grasshopper waiting for death. His hair was gray; his face was grayer still.

Mother was quiet at last. For six full days and nights she’d wailed and screamed on her wide bed of gold, tearing her soft face and her lovely breasts with her nails, pulling great lumps of curled and scented hair from her luxuriant head, berating all the gods for their cruelty to her. The people said that she was no mere mortal beauty but a goddess walking on earth with us, and she did not disagree; but even if this were true, it did not diminish her fury against the other gods.

“My life is nothing without him,” she’d screamed again and again. “Why did you not take me instead, or my husband, or my worthless, thankless, useless daughter?”

I was the useless daughter, of course. I had failed to save my brother from the demons that hunted him to the Underworld. My mother would never forgive me.

Finally, Mother swallowed enough sweet wine laced with poppy juice and honey from the alabaster cup I held to her lips to bring merciful sleep. Death would perhaps have been more merciful for her.

As I put down the cup and smoothed her hair, my mother woke herself just enough to hiss, “Far better that you had been taken, daughter, than him, Dumuzi, the beloved of my heart. Why did you not give yourself to the demons instead? Why did you let them take him? Why? How could you let them take him? My Dumuzi!”

And, truly, I understood. My brother Dumuzi had been more than beautiful, when he had walked this earth.

My suitors—brought by my father’s wealth and my mother’s beauty—had been enthusiastic enough, over the years, until each in his turn had seen my brother. Only a few men are immune to the charms of a pretty boy, and will always prefer the soft roundnesses of woman to a boy’s firm flats and hollows. Even those men, those devoted lovers of women, wanted my brother more than they wanted me, once they had met him. But all left the palace disconsolate: Dumuzi had eyes for none but peerless Ishtar, daughter of the Moon, queen of heaven and earth, goddess of love.

    I had not always been in second place. I was the firstborn child of our parents; when I was a toddler, I was my father’s delight, my mother’s plaything. Father ordered his artisans to make me golden carts with silver wheels, and dolls carved from fragrant cedar with eyes of lapis lazuli and hair of gold. Mother dressed me in tiny versions of court ladies’ dresses in blue and purple, fringed with silver and pearls, tinkling with the myriad silver moon-crescents sewn to them. But in my fourth year, my mother’s belly swelled again.

Even as a newborn babe, Dumuzi shone tender as the spring sun on a field of emmer wheat. I was forgotten. Kings and wise men came from the ends of the earth with gifts of jewels and spices, merely to gaze on my brother’s shining face. The peasants bowed down to him; the slaves openly worshipped him as a god.

But now that Dumuzi was dead, now that the demons had taken him to the Underworld in exchange for his lover, the goddess Ishtar, no man could bear to look upon my face; they turned their heads in angry grief for my brother. Women screamed and wept, tearing at their cheeks and their clothes. If they had dared, they’d have attacked me with their bare hands.

Even the sheep, which Dumuzi had loved above all other beasts, refused to walk to their grassy fields. The noises that they made were so full of grief that they would have brought sorrow to the heart of the most joyful stranger. The sun was hot in the sky, burning the crops, and the fertile irrigated fields were cracked, dry mud. Only the old vizier came to my room and wept with me for my brother’s death. Perhaps the people were right; perhaps it would have been better if I had died, instead of him.

But it was not my fault that Dumuzi was taken from us as ransom for Ishtar. Only the gods knew why the goddess had challenged her sister’s power in the Underworld and been trapped there. I had done my best to protect my brother, as an older sister must, when demons were sent to drag him to the Underworld to take mighty Ishtar’s place.

The demons had threatened me with death when they searched for him; they even tried to bribe me with precious water and with fields of grain. But my brother was my river of precious water; he was my field of grain. I could never have betrayed him. It was not me who gave him up to the demons, but his childhood companion, his dearest male friend, who took the bribe. But no one cared. They loved my brother Dumuzi so much that they loved his friend for his sake; my less lovely face reminded them too much of my beautiful sibling.

After another night of evil dreams, I could not bear it another moment. A little before noon, I went to the Field of the Winged Bulls.

    The life-sized sculptures of the human-headed bulls that guarded the entrance to the palace, strong golden wings tucked against their massive basalt flanks, made all who saw them catch their breath in fear and awe. Though the bulls’ magic protected the city, few other than the members of our family had ever seen the models for those sculptures in real life.

The winged bulls and their mates, in the flesh, were more glorious in appearance and in power than words could tell, but they detested the eyes of human strangers. A plump, bejeweled dynasty of blond slaves from the north tended to all their needs: combed their glossy blue-black hides, polished their golden hoofs, fed them the figs and dates, sweet grapes and honey cakes that they craved; but I was the only living human, other than their slaves, whom they permitted to enter their compound.

The human-headed bulls lazed with their herd in the shade under the date palms, in the vast enclosure that they had requested a thousand years ago, when they’d taken up residence in the city. The huge twin males, rulers of the herd, lay perfectly still, not moving a feather or a shining hair, while the three queen females slowly fanned them with their wide golden wings. Six or seven smaller beasts, close to fully grown, lay quietly around them. Even the frisky calves, their wings mere buds on their shoulders, were relatively placid in the heat, scuffling quietly in the grass for fallen dates.

The two great bulls spoke steadily to one another, their deep voices strange and sonorous to human ears. Their faces looked human, but the sounds that they could make in those deep chests were beyond the reach of any man or woman, or ordinary animal, alive. No human had ever learnt more than a few words of their language. They far preferred for us to speak to them in courtly Sumerian or everyday Akkadian, rather than to hear their ancient, sacred speech distorted and defiled by human mouths.

They would not tell us—not even me, their longtime favorite—where they had come from before they took refuge in our palace, except that it was somewhere long ago and very far away. “You wouldn’t understand, child,” they’d said when I’d asked them, when I was young. “It was our destiny. It was in the stars. We are here, now. That’s all you need to know of where we came from.” They’d looked so sad, as they answered me, that I never dared cause them sorrow by asking again.

The deep poetry of the twin bulls’ ancient voices as they conversed in their own language was strangely soothing. I stood leaning against the warm stone wall of the huge enclosure listening, not comprehending anything they said, but slowly growing calmer, until they spoke to me.

“You are unhappy, Geshtinanna,” one of them said. “Is it your brother?”

I nodded.

“Of course,” the other said. “How could things be otherwise, when humans are involved? And the people blame you, though you are surely blameless?”

I nodded again. I did not want to burst into tears in front of the bulls.

The first one said, “Even we were powerless to prevent this fate from falling upon your brother. How could your people believe for a moment that you had the power to challenge the will of the gods?”

I squeezed my eyes tight shut, but fat tears ran down my cheeks nonetheless.

The three dominant females spoke together for some time, after that. I wiped my tears on the hem of my dress and watched their grave conversation. Their voices were like the sound of great bronze bells, sweet but dangerously strong. The males listened, silent like me, as the massive females spoke, each in her turn.

At last, the largest of the females flicked a golden wingtip against my hand, gently as a kiss, and gave me their decision: “You must go to the wise woman, child. Go to Siduri, the woman who brews her beer and keeps her tavern at the end of the earth, by the shores of the Waters of Death. She will advise you what you must do.”

Mother had told me tales of Siduri, of course. Siduri’s tavern, with its peerless beer-vat made from pure gold, stood by the fabled Garden of the Gods, full of vines hung with gems, shrubs with jewels instead of flowers, fat gemstones in the place of fruit. Mother described it endlessly, greedily. Perhaps the people were right; perhaps Mother was a goddess in truth and belonged there in the jeweled garden. Perhaps she would have been happier there. But the place held dangers as well as riches. A single drop from the deep abyss of the Waters of Death could kill in an instant.

“But how do I travel to the ends of the earth, to consult Siduri?” I asked the powerful inhuman creature lying on the grass in front of me. “I am a woman virtually alone, ignored now in my parents’ own palace, though I was born a princess here. Even with the strongest men from my father’s army, I could not hope to travel through the well-armed kingdoms and the trackless wastes between our city and Siduri’s tavern. Even a hero would surely die in the attempt.”

The human-faced female who spoke now for the herd spread out her golden wings in a graceful gesture. “You see my children, and my sisters’ children, all about you. The oldest of them was born some centuries ago, now, and they are almost full-grown, though still young by our standards. We have taught them all we know: astronomy, astrology, cosmogony, theology, geometry, mythology and more.”

I just nodded. What could I say?

She went on, “We will send Kalla with you on your quest, child. She is not much more than three hundred years old, or thereabouts, but she is wise for her age, as you also are.”

One of the young winged cows lifted her head, then and looked at me. Her eyes were the hard, pure blue of the best lapis lazuli, but fierce intelligence shone in them. But did her mouth tremble with suppressed fear? I tried to smile bravely at her. I was a princess. A princess might know fear, but she must never show it.

The older female spoke again. “You and Kalla will do well together, we believe.” She sighed. “We hope so. This quest could be more dangerous than any that we have attempted for many years.”

Fear touched me with its black wing, then, but what could I do? My life in the palace, or anywhere in Father’s kingdom, was insupportable. Each moment pricked me to the heart like a sharp bronze dagger. A quest to the ends of the earth and perhaps beyond with a wise, if young, winged beast could hardly be more painful, or more difficult. It was more than likely, I knew, that I would die; but Dumuzi was already dead. What was my life worth now?

“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say. Father’s elderly vizier had coached me well in diplomatic language since my toddlerhood, training me to be a good queen when the time came, but this was not one of the endless number of situations that he had covered.

“Go now, child,” the old female said, “and prepare yourself. This will be no ordinary journey. Pack a little food and water, yes, but other things too. And return soon. It would be best for you to leave before the sun is low in the sky.”

I made a formal gesture of thanks, as the vizier had taught me, and rushed back to my room. To my relief, I reached the room before I burst into flooding tears.

    After I composed myself and packed, I went to say farewell to my family.

In my mother’s room, the chief of her women barred the way to her bed, hissing like a snake in an irrigation ditch.

“Geshtinanna! Who do you think you are,” she said, “coming to torment the Queen? You let Dumuzi die, you slut, you useless bitch. Do you think she ever wants to see your face again? Do you think she will ever again call you daughter, after what you did? Go!”

I went, saddened but dry-eyed.

My father, in his throne room, looked at me, then away. The vizier by his side, his hands shaking, pulled at my father’s elbow. “It is your daughter, my King,” he whispered. “It is Geshtinanna. She comes to speak with you.” But Father’s eyes, and mind, were somewhere else, somewhere not good.

The vizier followed me to the door. “I am sorry,” he said. “Your father the King…he is not himself, these days. He will recover, in time. The doctors say so. We must wait patiently.”

“Yes,” I said, then turned to leave.

He looked stricken. “It was not your fault,” he said, in a rush. “The gods know, it was not your fault. The people are like silly sheep. Even their leaders are like sheep. It was not your fault.”

I gave him the formal embrace of sincere thanks which he had first tried to teach me when I was a clumsy four-year-old princess. We were both in tears when I left the room.

Soon, though, I stood again in the Field of the Winged Bulls, this time with all the pieces of my old life that I intended to take with me when I left the palace. Around my neck I wore a necklace that Mother had given me when she still loved me, flat red-gold links with a cow carved from lapis lazuli hanging down from the central point, and from my earlobes dangled crescent earrings covered in golden granulations, also her gift. On my hands were three rings set with hunks of carnelian, sapphire and emerald, all from my father, each given to mark an auspicious birthday. My right wrist bore a bangle of bright beads from the Indus Valley, a gift from Dumuzi, and my left ankle held an anklet of heavy gold inscribed with the signs of the greatest gods, the symbols of the Sun, the Moon, Venus, Mercury and Mars.

There were gold and less precious objects—brooches and pins and other small gewgaws that I could exchange for what I needed on the journey—in a soft leather sack concealed under my dress, and another one, flashier, with less gold in it, tied to my belt. In a bag strapped over my shoulder I had a water-skin, plus soft cheese and juicy half-dried figs; they would last maybe two days. The journey could take months, or never end; I would get more food and drink when I needed it, or not at all.

Kalla was at one end of the compound, alone. I walked over to her.

“You must settle yourself behind my wings,” she said, flicking her tail nervously. “I will carry you where the elders say you must go.” Her blue eyes glanced at the herd at the other end of the compound, then looked back down into my face.

I was going to ride on her back?

“Oh,” I said, looking at that glossy expanse of hide, higher and wider than my father’s royal throne, almost as wide as my bed.

But what had I imagined? That we would walk together sedately through the palace gates, with the people waving us on our way, and proceed on foot to the ends of the earth?

Kalla’s tail flicked again. I could feel her anxiety overlaid on my own. This would be her first time away from her herd, and it would be no easier for her than for me. But she was too stressed to understand that I—a princess, but all the same a puny human female—could not vault onto her back, higher than the top of my head. What could I say, that would not cause her shame in front of the herd?

What would the vizier do, that consummate old diplomat, in my position? His daily lessons had almost become second nature: I must let Kalla work out the problem for herself. I put up my right arm, tentatively, and touched her high on her ribs, barely brushing the glossy blue-black hairs. Her head turned and her eyes followed my movement and the extension of my arm. She blinked in what must have been a mixture of dismay and amusement.

“I’ll kneel for you,” she said, and settled gracefully onto the grass.

It was my turn for dismay. How could I sit on so wide an expanse of back? Kalla was three or four times the size of the asses and wild donkeys that men rode. The dress I wore was practical and simple, plain linen, well designed for dusty travel, with no golden fringes, no tinkling ornaments. Nonetheless, it was too tight for me to stretch my legs so far.

There was only one real possibility. I bent down to my right ankle and ripped the linen of my dress up to mid-thigh. I could pin it together when I needed to be respectable again. Then I lifted my bared right leg over Kalla’s shining back—when I touched her hide, it was like silk from the fabled Orient, beyond the sunrise—and sat. My legs were wide stretched, and it would be painful in time, but for the first time in my life I was grateful for the tedious stretches and long poses of the lessons that I’d been forced to take, for the sacred dances day and night before the gods in their solemn festivals.

“You will not fall,” Kalla said, but her voice sounded a little nervous to me. “Don’t be afraid of that. The elders have arranged for an attachment spell to keep you safe. If you want, through, you can put your hands under where the wings connect to my shoulders. They tell me that you can hold firmly there without hurting me.”

I felt thick muscle under my hands, sunwarmed and strong as stone. I grasped as tightly as I dared.

Kalla stood up onto all fours so carefully that I scarcely shifted, though I was seated so precariously there on her flat back. She turned then towards the herd, which had carefully been ignoring us. The winged beasts were better diplomats even than Father’s vizier.

Kalla cried out to them in her own language, in her voice like a well-tempered bell. Her wide golden wings had already started beating.

“Farewell,” I called, more softly, and waved. “Thank you.” By the time I’d finished speaking, we were in the air above the palace, then flying south-east along the River.

    It was as if my gilded silver bed with its duckdown-stuffed mattress had taken wings and started to fly through the sky. I felt as safe sitting on Kalla’s back as I would have on my own bed, and no more likely to fall off. Kalla’s passage through the air was stately, but, even if she hadn’t told me, it would have been clear that a magical force was operating to keep me safely positioned on her shiny-smooth skin. Luckily so: a tumble would have seen me dead, smashed and drowned in the great river which was our kingdom’s life. Mentally, I thanked whichever of Kalla’s herd it was who’d thought to use the spell.

The river Buranun—our land’s lifeblood—was even lovelier from the air than from the earth. I gazed down on its turns and bends, the reedy marshes full of waterbirds, the farmlands irrigated with its water, and the great stone temples of the gods. Sometimes, when we were high or it was close, I even caught sight of our river’s eastern twin, the Idigna. The vizier had taught me the names of the cities there, and their various strengths and weaknesses, in case Father chose one of their foreign kings as my husband. I’d never thought to see it from the air.

No one down below took the least notice of us. “I’m flying high enough that even the sharpest-sighted won’t be able to see anything distinctly,” Kalla said. “They won’t understand how big I am; they’ll think me an eagle, or something of the sort. And they won’t see you at all, Geshtinanna. You’re much too small, you tiny human. It would take two or three of you to make one of our newborn calves.” She laughed deep in her massive chest; after a moment, I laughed too.

We flew for many days, or perhaps months, stopping in the evening only when Kalla sighted a small town, a few isolated farms, where she could stay concealed in the shelter of trees or rocks while I found a farmer’s wife who would be happy to give me food and fill my water-skin for a small piece of gold, even though I was a woman travelling alone. When it grew dark, I slept curled against Kalla’s warm back, comforted by her firm bulk. Her quiet snores made my sleep sweet.

On the first evening it could have been pure luck that I was met with nothing but kindness by a woman busy in her farmhouse. No threats, no violence, no greed at the sight of my gold. But I had learned too much of human nature, both in theory and in practice, to think it normal or natural, after three nights.

“I don’t know,” Kalla said, when I challenged her about the mystery. “It’s not magic, or if it is I’ve never learnt it. The places I stop in just look right, feel right. They call to me.”

“Snakes and dogs know when an earthquake is coming,” I said. “Birds fly north from our marshes, every year, and back again, and winged butterflies build themselves from creeping caterpillars in their cocoons. The wise men call that unknown knowledge instinct. Perhaps you have an instinct for kindness.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Kindness is good. It is worth seeking.” She looked thoughtful, after that, until she slept.

The next night, as we lay together in the grass under some fig trees, and I apportioned her the larger share of the dates that I’d received from yet another pleasant woman, I asked the question which had worried me since my childhood, when I used to watch the blond slaves tending to the herd’s needs: “How is it that your people are so large, and yet you eat so little?”

“Hmm,” Kalla said, flicking the tips of her wings in amusement. “No one has dared ask us that before. But the answer is simple: we eat merely for pleasure, not out of physical need. We need no food as you humans do, or your animals. Would you like more of the dates?”

“Thank you, but no,” I said. I was blushing with embarrassment. All my childhood, Kalla’s herd had lazed in the compound at the palace, flicking away flies, munching slowly—but they were not mere cattle. Far from it. I said, “I should have known better. I was taught better. You are not mortal, as we are, but guardian djinn, more akin to the gods than to us.”

“Yes, it’s something like that,” Kalla said, laughing the strange, deep laugh of her kind. “We absorb the energy from the sun, as plants do. But it’s too complicated to explain. Push those delicious-smelling fresh dates closer to my mouth, human, and stop worrying about it.” She grinned, then, and used a golden wingtip to brush my head softly.

I tried to treat Kalla more deferentially after that, more as one ought to treat an immortal guardian and less as a friend, but I kept failing. It was like water in the desert, after all my lonely years, to have someone to talk to.

One evening towards the end, as I dismounted, Kalla told me to get all the food I could carry, when I went to the farmhouse nearby.

“Can you see those mountains in the distance?” she asked. “Those little bumps on the horizon? They’re the Mountains of Mashu, the boundary of your human realm, higher and wider than you can imagine. Some say they’re impassable, that they stretch to the heavens. We will come to them tomorrow. There will be streams of pure water, but no farms—no human beings who eat the food that you do.”

After that, we flew not over fertile river plains or even desert but over the rocks and boulders of the mountainside. In the evenings, Kalla refused any of my stores of fruit and cheese.

“I’m not sure how long this will take, trying to skirt around the side of these mountains,” she said. “You need those good-smelling edible things, and I don’t. No, don’t argue, human. I’m older than you. And much bigger.” Her face was serious; only the twitching of her tail told me that she was teasing.

After nine days of mountain flying—cliffs and ravines, springs and cataracts, stands of tall pines and regal cedars—the stocks in my food-pouch were almost gone. I tried not to worry. I had enough for tonight, just barely.

“Look,” Kalla said, around noon. “The glitter, below us. It is the Garden of the Gods, I’m sure it is.” She sounded relieved. Surely my guide and protector had not doubted that she could find it?

I looked down, and gasped.

I had grown up in a palace, surrounded by the riches of men and gods. I used to eat from silver plates, and drink from a golden cup set with gemstones. Mother glittered like the stars in the night sky when she was hung about with gold and jewels for state occasions, and Father’s green alabaster throne set with carnelian and chrysoprase glinted in torchlight.

But this was a garden as big as our city, or larger, with each shrub, each tree, each lush vine scattered with bright jewels in place of fruit and flowers. It was just as Mother had told me, but larger, brighter, more real—and more divine. This was indeed the Garden of the Gods. How had I dared come here?

My awe and wonder at the jeweled garden only increased as we flew closer and I could see more and more gemstones encrusting the plants. And then I saw the sea. It was like our River in flood, but impossibly wide. It stretched to the far horizon and beyond. And then the truth hit me: the Mountains of Mashu, the Garden of the Gods, the wide blue sea—I was where Kalla’s elders had sent me, the fabled ends of the earth. I must find Siduri and ask her advice.

    As it happened, I didn’t need to find Siduri. She came to meet me while I was still scrambling down from Kalla’s back.

“We must talk, girl,” Siduri said to me, then looked at Kalla. “You—guardian being—what is your name?”

My massive mount said, “I am Kalla, Goddess.”

Goddess? Of course, I thought. People called Siduri a wise woman, but how could she live here, brewing ale in a vat given to her by the gods, unless she too was one of them, a goddess in her own right?

Siduri nodded. “Kalla, you may now graze on the fruits of the Garden of the Gods.”

Kalla bowed before Siduri. Her human-seeming face was almost impassive as that of the carved bull statues that guard my father’s palace, but I could see the suppressed joy around those stony blue eyes. Kalla moved sedately towards the glowing jewels, her body a picture of restrained decorum.

“The jewels of the gods are a delicacy for Kalla’s kind,” Siduri told me. “They give them strength and wisdom.”

I just stood there helpless before the goddess, my knees trembling, my mind almost blank. Siduri took me by the hand, led me to a bench in front of her tavern, and gave me a silver cup of ale, also pouring one for herself from a golden jug.

“But now,” she said, “you must drink my ale. I have few mortal visitors, here at the ends of the earth, but my ale is excellent.”

I sipped; it was the best I’d ever tasted, better even than the finest of wines in the palace.

“It is excellent indeed, Goddess,” I said. “Thank you.”

“So tell me, girl,” Siduri said. “Why are you so sad?”

That much was simple. “Demons dragged my brother, beautiful Dumuzi, down to the Underworld.”

“Ah, I heard about that. So you are the sister, valiant Geshtinanna, who tried to protect him.”

Unshed tears made my throat hoarse. “I failed.”

The goddess shook her head. “Whether you had failed or not, your brother would have died soon enough. He could perhaps have had ten more years, twenty, maybe even fifty, but death comes to all mortals. It is best if you accept it. Take joy in everyday pleasures: warm baths, clean clothes, good food and drink, making love with your husband, feeling your child’s hand in your own.”

Wise men and poets had said the same thing since the dawn of time. It didn’t help.

I said, “That is excellent advice, Goddess, I have no doubt. But my city is falling to ruin. My mother has had no rest since her son was taken by the demons, and my father the king will not speak even to his closest advisers. Even the slaves and the sheep lament him. The sun burns the crops, and our fields are cracked, dry mud. To escape the sorrow of my brother’s death, I would need to leave my city and my people, never to see them again, and still I would feel their grief and anger.”

Siduri poured herself another cup of ale. “But, Geshtinanna, to leave her family is the lot of all women, whether peasant, noble or goddess. Every woman of marriageable age must leave her father’s house and her mother’s rooms and live instead in a house of strangers. The more exalted the family, the farther the woman must travel from her home.”

I sipped cool ale from my cup before I replied. “That is all too true, Goddess. Indeed, if any of my suitors had paid my bride-price, he would have taken me far from my parents’ palace. His mother would have become my mother, and his father my father. Perhaps, indeed, I would never have seen my own parents again, nor the place where I was born.” Still, it did not help.

The goddess gestured around her. “So why are you here?”

The words came unbidden to my lips. “I must find Dumuzi.”

I hadn’t known, until that instant, what I was going to say. But it was true: the purpose of my quest was to find my brother—in the Underworld. Everything in my life pushed me towards that destiny.

The goddess sighed. “I was afraid of that. Your mortal race finds it so hard to accept death, though it is your lot.”

Death is not the lot of the immortal gods, I thought. Why must it be our lot? Why must we accept it? But I did not speak.

Siduri drained her cup. I looked down and found that mine, too, was empty. The goddess said, “If that is what you want, you must go to the Dark Queen, Ereshkigal.”

Ereshkigal, the Queen of the Underworld, the Queen of the Dead. Ishtar’s sister.

For a moment, the world went hazy-white around me. If I had not been sitting on the bench, I might have fallen. But I remembered the vizier, and how he had trained me. I took a slow, deep breath, and lifted my head high.

“How do I find Ereshkigal?” I asked.

“Ah, that’s an interesting question,” the goddess said. “For mortals, there are many paths to the quiet realm of the Dark Queen. I could slip a simple poison into your cup, or touch you with a single drop of the Waters of Death out there—” the goddess pointed to the sea, moving blue-green against the shoreline in front of us “—or merely wish you dead.”

Gods! I took another deep breath.

Siduri touched my hand, gently and kindly, and said, “But you are fortunate, Geshtinanna. Kalla will take you to the Underworld.”

My heart shuddered at the thought of exposing Kalla to that danger. “Can I ask that of her?”

“Perhaps you could not,” the goddess replied, “though she is no mortal creature. But I will ask her, and she will not refuse me.”

    Soon I sat again on Kalla’s broad back, my heart hammering, my fear-cold hands gripping the muscles below her wings. Siduri’s kiss of farewell burned on my cheek.

This time I took no fruit, no water-skin. There was neither eating nor drinking in the Underworld.

Kalla said, “It would be best if you closed your eyes, Geshtinanna. Your kind is not designed for a journey such as this.”

I squeezed my eyelids shut and felt a sudden sensation of dropping through the void. My bowels were cold. There was darkness and confusion all around me: first whirling heat and pressure on my head and body, then a windy emptiness and a searing cold. I heard cries of terror, whimpers and moans. It could have lasted a moment or a year.

Then all was still and quiet, and I opened my eyes. I was in a great cavern, naked as a newborn baby, and stripped of my seven pieces of jewelry, gifts from my family and reminders of my past. Kalla stood beside me, shining blue-black in the light of the torches on the rough-cut walls.

In front of us stood the Queen of the Dead, Ereshkigal, incomparably lovely in her nakedness. A horned crown sat on her glistening hair. Strong dark wings hung behind her, from shoulders to knees. Her hands were almost like human hands, though her nails were talons, but her feet were the strong claws of a bird of prey. Those terrifying feet gripped the backs of twin lions, and two great owls, each as tall as a ten-year-old child, flanked her. She was as beautiful and as terrible as an army arrayed for battle.

“What do you want, mortal woman?” Ereshkigal asked. Her voice was that of a lion calling in the night, or of a huge owl hunting before moonrise. My breathing quickened at the sound, despite my fear.

I could not lie to her. “I have come to seek Dumuzi,” I said.

The goddess bared her teeth, and the hairs bristled at the nape of my neck. She said, snarling, “Are you sent by my treacherous sister Ishtar? Are you one of her devotees?”

I trembled. “No, Goddess. I have no love for mighty Ishtar. I am Dumuzi’s sister, Geshtinanna. My brother was Ishtar’s husband, then her ransom to leave this place. The demons sent to free your mighty sister snatched my brother Dumuzi and brought him here, to your dark realm, in her stead.”

The goddess settled her glorious wings against her back. “Surely my sister sent you. All men and women who walk on the earth serve the Goddess of Love and Battle.”

I shook my head. “I do not do the will of Ishtar, no matter how great she is, and how much adored. If it were not for Ishtar and her love for my brother, he would still walk on the earth, living and breathing. Why would I do her bidding?”

“Then why are you here?” The goddess glowed with unearthly beauty. Her breasts were like ripe pomegranates, her eyes the color of the night sky. I felt myself falling, helpless, into that deep, starry sky.

I took a breath. “Truly, Goddess, I am here for my own sake, and my mother’s, and my father’s, and my city’s. My parents are mad with grief. Our city falls to ruin. The sun burns the crops, and the fields are dry. Even the slaves and the sheep lament him.”

The goddess Ereshkigal asked, “Do you desire to come here, as his ransom, to take his place? Do you wish to live here in my kingdom?”

I gasped and knew that this was what I had sought without understanding: to live forever in Ereshkigal’s dark realm, in her fearful presence.

I bowed my head, ashamed. “My brother Dumuzi’s beauty made him a god, or equal to one. He was beloved of a goddess. He was enough to ransom Ishtar, great goddess of the earth and sky, from your power. I am a mortal woman. Am I enough to free my brother, and take his place?”

Ereshkigal frowned. On her face, even a frown was glorious. “Perhaps not, my mortal Geshtinanna,” she said. “But I will beseech the gods on high that they might allow the exchange, if that is truly what you wish.”

She gazed into my eyes, into my soul. I fell into her darkness, and stars swirled around me.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes. It is truly what I wish.”

The goddess put out a sharp-taloned hand to my right breast—was she going to kill me now, slash me with those glittering claws? I held my breath, waiting for pain and death.

Instead, Ereshkigal pinched my nipple, tenderly. Fire ran through me, but it was the fire of pleasure, not of pain. Again, I gasped, and blushed.

The goddess smiled in delight. “You tell the truth, mortal. Truly, you do wish to dwell here with me.”

“Yes,” I said. I watched her hands, her eyes. I needed her to touch me again.

“You and I have something in common,” the dark goddess said. “We are both sisters of siblings beloved by all.”

“Yes,” I said. Touch me.

“Beautiful Dumuzi, lovely Ishtar.” She stroked my ear, my throat, with those clawed fingers. I shivered, but I was not cold.

“Yes.” Please, touch me.

The goddess kissed my hair, my cheek, my lips. “To me, you are more beautiful than Dumuzi.”

“To me,” I said, catching my breath, “you are lovelier than Ishtar.”

    The gods on high decreed that I, a mortal woman, would not suffice to ransom Dumuzi entirely, but that I could take his place in the Underworld for half of every year; for that time, my brother would walk the earth.

It was enough. Our city rejoiced, the sheep jumped in the fields, the irrigated soil abounded with crops, and Mother and Father were filled to overflowing with happiness. I was pleased for their sake, but I could no longer live there, with them, after all that had happened.

For half of each cycle of the sun, now, I dwell in Ereshkigal’s dark realm, sharing her fierce pleasures. No woman knows greater bliss. But when Dumuzi returns underground and the sun is hot in the sky, I am compelled to return to the world of the living. I travel the earth, then, with Kalla, best of companions. If you look carefully enough at the hawks and eagles that fly high in the sky, one day you might be startled to see her golden wings flashing in the sun. Look for me riding on her back.

END

  “The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” was originally published in Dreaming of Djinn, edited by Liz Grzyb and is copyright Jenny. Blackford, 2013.

This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.

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Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a whole new issue and a GlitterShip original, “The Ashes of Vivian Firestrike” by Kristen Koopman.

Episode #77 — “The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” by Jenny Blackford was originally published on GlitterShip

[edenfalling]

[Fic] “The Morn Is Hallowday” - Tam Lin (Pamela Dean)

I forgot to crosspost this over here for a few days, whoops! But anyway, here is the story I wrote for Yuletide this year:

The Morn Is Hallowday: Halfway through the walk from Forbes to Ericson, Molly realized that if Tina hadn't returned already from her folk dancing, she certainly would very soon, and in either case Janet's absence would require some explanation. (2,450 words, written for nnozomi)

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This is not the fandom nnozomi and I matched on. That was Diana Wynne Jones's Dalemark Quartet... but the thing is, the prompt was centered around Navis Hadson, in whom I have approximately zero fannish interest. I like him, but I am perfectly satisfied with his role in canon and feel no need to explore him further. (His kids, maybe, but not him.) And it happened that nnozomi had also requested two fandoms I know but hadn't signed up for (because I figured the chances of getting stuck with something I flatly couldn't write were too high, and also there comes a point of diminishing returns in bucket offers), and the prompts for those fandoms fell squarely into my personal wheelhouse.

So I wrote one of them instead. :)

I first read Pamela Dean's Tam Lin when I was fifteen or sixteen, and just starting to think about college as a thing that would probably happen in my future. In the event, the book bears almost no resemblance to my own college experiences, but I treasure it as something that told me, "Yes, becoming an adult is messy and hard and tiring, but there are also joys, and if Janet Carter can do it, so can you." It was one of my touchstones that growing up didn't have to mean giving up all the things I loved. There were, of course, other stories featuring adult characters with rich inner lives and interest in books, but this one went into the most detail about the process of getting there from here.

It was also a book I enjoyed much more on the second, third, and tenth readings, partly because I was no longer expecting it to go full secondary-world fantasy on me; the magic is subtle and mostly not the point.

(The rest of this post is behind a read-more for length, and also spoilers -- insofar as a twenty-year-old book can still have spoilers.)

The friendships between Janet and her two roommates -- Molly and Tina -- are for me the heart of the book (moreso than any of Janet's romances... well, except her romance with books; that's also very central), and I like that they're messy and frustrating and often unequal, but the narrative never so much as hints that this means they're not important and worthwhile and an incredible source of strength to all three young women.

We don't get to see much of Molly's relationship with Tina, since we spend the entire book tightly in Janet's POV, but nnozomi asked for a story about the two of them -- perhaps a missing scene during the book, or an exchange of summer letters, or something at a college reunion. And when I reread the book (not at all a hardship!), I realized that one consequence of strictly following Janet's POV is that there's a huge loose thread at the very end: namely, Tina isn't present for the events of the climax (I suspect this is both to trim down logistical complications and to avoid long skeptical arguments) and we never get to see her learn what happened. The book ends with her still presumably worried that Janet may commit suicide, and unaware of Janet's choice to keep both her baby and her relationship with Thomas.

I wanted to give Tina some emotional resolution, and as I wrote it occurred to me that Molly is also left with some unresolved problems -- in her case, what to do about Robin, who she's just learned is actually 400 years old, part of a faery queen's court, and potentially under a death sentence depending what Medeous meant by her threat to sacrifice 'two dearer' the next time the tithe comes due.

So I had Molly explain things to Tina, and Tina prod Molly into reaching at least a preliminary conclusion -- that she wants to stay involved with Robin -- because they are good friends and support each other just like they support Janet in canon.

Random trivia: the section where Molly muses about mermaids really being lures for some kind of giant anglerfish was inspired by various Tumblr posts I've seen discussing similar theories, though it does not directly quote any of them. I actually wanted to do more with the deep sea analogy since Molly is studying to be a marine biologist, but when I tried to work in a more extended riff on that theme, it completely derailed the emotional logic of the fic -- and so, with regret, I killed that particular darling. *wry*

I had a bit of an adventure finding a beta on short notice, and I would like to thank both isis for hippo services and snickfic for exemplary editing services. :)

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If I'd been more on top of things in November and the first half of December, I would have liked to also fill nnozomi's prompt about Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan's Sergyar support staff, but alas, time management has never been my forte. *wry*