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saintsenara · 11 months

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it's sirius' birthday today, so - naturally - i have decided to depress myself by writing a little story about the the great tragedy of his happy life being snatched away from him at the ripe old age of almost twenty-two.

the title for this pieces comes not from the philip larkin poem of the same name - although it's not not sirius-coded - but from the song live fast, die old by frank turner, which is the most james-and-sirius thing i've ever heard.

September 1979

‘It is a miracle you’re not dead.’

‘I thought I was about to be. You should have seen the way he was brandishing those fire tongs.’

‘I think you might actually be the luckiest bastard alive, Pads. I’m in awe.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have wanted to die without you being there to witness it. If I’m going to get my head caved in by Mad-Eye Moody for breaking a mug without giving him prior warning and making him think there’s a Death Eater lurking in his kitchen cupboards, then I expect you to enjoy watching it happen.’

‘As, indeed, I would. Pass me that bottle?’

Sirius hands him a bottle in which the last dregs of a very good firewhisky - the mellow, amber colour of late summer - undulates. James swigs from it.

‘You look like a twat doing that.’

‘No I don’t! I look cool!’

‘You look like a fifteen-year-old having his first drink.’

James snorts. ‘Listen, you know I don’t, because you were there when I had my first drink. So you know that -’

‘- the fact you’re not hurling your guts up crying about how you’ll never win the world cup means that this is nothing like that.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Fair enough.’

James passes the bottle back and flops once more on the grass. The golden haze of sunrise slouches over the garden - catching the lime-green leaves of the beech and the dew-drops on the spider’s webs hanging from the door of the shed James never uses - and the whole garden seems to be encased in glass; a terrarium - shimmering and shining - which has been made into their perfect habitat, like the weird moss-filled thing Bertram bloody Aubrey used to have for his toad.

He imagines some benevolent owner lovingly arranging the detritus of their impromptu party - he’d only come round to update James and Lils on his latest meeting with Mad-Eye, Dumbledore’s orders, and that was fifteen hours ago - on the lawn around them and starts laughing.

‘What are you giggling about?’ grins James, his eyes glittering like caramel as it’s poured from a pan. A surefire sign that his mind was turned towards mischief.

‘I don’t even fucking know. Fucking everything, Prongs.’

James starts laughing too. He has a perfect laugh - uproarious and rich, the sort of laugh you wish could be preserved in amber - and it’s perfect for that morning, with its golden dawn and the crisp-apple bite to the air which says that autumn, and its promise of driving Lily to distraction by carving rude things into pumpkins, is on its way. It’s perfect for that perfect morning, when they’re both that brilliant sort of drunk which makes the soft blue of the sky seem all the clearer.

He lies back, the grass tickling his cheek, and looks up at the heavens, which stretch endlessly before him, revealed bit-by-bit by the new day’s light.

That horrible house - the prison of his childhood - seems so far away that he’s not sure he didn’t dream the whole thing.

It seems like something out of a fairytale - the sort of topsy-turvy formlessness of fantasy - to think that he had once been so miserable that he’d longed to self-destruct, to shatter like a dry bone and be scattered. It seemed absurd to look back at his sixteen-year-old self, rattling around on the Knight Bus as it sped him to James, and to freedom, and realise that he had once been unable to comprehend the idea of being truly happy.

But he is. Life stretches before him unfettered, beckoning to him and James and winking knowingly. You won’t grow old gracefully, it says, with a mischievous glint in its eye. Neither will he

It’s got that right. He and James made a promise within seconds of meeting to still be friends when they were ninety, living next door to each other and scandalising all the village witches and impressing all the village children with the rumours about their dissolute youths. And dissolute middle ages.

‘You’re my best friend,’ says James, because the whisky’s hit him. ‘We’re going to be best friends forever. Even when we’re fucking ancient.’

‘Yep. I know we are.’

‘This was a great party, wasn’t it, Pads?’

‘Party of the year, I’ve heard.’

‘I think I’d like every party I ever have to be like this.’ He’s staring at the sky, squinting behind his glasses, suddenly introspective. The sunlight makes his skin look like honey.

Sirius does the same. ‘I promise that all your parties will start because I have a run-in with Alastor Moody, Lils wants an excuse to open a bottle of cherry brandy, and you want the chance to act like a soft cunt at five in the morning,’ he says, watching a beam of sunlight shimmers behind a cloud, turning its solid white fluffiness into something sheer - gauzy - like a veil.

‘Cheers, mate. Appreciate it.’

The undulating blue-and-gold of morning is so beautiful, clouds rising up like castles from the sea. If Sirius wasn’t so happy it would be painful to see it. As it is…

‘I think sometimes that me and Lils will move by the sea,’ says James. ‘When we’re older. When we have a couple of kids. Yeah, we’ll move by the sea. And have parties in a house all filled with light.’

#happy birthday sirius #sorry your life sucked #asenora fics #sirius black #james potter #high windows #in celebration of one of frank turner's absolute bangers

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finishinglinepress · 2 years

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FLP CHAPBOOK OF THE DAY: Aphids in the Rose by Joan Baranow

ADVANCE ORDER: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/aphids-in-the-rose-by-joan-baranow/

Joan Baranow’s Aphids in the Rose charts her intimate experience of #breast cancer, from the shock of diagnosis to treatment to healing. Interwoven throughout her journey are #poems about the fragility and resilience of #nature, where she finds she is not alone in her struggle. Like the gull in the rain “just standing there,” she withstands the ordeal of disease and goes back into the world with renewed gratitude and wonder.

Joan Baranow is the author of six poetry collections. A fellow of the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and member of the Community of Writers, she founded and teaches in the Low-Residency MFA program in Creative Writing at Dominican University of CA.

PRAISE FOR Aphids in the Rose by Joan Baranow

Joan Baranow‘s poems are moving, beautifully crafted, filled with both fear and gratitude. She has a gift for choosing multi-layered images that reveal so much more that the few lines we read on the page. There are no wasted words, no too-easy emotions. I was swept along with her in her cancer journey, a journey no woman wishes to undertake. Her poems are a guide for others who find themselves unwillingly but courageously on that path.

–Cortney Davis, author of I Hear Their Voices Singing: Poems New & Selected

This collection of poems about a cancer patient’s journey vividly conjures the universal anxieties of the human condition as it confronts the simultaneous crises of bodily frailty and ecological precarity. Joan Baranow colorfully details the audacious cures in which we humans put our faith as we try to keep our worlds—inside and out—from falling apart. Modern medicine is at once celebrated and scrutinized in poems recognizing that scientific victories are as bruising as they are benevolent, that there is a cost to “force / assert[ing] its fact.” In looking to nature for answers, these poems bring to mind the Robert Frost of “Birches,” who would surely have approved of Baranow’s homage to a redwood tree’s dignified death: “that’s what I want,… / the full weight of gravity / pulling // with its fiery core, / whose hold never slips, / whose fist releases / such glossy, improbable leaves.”

–Jenna Le, MD, author of A History of the Cetacean American Diaspora

Breast cancer: not a poetic subject, you think? Think again. Step by step, with candor and clarity carrying us from diagnosis through surgery and radiation and beyond, to a world where even “the trees are trying to remember,” these marvelous poems are rich with Baranow’s trademark closeness to the natural world, her sensuousness, her gift for levity, her brilliant leaps of utterly apt metaphor, her self-acceptance—in a word, her humanity. This is a book every woman who has had—or might have—breast cancer, should read and cherish.

–Alicia Ostriker, author of Waiting for the Light

Please share/please repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry #chapbook #read #poems #breastcancer #survivor #healing #nature

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scotianostra · 3 years

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On 21st July 1796 Robert Burns died in Dumfries.

Rather than write up an account from several sources and my own knowledge as I normally do I will leave it to the poet and neighbour of the Ploughman Poet, Alan Cunninham, to describe the fateful day……

“It was soon spread through Dumfries that Burns had returned from the *Brow much worse than when he went away, and it was added that he was dying. The anxiety of the people, high and low, was very great. I was present and saw it. Wherever two or three were together their talk was of Burns, and of him alone. They spoke of his history, of his person, and of his works - of his witty sayings and sarcastic replies, and of his too early fate with much enthusiasm, and sometimes with deep feeling. All that he had done, and all that he had hoped he would accomplish, were talked of: half-a-dozen of them stopped Dr. Maxwell in the street, and said, "How is Burns sir?” He shook his head, saying, “he cannot be worse, ” and passed on to be subjected to similar inquiries farther up the way. I heard one of a group inquire, with much simplicity, “Who do you think will be our poet now?”

Though Burns now knew he was dying, his good humour was unruffled, and his wit never forsook him. When he looked up and saw Dr. Maxwell at his bed-side, - “Alas!” he said, “what has brought you here? I am but a poor crow and not worth plucking.” He pointed to his pistols, those already mentioned the gift of their maker, Blair of Birmingham, and desired that Maxwell would accept of them, saying they could not be in worthier keeping, and he should have no more need of them. This relieved his proud heart from a sense of obligation. Soon afterwards he saw Gibson, one of his brother-volunteers by the bed-side with tears in his eyes. He smiled and said, - “John, don’t let the awkward squad fire over me!”

His household presented a melancholy spectacle: the Poet dying; his wife in hourly expectation of being confined: four helpless children wandering from room to room, gazing on their miserable parents and but too little of food or cordial kind to pacify the whole or soothe the sick. To Jessie Lewars, all who are charmed with the poet’s works are much indebted: she acted with the prudence of a sister and the tenderness of a daughter, and kept desolation away, though she could not keep disease. - “A tremor,” says Maxwell, “pervaded his frame; his tongue, though often refreshed, became parched; and his mind, when not roused by conversation, sunk into delirium. On the second and third day after his return from the Brow, the fever increased and his strength diminished. On the fourth day, when his attendant, James Maclure held a cordial to his lips, he swallowed it eagerly - rose almost wholly up - spread out his hands - sprang forward nigh the whole length of the bed - fell on his face and expired. He was thirty seven years and seven months old, and of a form and strength which promised long life; but the great and inspired are often cut down in youth while "Villains ripen gray with time”.

I can’t really add to what Cunningham has written, what I will add is the remarkable story about the night almost 40 years after his death the poet’s skull was taken on a wee walk by a group of Dumfries locals with a strange interest.

The men, led by newspaper editor John McDiarmid, were keen advocates of phrenology - a now discredited pseudo-science that believed you could read deep truths about someone's personality from plotting the bumps on their head.

McDiarmid and others were keen to study the skull of the ploughman poet - a man who was thought of as a natural genius and whose personality was well-known throughout the world.

The phrenologists were interested in Burns because he was such an important character in the public imagination and therefore they wanted to see if the bumps on his skull would match up to his public persona.

However, the Bard's widow Jean Armour was not thought to be keen to allow the phrenologists to disturb her husband's resting place because his remains had already been moved once before.

When Burns died in Dumfries he was not buried in the imposing mausoleum that currently stands in the town's St Michael's kirkyard. The bright, white, rock star tomb, with its pillars and domes and its marble figure of Burns at the plough, was erected 19 years after his death, following a long fundraising effort. His widow was disgusted by the gruesome exhumation of the poet's body, and the remains of two of his sons, to the relocate them to the new monument.

Dumfries Courier editor McDiarmid wrote an account of removing Burns from his original resting place.

He told how when the workmen tried to lift the original wooden coffin "the head separated from the trunk, and the whole body, with the exception of the bones, crumbled into dust".

The newspaper editor may have been accurately describing the scene but he was not there at the time, he arrived in town two years after the event and must have cursed his luck at missing out on getting his hands on Burns' skull for a phrenological study.

It was not until Jean Armour died in 1834 that another opportunity arose to get a plaster of Paris cast of the skull. McDiarmid realised the crypt of the mausoleum was going to be opened and he appears to have obtained permission from Jean's brother to take a cast of the skull. The group carrying out the plan comprised of six men plus their assistants, and by the end of the night the Provost, the Dean of Guild and rector of Dumfries academy as well.

They don't want to be seen and they didn't want a mob to assemble and say 'here they are violating the poet's grave, we are going to stop them. They make their first attempt at 7pm but there are too many people about. At 10pm in come our boys again over the walls, sneak up to the mausoleum with the keys, they go down into the vault with a ladder and a muffled lantern so people didn't see the light.

According to Burns' experts who reconstructed the process, McDiarmid had thought he would be able to take a plaster cast of the skull in the vault but he realised he couldn't. So he popped it into a linen bag and walked it up the high street to Queensberry Street where the plasterer James Fraser worked. They made a mould and from that they took a cast of the skull.

There are several persons involved, one of which is the surgeon Archibald Blacklock and according to the published accounts he, very scientifically, handles this skull.

He also apparently tried his hat on it out of awe, because the skull is so large he wants to know if his hat can fit on it or not. The workmen around him then all apparently try their hats on the skull as well. The freshly-cast skull was rushed to Edinburgh, to George Combe, the master of phrenology, who prepared a report on Burns' personality.

Phrenologists believed the brain was made up of 27 individual "organs" that determined personality and these could be measured by studying the shape of the skull. Combe's report rated Burns for a number of character traits based on the size of the "organs".

One of Burns' organs that was very large was his organ of “philoprogenitiveness,” his ability to produce and care for children! Along with a high score for benevolence, the phrenologists said this explained his love for weak and helpless creatures displayed in poems such as To a Mouse and On Seeing a Wounded Hare. A lot of it was just talking about the poetry and the life and trying to make sense of this scientific analysis in relation to Burns' well-known public character and his written work.

This was a "risky" strategy, because Burns was so well-known that if their findings had been at odds with his public persona it would have made phrenology look like a fraud. So they worked very hard to make sense of these materials. Instead of the scientific philosophy of trying to prove your hypothesis wrong, the phrenologists wanted to confirm their prior beliefs.

The anatomical museum of the University of Edinburgh has a cast of Burns' skull which is likely to be one of the original copies made that night in 1834, there is also a copy in The Burns Museum at Alloway.

Pics include a drawing of the poets “death room” and the skull in the museum.

#Scotland #scottish #poetry #rabbie burns #literature #national bard #history

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crowdvscritic · 4 years

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round up // JANUARY 21

New year, not-so-new Crowd vs. Critic! It’s another batch of films, TV, music, and reads that were new to me this month and think you would enjoy, too. As we cozy up inside for the winter, nothing warms you up like a good piece of pop culture.

January Crowd-Pleasers

Wonder Woman 1984 (2020)

Does this sequel reach the heights of 2017’s Wonder Woman? No, but I wish more superhero movies were like this one. I explain why at ZekeFilm. Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 8/10

21 Bridges (2019)

A solid action crime thriller with a solid Chadwick Boseman at the center. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

The Lethal Weapon Series (1987-98)

I watched the first Lethal Weapon in 2017 for ZekeFilm, but now I’ve a decade’s pleasure of progressively over-the-top action sequences and progressively more absurd ways to destroy Roger Murtaugh’s (Danny Glover) house. The Murtaugh/Riggs bromance holds this progressively sillier series together, and an supporting cast of charismatic actors (Jet Li, Darlene Love, Chris Rock, Rene Russo) are game for whatever comes their way. Joe Pesci is the true MVP. Series Crowd: 9/10 // Series Critic: 7/10

The High Note (2020)

Tracee Ellis Ross’s Grace Davis is a diva in every sense of the word. A high-strung and highly successful singer, she’s also highly demanding of her assistant Maggie (Dakota Johnson), who wants to step out of her shadow and become a music producer. This rom-com-adjacent flick is one of the most fun escapes I’ve had from a 2020 movie, and it’s perfect for a girls’ night in. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7/10

Double Feature—Rom-Coms With a Magical Twist: Just My Luck (2006) + When In Rome (2010)

Disclaimer: These movies are not good. In fact, they’re junk, but they’re my kind of junk. In Just My Luck (Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 6/10), Lindsay Lohan loses her life-long lucky streak when she kisses schlimazel Chris Pine. And When in Rome (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 6/10), Kristen Bell attracts unwanted admirers (Will Arnett, Danny DeVito, Josh Duhamel, Jon Heder, and real-life future husband Dax Shepard) after she steals their coins from a wishing fountain. To their credit, both of these movies know they’re silly, which means you have permission to just sit back and laugh along with (or, honestly, at) them.

WandaVision (2021)

I sometimes fear for the world of entertainment when I think of how much intellectual property Disney has gobbled up, but WandaVision is evidence the company is a benevolent dictator at least for now. This odd delight is a send up and a tribute to sitcoms like I Love Lucy, I Dream of Jeannie, and The Brady Bunch, and Paul Bettany and Elizabeth Olsen are so charming and weird I don’t need whatever mysterious sub-plot they’re building.

Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

If you want to make the most of watching Robin Hood: Men in Tights, first watch Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991), an action flick I saw last February and didn’t include in my monthly Round Up. This Mel Brooks spoof is a direct response that self-serious Kevin Costner adventure, even down to copying its costumes. While I wish I could find a Mel Brooks comedy with any substantial female character (in every movie I’ve seen so far, the joke is either, “She’s got a great rack!” or “Wow, she’s an uggo!”), I still couldn’t stop laughing at this 104-minute version of the Robin Hood scene in Shrek. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10

Aliens (1986)

Peak ‘80s action. Peak alien grossness. Peak girl boss Sigourney Weaver. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/.510

Big (1988)

After talking about Laverne & Shirley with Kyla on SO IT’S A SHOW?, I had to check out Penny Marshall’s classic. While a few moments haven’t aged so well, its heart is sweet and the script is hilarious. And that Tom Hanks? I think he’s going places. Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 8/10

Unstoppable (2010)

I’ve laughed at SNL’s spoof of this movie for a decade, so it’s about time I got around to enjoying this action thriller very loosely based on the true story of a train that got away from its conductor. Denzel Washington (“You’re too old!”) and Chris Pine (“You’re too young!”) are our heroes in this over-the-top ridiculousness, and their chemistry is so extra it makes me hope they team up for another movie again. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7/10

January Critic Picks

Double Feature—‘90s Space Adventures: Apollo 13 (1995) + Contact (1997)

I have no desire to join Tom Cruise as he films in space, but I know I’ll be pumped to watch whatever he makes because I love sci-fi and space adventures. Apollo 13 (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9/10) tells the story of an almost-disastrous NASA mission in the ‘60s, and it taps into our hope for the human spirit to overcome obstacles. Contact (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10) surmises what might happen if we received communication from extraterrestrial life, and it taps into our struggle to reconcile faith and science.

McCartney III by Paul McCartney (2020)

I spent January catching up on the albums on Best of 2020 lists, and the one I listened to for hours and hours was Paul McCartney’s latest solo album. Catchy, thoughtful, and musically surprising, it ranges from pop to rock to folk in 45 minutes and still feels like it’s over too soon. Like Tom Hanks, this Paul McCartney guy is going places!

The Thin Man Series (1934-47)

Like Lethal Weapon, I watched the first installment of The Thin Man awhile back, and Kyla and I even covered the series on our podcast. But thanks to a full series marathon on TCM earlier this month, I’ve now laughed through all five. When you talk about great chemistry, you’ve got to talk about William Powell and Myrna Loy, who make Nick and Nora’s marriage feel lived in and romantic as they solve crimes together. Witty, suspenseful, and jaunty, this series is still sexy cool over 80 years later. (Also, Asta? Still one of the cutest dogs in cinema.) Series Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

The King and I (1956)

Here’s your regularly scheduled reminder Hollywood works differently now, and many casting decisions of the ‘50s wouldn’t fly today. What has aged well in this film: The Rodgers and Hammerstein music and the sumptuous costumes and set design. I love extravagant musicals of yesteryear—perhaps it’s time for Hollywood to revisit and remake The King and I for modern audiences?

youtube

Inauguration Day

In a year with no major televised events with celebrities in a room together, Inauguration Day felt like the most exciting cultural event in ages. We’ve been missing major fashion, but then we got Lady Gaga! We’ve been missing live performances, but then we got Amanda Gorman! And I got a lot of tears during that poem—not just me, right?

Good Reads

Writing that made me think and smile this month:

Steven Soderbergh’s list of everything he read, watched, and listened to this year, Extension765.com (2020) – An indirect inspiration for these monthly Round Ups!

“My Year of Making Lists,” NewYorker.com (2020) – I made a lot of lists in 2020, so I feel this author’s #mood

“Betty White Says She Will Spend Her 99th Birthday Feeding Two Ducks Who Visit Her ‘Every Day,’“ CBSNews.com (2021) - “Betty is a treasure,” I say as I watch The Proposal for the 99th time

“A Sculpture’s Unusual Journey to SLAM [St. Louis Art Museum],” SLAM.org (2020) – With a casual mention of an attraction I never knew about in St. Louis

“The Culture Is Ailing. It’s Time for a Dr. Fauci for the Arts.” WashingtonPost.com (2020) – An idea that occurred to me a few months ago: Why don’t we have an Arts Cabinet?

“The Arts Are in Crisis. Here’s How Biden Can Help.” NYTimes.com (2021) – Partly in response to that Washington Post piece, a historical look at how artists have made it through difficult times in the past and how we can revive artists’ livelihoods mid- and post-pandemic

“The Right’s Message to Silicon Valley: 'Free Speech for Me, But Not for Thee,'” TIME.com (2021) – A more thoughtful and less reactionary take on a volatile moment in the history of modern technology

“'It Makes Me Sick With Grief': Trump's Presidency Divided Families. What Happens to Them Now?” TIME.com (2021) – A study on how politics has done damage to family dynamics in America

“Help, the Only Cinema I Can Handle Is Zac Efron Prancing Angrily in High School Musical 2,” Vulture.com (2021) - In a lot of ways, same

“50 Easy Things To Do When You are Anxious,” ShopTwentySeven.com (2021) – I especially endorse coloring, puzzling, and watching happy movies!

Double Feature—Miss Marple Mysteries: Murder at the Gallop (1963) + Murder Ahoy (1964)

Remember when I was all like, “Watch these Agatha Christie movies so you’re not sad Death on the Nile is delayed”? Remember when I said I was just a few movies away from becoming an Agatha Christie junkie? Well, I think I’m there because I can’t stop with the murder mysteries! Margaret Rutherford is a treasure whether she’s solving a murder at a horse ranch or on a boat, and a cast of colorful supporting characters (including Rutherford’s husband) makes these breezy instead of heavy. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8/10

8½ (1963)

File this with 2001: A Space Odyssey—I don’t know if I really understood this film, but I think I liked it? Federico Fellini’s surrealist, male gaze-y drama blurs the lines between reality and imagination, love and dysfunction, and the past and maybe some future that involves clowns? What resonated with me was the story of a director with creative block, wondering if he’s already peaked and if he’ll create anything worthwhile again. Crowd: 6/10 // Critic: 9/10

Sense and Sensibility: The Screenplay and Diaries by Emma Thompson (1995)

Sense and Sensibility is not just one of my favorite Jane Austen adaptations—it’s one of my all-time favorite films. One of the co-hosts of one of my favorite podcasts has raved many-a-time about Emma Thompson’s journals from the making of film, so it was only a matter of time before I read them myself. Witty, informative, and all-around lovely, Thompson’s journals are an excellent insight into the filmmaking process and how novels are adapted.

Also in January…

I reviewed the new-ish documentary Flannery for ZekeFilm, which is all about the writer Flannery O’Connor and feels a little like going back to high school English class.

In addition to the Lethal Weapon and Thin Man series, I rewatched all of the X-Men series this month. You can see everything I am watching on Letterboxd, including favorites I love returning to (i.e. X-Men: Days of Future Past) and the movies I try that don’t make my monthly recommendations (i.e. The Wolverine).

Photo credits: Paul McCartney, Zac Efron, Sense & Sensibility. All others IMDb.com.

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nekoannie-chan · 4 years

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Noctis et tenebrae

Pairing: Steve Rogers (eventually Dark! Steve) X Vampire! OC (Agatha Rouwens).

Word count: 4626 words.

Summary: Steve met a mysterious woman from his past, with whom he became obsessed, so he won't rest until he finds her.

Warnings: Mention of death and torture, murder, stalker, betrayal, dub-con not explicit, violence, loss of virginity, abuse, mention of blood, and obsession. IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DON’T READ IT.

A/N: My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English, if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

This is my entry to the @nellblazer ‘s The Penny Dreadful Writing Challenge with the creature prompt:

“Vampire”

I’M NOT THE AUTHOR OF 2 PARAGRAPHS I PUT IN THIS FIC OF THE POEM CALLED “THE LADY OF SHALOTT” BY ALFRED TENNYSON, THE PARAGRAPHS ARE IN ITALICS, AND THE WEBSITE I VISITED TO READ IT IS THIS.

This is the first dark fic I wrote for this fandom, so I hope you enjoy it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome. THIS ONE-SHOT IS +18

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Main masterlist.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU’RE UNDER 18.

Present-day, New York

Blood...

Blood... he needed it...

Steve was very thirsty, the water was not going to calm her, she had warned him, he knew that the more blood he drank the faster the sensation would go, it was the only way.

Agatha had warned her what could happen if she accepted the deal, she explained each of the possibilities in great detail, she did not care, she wanted to be with her, she was willing to pay any price, she believed that she was ready for what was going to happen, He thought it would be similar to the serum, but he was wrong, it was very different to feel it in his body.

He had lost count of the victims from whom he took his blood, he did not know how much blood he would need to be satisfied, he grabbed yet another victim, who has paralyzed thanks to Agatha; he had not yet learned to use his new powers, but he would soon.

Steve drank every last drop of blood from the victim, the thirst had finally subsided, not even bothered by the drops running down his chin.

But thirst was not the only thing he had felt increasing inside him, also the lust increased.

He dropped his limp body to the floor, he needed to feel that way again Agatha, it had been too long since he was with her like that, his wait was so long that he didn't even care if she wanted or not to make her his again

Agatha saw him with satisfaction, very few times had he converted someone simply when he noticed that he was special, finally, Steve was, and she smiled benevolently at him

Steve approached her, took her by the hair and kissed her, she bit the woman's lips, laid her on the floor, quickly took off her clothes and put one of his big hands on her lover's neck.

He didn't care about the mess around him but simply and being able to possess her like that time before the serum

6 months before

In the dark Steve moved, he was pretty sure he knew that she was the author of those murders.

It was the sixth time in less than a month that they had found the same crime scene, the only difference was that this time the police had called the Avengers.

"I don't understand why they want us here, we don't take on these kinds of crimes," Tony complained.

"Maybe it's a serial killer with technology or something," Natasha commented.

They froze when they saw the bloodstained alley on the walls as if one of the victims had exploded. The other inert bodies but without a single drop of blood as if they had been completely removed

"How is it possible ...?" Natasha asked dumbfounded.

"No wonder they called us," Tony muttered.

The scene is not alien to Steve, but it was incredible to come across something like that after more than 70 years.

"I can't find any logical explanation," Bruce commented as he tried to examine the scene.

“It's as if they were EXPLODED!” Clint remarked as he moved his hands trying to mimic an explosion.

Despite the scene, Steve was almost certain to perceive perfume or scent of the author of the crime, he had not forgotten a single detail of her.

But the question that hung around Steve's head was one he didn't know how to answer, the same person he had met years before; in his youth, who had caused all this trouble? If it was true that meant then it was not a person but another type of being and if it was a human it could probably be a HYDRA experiment.

Although he also needed to check if she still looked like he remembered her.

When he woke up from the freeze and was outside, on the street when he tried to escape the facilities, he thought he saw her briefly, but it had probably been a hallucination, it was not logical that he knew where he was.

“Steve, Steve!” Nat called him.

“What?”

"Are you okay?" Clint asked.

“Yes, if I am, it is that all this… I don't know seems to me… this is implausible”

As soon as they reached the base, Steve began to search through his belongings for what was practically the only memory he had of her; he began to despair because he did not see it until he found the drawing, at that moment he would have liked to have the power to materialize it, he wanted, rather he needed to see it again.

1936. Brooklyn

It had been a few weeks since Sarah Rogers passed away, Steve felt lost, yes, he had Bucky, but still, the feeling of emptiness inside him was present and seemed to have increased, perhaps unconsciously he began to look for more normal problems.

This time he was in real trouble, he was "dealing" with three guys, who were obviously taller, stronger, and bigger than Steve, they were beating him up when Agatha appeared and saw the scene, she was hungry, she came closer, she saw how they beat Steve, however, noticed something special in the boy's eyes, Steve was bleeding.

“Am I interrupting something?” Agatha said suddenly.

“Are you planning to defend it?” one of the guys scoffed.

She moved to where the four of them were, still watching Steve, who had raised his head at the voice.

"Leave him alone," Agatha ordered.

"Will you come with us?" One of them suggested.

She smiled, blinked a few times, looked at the men teasing Steve, released him, suddenly it seemed as if they were hypnotized or paralyzed

Steve was too hurt, he couldn't move, he probably had some broken bones, he felt the blood in his mouth, despite the pain he didn't lose a single detail of what was happening.

She approached the others, took one of them, Steve could not see clearly what was happening, was the girl hugging and kissing the guy?

Suddenly she dropped the body when she no longer had blood, the others could see the terror on her face, but it seemed as if they could not move, she continued with the next, drank every last drop of blood from the three men.

When she finished she approached Steve, took his face with one of his hands, he was amazed at the supernatural beauty of the woman, if he was going to kill him it did not matter, anyway no woman had paid attention to him as she had done, I was sure that other people had passed before and ignored what was happening.

She took it carefully and kissed him on the cheek, Steve passed out after that.

The smell of flowers could be felt, it was a little annoying, perhaps it would cause an asthma attack, he was sure he was in paradise, he opened his eyes he did not know where he was, he did not feel pain, the last thing he remembered was that kiss.

He was lying in a very luxurious bed. How had he got there? There was no trace of blood, he didn't even feel pain.

Music was playing, he opened the door, he went down to the living room, the woman was playing the violin, and she stopped when she felt Steve's presence, turned around with a warm smile?

Would she have kidnapped him? Would she kill him there? It made no sense, why did she want someone like him?

"Dinner is served," said Agatha.

Her voice sounded like music, he followed her, Steve was ecstatic, and probably never in his life could he eat those dishes until he noticed that she was not eating.

“Miss, won't you eat?” He asked, intrigued.

"I already eat," Agatha replied.

"If it's what I'm eating is because of you ..."

"I really already fed myself, you can eat whatever you want," Agatha interrupted.

Steve couldn't stop admiring her, he didn't understand how someone with such paleness was acting so normal, and maybe he had some illness.

"What's your name?" Steve asked, trying to sound casual.

He wanted to know who that woman was and why she had an interest in him.

"Steven, that doesn't matter," Agatha replied.

"How do you know my name?" Steve asked in surprise.

"I know many things, enough talk, you must rest," he ordered.

She guided him back to the bedroom for some reason he trusted her.

“Excuse me miss, where are you going to sleep?” Asked Steve worriedly.

If his mother knew that perhaps he would share a room with a woman without being married, she would die again.

"I have my own room unless you want me to stay with you."

"No, not what I was thinking ...”

Steve was completely flushed

"Underneath the bearded barley, The reaper, reaping late and early, hears her ever chanting cheerly like an angel, singing clearly," Agatha recited.

"That was beautiful," Steve flattered.

"It is part of my favorite poem."

“Which poem is?”

"Rest," Agatha said, then kissed him on the forehead.

She was struck by the necklace she was wearing, a beautiful gold capital letter A, probably very expensive, just like the house she was in now.

He took her by the arm, he was not sure what he was going to do, Agatha approached him and kissed him, Steve was dumbfounded he swore he could have felt some fangs

He noticed the mark on the inside of her forearm, how had he done it? Or had someone dared to harm a woman as tender and beautiful as her?

"That scar, how ...?"

I kissed him again, Steve didn't ask any more questions, since it seemed to her that she wasn't going to answer him anyway, he didn't know if his body was going to be able to withstand what was happening, at least if he died it would be in a happy way.

Agatha licked and bit Steve's earlobe, he seemed confused by the sensations but didn't dare touch her either.

She took off her clothes, guided Steve's hands to her breasts.

Steve found the beauty he was contemplating exorbitant, trembling began to caress her, little by little he took confidence, and he needed to memorize every inch of the woman anyway.

She took his virginity that night.

The next day he did not know how he had returned to the house of Bucky, who bombarded him with questions.

He could never offer her such luxuries, no girl like her could notice someone like him.

He came to think that it had only been a game, he had no clues other than the brand and that necklace, he did not remember how he had come to that house, or even how it was on the outside.

He did not know his name, not even if he was still alive, he had to check it, he was urgent to find her if he saw that he was no longer that same boy “at least physically”, now he could offer her something else, everything she wanted.

Steve couldn't stop thinking about what had happened the night before, in everything he remembered of his life there had never been so good for the first time; Despite what they had ... what they had done, she did not have an asthma attack when doing some physical activity and less of that type, she could not get the woman, who was still a mystery, out of her mind, she did not know who she was and not even any detail if I would see her again.

He hadn't even told Bucky what had happened, he simply told him a lie to explain his absence, which his friend believed or Steve thought.

He supposed that if told Bucky about her and he met her again, she would choose her friend, as always happened, after all, he wanted to have something that belonged to him, something like what Bucky used to do, even if it was once in his life to be able to have done the same as normal boys their age

He took out his notebook and began to draw her, he needed to capture all the details while they were fresh in his mind, he wished he had had one of those expensive cameras that in his life he could buy to better preserve the exact memory, however, he did not stop until that he was sure that he had captured even the smallest detail of the woman.

Nueva York present

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,

She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her eyes were darken’d wholly,

And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,

"What's the matter with you?" Clint asked him.

"N-nothing," Steve replied.

"Perhaps we should return to base to rest; this case is affecting you too much,” Bruce suggested.

Steve made no objection.

His companions were watching him, they wanted to leave him out of the mission since he refused to speak about the subject or anything, and they believed that in some way it affected him perhaps because of what he had experienced in the war.

Steve managed to escape one of those days, he was not going to stop until his curiosity was satisfied

He saw her in an alley in the dark; his heart began to beat strongly, she was there despite the null light he could recognize her perfectly, he supposed she was busy so he observed the scene without interrupting her until she finished with the men.

Agatha approached the person who was scared and paralyzed on the floor. She took it delicately just as he had with Steve, he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

"Everything is very small, they will not disturb again," Agatha assured.

Steve recognized the voice, with that he already verified that she was the one he was looking for, he had to be agile so that she did not escape.

Agatha stroked the girl's hair and said a few words that Steve found unintelligible.

The girl that Agatha had defended came out of the alley as if nothing had happened.

"You were slow to find me," Agatha complained.

Steve was startled, he was sure that he had not made any noise or something so that his presence was betrayed.

"What did you tell her?" Steve asked annoyed.

Agatha approached him to stand in front of him.

“To the girl?”

Steve nodded.

"I just defended her, a simple spell to make her forget what had happened before I arrived and what happened next, she won't remember anything from about the last hour of her life," Agatha explained.

“Y-you were the one that the other times ...?”

"They were people who hurt others as they did you," she cut him off.

Agatha put a hand on Steve's cheek and kissed him fiercely, Steve didn't want it to end, on the contrary, he wanted more, he needed more.

"I have to go," said Agatha, turning around.

"Please don't go," Steve asked and held her wrist firmly.

After that Steve began to feel dizzy.

1944, World War II

Carter tried to get Steve's attention in several ways, but he only had in mind the woman he had met that night many years ago, yet he used people as a front so that no one suspected the Captain's "darkest secret".

If she saw him as he looked now, after the serum, he could definitely ask her to marry him… if she was not married although if that were the case he would force her to leave her husband and family, he would take her away no matter if it stained her reputation, would do whatever it took to have it.

In the middle of the battlefield he seemed to see that woman immediately he became alert, it was very dangerous to be there for her and he could not allow something to happen to him, he tried to reach her, but he could not find her

Present time, unknown location

They were in the house, which was still as he remembered it.

“Do you belong to HYDRA?” Steve asked suddenly.

"HYDRA ... they seem like children compared to the things that people did in my time," Agatha replied mockingly.

“In your time?”

"You are not the only one outside of time Steve, in fact, I am much older than you," said Agatha.

“I don't understand, I mean you look the same as the time we met.”

"I was born in the Middle Age, so stop talking."

Agatha squatted on top of him, began to watch him, and then proceeded to kiss him.

“The Middle Age? How is that…?

"Enough talk," Agatha said exasperated.

"At least tell me your name, please," Steve pleaded.

“Agatha, Agatha Rouwens”.

She quickly turned him around and practically ripped off his clothes, it had been so long if Steve had had sex with other women but none was Agatha, none pleased him as she knew how.

The sounds she made seemed like music to Steve, the skin as smooth as it was pale as he remembered it, it didn't seem like he had aged a single minute, he still looked the same as the last time they were together.

She was definitely not human, she had told him that she did not belong to a HYDRA experiment either, and so what was Agatha?

The next morning he appeared at the base, he did not remember how he had returned there.

2011, New York

The game Steve listened to was the last one he had attended with Bucky, he was not sure if it was a HYDRA cheat although he did not remember how they had captured him or what exactly had happened, his last memory was very blurred and confusing.

He ran out of the place after the "agent" had become nervous, where was she? It didn't seem like the place he remembered, what were all those lights?

It didn't seem like the city he knew, then he realized he was surrounded by cars and more agents apart from a crowd on the street.

"Are you okay?" Fury asked.

“I just remember…”

He thought he saw the woman sneaking through the crowd, with all these people it would be impossible to follow her without counting that thousands of questions flooded her head.

“…I had a date.”

It couldn't be true what he was seeing, it was probably a hallucination or maybe he was dead or not, but if he was still alive and maybe she had also survived seventy years, everything was a mystery, somehow he was going to try to solve it, he wanted many explanations.

Not to mention that he had a date with her ... which he could never reach...?

"Soulmates are destined to meet several times at different times" his mother used to tell him every time he came home sad because some girl had rejected him.

What if that woman was his soulmate?

Present-day, Avengers Compound

When he went down to breakfast nobody asked him many questions, it was as if they hadn't noticed his absence.

He trained a little on what he tried to remember and process each of the details of the previous night, now he had more questions, the answers were few, although it was vital information, and he could not get Agatha's beautiful green eyes out of his head.

On the internet, he searched for information, there was no point in everything that she had told him with what he found, according to what he read she was from a family that had been accused of witchcraft in the Middle Age and they were executed, the last to die had been the only daughter of the marriage so there were no more family records to be any descendants.

That woman had lied to him, but he already knew where to find her, when he woke up there was a note with an address and a date on his nightstand, where he would see her again.

The next time they met she wouldn't let herself be entangled, now he was going to demand all the answers, he would kidnap her if necessary, he knew very well the techniques to make someone speak.

"Rogers, I think you need to rest, you are obsessing over the whole case," Natasha said entering the office.

"I'm fine," said Steve.

Nat walked over and saw the computer screen.

“Witch hunt? Is that your theory to solve the case? ”Nat asked sarcastically.

"No, it's not. I was just looking for information from the past."

"You're not good at lying Steve, you need help because of everything you've been through, and I know it's been very traumatic”

Steve had had enough, it was as if they wanted to separate him from his Agatha, he had gone through a lot so that now they kept him away from her.

Suddenly he grabbed Natasha by her neck and slammed her against the wall without releasing her, began to hang her.

Hearing the commotion the rest of the team entered, Steve had not even realized that he had raised his voice, they were all separated.

"What the hell is wrong with you Steve?" Bucky asked.

"Barton, take Romanoff out of here," Tony ordered.

"You ... you don't act like this Steve," Bucky said confused.

Steve refused to answer the questions they asked him, so Tony ordered FRIDAY to keep Steve locked in his room, although that didn't matter much to him, he would find a way to escape.

Bucky was worried, he was beginning to fear for his friend.

“It is not the first time that he behaves like this, when he was eighteen he disappeared a whole day, he never wanted to tell me what happened to him,” Bucky explained.

Steve refused to speak to the others, he even tried to attack his best friend.

On the day of the appointment, he managed to escape, this time he would not miss or lose the opportunity presented to him, he did not care about anything else, he needed Agatha, to kiss those full lips again.

"I was beginning to believe I would have to go for you," Agatha said when she saw him arrive.

"You lied to me," Steve said.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, Steve made an enormous effort not to launch to kiss her and possess her.

"I didn't lie to you."

“I searched the internet, there were no survivors according to the story you told me.”

Agatha pulled up one sleeve of her dress exposing her scar.

"What I had left of that event, they tortured me for almost a week, I wasn't going to survive until Mother saved me," she explained.

She knew that she was not going to be able to hide her nature or her past for long, it was time to tell her the truth.

“Mother?”

"Not my birth mother, my creator," said Agatha.

“How…?”

"Come with me," Agatha asked, ignoring the question.

"I won't go until you tell me the whole truth," Steve refused.

"I'll tell you when we get there."

She turned around and started walking, Steve saw her figure attentively, felt the desire begin to throb in him and show himself physically so he followed her.

"Wait a minute," she asked when she reached the place.

A few minutes later he returned with some very old books and a doll.

"It was not a lie that my family came from a long line of witches, we were the richest and we helped the people, there were always good harvests, my people were the most prosperous in the entire kingdom," Agatha began to count.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course we never said what we were, that meant the bonfire, my parents decided that it was better for me to learn, travel and do things very different from the other women of my time, I rejected many suitors, none was interesting, at least not like you.

She stroked his cheek and then she smirked.

“I was over twenty years old, to be exact twenty-five, it was inconceivable that a woman of my class had not married and had children at that age. One day the baron of Mercier went with his son, a stupid spoiled boy who was furious when I rejected him, as revenge, he accused us with the Church of witchcraft.”

"Because he has despaired ...”

“They were for us, I remember perfectly how my parents were murdered, my father did not endure more than five days of torture, and my mother almost reached the sixth day...”

"What did they do to you?" Steve asked, trying to stay in control.

He felt the fury increase within him, he took her hand to give her confidence.

"The details do not matter, it was a bit of different torture, not only physical but also psychological, they did everything to get a confession, I never said a single word, when they thought I was already dead they threw me in a ditch, I prayed so hard, maybe even to the Devil, that night Mother appeared and took me out of there, she is a very old vampire, one of the first, one of Lilith's favorite daughters, she turned me around and taught me everything about my new life.”

"Vampire?" Steve asked incredulously.

“Why do you think all those people had no blood?”

“Do you only attack the bad guys?”

“Not always, two years later I obtained my revenge, obviously without the Rouwens the town sank into misery, no one had tried to defend us more than our servants, my maid asked me to end the life of her youngest son, he was not going to survive the illness he had, she did not want him to suffer.

“Why didn't you convert it?”

“He was a boy of a year and a half or so, he was going to stay in that state forever.”

"Make me one of yours," Steve asked.

“Why should I do it?”

"I love you, you were the only one who really noticed me when I was nobody, I can't be without you, I need you, and I go crazy every time we are away" Steve confessed.

"It will hurt a little," Agatha warned.

She bit his neck, started drinking his blood, then she gave hers to drink, the metallic taste flooded Steve's mouth, he felt like he was going to fade, maybe he was dying.

Then he began to feel much stronger and more powerful than when the serum had been injected.

After they finished they started laughing, they kissed.

Present-day, New York

"So what now?" Steve asked.

"We can travel the world, I don't know what you want."

“Rogers!”

They turned when they heard the voice, there was the whole team.

“She was, right? “ Sharon asked.

"Steve, what are you doing?" Nat inquired.

"What does this mean?" Bucky questioned in complete disbelief.

"Steve thought you and me..." Sharon started to say.

“What you and I what? There is no "we", she's the only one I love “Steve cut her off.

"You know what to do, they want to separate us," Agatha whispered in his ear.

Steve quickly grabbed Sharon and started drinking from her blood.

"Steve stop!" Bucky asked.

Everyone was stunned, they didn't know what to do, and Steve dropped Sharon's lifeless body.

"We must go somewhere else, I assure you they won't find us," Agatha murmured.

She moved her hand and erased the memory of everything that happened to the rest of the team.

"They'll think you fell into the hands of the enemy."

Blood was still running down her chin, she approached Agatha and kissed her.

He would go to hell himself for Agatha, his soulmate.

#pennydreadfulchallenge #dark fic #dark fanfic #dark fanfiction #dark steve rogers #dark steve #vampire oc #dub con #dark captain america

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echo-inthevoid · 5 years

Text

Season 2 q&a and overall reaction

Jonny stealing everyone's names XD

Is martin going to be ok!? I also need to know!

He said no;-;

ok ya, no one's gonna be ok.

Ya, he must do sooo much research.

Ya, except for "fatigue" lol.

Eyyy the mechanisms!!

What's the red string brigade? Ok, I guess a group of fans theorizing about stuff.

Oh ok so someone else did martins poetry. Ooh, there's more martin poetry out there! *grabby hands*

Ok ya, Alex clarifying that Jon isn't stupid he just makes poor decisions. Probably if he'd paused and thought about it (like I did lol, I had to go do some stuff in the middle of that ep and thought about it a whole bunch lol) instead of immediately going out and buying an axe and further isolating himself and panicking immediately he probably would have figured it out. This is why it's bad to panic in a crisis guys.

Eyyy! Jonny's parents voiced Gertrude and Leitner! That's so cool.

XD Jonny grumbling about having to work with his parents.

Hmm, I hadn't really thought of Gertrude being like a mother figure in the story? She just seems very cut-throat I guess from what Leitner said. Idk so far I've been very suspicious of her. Especially since that one statement where her photo burned a whole bunch of people or something. She just seems very shady...

Alex chortling over Jonny's pain. XD

Side note, Every time there's a q&a I just can't stop noticing Jonny's voice going in and out of archivist range? Like most of the time I'm just listening along and then he'll say a sentence a bit grumblier and my brains immediately like "ARCHIVIST! That's THE ARCHIVIST!!"

Martin would be the last one alive in Friday the 13th! It's official!

(Is it bad that this gives me hope)

Jon likes Nonfiction, documentaries, and probably collects something just a little bit weird. *writes down for use in potential fics*

also while im at it I remember jon saying he dislikes coffee at one point, and so many people have him liking coffee in their fics! This has been your daily reminder of that fact because ever since then it keeps bugging me lol. (But also do whatever u want.)

Alex's spluttering sounds so much like Martin.

Yes!! I want to hear jon sing!! Yes! Musical Episode When!!?

Ah yes yes yes! All the characters are so unique!!? How does he do it!!

Ya, it being in audio format sometimes makes it hard to understand what's happening in the live-action bits. (Live-action is the wrong word but u know what I mean.)

Oh ok ya, how he mentioned he got a pipe was quite clever I didn't realize that that's why he mentioned it at all.

Ooh, there's a manga where there's something similar to Michael? I'll have to look that up later...

XD Alex and Jonny arguing about apples.

Ok, so all the statements we're hearing ARE for reals. I kinda assumed but good to have it confirmed.

They used to hang out together!!? Work function curry nights!! ;-;

Ya Ya! Who made the leitners!?

"You are assuming a book needs to be written" ...ok then. (but it has to have been created somehow??? Did they just spring fully formed from the powers? why? And why take the form of books?)

Alex's mischievous laugh about whether jon has friends *trembles in fear*

Yes!! Micheal is so good! I'm so happy they love him too! Yesyes! His laugh!

Ah Yes!! Mary kaey was so creepy!

XD yes yes yes fatigue was written on zero sleep, I knew it!

Akskdjdkd I love them so much. Also, I've looked up Michaels voice actor luke booys and he does some other horrory type sketches n stuff and I kiiinda want to do a little animatic with some of those but it's Michael like annoying some poor soul lost in his halls... I think that'd be fun. I wonder if anyone's done that yet? If so someone send me the links I neeeed iiitt :3

Season 2 summary:

Uuuuu ya so this season was really good. I kinda listened to it in bursts of about ten episodes every couple weeks and then have been saving up the reactions to post later so these are usually going up about a week or so after I actually listened to the episode just FYI.

I also do have a lot of spoilers cause I can't keep myself away from fanfic and people don't always tag for spoilers and I kiiinda wana know what's coming beforehand anyway? Idk it's hard man I get very stressed about what might happen and then also listening to too much at a time is too spooky for my poor little heart so I gotta read the less spooky fanfic to fulfill the hyperfixation you see. (If anyone has fanfic with spoilers only up to season 2 that'd be great btw)

Anyway, I try not to take spoiler type stuff into account unless I'm just so sure of it I can't really not acknowledge that I know about it.

Also, can I just talk about Michael for a minute?? Cause he's such a unique character? And I guess maybe there are other characters like him but I haven't ever seen one -tho to be fair tma is only like the third horror thing I've ever really got into (the other two are the SCP Foundation in its various forms and Little Nightmares. Hence why I keep making reference to SCP it's really the only thing I know similar to this.) But he's such a cool concept!!? Like someTHING that still has a personality? He's so not human? Like I get what he says but also I don't really? Idk im pretty sure he's an avatar right? Right?? Idk if that means he was a person at some point? But all this to say that he is probably the most inhuman character I've come across so far and I'm trying to figure out what it is about him that's so "other" to me? Like... I don't really know what Micheal's deal is? he seems to want to be sort of a neutral mischief-maker but also it seems like he keeps getting invested. But also I just love the way he talks about himself. Like he's a monster that has a personality and is fully intelligent but isn't just evil but isn't neutral either and certainly isn't benevolent. Like he's so complex and just,,,, the idea of a "thing" that's got a personality?? I love it? Kind of like dryads or spirits of things? Like the idea that after a long time things gain personality just by existing? Not that that's what Michael is necessarily? but that same sort of concept applies to him I think. Like the way he IS the maze and wants to help but wants to just watch but wants to kill them all. He's just so interestinggggggg. (And another vision of what jon could become?)

also "es Mentiras" is a beautiful name 💕

So are him and not-Sasha avatars? Not-Sasha also seems completely inhuman and I was under the impression that avatars were (or used to be) human? Or are they like personifications of their power? Do all the powers have personifications of themselves. not-Sasha seems even less human than Michael? Like she seems to just really genuinely enjoy causing fear? Tho I guess we didn't really get to hear a lot of her. She just seemed kinda gleefully angry most of the time we heard from her. Was she... Human once!???

Anyway. Also, can I just talk about leitners line about jon belonging to the eye!!? Just..*chefs kiss* hnnnngg I need more jon grappling with that. I just need more everyone dealing with the fallout post all of the finallies ok? I still need more of jon angsting over his worms scars and stuff and now I also need jon freaking out about belonging to a fear god power thing.

Also Martin! Is Martin ok? He sure did a lot of yelling which he doesn't usually? Look I love him and he actually thinks before he acts (unlike SOME people *looks at jon*) and he writes poetry and it is pretty good poetry ok!! And he cares about everyone and just wants a happy ending and aaaaa😭

Petition to get some statements from Martin's pov tho? I mean that's not gonna happen cause Jon's the archivist but I want more martin pov!! Maybe we can get some of his poem tapes??? Pls?????

I feel so bad for Tim. It sounds like he's kinda fallen into despair.

Also Elias!!? Is showing his spooky side!!? He can control cameras and beat a man to death with a pipe!!? This is his "place of powerr"!!? I am afeared!!? At least jon knows he shouldn't trust him now. Oh jeez, I wonder if jon will listen back to the tape and know what happened. Thhhatsss rough. Oh dear, I hope he doesn't feel guilty cause Leitner did keep trying to hurry him and now everyone thinks it was him. Even martin thinks he did it? Wich like I kinda want to hear more of his thoughts on that? How much does he believe that jon did it? Tim certainly seems pretty certain but he's a bit biased and cynical right now so.

And they were in the maze for DAYS?

Now I need martin recovering from being stuck with Tim in Michaels maze for days being angry and worried and hungry etc... Dksjdksa knowing jon could be dying RIGHT NOW and there's nothing he can do. Please someone give me the fic links if this exists!! I've already written like 5 drabbles based entirely on spoilers/other fics (which I'll probably post (w/ links to their inspirations) once I'm caught up and can make sure I'm not just completely demolishing cannon lol.

Leitner didn't even scream or yell or anything when he was murdered. Literally the chillest dude ever. F

Overall super great, Elias is terrifying, let's dive into the next season!!! I've got 2 seasons to finish in like, less than 2 or so weeks(?) if I wana be caught up by season 5 hhhh,,,

Better get started I guess.

#tma #tma lb #tma liveblog #liveblogging #tma season 2 #season 2 #season 2 q&a #season 2 finale #the magnus archives

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carlottastudios · 4 years

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What I Wrote in the Woods while Sitting on a Rock

I walked as if possessed out here, in the woods by my home. I hope that if someone spots me, I look to them like the very picture of the eccentric, inspired poet, the authoress who embraces fully her distinction and status as an outcast from society, who flees like the Romantics of olden France to nature to be free and let her daemons and muses do their work, whispering sweetly to her the words that, in due time, will cause her to be remembered and celebrated by future generations.

But, in truth, I haven't strayed too far from the modern world. If I look up and to my left, in fact, I can see the outline of the houses of my neighbours, and be all too reminded of reality, of the current state of crisis in the world and of how powerless I am throughout it. I who could more easily than others get sick and risk death from this plague. I who, honestly, fears not physical disease as I know how well I've done my part to guard myself from virus and others from my passing it to them. I fear a greater disease. That of being unable to pick up my pen and bringing into the world the wonders in my heart and soul. I fear giving in to the difficulties of the task of turning ideas into written words. I fear lacking the discipline to reach my goals and being reduced to a lazy, lifeless shell of a wannabe authoress who hates herself forevermore for never truly writing and in time.

But I am here now, sitting like a cat perched or a bird alighted on this boulder, in the middle of my beloved native wood that I wish I explored more were I not so deterred by cold. I have been drawn out by the bright sun and the joyful sky which beckoned me from my bedroom, saying "Come, come outside" and filled me with the yearning, the need to grab my pen and book and find some place outside, to run to find a corner where I may sit and write to my heart's content. Here I am in the pleasant balance of warmth and cold, my pages lit by the sun which does not blind me so long as I keep writing. Here I am listening to the wind and the wild animals. Here I am writing this...poem? Story? Drabble of words and thoughts and feelings, guided, surely, by some benevolent daemon of inspiration as well as by my own hand. I must not forget it. After all, these words which my kind guardian muse so sweetly whispers are little more than immaterial thoughts if not for my pen held by my hand and guided by my action and will. We work together, my daemon and I, and it serves to, at least for a time, banish my fears.

They may return again, as is their nature. The battle is long and continuous and almost neverending against one's inner monsters, and my heart goes out to all those who, like me, continue this battle. I think, I hope, I know it will end in our triumph someday. Perhaps it is my naïve youth which commands this thought, but I truly believe that all ends well eventually in this world. No matter the suffering, the evil which I know does exist, the unfairness of life, I still cannot give up my hope. It clings forever to me and is latched on tightly to my spirit. I don't wish to compare it to a flea, for that creature is too annoying and repulsive. Rather, I think my hope like the moss which clings to the rock on which I sit. It may never leave unless some cruel ignorant brute tries to rip it off, and it makes this hard bland thing softer and so much more lovely.

I hope this moss never comes off. I hope my hope never leaves me. I know it cherishes me in return and I trust that it will guide me well in my life. I will nourish it as best I can, and nourish its brethren: my confidence, my love, my joy, my generosity and my passion.

And now I believe my piece draws to a close. My pen runs out of ink, my isolated paradise is welcoming other guests and my father may soon return home with goods that need be put away and stored. I have other things to write of, especially one silly thing for the celebration of fish and fools. I hope it proves more humorous than my self-doubt, old nemesis, believes. Yet I will strive never to forget this. I thank my daemons and most blessed Mother Nature for making me come out here today.

And so on the path of winter do I return home.

.........

This post is different than probably anything you will ever see from me. It's just something I wrote yesterday, like the title says, in the woods while sitting on a rock because I just...I just had to go outside and write something. Especially because, yesterday, I felt I was struggling getting my motivation to write to cooperate with me. Especially since I've got an idea for a fanfic for April Fools'. Plus, I think I was unknowingly feeling down about how crazy the world is right now and how fucked up this world is even without the current craziness. But writing this gave me hope. Just...so much hope and joy and it made me feel so much better. And I was really proud of writing this and the hope and inspiration it still gives me. So I really wanted to post this. I hope it gives you guys the same optimism, hope and joy, and the kind of mini-self-pep-talk, it gave me. Hope you guys are staying safe out there. Please channel your inner Stork and stay inside and avoid people as much as you can. DISCLAIMER: this written piece © me

#Behold My Beautiful Little Brain Child (my original post)#Drabble-y Brain Child (my writing)#Oh Look It Me (personal)

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famous-aces · 5 years

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Emily Brontë

Who: Emily Jane Brontë

What: Author

Where: English

When: July 30, 1818 - December 19, 1848

Although she was a prolific poet Brontë is best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights (originally published with authors Ellis and Acton Bell) Her complete poems were not published until 1941, long after her death. She, with her sisters, are some of the most definitive authors of the Romantic movement. And in personality Emily Brontë is perhaps the most Romantic of them (ironically, considering she was the least romantic of them). She is almost certainly the most mysterious of the published Brontës.

Wuthering Heights probably needs no introduction. It is funny, however, that despite being one of the hallmarks of British literature and quintessential artifact of the Romantic movement there is a lot of disagreement as to whether it is about "...a wild, passionate story of the intense and almost demonic love between Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff" (Wordsworth Classic summary) or Heathcliff "set[ting] about gaining his revenge on the two families that he believed ruined his life." Is the most important aspect of the story the romance or the revenge? I would argue it is way more the latter and that the love story is really far from a "love story.". But that is my opinion and the story is way more complicated than something to be summarized in a single sentencr. It is so deep, so thematic, so moody, so rooted in the sublime, and lends itself to so many perspectives that it has earned its place in the great works of the English language canon. In 2007 a first edition copy sold for £114,000 ($279,529 today).

Probable Orientation: Aroace

Emily Brontë was very purposefully mysterious. She her life alone by choice. Her sisters married and moved on, but she remained on the Yorkshire Moors. Not much survives from her personal writing, but we get a strange mixed image from her biographers and her sisters: an eccentric "isolated artist striding the Yorkshire moors" (Poetry Foundation), a religious and prudent figure on high, a fiercely loyal sister and friend, and a cripplingly shy, socially anxious, perhaps even mentally ill woman who never left her home. Odds are she was probably somewhere between the four. That's the problem with quiet figures, it is hard to pin down who they really were because everything is filtered through another person's perspective. It doesn't help that early versions of her work were also too heavily edited by her sister, Charlotte.

But one thing remains constant: she did not seek out marriage, romance, or sex in an era when the first was necessary for a woman to exist normally in society and if she wanted the latter two without scorn. She has no known romantic or sexual attachments. She lived alone and expressed no interest in anyone in particular. A poem ("Remembrance") that seemed to be mourning a lost lover was actually written for her eldest sister after her death. She had interest in personal romance or sex, just that of fictional characters; she was much more interested in her family and nature.

It is important to remember, Brontë was not exiled, but lived as she did willingly.

Quotes:

"Though her feeling for the people round was benevolent, intercourse with them she never sought; nor, with very few exceptions, ever experienced. And yet she knew them: knew their ways, their language, their family histories; she could hear of them with interest, and talk of them with detail, minute, graphic, and accurate; but WITH them, she rarely exchanged a word."

- Charlotte Brontë, 1850, editor's preface to Wuthering Heights

"[A] peculiar mixture of timidity and Spartan-like courage...She was painfully shy, but physically she was brave to a surprising degree. She loved few persons, but those few with a passion of self-sacrificing tenderness and devotion. To other people's failings she was understanding and forgiving, but over herself she kept a continual and most austere watch, never allowing herself to deviate for one instant from what she considered her duty."

-Eva Hope, 1886. I would argue Hope reads intent into Brontë's actions, maybe Brontë didn't see it as some kind of duty, but instead wanted this protector role, a sort of maternal figure without wanting kids.

[image description: Image 1: a portrait of Emily Brontë, cropped from a larger image of her and her sisters. This was painted by her brother, Branwell Brontë, in 1824. It is the only undisputed portrait of her. She is a pale woman with a round face, aquiline nose, and small pinkish lips. Her hair is brown and pinned up, her eyebrows are thin, and her eyes are blue. She looks out at the artist looking almost surprised or daydreaming.

Image 2: the front page of the first edition of Wuthering Heights. On the page, sepia with time, it says "Wuthering Heights A Novel, by Ellis Bell, In three volumes. Vol I. London: Thomas Cautley Newby, Publisher, 72 Mortimer Street, Cavendish Square. 1847."

End ID]

#lgbtq #queer #asexual #ace #aromantic #aro #history #english #uk #europe #authors #19th century #bio

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lethe-rpg · 5 years

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Antoine-Jean Chaudon was a well-known philosopher during the French Enlightenment era, famous for his works which poked fun at religions and aristocrats. Antoine-Jean was born in Paris in 1719 as the only surviving child of two commoners. His mother had advocated for his self-interests, giving him the freedom to partake in whatever pleased him while his father’s approach was on the opposite end of the spectrum. At the age of 11, his mother died during childbirth along with her baby. Left with only his father, Antoine-Jean was forced into the teachings of physics. It was an attempt to get his son on a different path towards success that the family have never experienced. Antoine-Jean’s father enrolled him into classes and even found him a job as an assistant to a famous physicist. What his father didn’t know, however, was that when he thought his son was at work, he was actually doing what he loved most – writing. Antoine-Jean wrote many books and poems in his life, all on the basis of criticizing the French King and spreading scandalous news that would ultimately and repeatedly get him exiled from Paris. The first time he was exiled and imprisoned in the Bastille was in 1726 for writing derogatory names for personages that would otherwise bring them shame. Antoine-Jean committed to his writing aspirations, even after the hurdles of his father’s objections and the continuum of being kicked out of Paris. Even if the aristocracy and monarchy didn’t appreciate his work, the rest of the public did. Antoine-Jean’s writing career was promoted from the growth of a novice of politics based on the informed public. His thoughts and public opinions became so popular, he was invited to book clubs and coffee shops to speak about it. Soon, his ideas of how society in France should work and his attack on the Roman Catholic Church quickly spread across France. His libelous works on French Kings got removed from access to the public, along with his permanent removal to England.

In England, Antoine-Jean befriended many merchants and other philosophers, and soon, he got involved with trading and investments. There, his books and satires weren’t burned or censored. While he made money off the sale of his ideas and books, most of his growing fortune came from taking advantage and finding loopholes of the government’s attempt to fund their country. Royal patronage, moneylending, and financial speculations were some few routes he embarked on to fortune, often skirting the bound of propriety just like his works. Learning the ins and outs of trading and finding the weaknesses of their lotteries, Antoine-Jean did exactly what his father wanted – became successful. Antoine-Jean began investing in estates and building small communities around England and in the outskirts of Paris in the case he gets exiled, which occurred frequently. After an influential aristocrat mocked Antoine-Jean for having commoners as parents, Antoine-Jean took up dueling training to challenge him to a duel. Hearing about this, he was thrown into the Bastille once again. His several exiles from Paris also stemmed from sleeping with many of the aristocrats’ wives which forced him to find new homes in the small communities he created. In 1748, Antoine-Jean thought a peace offering would be signed in to existence when aristocrats offered to meet him in his town in Strasbourg. His disdain and complicated past with them were not enough to get him to immediately question their motives. Without hesitation when it comes to offerings of wine, Antoine-Jean took the drink from them, downing the wine with poison in it. It was their revenge for him starting affairs with their wives. If it wasn’t for a local townspeople who found him, he would’ve died by the hands of the people he hated most, the people that were publicly stained by his words. The local townspeople had bitten him, turning him into a vampire that he later fully utilized the new identity of. Words quickly spread about Antoine-Jean’s death, which was concluded with a good mix of celebration and mourning throughout France.

With his tomb built in Paris, Antoine-Jean had to change his name and identity, starting with dropping the name his parents had given him and changing it to his friend’s name, Nicolas. Nicolas spent his new, captivating life traveling around Europe but never staying anywhere too long should someone would recognize him. He kept his involvement in the markets ongoing, finding those loopholes that would benefit him. He capitalized on his new powers and skills by scaring nobles and pulling pranks on them. With the French Revolution at the height of formulating a new identity for France, Nicolas returned home to the communities he built. He provided them his protection, a team effort with other locals who shared the same identity as him of vampires, to protect other locals from the effects of war. He cultivated his lands and became the intelligent benevolence beloved by this townspeople. His later years are spent being involved in the black market throughout Europe, finding his wealth through corrupt methods and shrewd money handling. Even as Nicolas and not Antoine-Jean, he was still an outspoken enemy of every injustice of religious intolerance and the inequality of power between authority and the people. He continued writing books and poems, though keeping those to himself in case that people can connect those new works to his old ones as Antoine-Jean. He found a new hobby outside of writing and growing money in which he attended University classes to call out professors on their false information on history, one that he had lived through. He attended Philosophy classes to hear what is taught about Antoine-Jean just to correct them before their students. Nicolas has a reputation throughout Europe, which he tried to avoid, but his vain desire for attention and obsession with being heard made it impossible. His outspoken manner in the black markets left a trial on him, giving him trouble and threats that would ultimately drive him out of Europe and into Lethe by 2018. Finding the value in land in this town in Washington along with the protection he can utilize, Nicolas made the place his new home. He invested in some estate and built a nightclub, combining all his vices – partying, alcohol, drugs, and making money – into one place. With his belief of religions being a divisive measure and the only way to unify people is to allow them to act in their own pursuit of happiness and self-interests, he named his nightclub “Church”. Occupied with his club, he doesn’t spend his time and effort indulged in the politics in that society.

#taken #taken male #taken vampire #theo james #nicholas chaudon

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anistarrose · 6 years

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Gideon fakes his psychic powers the same way that Bill actually knows almost everything.

This may have been pointed out already, and I doubt it has any actual significance (in fact, I'm not even positive it was intentional), but I noticed a weird parallel between Gideon and Bill.

In the Reddit AMA, Bill describes how see can see through images of himself:

[Text: JUST DRAW MY FORM ANYWHERE IN YOUR HUMAN WORLD- EACH IMAGE OF ME ACTS A PEEPHOLE FROM MY DIMENSION TO YOURS.]

Bill’s image most infamously shows up all over the shack, but the Eye of Providence is also on the backs of all dollar bills, so it’s easy to see how he’s virtually all-knowing.

Now in Gideon Rises, we see that Gideon uses hidden cameras in his pins to see the townsfolk’s secrets, and maintain the illusion that he has psychic powers:

[“It’s my face!”]

And it’s a winking face at that. Only one eye is visible, invoking the beast with just one eye.

Of course, Bill doesn’t exactly have a face, but it’s still a very close parallel to Gideon watching the citizens of Gravity Falls through images of himself.

Both of them are antagonists who cultivate their image as that of a person who knows and sees things others can’t, and they gain that information through remarkably similar ways - Gideon may not be psychic, but he uses technology to (likely unintentionally) emulate the actual “all-seeing, all-knowing eye.”

So what’s the significance of this? Personally, I don’t think it means much of anything, though I’d be happy to be convinced otherwise. The pins are only relevant to the story for one episode, and it was likely just meant as a way to subtly compare the Season 1 and Season 2 antagonists.

But if we pull out our tinfoil hats for a moment, I suppose we could come up with a couple possible implications, both of which are a bit unlikely in my opinion, but fun to think about:

1. It was meant as foreshadowing that Bill can see through all the images of him in the Shack and elsewhere.

Obviously we all know that now, but as far as I’m aware, it wasn’t confirmed until the AMA, which came well after Gideon Rises. It’s a very subtle hint, but then again, there are tons of examples of Stan’s behavior in various early episodes foreshadowing his relationship with Ford, so it’s definitely possible.

(now at this point, the post kind of devolves into rambling, but I had fun writing it, so you might have fun reading it.)

2. It could signify that Gideon and Bill would parallel each other in a different way later on.

This is admittedly a huge stretch, I’ll just come out and admit that, but I enjoy writing meta and theories and whatnot, so here are a couple ideas:

The first potential that springs to mind is imprisonment. Gideon, obviously, was in actual adult prison for the bulk of Season 2, only escaping when Weirdmageddon happened.

You could definitely argue that Bill was imprisoned in the Nightmare Realm prior to Weirdmageddon, and that the portal was his way of breaking out. Alternatively, you could say that the Gravity Falls Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism imprisons him in the town when he attempts to spread Weirdmageddon worldwide.

In my opinion, the weirdness barrier is the stronger “prison” analogy, but the Nightmare Realm is the one that Bill succeeds in escaping, and at about the same time Gideon escapes his literal prison as well.

Of course, there’s another thing that Gideon does after being freed: he recognizes the error of his ways, and joins the good guys.

(One of the things that weakens this part is that as far as I’m aware, we don’t know how far in advance Gideon’s redemption was planned. It might not have been until Season 2, and thus probably not planned as a Bill parallel.)

But evidence does point to a Bill redemption being possible, perhaps even likely. Bill only escapes death by invoking the Axolotl, a benevolent being that would presumably never allow him to come back just to continue tormenting the Pines and endangering the world.

The Axolotl’s poem also indicates that if/when Bill returns, he will do so to free himself of the blame and guilt for past wrongdoings (said wrongdoings arguably including both Weirdmageddon, and his role in the destruction of his home dimension).

If he wants to shirk the blame / He’ll have to invoke my name.

One way to absolve his crime / A different form, a different time.

I won’t get into how exactly that return and that redemption will happen, because there are plenty of theories about that already, and I don’t think the Gideon parallels here lend any strong support to any specific one of them.

But at the end of the day, I do think it’s interesting that they both acquire knowledge using images of themselves, escape an imprisonment, and are then given a chance to make up for past crimes. Some of this was probably intentional on the writers’ parts and some of it probably wasn’t, and I doubt we’ll ever know the specifics, but hopefully this was an interesting read and not an incoherent rant.

#gravity falls #gravity falls meta #gideon gleeful #bill cipher #the axolotl #rosalia writes meta #if you have thoughts on this please share them #i want to believe there's something more to this #(and for the record i DO NOT think gideon is bill)#(if anything i am a same coin believer)#anyways this is my first meta post #so that's cool #constructive criticism and general comments welcomed as always

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alexannedra · 6 years

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Vulpes vulpes

In the Scandinavian countries, foxes were believed to cause the northern lights. These aurora were called "revontulet" in Finland, meaning "fox fires". Foxes sometimes replaced cats as witch´s familiars in medieval European folklore, and were occasionally persecuted in the resulting hysteria. The Japanese revered foxes as the divine messengers of Uka no Mitama, the Shinto rice goddess, although tales were also told of evil Japanese foxes that could possess people. Many cultures have stories about shape-shifting "werefoxes". In China and other Asian countries, werefoxes were demons that prolonged their lives by seducing humans and feeding off their souls. A variation of this theme is a myth common among the Siberian Koriak people, the Inuit, and various tribes of native North Americans. "The Mysterious House Keeper", tells of a fox that entered a hunter´s house and removed its skin to become a beautiful woman. When the hunter returned, he found that the woman had cleaned his house and he decided to marry her. The bliss was short lived, however, as the hunter began to complain about his wife´s smell. Her feelings hurt, she transformed back into a fox and ran away.

Some of the best known classic fox literature was written over 2,500 years ago by Aesop. His fables told stories about various intelligent animals, and were used to convey a moral point to the reader. Because of their craftiness, beauty, and solitary nature, foxes figured prominently in these fables whenever deceit, pride, or individuality was necessary to the story. One such fable is The Fox and the Grapes. In it, a red fox finds itself in a vineyard and tries to feed on the grapes hanging on the vines. Despite its best efforts, the fox just can´t reach the fruit and gives up in frustration. He saves face and consoles himself by saying the grapes were probably sour any ways. The moral of the story is that people often badmouth things they can´t have. Like many other of Aesop´s fables, the story gave rise to a popular expression (sour grapes) or proverb. With the possible exception of the lion, few other animals are mentioned as often by Aesop as the fox is.

Both clever and foolish, creative and destructive, perfectly civilized and utterly wild. Trickster foxes appear in old stories gathered from countries and cultures all over the world -- including Aesop's Fables from ancient Greece, the "Reynard" stories of medieval Europe, the "Giovannuzza" tales of Italy, the "Brer Fox" lore of the American South, and stories from diverse Native American traditions...

...but at the darker end of the fox-lore spectrum we find creatures of a distinctly more dangerous cast: Reynardine, Mr. Fox, kitsune (the Japanese fox wife), kumiho (the Korean nine-tailed fox), and other treacherous shape-shifters.

Fox women populate many story traditions but they're particularly prevalent across the Far East. Fox wives, writes Korean-American folklorist Heinz Insu Fenkl, are seductive creatures who "entice unwary scholars and travelers with the lure of their sexuality and the illusion of their beauty and riches. They drain the men of their yang -- their masculine force -- and leave them dissipated or dead (much in the same way La Belle Dame Sans Merci in Keats's poem leaves her parade of hapless male victims).

"Korean fox lore, which comes from China (from sources probably originating in India and overlapping with Sumerian lamia lore) is actually quite simple compared to the complex body of fox culture that evolved in Japan. The Japanese fox, or kitsune, probably due to its resonance with the indigenous Shinto religion, is remarkably sophisticated. Whereas the arcane aspects of fox lore are only known to specialists in other East Asian countries, the Japanese kitsune lore is more commonly accessible. Tabloid media in Tokyo recently identified the negative influence of kitsune possession among members of the Aum Shinregyo (the cult responsible for the sarin attacks in the Tokyo subway). Popular media often report stories of young women possessed by demonic kitsune, and once in a while, in the more rural areas, one will run across positive reports of the kitsune associated with the rice god, Inari."

(To read Heinz's full essay on "Fox Wives & Other Dangerous Women," go here.)

There are tales of fox wives in the West as well, but fewer of them; and they tend, by and large, to be gentler creatures. (To marry them is unlucky nonetheless, for they're skittish, shy, and not easily tamed.) An exception to this general rule can be found in the räven stories of Scandinavia. The fox-women who roam the forests of northern Europe are portrayed as heart-stoppingly beautiful, fiercely independent, and extremely dangerous.

(Fox Woman by Susan Boulet)

(Little Elvie in the Wild Wood by Catherine Hyde)

The "nine-tailed fox" of China and Japan is often (but not always) a demonic spirit, malevolent in intent. It takes possession of human bodies, both male and female, moving for one victim to another over thousands of years, seducing other men and women in order to dine on their hearts and livers. Human organs are also a delicacy for the nine-tailed fox, or kumiho, of Korean lore -- although the earliest texts don't present the kumiho as evil so much as amoral and unpredictable...occasionally even benevolent...much like the faeries of English folklore.

In the West, it's the fox-men we need to beware of -- such as Reynardine in the old folk ballad, a handsome were-fox who lures young maidens to a bloody death.

Mr. Fox, in the English fairy tale of that name, is cousin to the kumiho and Reynardine, with a bit of Bluebeard mixed in for good measure, promising marriage to a gentlewoman while his lair is littered with her predecessors' bones. Neil Gaiman drew inspiration from the tale when he wrote his wry, wicked poem "The White Road":

There was something sly about his smile, his eyes so black and sharp, his rufous hair. Something that sent her early to their trysting place, beneath the oak, beside the thornbush, something that made her climb the tree and wait. Climb a tree, and in her condition. Her love arrived at dusk, skulking by owl-light, carrying a bag, from which he took a mattock, shovel, knife. He worked with a will, beside the thornbush, beneath the oaken tree, he whistled gently, and he sang, as he dug her grave, that old song...

shall I sing it for you, now, good folk?

Jeannine Hall Gailey, by contrast, casts a sympathetic eye on fox shape-shifters, writing plaintively from a kitsune's point of view in "The Fox-Wife's Invitation":

These ears aren't to be trusted. The keening in the night, didn't you hear? Once I believed all the stories didn’t have endings, but I realized the endings were invented, like zero, had yet to be imagined. The months come around again, and we are in the same place; full moons, cherries in bloom, the same deer, the same frogs, the same helpless scratching at the dirt. You leave poems I can’t read behind on the sheets, I try to teach you songs made of twigs and frost. you may be imprisoned in an underwater palace; I'll come riding to the rescue in disguise. Leave the magic tricks to me and to the teakettle. I've inhaled the spells of willow trees, spat them out as blankets of white crane feathers. Sleep easy, from behind the closet door I'll invent our fortunes, spin them from my own skin. Although chancy to encounter in myth, and too wild to domesticate easily (in stories and in life), some of us long for foxes nonetheless, for their musky scent, their hot breath, their sharp-toothed magic. "I needed fox," wrote Adrienne Rich:

Badly I needed a vixen for the long time none had come near me I needed recognition from a triangulated face burnt-yellow eyes fronting the long body the fierce and sacrificial tail I needed history of fox briars of legend it was said she had run through I was in want of fox

And the truth of briars she had to have run through I craved to feel on her pelt if my hands could even slide past or her body slide between them sharp truth distressing surfaces of fur lacerated skin calling legend to account a vixen's courage in vixen terms

(Full poem here.) Ah, but Fox is right here, right beside us, Jack Roberts answers, a little warily:

Not the five tiny black birds that flew out from behind the mirror over the washstand,

nor the raccoon that crept out of the hamper,

nor even the opossum that hung from the ceiling fan

troubled me half so much as the fox in the bathtub.

There's a wildness in our lives. We need not look for it.

(Full poem here.)

There are a number of good novels that draw upon fox legends -- foremost among them, Kij Johnson's exquisite The Fox Woman, which no fan of mythic fiction should miss. I also recommend Neil Gaiman's The Dream Hunters (with the Japanese artist Yoshitaka Amano); Larissa Lai's When Fox Is a Thousand; and Ellen Steiber's gorgeous A Rumor of Gems (as well as her heart-breaking novella "The Fox Wife," published in Ruby Slippers, Golden Tears). Alice Hoffman's disquieting Here on Earth is a contemporary take on the Reynardine/Mr. Fox theme, as is Helen Oyeyemi's Mr. Fox, a complex work full of stories within stories within stories. For younger readers, try the "Legend of Little Fur" series by Isobelle Carmody. And for mythic poetry, I especially recommend She Returns to the Floating World by Jeannine Hall Gailey and Sister Fox’s Field Guide to the Writing Life by Jane Yolen.

#fox #folklore

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tipsycad147 · 3 years

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Graveyard magick: A Witch's guide

by Michelle Gruben

Just about every Witch loves to poke around in old cemeteries and graveyards. And yet, actually doing magick in graveyards is a guarded subject, even among people who practice their craft without shame.

Is it discomfort with death? Fear of not being taken seriously? The overwhelming influence of the white-light crowd? Who knows. Graveyards are often associated with curses and hexes, with secrecy, with people who take angsty selfies and write vampire poems—but it doesn’t have to be that way.

Here’s a handy Witch’s guide to finding, exploring and working within graveyards—no black nail polish required.

Why Graveyards?

Graveyards are amazing places for magickal work for several reasons:

Cemeteries are a shared spiritual space that doesn’t belong to any one religion or group. After all, death is the thing that we all have in common. No matter what words are said over the casket, we all return to Gaia in the end. For Witches and Pagans, graveyards can function as a neutral religious space, or even a temple when none is available.

Burial places are also one of the few types of land that has been mostly immune to commercial re-development. Even our materialistic society draws the line at digging up great-grandma to build more mid-rise condos. In mature cities, cemeteries are often among the last public green spaces available. If you want to be close to nature (but not run over by joggers and bikers) you could do worse than to cozy up to some tombstones.

Finally, there are the metaphysical traits. Graveyards are set apart from the hustle and bustle of everyday life—they remain quiet and sad while the world grows up around them. There is a stillness and a timelessness in graveyards. They often hold strong emotional energy, which can be attractive to visiting entities. They are a symbolic boundary between the world of the living and the Underworld.

Finding Old Cemeteries

You can often find quaint little cemeteries just by driving around, especially in older communities. Old churches and funeral homes usually have burial plots attached. Some large city cemeteries are historic landmarks in their own right, with splendid monuments to the city’s heroes, villains, and well-off boring chaps.

In witchy cities like New Orleans and Salem, graveyards can be a huge tourist draw. A tour company or visitor’s bureau can give you a list of cemeteries to visit. As ghost hunting and witchcraft have become more mainstream, many cemeteries offer special occult-themed tours. (Take the tour to scope out points of interest, then come back later without the crowds.) When traveling in rural areas, watch the side of the road for cemetery markers—the graveyard itself will usually be off the main road and up a hill. (To keep dead bodies out of the drinking water. Hooray!)

Another cemetery scouting tip: Photographers love graveyards almost as much as Witches do. Follow your local photography club, as they will do a lot of the legwork of sniffing out old and picturesque graves.

For cemetery visits that are off the beaten path, check in with the local historical society or civic clubs. Retirees and veterans often do the work of maintaining gravesites year-round. Historical groups can clue you in to little-known or neglected burial sites. Slave cemeteries, Jewish cemeteries, and pioneer cemeteries all have incredible stories to tell, and energies that are very different from what you will find at large memorial parks.

Some traditional graveyard spells call for a certain type of gravesite. (A murdered person for a revenge spell, rich man for money spells, child’s grave to conceive a baby, etc.) This is another case where it’s helpful to have history buffs for friends.

Like all other cultural artifacts, burial sites change over time. Headstones from the colonial period and earlier often gave a lot of biographical details, but later ones tend to have simple inscriptions. The stories of the deceased are in danger of being lost to time. Sometimes, however, the opposite is true. The graves of regular people can sometimes become local legends, pilgrimage sites for wish-making and little rituals.

As colorful as old cemeteries are, don’t neglect modern ones for you magickal needs. (In fact, some Witches prefer fresh gravesites for gathering graveyard dirt and certain other tasks.) If your home is near a cemetery (old or new) I highly recommend spending some time there. The practice will help connect you with the history of the land and people who helped build your local community. Your magick will be better for the experience.

Know the Rules

There are mundane rules and occult rules for working in cemeteries. First, the mundane rules. These will usually be posted at the entrance, especially in newer and commercially maintained burial grounds.

The mundane rules should also be obvious to anyone with a trace of manners and common sense. Don’t litter (duh), don’t plant or bury anything, don’t vandalize graves, don’t disturb mourners or memorial services. Open flames and glass may also be prohibited for safety reasons. Very old and historic cemeteries sometimes restrict grave rubbings in the interest of conservation. But normally it’s not against the rules to take paper rubbing of an interesting stone or marker.

Observing visiting hours is a very important consideration for graveyard Witches. These are not always posted. In many places, cemetery hours are covered by state laws or local ordinances. The laws are on the books and you’re just supposed to know to leave at sundown.

I know, I know—but we’re Witches! We do our best work at night. Unfortunately, it is usually illegal (and bad luck, some say) to be hanging around in a cemetery after dark. Some Witches and ghost hunters rely on their stealth powers to get around this rule…but I don’t recommend it.

There’s still a lot of ignorance about the Craft. Caretakers may not be able to tell the difference between the itinerant Witch and the ordinary vandal (or may not care). Cemetery owners and neighbors will call the police if they catch you there at night. Nothing kills a magickal buzz like a criminal trespassing charge, I promise.

At night, you also run a greater risk of encountering living people who are up to no good: Drug deals, furtive sex, and goth kids drinking wine coolers. They might even try to read you some vampire poetry. Not cool.

The mundane rules are easy enough, but what about the magickal ones? Ah, that’s where it gets complicated. As human beings, we don’t know very much about death—and we’ve had thousands and thousands of years to make crap up. There are about a billion superstitions involving graveyard visits. Here’s a sampling:

Don’t point at graves or photograph them. (This rule probably gets broken the most.)

Say “sorry” when stepping over a gravesite. (Observed 100% of the time in Irish cemeteries, I’ve noticed.)

It is bad luck to wear anything new to a cemetery, especially shoes.

Don’t whistle in a graveyard, or you tempt Death.

Leaving coins on a grave is a token of respect.

Don’t yawn near a grave, or ghosts could get inside your body.

Smelling roses when there are none around is a sign that a benevolent spirit is nearby.

The person who takes something from a graveyard will return more than he took.

As silly as some of these adages sound, there is a grain of occult wisdom in most of them. However, don’t assume that they apply in all cases. Every cemetery is different. Different Earth energy, different spirits, and different customs mean different rules for the magick worker.

Well…that’s not very helpful. How do you learn the rules? As much as I would like to be able to generalize about cemetery work, there are few absolutes.

The only constant rule is respect. Respect for the dead is paramount while working in graveyards. If you behave like an ass with your actions or your intentions, you might or might not suffer some unpleasant consequences. Most likely, you will just find that the gates of magick are closed to you there while you are there.

Listen Harder

I can share one helpful tip for embarking on a cemetery working: Every graveyard has a guardian. In my experience, this has been true without exception. The guardian is a presiding spirit who watches over the boundaries and entrance of the site. The guardian is like the bouncer at a nightclub, basically. You won’t get very far without checking in with Him/Her/It, so follow the dress code and try not to get 86’d.

Tradition has it that the guardian is the spirit of the first person buried in the cemetery, who is bound to stay behind and watch over it. In the past, communities would sometimes try to cheat the curse by burying an animal or a vagrant in the first plot.

I don’t think this idea of guardianship is correct. However, I can’t definitively say who or what guardians are. They may be senior human spirits, Gods or emissaries of Death, psychopomp Fae, genii loci, random thoughtforms assembled from the social norms of visitors, all of the above or something else. (Insert your magickal worldview here, basically.) But guardians are real (enough) and powerful.

Cemetery guardians have a lot of jobs. They are largely responsible for setting the energetic tone of the site. They help control what entities can enter the ground, or stick around. They work with the caretakers and visitors to maintain the place physically, also. Sometimes cemetery guardians will set up a collaboration with a local sorcerer or priest/ess who works there often. If a graveyard you visit has been “claimed” in this way, you’d be wise to tread lightly and keep your magick compatible with theirs.

Open-feeling, peaceful cemeteries have guardians that welcome visitors. Haunted, forlorn, and forbidding burial places have guardians that don’t care for human company. The guardian(s) will ensure that you know which is which. They will also give you hints and nudges about the types of magick their domain supports. They may send you somewhere else if it’s not a good match. Remember that you are in their space. Respect it.

Developing a relationship with the guardian(s) is one of the best things you can do for your graveyard magick. It’s much better than just tromping through the gates with your candles and sticks and bones and expecting all the energies to fall into place for you.

So introduce yourself! The first time you visit a graveyard, pause at the entrance and share your energy and intentions with the guardian(s). Take in some of the energy of the place in exchange. See if you like the vibes—collaboration is a two-way street, after all. It’s not a bad idea to ask permission to enter or bring an offering to show you’re not a threat.

Once inside, open your super-special magickal antennae senses and see if there’s anything they’d like done around the place. Picking up trash is almost always a welcome contribution. Perhaps there’s a neglected area that needs visiting. Sometimes there’s a spirit with something to say, or a bit of energetic cleanup to be done somewhere. It only takes a few minutes, and then you can get on with your Voodoo, Hoodoo, or whatever it is you do.

What kinds of magick can be worked in graveyards? Just about all of them. Witches go to cemeteries to cast spells for love, money, healing, and success, as well as the darker workings like binding and revenge spells. Cemeteries are a good place to charge amulets, tools, and talismans. Since they are left alone most of the time, they are energetically “cleaner” than areas frequented by lots of people.

Plenty of graveyard magick involves the spirits of the deceased. Practitioners of many forms of magick believe that spirits of the dead can empower spellwork by the living. Prayers and offerings are made to spirits to earn their sympathy and support.

Graveyards are kind of temple for Pagans who connect with gods of Death or the Underworld (such as Hades, Morrighan, and Hecate). Witches and Pagans go there to contemplate mortality, to connect with ancestors, or just be in the company of the dead.

Burial places are a traditional spot to practice mediumship and spirit communication, and for a good reason: Cemeteries are where spirits go to be heard because they’re where the living go to listen.

As I mentioned before, a major part of effective graveyard magick is listening. If you’re not sure what to do, listen harder. Your instincts will guide you toward the right time and place to perform your working.

When in cemeteries, pay attention to particular areas that pull you in. You may see movement or light. Something may draw you to a certain gravesite—a visiting bird or pretty flower, a significant name or date. Cemeteries are an ideal place to receive oracles from the other worlds. Sit down and listen when invited to. The speaker is not necessarily the occupant of the grave. Keep an open mind.

On offerings: Flowers, liquor, coins, tobacco, and food are traditional offerings to a spirit who has helped you. Some offerings will be more appropriate than others. You wouldn’t want to offer whiskey to a non-drinker, for instance. On the other hand, anything offered in love and trust is unlikely to offend. Consider the ecology of the place—take trash home with you. Offer energy and prayers if you’re not sure what’s okay.

Some Witches trek into cemeteries for ritual ingredients: graveyard dirt, stones, tree branches. Specific magickal rules govern the removal of these items (though they vary by tradition). In short, don’t take anything that isn’t freely given, or fairly bought and paid for.

When choosing a gravesite for a ritual activity, check in with any guardians or spirits in the area. Necromancy—magick involving the dead—has come a long way in the last 500 years. Once upon a time, a magician would wave a magick wand and command earthbound spirits to do his bidding. But there has been a major paradigm shift in Western magick. These days, most Witches think of discarnate beings as collaborators, sentient folks with independent wills that should be respected. You will occasionally meet a Witch who claims to bind or boss around spirits as part of their magick, but this is quite rare.

Some people might argue that the right to give consent ends with death…but that’s a rabbit hole for another day. If you get a strong feeling that your intrusion is not welcome, move on to another spot. You’ll get better results from willing spirits, anyway.

Be Safe

Let me get this out there first: Graveyards are not unsafe places for magick. They’re not inherently dark or evil or unlucky to work in. That's superstition. What they are is portal places. As such, they carry certain magickal power and certain risks. It is possible to encounter negative or chaotic energies that you don’t want to bring home with you. At times, even the psychic impressions from ordinary human emotions can be overwhelming.

If you have a protective amulet or protection ritual, now is a great time to dust it off. Ground and center yourself before beginning your working. Ask your guides/angels/higher self to surround you with protection. Scan your body for attachments when you leave.

Scrying, channeling, and trance work should only be practiced in cemeteries if you’re confident in your ability to screen out unwanted garbage. This is yet another reason why building a relationship with the site’s spirit guardians is a good idea. They know the psychic geography of the place and can spot trouble before you can. They can be your allies and will act as gatekeepers if they support your work.

Remember that spirits don’t know everything just because they’re body-less. Don’t obey orders from a spirit that you wouldn’t obey from a person, and take anything they tell you with a grain of salt.

With just a few simple precautions and courtesies, graveyards can be a wonderful place to work your magick. Happy exploring!

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/graveyard-magick-a-witchs-guide

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gingerly-writing · 7 years

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Questions Tag Games

explanation: I’m super late to these, I suspect not many people will want their dashes spammed with my random answers, and I’m not tagging people, so I’ve amalgamated all of these into one post.

tagged by @concealeddarkness13! haven’t spoken to you in a while, hope you’re doing great

1. Would you rather write a more classical hero or an anti-hero as a protagonist? I’d rather write a hero for the protagonist, but an anti-hero as a general character

2. Who is your favorite character you have written and why? Ever? That’s cruel. Out of people that y’all would know, Urial does seem to generate the most emotional reactions

3. How many WIPs do you have? 3 proper ones, currently: Iron Flower, Space Royalty and Piracy Pays

4. Who is your least favorite character you have written and why? To write? Klarion from Young Jutsice fanfic. Motherfucker would not follow the assigned plot. Hate-wise? Possibly Coincidence or Accord, neother of whom you guys have met yet. Those two are a pair of nasty criminals/villains, and they are a little too good at punishing anyone who gets in their way

5. What is your favorite aspect of writing? Finishing!

6. If you had only one sentence (per WIP) to get someone to read your books, what would the sentences be? They wouldn’t because I suck at loglinesss...humourously though?

IF: an entire continent is saved from the ravages of war by the ancient art of sexting via treaty negotiations Space Royalty: ‘she stabbed me? god-fucking-dammit I am so in love with her’ Piracy Pay: you get to chug your drink every time I kill a character

7. If your protagonists fought to the death, which one would win? Protags? Depends if morals were removed, and whether it was on-on-one. Koronis, if not -he’s an emperor with black magic and an entire galaxy-wide army. If it was on-on-one with minimised morals, Ace would stand a damn good chance. Boy is smarter than he gives himself credit for, and very adaptable. Galaxy is also pretty viable. Girl can swing a superpowered punch like she means it, and she hasn’t survived this long on luck alone.

8. Which protagonist(s) would survive the zombie apocalypse? Koronis would. Ace would die trying to save someone else. Solaris would...provided Monarch was dragging him around, and even then they might go down together in a dramatic last stand. Galaxy would be in charge of a small, benevolent queendom. Cleo would, those plant skills would make her handy to any new civilisation. Fact would go down staving off the hoardes so everyone else could run. Rosalie would think she was the weak link of her group, but they would probably keep her alive; L’aura would kick zombie ass.

9. Which is your favorite story you have written or are working on? Space Royalty is damn fun to write -the benefits of extravagant, overdramatic space operas I suppose. Piracy Pays has had a good reception, so I’m pretty proud of that. Hopefully I can keep the momentum going until the end! It is a huge pain o write though

10. Which of your characters is your favorite villain and why? Raph is my evil supervillin crimelord Big Bad and I adore him utterly

11. When do you find is the best time of day for writing? Evening! 8pm-1am

*******************************************************************************************

tagged by the lovely @a-sundeen! this is so old I bet you don’t even remember tagging me, oopsie

1. When you’re describing a new character, what feature do you usually note first? Build, usually, as in their height/weight ratio, muscles/skinniness or lack of, how they carry themself etc. The reason for this is that I often start with the macro ‘impression’ of the character before zooming in on a few specifics. I try to use an interesting description or comparison here as well.

2. Do any of your characters play an instrument or really enjoy music in general? If so, what instrument (or what genre, if it’s the latter)? I am the least musical person on planet earth, so making my characters musical often doesn’t occur to me. Koronis can sing and play the space-piano (forced childhood lessons), and Jade can play the violin, but neither of them are passionate about it. Kolya/Cynosure (the popstar/supervillain) is very very musical, but I skip around a lot of the specifics because I’m a big cheater. He mostly makes anti-establishment and anti-hero music, but he’s one of those artists who strays all over different genres.

3. Which musical artist usually gets you the most pumped to write? Les Friction does good dramatic music and they’re not so well known, so I like to tell people about them when I can

4. Do you prefer writing fight scenes over other types? (This is a weirdly worded question I’m sorry, rip) It’s worded fine, sunshine! And no, I don’t like writing fight scenes because I don’t like the logistics of them. There are too many limbs to keep track of, and then I feel like I’m neglecting their surroundings and potentially useful items in favour of mentally tracking who’s where and what their arms and legs are doing. I cover up for my fight scene weaknesses with too much dialogue, and I’m fully aware of that fact.

5. Is there a city or country you’d really like to write in or about? Write in is probably just where I’d like to travel, so Russia, India and South America (I know that’s general but it’s the only continent except Antarctica that I haven’t been to) are my top choices. Write about…I’d like to sink myself deep into east coast USA to really nail the feeling of Galaxy’s city and her character, and then be able to confidently write about it. I do have a study year abroad coming up in 2020, so here’s hoping…

6. Do you prefer to be warm or cold while you write? Warm! I love blankets and my big fluffy dressing gown, and on top of that all my friends always complain about how hot my house is

7. Do any of your characters have hobbies you’d like to try out someday? Fiction wise, glo-ball from Space Royalty sounds like a very entertaining game, especially when I’m kept safe behind a pod. sodding netball injuries Jade paints and draws, and I’d love to get better at art. Likewise, Rosalie sews, making and decorating her own clothes, and I’d love to be able to do that. Idk, does being a supervillain count as a hobby? I’d love to rob a bank…not even necessarily for the money, just the #aesthetic

8. What is your favorite type of character to write? Villains! And morally grey people. And characters where the POV character has no idea what they’re really thinking, who they really are, what they actually want etc. And, on the flip side, balls of positive sunshine, because they make me feel better about the world

9. Halloween is here! Which character has a costume made for them by their mom? Ahahahahaha can you tell how late I am to this.

10. Halloween is here (again)! Which character thinks the holiday is childish but dresses up anyway? I AM SO LATE. Rosalie thinks the holiday is childish but dresses up in the most elaborate homemade princess outfit ever and entertains all the kids she can find. What, it is a children’s holiday, surely she should be making them happy on their special day…

******************************************************************************************* tagged by @blackfeatherantics who is now @mbovettwrites I think? I hope?

1. How long have you been working on your WIP(s) for? Iron Flower is the oldest current one, and I started it on Christmas Day 2016

2. What song would you assign as your protagonist’s theme tune? I’ll just pick one, and Koronis’ is Young and Menace by FOB. No real lyrical reason, it just reminds me of him

3. Do you have any favourite spots (gardens, parks, cafes, etc.) where you like to write? The sofa in my living room next to my family

4. Poetry or Prose? Prose!

5. Where do you draw inspiration for your writing from? Everywhere! Other people’s writing and prompts and published novels and TV and movies and random stray thoughts and daydreaming and chatting to other writers and-

6. Is there any popular book that you wish you had written and why? The Lies of Locke Lamora because I’d take out the first 100-ish page of solid worldbuilding and backstory that seemed almost completely irrelevant to the rest of the plot?And the domino-effect of all the plot elements knocking each other into action at the end was so clever, it annoyws me that the beginning means I don’t like reccing it to people

7. What’s your planning process when you start working on a new WIP? I daydream about it for at least a few weeks to make sure the idea has staying power. Then I come up with character names, quirks, descriptions etc. finally, I lay out the plot chapter-by-chapter from the beginning to the end so I have a guiding rope throughout the whole process and I’m less likely to get stuck. Of course, that’s when I plan on letting a WIP bloom into being. Some, like Space Royalty and Piracy Pays, start off as short drabble ideas and then refuse to leave, which means I have no concrete plan for them...

8. Do you work best in mornings, afternoons, or at night? Evening!

9. Would you prefer to self-publish or work with an agent and publishing company and why? Agent and publishing company, because I value the help they can provide more than the ability to retain complete creative control over my book (since I’m crap at titles and designing book covers anyway)

10. How do your emotions/moods affect your writing? Not a lot tbh. If I’m very very tired I can’t write anything good, but I’m not sure that counts as an emotion.

11. What’s your favourite line of your WIP/one of your poems? I’ve written both of my current favourite lines for prompts, which were: ‘Time hollows all victories’ and ‘The hero doesn’t die in this one’. I’ve had other favourites in WIPs over time, but I can’t think of them right now

******************************************************************************************* tagged by the ever wonderful @time-to-write-and-suffer

1) How are you so awesome? Genetics.

2) What’s your favorite thing about your writing? The dialogue! Or the romances, which I mostly like because of the fun/cute dialogue.

3) Who’s your favorite character that you’ve written and why are they your fave? This is so mean. At the moment, Raph, because I can’t stop thinking about him and he’s so incredibly dangerous, yet on the low down (like the Mariana Trench level of low down) he has all these cute little quirks that only one or two people know about

4) One of your characters has been placed in the world/plot of a book you love. What happens? Rosalie becomes a Grisha in Leigh Bardugo’s world. She finds a sense of self-worth and gets to enjoy the little luxuries that come with the position.

5) One of your characters has been placed in the world/plot of a book you hate. What happens? X takes the place of Celeana Sardothien. He murders everyone in his path, tells the crown of Terrasen to get fucked because there’s no way he can run a whole government with any level of competance, probably murders Rowan with extreme prejudice, opens the Wyrd gates just to search the universe for Raph and bring him through so he can construct a decent government for Terrasen, would probably sleep with Dorian, would make it his new life goal to highfive Manon.

6) Your characters must fight each other to the death until only one stands victorious. Who wins? Raph. Koronis could conceivably stand a chance against him, but Raph would decimate pretty much anyone else. I think Raph would be able to stay above the fighting for longer, whereas Koronis would jump in just a touch earlier, which would be his downfall.

7) If you could steal a cover and a title from other books to use for your own WIP/s, which ones would you steal? Cover-wise I’d steal the minimalist Red Queen aesthetic, because that sleek shit is the bomb. Title-wise? That’s harder. The Lies of Locke Lamora has some sick alliteration, but I think I’d rather steal the style of it rather than the exact title

8) If you switched places with one of your characters, what would happen to you and to them? I would die, pretty much everywhere. If Rosalie swapped with me, she would slowly come out of her shell and become a fashion designer -not an A-lister, she wouldn’t like how vicious and ruthlessly businesslike you have to be, but maybe making her own high-end clothes in a small shop in London

9) What makes your style unique compared to other writers? Thanks for the existential crisis, Eff.

10) Describe your antagonist’s song number if they were a Disney villain. No Good Deed from Wicked, for Darklight

******************************************************************************************* tagged by the lovely @itstheenglishkid

1. Have you ever realized how similar an oc is to you and felt the need to change them so they aren’t so similar? I mean, Jade from Iron Flower almost shares a name with me, and she’s ginger, which did concern me for a while, but hopefully she’s nothing like me personality wise (or else I’d have to do some serious self-reflection)

2. Do any of your ocs like candles? I bet Rosalie loves pretty candles, especially patterned or strongly scented ones! Anything luxurious that she can’t afford, really

3. Do you normally write settings that are (or are based on) places you know intimately (ie your home town)? Oh god no. I like sweeping Chinese-inspired castles or creaking pirate ships or far flung space universities and man-made planets. I’m really not a contemporary writer though, so I guess this isn’t much of a surprise?

4. What is a book that feels similar to your own wip? Ahahaha, which WIP? Piracy Pays has similar vibes to @boothewriter‘s pirates and probably also @noodlewrites’ pirates (I’m guessing? I haven’t read any excerpts from you I’m sorry). Space Royalty is just weird. Iron Flower is probably similar to a lot of generic fantasy YA, like Red Queen and whatnot.

5. Do you have a dream cast for your ocs? I don’t really faceclaim? Or know much about a wide array of actors, so no, not really.

6. Are you good at story titles? Do they come easily to you? I am abysmal at story titles, holy shit. I mean, you can see the evidence scattered around this post. Piracy Pays and Space Royalty are just placeholder names, but I’m not convinced I’ll come up with anything good to replace them. Iron Flower is alright in that its relevant to the story and fits into the series title (The Flowers of War) but…idk, its not setting the stars alight or anything.

7. Do you ever change oc names once you’ve started a wip? Not often, though I am considering changing Ace’s name because I don’t think ‘Seb’ suits him. Only question, what to??

8. Which people have you let read your work? I mean, all of y’all have the opportunity to read Piracy Pays. No one has read Iron Flower, and I’m stretching myself by letting @rrrawrf-writes @lux-deorum@haphazardlyparked read Space Royalty in its raw first draft stage.

9. What usually catches your attention about a book first? Style? Characters? Plot? I’m quite an easy reader to catch and hold tbh. What makes me love a book is a clever plot. For me, a very strong plot can carry weak-ish characters, but I can never read super deep characters with no plot.

10. Do you have a favourite author? Probs Rick Riordan, or Julia Golding.

******************************************************************************************* tagged by the wonderful @typeaadventures

1. How many works in progress do you have? Properly, three. Iron Flower, which is written (143k) but needs editing, Piracy Pays which y’all are reading, and Space Royalty which crossed 30k about a week ago

2. Do you/would you write fanfiction I used to! I stopped in Y12/13 because I didn’t have enough time to do fic and original writing, and I haven’t really had the time to pick it back up.

3. Do you prefer paper books or ebooks? Either, I’m not fussed. Though if it has a really pretty cover, I’ll be hankering after a paper copy

4. When did you start writing? 14-ish on Young justice fanfic

5. Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with? Not all of my work, but yeah, I have a lovely server and also some irl friends that get the junk landed on them

6. Where is your favourite place to write? At home chilling with my family while we all do stuff

7. Favourite book as a child? Dragonfly by Julia Golding

8. Writing for fun or publication? Hopefully publication, but I know I need to improve a lot first, honing my skills etc.

9. Have you taken writing classes? Not a lick

10. What inspired you to write? Gotta get those stories out of my head and onto the page, man. Gotta get that sweet sweet representation out there too.

thanks everyone! xx

#tag game #about the author #long post

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pwpoetry · 4 years

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Q&A with Pascale Petit

M: There is a family narrative that runs through the collection, as well as the underlying theme of environmental catastrophe and extinction. Can you speak to how these two concerns parallel or amplify each other? P: I write intuitively, guided by images, the song of the line, its dynamic, and by my excitement towards the subject. The draft has to feel true. When I write well, I am playing with all these elements, it’s a serious play, but I am in a childlike tranced state. The themes that emerge in the book appear almost as a by-product – they don’t lead it.

Tiger Girl reveals the cruelty of human beings in their treatment of non-human life, and each other. If I look back on my books, I suspect that most of them are asking this question: are humans essentially good or bad? Perhaps that’s why I’m driven to examine the way that people in power treat the powerless. I’ve tended to do this by holding a magnifying glass to my dysfunctional family, in particular on my parents and difficult childhood. In Tiger Girl I focus on the benevolence of my Indian grandmother, who took me in as a baby, then later, from the age of seven until fourteen. She didn’t have to do that, so in Tiger Girl she is a force for good, and the book is in a way a series of grandmother love poems. She is this saviour, who herself was saved. Her origins are a mystery, but I’ve been told that in Rajasthan where she was born, she was taken in by her father’s white family, while her real mother was the maid. I wanted to explore her heritage, her country, but most of all – I wanted to see a wild tiger as she had done as an infant, when one walked into her tent. So, I went to India to experience the wildlife, and fell in love with it; the national parks are brimming with animals and birds!

Going into the tiger forests in open jeeps is addictive! I’d wake at four, and be at the forest gate by five, waiting for it to open. Then the rush to find tracks, to catch a tigress patrolling her realm, the theatre of alarm calls that we’d be in the centre of, a sensurround of barks started by langurs at their treetop lookouts, and taken up by the deer. The tiger hidden, but there! But I soon realised what an immense struggle it is to keep the tigers alive, as well as all the other fauna – elephants, sloth bears, mongooses, owls and Indian rollers. Poaching is a constant threat. The parallel with my family story – how my grandmother was saved by her father, how I was saved by her from more years in an orphanage, and from the “poaching” of my parents on my body and soul, is a testimony to kindness and love. It’s kindness, love and empathy for wild animals that can save them from cruelty and abuse. We only have to empathise with them to know they suffer, and to stop the suffering. The situation in India is complicated, as in many wild parts of the world, by poverty. I’ve heard and read accounts by poachers who became forest guards, who went on to protect the tigers they once poached. Their guard-work is informed by their poaching experience; they know when and where incursions into the forest will occur. But what struck me was the indifference one guard divulged in his former life as a poacher. My account of his poaching methods is recorded in my long poem ‘In the Forest’. He needed the money for food. His need killed his empathy, his victim was just a means to make money, not a companion suffering being. The animal/human predicament echoes the dynamic between a person with power (such as a parent or president) and the powerless. M: That makes a good deal of sense given how I read the book, one image layering over the next in an intuitive, almost subconscious way. What was your revision process like, and how did you determine the arc of the book? P: I started writing Tiger Girl just after the Brexit referendum. My anxieties about citizenship and possible expulsion – I eventually applied and got British citizenship – reminded me of my grandmother’s situation, and how she’d had to conceal the fact that she was Indian. I hadn’t been aware of it when I lived with her as a child. All I could really remember were certain mysteries, her tiger stories, her speaking Hindi in her sleep. I started researching where tigers were in India, and read every tiger book I could find. I planned my first trip to Ranthambore National Park in Rajasthan, followed by Kanha and Bandhavgarh National Parks in Madhya Pradesh, the tiger heartland. I went over twice, and would have gone more, but Covid-19 happened. I had no idea there’d be so many animals and birds – imagine discovering your heaven then realising it is under threat of vanishing. This is the situation we find ourselves in on this planet: the wild is a place of awe and wonder, but it’s vanishing even as we discover new species. So, what set out to be a personal quest for identity and heritage, became a story about the forests and their fauna. Of course, now, because of Covid-19, there are new threats to wildlife, not least because it’s a zoonotic virus that it is thought originated in bats, passed through a mammal such as the much-poached and probably soon-extinct pangolin, to humans. My personal experience of cruelty at the hands of parents gave me empathy with the animals that are tortured and killed. Are they the childhood of the planet? I’m terrified that we will end up as the only large mammals on Earth, our companions gone, their homes destroyed. It’s unbearable to imagine a world without forests or animals, so, throughout Tiger Girl, there are flashes of hope, clearings with sunlit birds or rare deer. There is also fire threaded through, simmering in the first poem ‘Her Gypsy Clothes’, becoming a roar in the final poem ‘Walking Fire’. None of this was planned, but as I was finishing the manuscript one year ago, our world seemed to be on fire, from California to the Amazon, to New South Wales.

My revision process varied wildly, some poems wrote themselves whole, especially ‘In the Forest’ and ‘Green Bee-eater’. Others needed many recasts. With ‘The Anthropocene’, I had the moving image of the planet as a bride wearing a peacock dress as soon as I saw the news items of the Chinese bride in hers. The image wouldn’t let me be, so those lines hovered on my desktop. But the song of the poem came later, after I’d read The Night Life of Trees from Tara Books, featuring art of the tribal forest artists, the Gond from Madhya Pradesh. I kept looking at the trees they’d printed, and reading the captions from their beliefs. One tree is called ‘The Peacock’, and the caption said “when the peacock dances in the forest, everything watches, and the trees change their form to turn into flaming feathers”. And that gave me my song. The stepped form on the page felt right and might suggest a bride’s train or poised waves. There was a particularly violent hurricane season last year as I was drafting it, so that became the theme, of climate change.

M: As someone who writes about animals--and who is enamored with them--I share your pain and terror at the thought of a future without them. How do you see the poems in Tiger Girl speaking to the poems in Mama Amazonica?

P: Tiger Girl features my grandmother and her tiger childhood, and Mama Amazonica is a portrait of my mentally ill mother as the Amazon rainforest. These two women hardly spoke to each other in the last years of their lives; they are in many ways opposites.

Both books juxtapose a family in crisis with the natural world in crisis, and link abuse of women and children with abuse of animals and forests. But I don’t set out to do this, it’s what the poems reveal. If I take the central poem of Tiger Girl, which is for me ‘In the Forest’, and compare it to the central poem of Mama Amazonica, which for me is ‘My Amazonian Birth’, Mama Amazonica is more hopeful of a human’s rebirth in the pristine rainforest, even if that rainforest is sick and broken. What happened between the writing of the two books was Trump’s increasingly anti-eco politics and the rise to power of Bolsonaro in Brazil, followed by the election of Boris Johnson in the UK and a general global rise of fascism and contempt for the natural world. Yet, the personal story in Tiger Girl, of my Indian grandmother saving me from my abusive parents, is hopeful. And there are splashes of hope throughout the book. There has to be hope. The human psychodrama is hopeful, because what my grandmother did, taking me in for two years as a baby, then for seven years as a child, passed her strong spirit on to me and supported me all my life. Yet, even there, there is betrayal, the story of her returning me to my mother, twice, while Mama Amazonica is both my abused and mentally ill mother, and the abused mother-forest. The human drama mirrors the drama that’s unfolding on our planet – a struggle for the oppressed wild to survive. In India, that struggle is an old one, where the plenitude of charismatic megafauna is in conflict with the dense human population and poverty. The only relatively safe forests are in national parks, yet even there, there is poaching. As for my writing journey – the ‘tiger girl’ of my Indian grandmother is a character I’ve rarely written about before, though it is she who opens my very first collection Heart of a Deer, published in 1998, with the poem ‘Mirador’, that also tells the story of her death on fireworks night. In Tiger Girl I wanted to explore her spirit, how nourishing the older woman figure was, who appeared “like a goddess to me”.

M: Are there any particular texts or works of art with which you feel the book is in conversation?

P: Tiger Girl is mainly in conversation with two artists. As I began writing the book, I discovered installations by the Chinese artist Cai Guo-Qiang, and felt very excited by them. I was first attracted to his work because of his installation Inopportune: Stage Two, of nine life-size replicas of tigers leaping through the air, shot and transfixed mid-leap by bamboo arrows. I almost felt at this stage that his work would dominate the book. I wanted to write my equivalents of his firework events. In the end, only two poems remained in my final cut: Ethereal Flowers, which I turned into ‘Her Flowers’, and Sky Ladder, which became my ‘Sky Ladder’. That he worked with gunpowder and fireworks and a ladder made of fireworks that explodes into the sky, felt a direct link to my grandmother’s death on Guy Fawkes night. I watched his film Sky Ladder, and my poem came out of the way he dedicated the event to his 100-year-old granny. The second main artist Tiger Girl is in conversation with is the late Pardhan Gond painter Jangarh Singh Shyam, founder of Gond art, whose tribe know the Central Indian forest secrets. Like him, I’m obsessed with deer and their antlers and how antlers mirror a forest. He died tragically early, but I wanted to honour him, so I wrote a poem for him, ‘Barasingha’, about the endangered twelve-tined swamp deer and how his life was changed after coming face to face with one. My cover art The friendship of the tiger and the boar is by him and I love how my publisher Bloodaxe has wrapped the Gond tree around the back cover. As well as these two artists, a poem early in the book, ‘Surprised!’ is a response to Henri Rousseau’s painting, Surprised! (Tiger in a Tropical Storm) – I love his work! Other poems, such as ‘The Umbrella Stand’, were influenced by Jim Corbett’s tiger hunting books. William Blake hovers in the background of ‘In the Forest’ and ‘Wild Dogs’. ‘For a Coming Extinction’ is a response to the same titled poem by W. S. Merwin. In the poem ‘Her Staircase’, I managed to write about my grandmother’s fatal staircase through a re-imagining of the installation Staircase III, by the Korean artist Do Ho Suh, which I’d spent hours sitting beneath while tutoring poetry courses at Tate Modern. Two poems are even dedicated to my first love John Keats and his forested worlds.

#interview #poetry #Q&A #pascale petit #literature #Poems

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ncfan-1 · 7 years

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I just want to say I adore all of the meta you've done on Eclipsa! And I loved your headcanon and fanfic on Skywynne being Eclipsa's first daughter too! Do you have any other headcanons about them or other past Mewni Queens?

Thankyou! I’m glad you liked the fic and the meta!

As forhead canons, well, I’m keeping some of my Eclipsa head canons under wraps untilwe find out more about her on the show, but there are some I can talk about.She had Skywynne (or whoever her older daughter turns out to be, if theyaddress this on the show and it turns out to be someone else) at a relativelyyoung age, nineteen. She married her Mewman husband when she was seventeen. Hewas only a year older than her; this wasn’t some ‘old man marrying a child’deal. They were friendly with one another (they liked to talk shit aboutmembers of the court they didn’t like together, and both trusted to the other’sdiscretion), and her feelings for him were… complex. So complex that Eclipsaherself can’t really define them.

Whydid she marry him? The Butterfly family sort of goes through cycles of having alot of branches or relatively few; in present-day, it’s pretty extensive, butin Eclipsa’s time, it was relatively small. Eclipsa didn’t have a lot of alliesat court, and her future husband was from a powerful family. When thingsdeteriorated, the fact that he was from a powerful family wound up workingagainst her. Badly.

Skywynne?Once her mother was crystallized, Skywynne did much the same as Elizabeth Iregarding Anne Boleyn and never spoke of her again. She wore some of hermother’s old jewelry from time to time, but otherwise, avoided any connectionto her. Skywynne had to work hard to rehabilitate the reputation of the crownin the eyes of the Mewman people after everything that went down with Eclipsa.She had to work equally hard to avoid falling under suspicion of sharing hermother’s “unconventional” beliefs, both regarding dark magic and the place ofmonsters in Mewni society. (Her natural position towards both was already inline with Mewman society as a whole. She was predisposed to fear and distrustdark magic, and was inculcated with the institutionalized racism of her people,which unlike her mother, she never shook off, nor even questioned. This didn’tmatter to the royal court.)

Skywynne’spersonal feelings for her mother were complicated, to put it mildly. Sheregarded her mother’s fleeing Mewni as a personal betrayal, and even beforethen, their relationship wasn’t untroubled. I talked about it in thispost, but basically, Eclipsa, though she loved Skywynne and she did try, wasn’t an ideal mother. AsQueen, she already didn’t have much time for her kid, but she was also, uh,consumed with other things (Research into dark magic. Trying to make strides inintroducing reforms into how monsters are treated. Stuff like that). Also,performing the constant emotional labor that comes with being an involvedparent didn’t come naturally to her. They didlove each other; they just didn’t have a perfectly untroubled relationship.Eclipsa was a bit absent, and Skywynne more than a little needy. They bondedover a shared love of spellcasting and research.

On topof regarding her mother’s fleeing Mewni as a personal betrayal, she wasrepelled by Eclipsa’s experimenting with dark magic (though like the rest ofthe MHC, she didn’t know exactly what Eclipsa did, and never cared to find out)and repelled by the notion that monsters should be regarded as equal toMewmans. Her feelings towards Meteora were resentment that this was the childher mother had “replaced” her with mixed with quiet revulsion of theabomination she and society both regarded a Mewman-monster hybrid as being.

Butlike Eclipsa, Skywynne had a fascination with incredibly dangerous magic, though unlike her mother she had thegood fortune to be drawn to magic that wasn’t regarded as “dark.” Unfortunatelyfor her, time magic happens to be even more inherently dangerous than most ofthe dark magic her mother came up with. She died a rather gruesome death whenone of her experiments went wrong.

Otherhead canons?

-Skywynne had a twin girl and boy at the age of thirty-five, and no otherchildren.

-Celena the Shy, like Star, read Eclipsa’s chapter, and like Star, made use ofthe All-Seeing Eye, though she did so much more than Star did. A bit too much,in fact. Her insatiable curiosity led her towards “things men were not meant toknow”-type knowledge, and as tends to happen when someone stumbles on “thingsmen were not meant to know”-type knowledge, Celena did not come away from thatmentally unscathed. Many of her contemporaries thought she held her fan up toher mouth as some sort of nervous tic. It was in fact because of a curse thatwas laid upon her; I’ll leave that one to your imagination. The fact that shewears gloves over her hands may be significant.

-Celena favored plant creation magic. She wasn’t much of a fighter.

- Eclipsamet her monster lover/possible second husband shortly after she became Queen.She had a number of monster friends that she made when she snuck out of thecastle while she was still just the princess.

-Someone, I think it was @nomidot, head canons (or head canoned; I don’t know ifthey still do) Eclipsa’s mother as being blind. I like that head canon, so ifthey don’t mind, I think I’m going to use it, too. My version of Eclipsa’smother was named Persephone. She went blind as a young child due to illness.She could be rather distant with the court, fierce with her own child, but shestill loved Eclipsa very much, and Eclipsa spent much of her childhoodpractically attached to her mother’s hip. Eclipsa didn’t like to worryPersephone, though she spent plenty of time worrying about Persephone. Persephone had an ebony cane with a silver handlethat she used to walk with.

-Eclipsa’s father died when she was a little girl; she has no clear memories ofhim. Her mother died when she was fifteen.

-Eclipsa’s first foray into dark magic involved trying to bring her mother backto life. It ended badly. Really badly. The results were… Well, imagine theresults of human transmutation in FMA: Brotherhood if the result was actuallythe person the alchemist was trying to bring back to life, and you get thepicture. What was brought back didn’t survive very long.

-Already reeling from the loss of her mother, Eclipsa sank into a deep, numbdepression after her attempt to bring her mother back to life failed so spectacularly.Her first husband supported her through it (though he didn’t know about theresurrection attempt; no one in the royal court did), hence Eclipsa’s verycomplex feelings for him. No one else had been willing to do that; just him.She sort of fell in love with him during this period. It wasn’t an enduringlove; what it was was lingering.

-Solena died by committing suicide.

- I’mwavering on whether the “a castle stormed” in Solaria’s tapestry poem refers toher castle being stormed, or her storming someone else’s castle, namely acastle belonging to the monsters. Right now, I kinda want to believe that whatwe know as the Butterfly family’s castle was originally a castle belonging tothe monsters that Solaria sacked and conquered. After she conquered the castleand established it as the home of her court, any references to it having oncebeen the monsters’ castle were thoroughly effaced. Whether or not I stick withthis head canon, I’m head canoning her as one of the earlier Queens of Mewni,rather than being one of Eclipsa’s descendants.

-Bubipsa the Barbarian Baby-Eater… oh boy. Right now, I’m head canoning the‘barbarian’ part of her epithet as coming from her having a Johansen father. Asfor the ‘Baby-Eater’ part… She got away with it because the babies in question weremonsters. Yes, really. Even the ultra-racist Mewman royal court regarded thisas being beyond the pale of acceptable behavior, because, you know, babies. Since they were monster babies, though, the MHC didn’tregard this as a crystallizing offense (Though Rhombulus was still appalled.Hence why he cites his mistaken recollection of Eclipsa as being a baby-eateras justification for crystallizing her). Bubipsa was eventually killed when herdaughters staged a coup against her; eating babies wasn’t the only unsavorything she was doing, as it turns out. Oh, and no matter how evil you thinkEclipsa might turn out to be, Bubipsa was worse. Much worse.

- Thetreaty Comet intended to sign with the Monster King… Well, monsters would havebeen better off if the treaty had been signed, but that’s more because therearen’t too many ways they could be worse offthan because it was a fair, equitable document that was going to signal thebeginning of a new age of peace and friendship between Mewmans and monsters.Comet’s particular brand of racism was the (not really) “benevolent” kind. Thekind of benevolent racism that believes in noble savages and ExceptionalMonsters and “separate, but equal.” Which is to say, still hella racist. (I don’t have a hard head canon for why Toffeekilled her, not yet. I’m still hoping the show will address that directly.)

- Star (is not a past Queen of Mewni, but she’s on here anyways)was originally left-handed, but when she was about seven years old, she brokeher arm while playing (Let’s be real, given the stuff we know she got up topre-S1, she probably wound up with broken bones at least a couple of times).Her mother let the break heal naturally rather than heal it with magic to tryto teach Star a lesson about being reckless (And because healing magic can bekind of dicey and Moon isn’t an expert, but she told Star it was to teach her alesson about recklessness). One of the consequences was that Star had to learnto write with her right hand while she had the cast on, and couldn’t reallywrite with her left hand anymore even after the cast came off. She still usesher left hand for plenty of stuff, and is still left-side dominant, but shewrites with her right hand nowadays.

(Theissue muddling this is that pretty much anyone who’s left-handed has to learnhow to do certain things with their weak hand. I’m left-handed, and I can tellyou that the average left-hander uses their right hand for more things than theaverage right-hander uses their left hand for.)

#Svtfoe #Head canon #TW racism #TW xenophobia #TW suicide #TW cannibalism #(is it still cannibalism if they're both sapient but are of different species?)#Go Seeking Knowledge #Eclipsa Butterfly #Skywynne Butterfly #Star Butterfly #Comet Butterfly #Bubpisa the Barbarian Baby-Eater #Solaria Butterfly #Solena Butterfly #Celena Butterfly #Anonymous

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