#it’s just incredibly strange to me what’s going on. it feels like a massive misunderstanding and yes poor judgement

[geneticallymodifiedidiot]

the ocean

i'm gonna be honest right now: this is my attempt at a trans metaphor and it's entirely possible this falls apart immediately, it's entirely based on my own experience and i came up with it at 4 am

it is also quite long

For most of my life, I lived near the beach outlooking the ocean. I’ve seen the masses of people with me on the beach, but none of them seemed quite as fascinated with the ocean as I was. I’ve met other people who have also seemed to love the idea of the ocean, and I’ve seen many of them eventually decide to join the people that are already swimming, or even living in the ocean. As I watched them in admiration, I wondered if I, too, would be happier in the ocean than I am on the shore.

I wondered this for one simple reason; the beach is hot. The sun beats down on the land and my skin, and I feel like I’m getting burned almost constantly. Strangely enough, none of the other people on land seem to be aware of this at all, and I can’t fathom why. The sun has been scorching me my entire life, sapping my energy and my health, and I can’t understand why anyone else would want to stay on the land when the ocean is right there, cooling and soothing. However, before recently, I never went into the ocean myself. It didn’t seem right; the people in the ocean, that small minority, seemed to have some ineffable quality that made them “need” the ocean more than I did. I could survive on the beach and not claim something I didn’t deserve. 

As I grew older, though, the sun got hotter. More and more of my friends who seemed similar to me began going into the ocean, and I began to wonder if it would be best for me after all to escape the sun. I began to slowly leave the beach and grow closer to my friends, getting nearer and nearer to the surf.

Do not misunderstand; I had friends that seemed as unfascinated with the ocean as many other people I had seen on the land, but they seemed to be… different from me. I wondered, if I had been born in a different life, would the ocean be an enjoyable experience for me? Could it have made me happier? These thoughts swirled in my head as I grew nearer to the waves lapping the shore of the beach.

However, as I drew closer, I began to realize that the ocean was not all it seemed. People getting into the ocean were fighting with it, battling massive waves that beat down on them. I sat at the water's edge for a long time: minutes, hours, days, months; it may have even been years. I decided to wade slightly into the water, just to see what it would be like, and if it could possibly be worth battling the waves. However, I still hesitated. What if the ocean wasn’t meant for me? Why should I need relief from the hot sun from the water, when so many others seemed to be unaffected by the sun that scorched my flesh daily? What if I didn’t deserve the ocean? Maybe I just needed to ignore it. But before these thoughts could progress further, a larger wave came and lapped at my feet.

It felt incredible. I could almost feel my skin sizzling as the ocean drew out the heat I had been absorbing from the sun’s rays my entire life, and I began to believe that the ocean may be right for me. But still, I hesitated to commit.

More and more people I knew went all the way into the ocean, battling the huge waves, and I lingered on the edge for the longest time. Eventually, one of my other friends, one who had been in the ocean for as long as I had known them, decided enough was enough, and encouraged me to take the leap of faith and try to brave the ocean, and see if it was the right thing for me.

But I was still afraid. Because of my young age, I am reliant on people on the shore who would not approve of me going in the ocean, who would not approve of anyone my age going all the way into the ocean as I so desperately wanted to try to do. I sent another part of myself, promising it I would nurture it with feelings of the cooling sensation of the water, back onto the beach to appease those people, and hopefully distract them from the fact that I was also battling the water. As soon as it walked onto the beach, I could feel the memory of the sun’s scorching rays as if they were occurring again, and as they walked onto the beach, it seemed like I shared its pain. Splitting my form like this had been incredibly difficult, but with my last shreds of energy, I waded into the surf. 

It felt… correct. The ocean was what I had needed for my whole life, but I had never known it. I briefly grieved the fact that I had spent my childhood being scorched on the shore, and that I would need to have a part of me be burned by the sun for a very long time, and realized I would have to carry that grief for as long as I lived. 

It was easier for me to be myself around those who couldn’t see me, who only knew me through a facade known as The Internet, because they didn’t have to look at me and realize I still looked exactly like my old self, the one who had spent all their time on the land. Interacting with people who I knew before was much, much harder. I hated my appearance, but still I kept going, because I had seen that those who had gotten far enough could change their appearance. There was no one in the ocean who judged me for my appearance, in fact, I have been given nothing but kindness and acceptance from others in the ocean, but still my mind lingered on the fact that I had not changed. Not all who wandered into the ocean did, or wanted to, change, but that was for them to decide. I loved everyone in the ocean, as I had loved some of those on the beach, and I understood the terror of changing from the skin you inhabited for the majority of your life. At least, that was why I thought they chose not to. However, after hearing their experiences, I realized that they didn’t feel the need to escape into a different body. As much as I wish I could be like them in this aspect, I’m not. I desperately want to not inhabit this flesh prison that has undergone so much pain and that I barely recognize as my own, in a way that I need to escape. 

Then the waves began. Before, the sun had been my enemy, but now the sun from the other part of me and the waves from the battle I was truly fighting began to combine in a vicious and relentless battle for my sense of self, and I could feel myself almost begin to fall apart. While the ocean had begun healing the damage the sun had done to me for years, I was not completely fixed. Now, the waves tore at the seams where the sun had done the most damage: my shoulders, the extent of my height, my hands, and most of all, slamming my face with such force that it felt like I would lose all skin and flesh there, becoming nothing but a naked, grinning skull, with my hopes laid bare and failed.

Not once did I consider leaving, though. Well, I did consider leaving, but thinking of leaving the soothing waters and going back into the searing, burning heat the sun exuded onto the land was torturous to even think about, more so than the non-stop pounding of the waves. On occasion, the waves would slow, and I began wondering if the ocean would pull away, abandon me, leave me to be fried by the sun for the rest of my life with no chance to go back. .

I haven’t heard anyone else complain about the terrors that the surf holds, unlike the joys: sometimes I wonder if the ocean is trying to tell me to turn back, that it does not want me. At this point though, turning back seems unthinkable. The ocean has made me feel whole for the first time in my life, despite being split into two selves. One day, I hope to recall that part of me, and not hide the fact that I am in the ocean. But while I am reliant on those on land that may not accept the fact that I wish to spend my life in the ocean, this is not an option. The only thing keeping me going is seeing those that made it past the waves, to the open ocean, and imagining myself among them. Of course, there are still waves present, but they hold much less force than those nearer to the shore where I currently exist. At least, it seems so to me, and I hope someday I can reach that blessed sector of the water.

As of now, I’m… still fighting the waves. The other part of myself I created still needs my energy, but I’m able to slowly reclaim parts of it as I am able, and I will see how much I am able to reclaim before it becomes obvious to those on the land that I am not who I seem to them. I will say this for the sun: before I noticed it, it was a subtle killer. There are probably many people that I have not met that do not realize the amount of damage the sun is doing to them, and maybe they will one day join in the fight through the waves to reach the open ocean. Be that as it may, I would rather fight through these waves dozens more times than be exposed to the unfiltered sunlight again.

[ferrstappen]

I can’t believe Lando tried to play it off like him talking to that other woman didn’t mean anything, he didn’t have feelings for her and that he wasn’t cheating on reader 😒

Even if it wasn’t physical he was definitely having an emotional affair (which in my opinion is crueler to your partner than just sex) other wise he wouldn’t have brought the sidechick to his parents how after such a short time period

I wanted to throttle him when I noticed the time line. He expects people to believe that he got over the break up with reader, fell for this other woman, got romantically involved with her, started dating her and that their relationship got serious enough that he’s bringing her over to his parents house all in the span of only two months? That’s such bullshit! The only way that this realistically works is if he did start dating her while he was still in a relationship with reader and he only rejected her publicly because Max and Kelly were watching

Why else would he be dating the woman that was the catalyst of his relationship ending? If he wasn’t having an (emotional) affair with her he should’ve been super angry with her for crossing boundaries like that knowing he was in an exclusive committed relationship with reader

Sorry for ranting but this guy makes me so mad! Why can’t he just treat reader with at least a little bit of respect?

AAAAAGH HE JUST MAKES ME SO MAD! I WANT TO BITE HIM AND NOT IN A CUTE WAY

I hope Max and all their other mutual friends cut off Lando instead of welcome his homewrecker girlfriend into their friend group because that would be to awful for reader

I think it would only be possible for Lando and reader to reconcile either platonically or romantically if he isn’t actually dating this other woman and her being on his yacht and at his parents house is just some strange convoluted misunderstanding because at this point his actions are completely unforgivably selfish and cruel.

Sorry for rambling I’m having emotions about this

Hello my love! First of all I am so deeply incredibly sorry for taking so long to answer because this is the best best best feedback I've ever received and actually had to red it so many times to fully grasp you gave the story so much thought so thank you so much, you make my heart all soft and fluttery <3

and yes, I'm 100% with you with emotional affairs being worse than physical, especially in these cases where something IS going on, you are exchanging messages, you are creating a bond, and after the relationship is over and you're alone with your thoughts (in this case the reader) the feeling of being a burden, an impediment for Lando and the other girl being together is such a heavy and horrible feeling, especially when he brings her home after such a short period of time, it only makes getting over the heartbreak even harder.

When I think about it and the reader's place in this I feel so so bad, because her feelings are constantly contradicting each other; hating Lando for being a shitty boyfriend, for being selfish, putting her through this, breaking he heart and her trust, but at the same time mourning the loss of her lover, her partner, the loving and goofy Lando she loves and coming to terms of this dual feelings, in my opinion, are one of the most difficult thing to overcome because her head and heart are a mess, but at the same time in these situations everyone has an opinion (mostly "he's an asshole he is not worth it"), and that may be true but that doesn't just erase the feelings.

AND ALL OF THIS, you know getting over Lando and what he did, at the same she's going through a massive change of scenery because she turned her life upside down to accommodate Lando and make the relationship work, which also leaves her with something of an identity crisis I think? and we don't have to forget that when a third person is involved you feel the ugliest mix of feelings, just lie she tells Lando, she feels worthless. there's so many things going on inside her head.

And about the relationship between Lando and the friends... it's an interesting thing when the group is friends with both parties, they know both sides of the story and maybe they want things to remain the same but we all know it's not gonna happen so in my mind Max reprimands Lando 100% but doesn't leave his side and reader kind of becomes a forbidden subject, and he ends up having a good relationship with Lando's new girlfriend because he's the best friend.

I already started writing the last part and I hope it'll be up soon, even if im still not a hundred percent sure of the ending, hopefully I'll get inspired <3

thank you so much honey for your message <3 I love you sososososos much <3 x

[darkmaga-retard]

Your daily dose of natural disasters and amazing phenomena for August 28, 2024...

Strange Sounds

More than a century ago, someone named Ewart placed a postcard in the mail. On one side, he scrawled a short note addressed to Lydia Davies, who lived at 11 Cradock Street in Swansea, Wales. The other side featured a beautiful print of a stag standing beneath a blanket of stars. Earlier this month, the card reached its final destination, just 121 years after it was sent…

The front of the postcard features a print of The Challenge (1844) by English artist Edwin Henry Landseer…

A real challenge, indeed!

See a Mysterious Postcard That Was Delivered 121 Years Late…

Don’t go in. Don’t spend your money there… We’ve really let this go too far in the name of “safety”, my fellow Americans. We keep giving up more and more freedoms- willingly- out of fear! And somehow, I feel less safe. Our personal information is NOT corporate data. This is wrong- our privacy is gone. Somewhere in NYC…

Ho Macron, what’s your next step? And you you probably forgot that Pavel is also a citizen of the UAE… The United Arab Emirates has completely FROZEN the implementation of a contract to purchase 80 fighter jets from France following the arrest of Pavel Durov…

Interesting. Seems like its time for them to weaponize their Genetically modified mosquitoes… So is anybody buying this?https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/R3jzdWbf1U4?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0

The canton of St. Gallen, Switzerland, has detected high levels of fluorochemicals (forever chemicals) in meat, milk and soil. The government is now banning the sale of meat in the area and calls for a national action plan. Too high chemical levels in meat – sales ban in St. Gallen…

Pre-Historic Mega Structure - Sage Wall, Montana…https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/neOHDmmYFdk?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0

So Russia is threatening to destroy the pipeline they use to send propaganda into the US right before the election? Pardon me if I don't take that seriously… Russia is signaling it could take out the West's internet and GPS. There's no good backup plan…

Delta plane tire explodes at Atlanta airport, leaving two dead and one seriously injured…https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/_ISupQ8L0EE?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0

After 19 years, photos of the Haditha Massacre that the U.S. Marines didn’t want the world to see have been released following a FOI request. The killers all avoided jail, and are free men…

Massive flooding after heavy rain in Gujarat, India leaves 15 dead, 20,000 evacuated…https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/-ladSN4CGuI?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0

These faggots love their backdoor obviously… SARS-CoV-2 virus uses a secret 'back door' to infect the brain…

Recently, China's largest desert, the Taklimakan Desert in northwest China's Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, experienced flooding due to the the melting of surrounding mountain glaciers and snow…https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/EQQdDKcgBZU?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0

Am I misunderstanding the title? No, I understood the title just fine. It's just the story is so much worse… Husband admits adding cocaine, MDMA to wife's Cokes in hopes he would marry her daughter…

A 110 year old sunken shipwreck was found near Antarctica in 2022…And the story of the people who were on the Endurance is incredible…

Even when it's Connecticut its still a Florida problem… Couple in Lamborghini kidnapped and beaten while house hunting…

The Uruguayan footballer Juan Izquierdo (27) was pronounced dead by his club Nacional last night. He collapsed on the pitch due to cardiac arrhythmia 5 days ago…https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/e32c2PYQVNs?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0

My wife is not going to pay to use her kitchen timer… After a decade of free Alexa, Amazon now wants you to pay…

Farmers take massive hit following hailstorm in Connecticut…https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/cg3QyzvHokQ?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0

A new study analyzed crop yields of more than 1,500 fields on 6 continents, and found that production worldwide of nutritionally dense foods such as fruits, vegetables, nuts and legumes is being limited by a lack of pollinators. The study is timely given concern about global declines in insects…

Yesterday, Aug. 27th, a CME struck Earth. At first, the CME's impact appeared weak and, indeed, it did not cause an immediate geomagnetic storm. However, during the early hours of Aug. 28th, magnetic fields in the CME's wake linked to Earth's magnetic field, causing storms of category G2. Auroras were photographed in Europe and the USA.

[rpbetter]

I'm so tired of roleplaying with people who don't put half the commitment I do into our threads and muses. I'm so tired of feeling like I'm a weirdo or like I don't belong for that. Any other hobby and people wouldn't care if I took it seriously. Why is roleplaying different? How can I keep going like this if I'm getting rudeness from all sides? I can't even go outside my already tiny bubble and find more partners, because I always see people putting roleplayers like me down and it's exhausting.

"Why is roleplaying different?"

Well, Anon, I know that was a rhetorical question, but I have some thoughts on that. To the surprise of no one!

I strongly believe that this is an issue with how fandom has come to dominate roleplaying. As I've said before, it really wasn't always like that. Of course, you always had canon characters and almost all RPers were invested in a fandom or two. The difference was that online RP was once viewed much more like tabletop RPGs are.

When the RPC became a near-total offshoot of Fandom, a lot of shit changed and very rapidly...and within Fandom, a lot of shit was changing very rapidly as well at that time.

RP has always been something looked down on (though, at least no one ever accused written RP online of being literally demonic like they did DnD, or made correlations to murder sprees like they did LARPing, so there's that) as strange, not the good, understandable sort of dorky.

Part of that is almost certainly because of the difference in the way society views writing vs the way it views hobbies like gaming - writing is seen as an intellectual pursuit and a job, gaming, even at its most negative points of view in wider society, has been seen traditionally as a downtime activity only.

But. RP was not looked down upon from within Fandom or in roleplay communities themselves like it is now.

When the whole experience of fandoms themselves became extremely mainstream and open, it welcomed in a ton of shit ideas and behaviors that were not previously prevalent. It changed RP, too, along many of those same lines.

When your hobby is considered objectionably weird by people within the fandoms you love and RP in and that makes you a sort of lowest-tier fan, the viewpoint of RP to RPers becomes something lesser than a valid hobby. When RPers are the same people who engage with Fandom monetarily, anything not monetized is passively consumable content, including RP. And RPers are trying to both deflect shame and struggling with wider society's mixed messages, that now hit them everywhere online as well. Shit like, "you don't have to monetize your hobby, it's okay to just make really good cross stitches of memes for yourself" and "if you're not paying me, you have no control over me."

We seriously do not view RP as a proper hobby anymore, that's why. There are many factors to that, those are just few, but that's the ultimate answer. It's not seen that way because it's not valued in the same way.

I think much of the problem with muns losing their entire shit over anyone else approaching the hobby differently, dare I say...more seriously, is related to a lot of complex psychology about self-esteem, control, and anxiety. So many people here struggle with serious self-worth and confidence issues, and I think to many of them, whether they realize it or not, when they see serious RPers, they feel like that's an inherent judgment and a danger to their own enjoyment. Because RP, as writing, is a skilled hobby - the more you practice it, the more skilled you become with it. Meaning that someone who approaches the writing seriously is going to be at a higher skill level.

Enter the way we're training to think about writing again - when they see someone who is very practiced, skilled, and confident with their writing, the learned idea is that they're somehow superior in a nasty, personal way.

I most certainly do not think that makes it alright, it isn't, and I'm not very tolerant of it.

It's absolutely alright to engage with RP in any way you see fit. If that's extremely casual, it's a minor hobby for you, that's great! I'm so happy you're enjoying yourself, and I mean that in no facetious way. But not when that is the only form of it respected and accepted. It's just as alright to have RP as your primary, serious hobby!

The only way we can all enjoy a hobby with such great variance within it is by respecting each other's variables, not by vilifying them. It's recognizing that, no matter how much you enjoy the mun and/or muse, they're not engaging with the hobby in the way you are, it's not a good fit to write together. (Please, begging y'all to be friends with those who are different, not enemies, shit's sake. You've not got to write together to be friends!) Instead of labeling them and being hateful. Different =/= a threat.

And, to go off a bit lol y'all demonizing serious RPers really don't get that there are some intense tones of ableism and more going on in that narrative of yours, huh?

Not that anyone requires a reason to be serious about any hobby, but when people pick a hobby like RP as their primary one...you should probably have the maturity to consider why that is. Could it be that they focus on a hobby they can do from their homes and that requires low physical involvement, and has a degree of separation from direct socializing, for a reason?

Serious RPers tend to be limited in their ability to pursue other hobbies. Mental and physical health, region, finances, and ability to spend time outside of the home are all very common limits for those who "take RP too seriously/are addicted to RP."

Maybe take five seconds away from your own issues to consider that the person you're shitting on for something so minor as a difference of importance of a hobby might be the full-time caretaker of a special needs child, having to remain home and on a very small income. They might be chronically ill or suffer from agoraphobia. They might live in an area with no hobbies of interest, affordability, or at all...or they might live somewhere that is incredibly dangerous for them.

I honestly do not know where these people have been that they've been aggressed at by serious RPers, but that's usually the excuse. (I'm not saying it has never happened or does not happen, before anyone goes there.) The idea that serious RPers are extreme elitists who are demanding that other muns do what they do, how they do it. That they expect other muns to be online and RPing all the time, that they be "available for entertainment at all times" at the cost of real-life matters. Having the expectation that threads not be dropped constantly or that a writing partner not leave for months with no contact is neither of those things.

In over two decades of RPing across almost every platform type that has existed, I have literally never seen that be either a singular RPer-type problem or one that serious RPers are even more likely to deal in. I've seen the opposite, actually. Which is not a condemnation or a statement that all casual RPers do this, just what my experience has been. And one that actually stands to reason based on the way they view and engage with RP - quick replies, quick entertainment, and very low commitment to threads, muses, or other muns. Of course, it's annoying to them when a more serious RPer is unwilling to do rapid-fire style quick, short threads from an ask with them, but is writing the lengthy replies they already owed instead.

That's probably a factor as well, in here among a plethora of misunderstanding/unawareness of differences - for many serious RPers, it's not easier and more fun to write short, quick threads. So, what a casual RPer is seeing is that they're willing to put all this extraordinary effort into a massive reply to someone else while their easy, fun, quickly done thread is waiting in line.

Misunderstandings and unawareness breed hostility, period. And there is a hell of a lot of those things in the RPC.

What serious RPers are expressing are either boundaries/expectations or frustration. Not a demand that you be around all the time, but an expectation that you leave them alone if you're not also a serious RPer who will be committed to threads and muses. Not hostility and elitism, the frustration that it's already difficult to find muns who will work out before you add in the majority rule of casual RPers.

It's incredibly disheartening, frustrating, and honestly, a bit anxiety-inducing to constantly be the weird one, always have few choices, and to be at risk of being Problematic purely because you take the hobby seriously. You can't vent without someone jumping on your ass to remind you (even if you said numerous times that "real life comes first" and "people can do what they want") that omg, people have lives, people can do what makes them happy, it's just RP.

It's so upsetting when you think you might have found a good writing partner, then, you see a PSA they've reblogged about how it's a "hobby, not a jobby," and "no one owes anyone anything, ever." Excuse me, as that last one is a direct quote, let me redo it so it is verbatim: "no one owes anyone here anything - EVER !!!"

I said I wasn't very tolerant :)

But seriously, exactly what you've expressed is why I'm not...it's another form of controlling others instead of trying your best to control your own experience, and it's often extremely hateful. I'm not tolerant of anything like that, it's no longer supporting preferences at that point. When your preference is the only one that will be tolerated in the community, it's not a preference anymore.

It's something that makes others feel isolated, afraid of harassment, and depressed. It is a hobby and it isn't supposed to make you feel like that!

And, no, absolutely the fuck not lol the "answer" to this isn't that you're taking it too seriously and need to take a break. I'm so tired of seeing that shit tacked onto RPH responses and vents and PSAs. You're not saying that RP is making you feel this way, "just take a break and come back when you agree with everyone else" isn't a solution.

Of course, if you do feel like your time here has become so upsetting? Yeah, obviously, you should try to find some other things to supplement your downtime that make you feel happier again. Engage in some other forms of writing just meant for yourself, or that can be published as fics. Spend some more time on a game you enjoy for a while, or get invested in a new one. Learn to shape bonsai or make no-knead rolls. Whatever would make you happy as a hobby when you're not here.

Other than that, however, well...we're not going to be implying on this blog that you're too serious and need to take a hiatus until you have no emotional investment in your hobby. That's insane. I'd not say it about hiking, martial arts, dog obedience competitions, hobby farming, or painting either.

I wish I could think of some solutions as to where you could look that wasn't like this, but it's definitely the majority of the RPC. It doesn't help that, due to this, serious RPers have a tendency to quietly stick together and not venture out into the RPC. They're just not incredibly easy to find.

I will say that they tend to be:

novella - if you're not here for serious RP and sticking around for a while, you're not going to invest the time and energy into particularly lengthy writing

older RPers - I would say that twenty-five is probably the youngest, with early thirties to late forties being the majority

in fandoms with a large adult base of fans - even if it's a franchise friendly to, or even meant for, younger fans, if it has a particularly active adult fanbase, it's a better chance of finding serious RPers in it

as above, old fandoms - fandoms that have been around for a long time tend to have more serious RPers in them

fandomless OCs - tend to have a higher chance of being written by serious RPers than canons or heavily fandom-involved OCs

RPers who do not do a ton of advertising for their muse(s), but when they do, they don't advertise them based on activism points or trends

slightly more likely to not have an emphasis on highly aesthetic blogs, graphics, icons etc. - they use a modified basic tumblr theme, low on graphics, their aesthetics are not on-trend, for example

anti-content policing/"write what you want" style muns

muns with more extensive rules pages - they plan to be here for a while, they take writing, RP, and their muse(s) seriously, so, it's a bit more important to them to head off problems before they start

those with older characters/FCs - be that literally in age or the character being one that has existed for a long time

"stay in your lane" style muns - if they're opining on fandom or the RPC, they must really be angry about something

those with numerous and detailed headcanons - for example, their response to a HC meme ask like, "what's your muse's favorite ice cream flavor?" is going to be treated seriously, not simply answered with "mint chocolate chip because my bby is gross"

As usual, not a complete or perfect list. I don't fit some of the things on there! It could give you some things to look for when trying to find other serious RPers, though. It's based on observances from someone who was never a casual RPer, even as a minor (me, obviously), and maybe it could at least keep you from continuously running into hostility about your approach to RP.

I've honestly considered making a list of some sort expressly for RPers who are on the more serious end of the spectrum, but...in a RPC back when things were dominated by serious RPers, I did that sort of thing with a RPH I had, and it still got labeled as being a list for and by Elitists. I don't know that anyone would want to put themselves out there for potential harassment on tumblr, you know? It was a joke then, just having a group of RPers label you as an Elitist. Here, you get told to kill yourself, and none of us need more of that shit, right?

Try to hang in there, Anon, I know it's upsetting, and I'm so sorry that something fun has gotten to be like this.

Try to understand that these people are coming from a place of irrational defensiveness, often in response to bullying themselves at some point or feeling bad about themselves. That doesn't make it right, but it does make it easier to not take to heart.

And keep at it! In my experience here, once you find a group of people you fit into, it really is...A Group. Especially among RPers who are ostracized, they stick together, they promote each other, and they're very happy for their mutuals to become your mutuals. Once you find them, it unlocks so many opportunities for the interactions and type of RP you've been missing!

[monstrousromantic]

The Princess and the Spider - II

Words - 4100

           When Maeve woke the second time, she found that she felt somewhat better. She made to stand up but quickly stopped. Not only was she sore, but she was still incredibly naked. She blinked, trying to remember what had happened. She recalled the bear and the cliff but after that there wasn’t much. She thought she vaguely recalled food and a woman. The woman who had saved her. She did her best to take in the rest of her surroundings, but the fire only illuminated so much.  A glint caught her eye from the corner. Her armor. The metal ornaments on the leather glittered in the light of the fire and in that moment, Maeve found them infinitely more lovely than the finest gems in her father’s treasury. She did not like being in a strange place with no clothes, especially since the place was a cave. Taking one more glance around, ensuring her “guardian” truly was absent, she dropped the silk and made a beeline for her things.

           However, as her fingers gripped the armor, she found something to be deeply wrong. Why were the leather laces on the floor and not attached as they should have been? As she fumbled with the pieces, a frown stealing her face, a voice sounded from the entrance of the cave.

           “Princess? Oh good! You’re awake!” Sir’vera exclaimed. Maeve gawked. So the spider hadn’t been a fever dream after all. She did her best to maintain a neutral expression as Sir’vera effortlessly dragged a dead deer behind her. “Look what I got for breakfast! Since you’re still sick I’ll turn it into soup. You’re going to need your strength to get better.” She got to hanging the deer up by the entrance in the cave, tying the hooves with her silk as she spoke. She placed a bucket beneath the head, carving a small gash into the neck so that the blood would drain. When she turned, she seemed to be seeking her approval, nodding her head at the deer.

           “That’s a very nice catch.” Maeve said, unsure if that would suffice. Sir’vera beamed.

           “Thank you! But this is correct? This is how humans prepare their meat?” Her jeweled eyes stared down expectantly. Maeve felt her brows furrow. Was this not how Sir’vera normally prepared food? Maybe she just swallows the animals whole. Maeve wasn’t sure that she truly wanted to know, so she staved down her curiosity and simply nodded. She had curled in on herself, protecting what modesty she could, but Sir’vera didn’t seem to notice. The four eyes blinked, and her eyebrows furrowed. She scuttled over to Maeve’s makeshift bed and lifted the discarded blanket.

           “What are you doing?” The princess asked. The silk was draped around her shoulders and atop her head.

           “You must stay warm if you are to get better.” The spider said, a serious tone taking over her normally cheerful voice. She lifted Maeve away from her destroyed armor and plopped her back down on the blankets. “I don’t know very much about your kind, but I know you get sick easy. The widow told me everything I needed to know to save you.”

           “The widow?” Maeve asked, pushing the blanket off her face. Her curiosity outweighed her caution as she stared up at Sir’vera expectantly. She nodded.

           “Yes! She knows all sorts of things about humans. She was able to fill in some blanks for me. To be honest you’re the first I’ve ever seen up close.” She mused. Maeve took a moment to choose her next words carefully.

           “And what do you think of the first human you’ve ever seen?” She asked, as innocuously as possible. To that Sir’vera stilled before turning, a thoughtful look on her face. She came closer, the fur on her leg nearly brushing Maeve’s face as the spider stared her down. Glaring at the wicked talons on her fingers Maeve sat as still as possible as Sir’vera inspected her face. She felt a sharp nail trail down her cheek, beneath her eye, and then her throat. It seemed that spiders didn’t quite understand personal space. Maeve choked down her pride, not sure she wanted to risk offending her hostess.  

           “You’re very pretty.” She said. “You’re not very strong. Frankly, you are incredibly fragile. Honestly, I’m unsure as to how you ended up among the ruling species.” Sir’vera’s eyebrows furrowed. “And I only just now realize that’s likely incredibly rude.”

           “Very,” Maeve couldn’t help but remark, “But I think I understand why you might think that.” Sir’vera had the good graces to look embarrassed. At least, Maeve thought that was embarrassment. It was surprisingly difficult to read four eyes instead of two.

           “Well then you can say a rude thing to me in recompense?” What should have been a statement came out as a question. Maeve wasn’t stupid. As the fire beside her roared and Sir’vera settled on her massive abdomen the princess tried to think of the best way to take advantage of the opportunity that had just been granted to her.

           “I have no idea how to ask without sounding rude, so I supposed this is the time.” She remarked wryly. “What, exactly, are you?” And are you going to eat me? To her relief, Sir’vera laughed.

           “I was wondering when that question would come. I’m just me.” She grinned.

           “You…don’t know?” Maeve asked, unable to help herself. How could she not know what she was? Was she the only one of her kind? She’d said she had a mother, but Maeve noticed the distinct lack of a second spider-woman. Sir’vera’s smile took on a smug tone.

           “It’s not that I don’t know, it’s that the name we have for ourselves doesn’t translate very easily. I suppose you would call us spider-folk.” Her voice was gentle. Maeve hadn’t offended her. While she didn’t necessarily let her guard down, she was able to let herself physically relax for just a moment. She was so sore. Sir’vera spoke again, coaxing her with the promise of more answers to any questions she might have.

           Well I suppose this is the moment of truth. She thought.

           “Are you going to hurt me?” Maeve asked, her voice so soft she momentarily wondered if Sir’vera heard her. The wounded expression on the spider’s face told the princess she had.

           “No. Of course not. Why would you think that?” She asked.

           “You’re clearly a predator of high caliber.” Maeve placated. “You made a point of telling me how fragile I am. I just needed to make sure, I suppose.”

           Sir’vera blinked at her placidly. It seemed that Maeve’s attempt at flattery hadn’t done much. The spider stood, turning her back on the princess. Maeve could see as a pair of smaller legs, almost like knitting needles, pulled silk from the spinnerets.

           “I know I must look frightening to you, all things considered.” She stated. “But I promise, I don’t make it a point to hurt people. Not even humans.”

           With that, Sir’vera fell into silence. Despite Maeve’s attempts, the spider refused to say anything more as she wove her silk into something of use. Maeve sighed, staring at the cave entrance. The stag’s dead eyes stared back.

/*\

           Sir’vera wasn’t surprised to hear the gentle snoring. Maeve had fallen back asleep, likely a good thing, but she was still hurt. She supposed her wording was less than tactful, but still. It was a good thing that the princess had introduced herself as such.

           At least I didn’t have to ask if she was female. She thought. That likely would have brought on a whole other onslaught of misunderstandings.

           Sir’vera picked and pulled at the thread. Sometimes she had to whittle down the silk into smaller strands, being too thick for what she wanted. Right now, blankets for Cora and Tyrath were priority. They’d be showing up any day now and she was behind enough on the favor as is.

           She wove the thread into textile, creating a large duvet in only a matter of hours. She tended to get lost in her weaving when she was upset. Was she right to be upset? She wasn’t sure. As she searched her drawer for the cotton to stuff it with, she faintly registered a small shape lowering itself from the ceiling. The widow again.

           “So, what’s got you in a tizzy?” She asked, “My new husband was concerned but I needed him to catch dinner. What’s wrong?”

           “The princess hurt my feelings.” She confessed. “I don’t think I’m scary! In fact, mother always told me I was the least frightening of my siblings, far too friendly and soft for my own good. Was she right?”

           “Perhaps,” the widow responded, waving a leg, “but try and see things from the human’s perspective. She doesn’t know you, and it’s obvious how different you are from one another. She was brought here by an angry bear and an angrier ocean. Be patient with her. She’s feeling immensely vulnerable right now. Don’t be upset with her for protecting herself.”

           Sir’vera nodded, watching as the widow returned to her web. She berated herself as she finally allowed herself to look back at the sleeping figure by the fire. The widow was right. Maeve just needed time to heal up and get to know her better. That was all. She had been wrong to be offended. That’s what she told herself as she righted the misplaced hairs on Maeve’s forehead, placing them neatly back into the braids she’d woven.

           That was when a terrible stench took her nose, the water droplets on Maeve’s forehead telling her exactly what it was. Yes, the human princess was pretty. Capable of hurting Sir’vera’s feelings after a mere day of shared space. However, that didn’t mean the princess didn’t stink to high heaven.

           It was unlikely that she’d bathed since her trip into the ocean. If that could even be considered a bath. Scrunching up her nose Sir’vera backed away, realizing she had been negligent once again. Shame welled up in her stomach. She’d been messing this up from the moment she plucked Maeve from the water. First with the food and water, and now with the bathing requirements.

           She wondered at what to do. She doubted that Maeve would appreciate being unceremoniously dumped into the water, but she was also hesitant to wake her up. After the fall she’d had she needed rest to fully recover. That was when something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. The deer. She’d completely forgotten about the deer, and the blood had overflowed out of the bucket she’d placed. Four of the carpets she had so painstakingly woven were irreversibly stained a hideous shade of rusted brown.

           Sir’vera had to fight down the tears that were welling up in her eyes. This was such a disaster. Why had she even saved the human in the first place? She wiped at her face, careful not to nick her own skin with her claws.

           No, she thought, no I will not cry. It’s not Maeve’s fault and it’s not my fault either. I’ve never tried to prepare a deer this way before, it’s fine that there was an accident. And it was. Sir’vera had inspected the mess, telling herself to calm down as she observed the bloodstained illustrations. Just like that, she felt the welling tears diminish. She plucked one off the ground and held it up, blinking as she processed what she was seeing. It gave her an idea. Instead of disposing of the squares, she folded them up neatly. Finally, there was a purpose for that empty table just opposite the brazier.

           Yes, everything would be fine. That’s what she told herself as she took the mop from the little closet she’d carved into the rock. She’d get this blood cleaned up and butcher the meat. The widow had told her what parts of the deer humans liked to eat. She’d be fine to save the rest for herself. Besides, it would probably be better to get Maeve to eat before bathing. And so, with an actual plan in mind, Sir’vera got to work. Carefully she sliced through the hide with her talons. Everything would be fine.

/*\

           The third time Maeve awoke was probably the best. Where Sir’vera had been undoubtedly shunning her before, now she was smiling. She was standing next to the fire, a large cauldron sitting within the embers. As Maeve sat up, just as sore as before, she realized that Sir’vera was very studiously stirring a batch of soup. It didn’t smell quite like what the spider had made for her before, but it certainly wasn’t unappetizing. As Maeve looked to the spider questioningly, she smiled.

           “Good morning,” Sir’vera greeted. “You were asleep most of the afternoon. It’s just about nightfall. If you feel up to it, you can have a bath after we eat.”

           “You eat soup?” Maeve asked, startled. She immediately wanted to kick herself. It seemed that Sir’vera had finally gotten herself back into a good mood. Now Maeve just had to spoil it first thing. Why was she so worried about the spider’s feelings anyway? But Sir’vera didn’t pout, instead she laughed.

           “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I do have some human characteristics. Soup agrees with me just fine.” She assured. “I have a cookbook that some friends of mine traded for a set of blankets. It’s come in quite handy over the years.”

           Maeve, unsure what to say, remained silent as Sir’vera ladled a steaming spoon of soup into a bowl. She offered it up, smiling expectantly. Maeve took it. To her delight, it was just as delicious as the first bowl Sir’vera had given her. She gently sipped at the broth, studying Sir’vera carefully. Her safety had been assured, but then Sir’vera could have been lying. But if she’d been lying, then why bother to keep her alive for so long?

           The simple truth was that Maeve would have to trust the spider for as long as she was still healing. She would need time before making her way back to the castle. She frowned at the thought. Did she really want to go back? Perhaps Sir’vera’s lair would make a nice hiding spot while she decided. Sir’vera seemed to notice.

           “You look upset. Is the soup not good?” Her voice was too calm, too polite. Maeve might have only known her for a day but Sir’vera had not been shy with her personality. In fact, this was something she’d seen in several people, mostly servants, and it made her sad. She was bracing herself for Maeve to say something cruel. The princess shook her head violently, almost instantly regretting it as the dizziness set in.

           “No, no not at all. The soup is wonderful. I was just thinking about something is all.” She assured. Sir’vera visibly relaxed, her face growing inquisitive as the impassive façade faded. She took a few sips from her own bowl before glancing back over.

           “May I ask what you were thinking about?” Her voice was tentative. Maeve shook her head.

           “It’s nothing worth talking about. It’s just…” Maeve couldn’t think of a word, so she made do with the most disgusted sound she could make. She took a deep breath and immediately scrunched her nose. Beneath the smell of soup, something icky lurked. What was it? As she inspected her surroundings, she realized it was coming from her blankets. The smell of sweat permeated the air and she felt her face grow pink.

           Her. The nasty smell was coming from her. She sighed, placing her face into her hand. Sir’vera started, a panicked look crossing her face. Maeve shook her head and waved her off. Sir’vera settled but she still looked concerned.

           “What is it?” She asked softly, her delicate fangs glinting in the firelight as she spoke.

           “Well, can I take that offer of a bath once dinner is finished?” She asked, averting her gaze as she stared into her bowl. She was sore, hungry, thirsty, and now sick and sweaty. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so disgusting. All she wanted was to wash up, put on a fresh chemise, and sleep for a thousand years. At least, that was how she felt about it in that very moment. She could hear the humor in Sir’vera’s voice when she spoke.

           “Of course. There’s an underground hot spring just through that corridor there.” She gestured and Maeve balked. Indeed, there was a large passageway, just beside a stack of shelves. The opening was pitch black, and it was something that Maeve would avoid with a healthy amount of respect had she been alone. She could feel the distress physically wring her stomach. She hadn’t noticed the corridor there the first time she’d awoken, or even the second. Had she really been in such a bad way that she’d been completely oblivious to the gaping opening before her? The potential danger? Sir’vera took the bowl and helped her to stand, letting the blankets fall away. When Maeve went to protest Sir’vera shrugged.

           “We both have the same parts. Well, the same human parts. Nothing to be worried about.” She smiled. Maeve supposed it was true. Though she couldn’t necessarily see the tips of Sir’vera’s breasts, all it would take was a misplaced lock of hair for that to change. At this point, did modesty really matter? Maeve decided it didn’t, so with as much grace as she could muster, she let the spider guide her down the hallway, stark naked.

           Nude or clothed, she was still the princess.

           The hallway was dark, and as each step left her legs aching just that much more Maeve forced herself to persevere. She could faintly feel steam hitting her face, and that was when she realized something vital. Sir’vera could see in the dark much better than she could. She was about to voice her concerns when sparks caught the corner of her eye. Sir’vera had lit a torch, and even in the dimness of the light Maeve couldn’t help but gasp.

           The spring itself was exactly that. A spring. There was a small opening to let out steam and torch smoke, but that wasn’t what had her gasping. As Sir’vera rounded the room, lighting more and more torches, the ceiling began to glow. Maeve wasn’t sure what manner of gem they were, but crystals reflected the light across each other and back down. Three torches had rendered the room as bright as day. She turned to Sir’vera, astounded. She didn’t even have to ask.

           “Spider crystals.” She stated easily. “They come from hardened spider silk.” Maeve whirled, a thousand questions on her lips when Sir’vera waved her off. “Not now. You need to bathe. I didn’t want to be rude but, you do smell quite bad.” She winced sympathetically. Maeve couldn’t help it. She rolled her eyes.

           “Stench is unfortunately something no one can avoid, not even royalty.” She drawled, grumpily taking a step into the spring with Sir’vera’s help.

           Maeve hadn’t realized just how cold she’d been. Despite the sweat and the blankets and the fire, the water had her shivering. Not because it was chilly, the spring was quite warm indeed. It made her notice the cold that sat in her skin, all the way down to her bones. Her feet were finally warming up, and as the water ate away at the cold that even fire couldn’t conquer, she could feel herself sighing. Her muscles relaxed, the soreness fading just enough for her to notice. She faintly registered the sound of Sir’vera’s steps, and lazily watched as she crossed the small pathway to a cupboard.

           Maeve wondered if her senses had suffered in the fall. First the entryway and now this. She wasn’t usually so oblivious as to overlook something as obvious as the wooden vanity set in the far corner of the room. Sir’vera was clearly looking for something, digging around in drawers that wouldn’t quite close and cabinets with slightly uneven handles. Maeve wasn’t exceptionally alarmed, however, until Sir’vera got into the water herself.

           “What are you–?” Maeve was interrupted by a simple raised eyebrow.

           “I don’t sweat as much as you do, but I could also use a bath. I see no reason why we can’t use the hot spring together.” Her voice was stern, clearly unwilling to accept any argument. It was a small thing to sacrifice, Maeve decided. It wasn’t as though she were a man.

           The princess told herself that the blush was the result of the steam.

           Sir’vera handed her a bar. When Maeve inspected it further, she found it smelled like flowers. She glanced over to the side shyly before covertly trying to wash underneath her arms, where the smell had been worst. She hated smelling bad, more than she realized as she washed herself with a stranger sitting in the bath just next to her.

           “I was thinking about what you said earlier,” Sir’vera’s voice was soft as she casually ran the bar of soap down her arm, “and I realize I was being unfair.”

           “How so?” Maeve asked, appropriately startled.

           “You don’t know me, and you are correct. I am technically a predator, though I don’t really think of myself in those terms.” Her voice was firmer than it had been thus far. “You’re hurt and with someone you don’t know. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive. I apologize.”

           When Sir’vera turned to look at her, Maeve found that she believed the spider whole-heartedly. Her hair pooled around her guilty face, and Maeve’s response was near automatic.

           “It’s okay Sir’vera, I forgive you. I should also apologize. I was very quick to judge. It was unkind of me as well.” She said softly. Sir’vera seemed to brighten.

           “Does that mean we can be friends?” She asked, almost over-eager.

           Maeve though she was beginning to understand Sir’vera a bit better. She had been isolated for so long, and though she was certainly not human she clearly shared certain traits with them. She’d wager that Sir’vera was immensely lonely, and though Maeve was injured and healing she was still someone for Sir’vera to talk to. Maeve nodded.

           “Yes, we can be friends.”

/*\

           The search party had found something. In fact, they’d found it nearly an hour ago. They were just trying to figure out who was going to go and tell the king. The tracks didn’t lie, and the tracks told a tragic story indeed.

           The rain had washed away much of this story, the single stroke of lightning above mocking them. The bear’s pawprint had hardened in the mud, the one clear track on top of the princesses much less noticeable ones. They followed near the exact same trail, and though it vanished once it hit the grasses it was obvious what had transpired. There were no remains, no blood or clothes, so they didn’t think the bear had eaten her. But then, even a bear would not be so foolish as to chase her over a cliff.

           A short distance away from the troubled party, Prince Theron stared out across the field, wondering just what he should do about this if anything. He hadn’t necessarily wanted to have this princess’s hand in marriage. He didn’t know her, but that most certainly didn’t mean he wished death upon her. It was tragic indeed, because according to his spy’s reports she had felt much the same. She had stormed off to go on a hunting trip after her father had told her the news, never to be seen again. He felt the slightest bit sad for her. If only he’d known. If only she’d known. They’d have been able to talk at their scheduled courting dates. They could have figured something else out. They both would have had their happy endings.

           But alas, happy endings didn’t exist. As the prince turned his attention back to the darkening woods, he found himself sighing. It was a nice thought, but this was real life. That was why this poor princess, only but twenty, had ended up hurling herself off a cliff instead of surviving her fit of anger and returning home with a level head. Life was cruel, nature more so.

           The prince set off with his horse, the faintest twinge of guilt thrumming in his stomach. He was almost relieved. He wouldn’t be getting married anytime soon, but that poor princess at the bottom of the ocean? She wouldn’t get married ever.

[landofshame]

Blair Witch Project: The Scariest Movie Ever Made

So, I’ve been yapping on about the Blair Witch today and yesterday because the new game just came out. (By the way, finished it. It was ok. 6/10. Story is bad but game is fun enough and it’s worth the price. Also, dog.)

And the fact that even after so many years creators still don’t seem to be able to recreate what made the original so scary, or memorable, has always been very interesting to me. So here I go, writing a post about it.

Ok so, The Blair Witch Project was at the time said to be “the scariest movie ever made”, and it’s a title it still holds depending on who you ask. This was of course partly because of the massive hype surrounding it at the time, with a very creative marketing campaign, having the actors not doing any appearances or interviews (strengthening the idea that they had really disappeared), and a website with (fake) news articles, interviews, and news footage of cases surrounding Burkittsville, mainly the murder of seven children by a hermit called Rustin Parr in the 1940′s. All of this of course added to the scariness of the movie back in the day. When the movie came out they did a poll and apparently nearly 40% of the people who saw it believed it to be real. And even after the actors started doing interviews after the release of the film, there were still people who held to that thought.

But let’s push all that aside. Because if you watch the movie now you of course don’t have that marketing campaign anymore, and we also know 100% that it’s a fictional story. But it’s STILL one of the scariest movies.  And so many years later both movies and games are still trying to recapture it, and failing. But why? Why do they keep failing? And why are the Blair Witch’s iconic scenes, so, well, iconic?

What makes the original so scary?

For the uninitiated, a brief summary of the setup: Three students go into the woods near Burkittsville to film a documentary about “the blair witch”, a local legend. Mysterious things happen to them. They never make it out. That’s it. That’s the setup, it’s very simple. And not only that, but the movie never shows any other people, creatures, even animals, during the entire movie. It’s just three people, the forest, and specific sounds and visuals. Oh, and dread. A whole lot of dread. What’s instantly important about these characters and the setting is that they are very, very normal people. They are real, normal, even kinda boring, people. Not “hollywood” normal. But real normal. They have no tragic backstories, no particular personality traits that make them more “movie-esque”. Normal. 

And the legend they are investigating, the blair witch, is not a very hidden or particular legend, it’s comparable to the mothman. Some people believe in it, some don’t, most are indifferent. Heather, Mike, and Josh are not filming a documentary about it because they believe in it either, they just think it’ll be an interesting topic for class. Not a big deal, and they’ll get a nice camping trip out of it at the same time.

Before they go into the woods they interview a lot of people in Burkittsville itself, asking them about every strange story and occurrence they know of, whether it has to do with the blair witch legend of not. They hear the story of the child murders, of “one child standing in the corner of the basement while Rust killed the others”, of people having run-ins with the witch, of people drowning in the creeks. 

There are two main points to take from this 

 People have “seen” the blair witch and lived 

All these stories and legends seem to be individual pieces that over time have become entwined because they have one thing in common: the forest.

It is not any witch that is the real horror, it’s not even Rust. It’s the forest. 

I could talk for a very long time about each individual scene and event in the movie, and what makes it scary, and how it works, and how it adds to the storyline, but we don’t have time so I’ll go straight to the point:

The forest seemingly creates events, sounds, visions, etc, from the legends the people have made up over the years. And because our main trio have also heard them, they also have them in their mind when in the forest, so they forest creates them. The forest itself is seemingly some kind of lovecraftian location, or a strange dimension of some kind. Everything in it is contained within itself. Time, space, what is real and what isn’t, is not relevant to it. And neither is anyone in it. 

But not only that. It also creates things of its own. Things that stand outside what is “known”. And it is these things that are sometimes the scariest of all. It is the unknown. Maybe they are from sources so old that not even the current locals know of it. Examples are Josh disappearing with only his teeth and hair being found, the stacked rocks, and the famous stick figures. 

They can’t escape the forest because it seems to loop around. They can’t go out at night because they hear the sounds of children and branches snapping, and they get angrier and more frustrated at each other from hunger and frustration and fear the entire time. And the angrier and more scared they get, the more the forest uses it.

It’s extremely subtle and complex, and absolutely terrifying.

Why do modern versions keep missing the mark?

The million dollar question. Why, oh why, do people keep getting it wrong. By the way, I am talking here about the 2016 Blair Witch movie, and the recent game. I’m not including “Book of Shadows” because it was not actively trying to recreate the original, like the other two do.

In my opinion it’s a fundamental misunderstanding of how the original works. What makes it scary. What it is, and what it’s not.

One of the biggest mistakes they make is that they assume the legend of the blair witch is 100% real, and not only that but that she is absolutely the puppet master behind it all. And that every little thing in the forest is done BY her. This is a big mistake, because it puts a certain face on every event, it creates order out of chaos.

The reality that everything that happens in the forest is chaotic, fiction and reality blending together, time and space warping, is much scarier. The idea that everything happens through you. Your thoughts, memories, but not in a specific way. The forest doesn’t care about you, personally. It doesn’t think, or feel, or is a being. It just IS. 

When Heather says her famous “I’m scared to close my eyes, I’m scared to open them” line, it perfectly summarizes the whole situation. The forest is all around them, and everything in it. It is there when she looks, and when she doesn’t. Things will appear through her, to her. 

The SECOND biggest mistake, is that they not only say the blair witch is real, but she APPEARS. You SEE her. She has a FORM. And it’s consistent.  Again, this is putting a face on the horror. They always say “what you don’t see is scarier”, but it’s not just that you don’t see the witch in the original, she might not even be real. And it adds the horrible feeling of “but if she’s not real, then what is, and what is doing these things, and how did the legend even happen and who are these stick figures for”

Thirdly, the gore. Both the game and the 2016 movie are incredibly bloody and I have never understood why. There is VERY little blood in the original, the only time it shows gore is when Heather finds Josh’s teeth. And that moment hits like a truck BECAUSE we haven’t seen any explicit violence or blood up to that point. There were the stories of the murdered children, but that was never shown, and there isn’t any blood in the house either. So why all the gore?

New media wants to mythologize all the visuals and characters from the original, without realizing the original was able to create all those visuals and ideas without explicitly showing any of it. The blair witch is not creature horror, nor is it even just psychological horror. It’s something else. 

It’s the horrifying ordeal of knowing you’re insignificant in a very particular way. It’s not any “witch”, or the spirit of a child murderer, or a stream, or a house, or little figures made out of sticks.

It’s you. It’s the forest. It’s the “other” 

[jaybug-jabbers]

All-Glitch Pokemon Blue Run Pt12: The Ol’ Razzle ZZAZZLE

June,

What you were standing in was essentially a phantom town. You are correct-- they seem to be parallel universes we can sometimes gain access to. However, in our research we have yet to determine why they are seemingly void of life . . . or human life, in the very least. 

As promised, I am sending you directions now on how to make contact with glitchy people. Perhaps that will make these Glitch Cities and phantom towns seem a little less lonely. You must be very careful, though, June. Interacting with glitched people can be incredibly dangerous. Some of them are trainers, just like you or I, but they seem to often use glitched pokemon. 

That in and of itself is hazardous enough, but some glitched trainers can also trigger something called ‘ZZAZZ.’ The ZZAZZ phenomenon is one of the single most devastating things known to exist. It affects not only the trainer, but the trainer’s pokemon and the world around them. Even when glitch trainers do not trigger ZZAZZ, there are plenty of other strange effects to look out for. 

Exercise extreme caution, and be sure to report back to me any of your findings.

-Professor Gingko

---

Professor,

The glitch trainers are a strange bunch. I was eager to try and talk to them, but every one of them remained silent when I approached and greeted them. They held a blank expression, their eyes glazed over. Some of them looked like normal people, while others were recognizably human but highly distorted. Still others were simply a glitchy, twitching mess. 

I never could communicate with any of them, but I did succeed in engaging some of them in pokemon battles. I figured that was a type of communication, in a way. At least it helped me learn a little more about some of them. I kept careful notes of my encounters. I will list them here, organized by the number I’ve assigned them.

TRAINER #248:

This trainer was very thin and glitchy looking. My GlitchDex told me their name was “PK.” They began battle by sending out a Charizard‘M at level 26. 

This is the first time I experienced the ZZAZZ phenomenon. As you predicted, it had a powerful influence, transforming most of my own pokemon into Bulbasaurs-- all at the extremely high level of 153. Furthermore, they had forgotten most of their moves and instead only knew how to Explode. Some were also poisoned, possibly from toxic radiation caused by the glitch or the mutations. At the same time they were poisoned, they also seemed to have radiation burns, or they inexplicably fell asleep. The whole thing was incredibly disconcerting. 

It was frightening, but we fainted the Charizard’M on the first move. Next was a Farfetch’d, and after that was a Doduo. Things were going all right, considering the circumstances. After Charizard’M, these others seemed fairly normal pokemon, other than some odd sounds they made. But as the Doduo was counter-attacking, I suddenly passed out.

Passing out would be a very big trend for encountering glitch trainers, as it turned out. 

TRAINER #249:

This trainer seemed to be named  1◣ゥ' and sent out a glitch pokemon my dex identified as C9. It was level 32. As I switched pokemon, I passed out.

TRAINER #250

This one was named “48 :” and, like #248, sent out a level 26 Charizard’M. My pokemon did not seem afflicted with ZZAZZ, in the very least, but after the first move I made in battle, I passed out.

TRAINER #251

I cannot even confirm that there was a trainer in this encounter. I thought I saw one out of the corner of my eye, but I blacked out before meeting them. My GlitchDex, oddly, displayed some sort of error, its screen saying “Too bad! The trade was cancelled!” Was this glitch trainer attempting to trade with me, perhaps?

TRAINER #252

This one seemed to be named “Trainer 4.” Like the others, they sent out a level 26 Charizard’M. Something interesting happened this time, though. As I was fumbling through my item bag, a pokeball accidentally fell out and rolled away. The glitch trainer was offended and thought I was possibly trying to steal their pokemon, and kicked the ball away. I tried to explain it was a misunderstanding, but then they immedialy just . . . left. In the middle of battle. 

Normally this would not be much of a problem, but we were under the influence of ZZAZZ. Most of my pokemon were massively overlevelled exploding Bulbasaurs. I wandered around in that state for a bit, unsure what to do, trying to relocate the glitch trainer. As I wandered, I accidentally encountered another, regular trainer.

Or at least, I had thought they were.

DEATH TRAINER

The trainer looked just like me. It was like looking into a mirror, except my reflection had blank, glazed eyes. They didn’t speak, didn’t hold any sort of expression. Just sent out a Charizard’M. It was an often frustrating battle, as my pokemon were ornery and often disobeyed me, but we battled our way through the trainer’s team, first the Charizard’M, then Farfetch’d, then Doduo, and next Pidgey. All of them were level 26.

And we did it. We defeated their four pokemon. I was feeling pretty dang good about myself. But then . . . that trainer, still blankly staring at me, took another ball out-- one of the pokeballs my GlitchDex had identified as containing a fainted pokemon-- and released it. 

It appeared to be glitchmon #00. But my Dex detected its HP was at insane levels that simply went off the scale. It also had unusual moves for a #00, apparently; not just Water Guns and Sky Attacks. I did my best to battle it, but its bulk was ridiculous. I threw pokemon after pokemon at it, and even their Explosions at phenomenally high levels hardly left a scratch on it. Meanwhile, it was attacking with Waterfall, Sludge and Petal Dance. Sometimes Petal Dance meant it hit itself in confusion, which was nice, but it just wasn’t enough. Nothing seemed to be.

We dragged that fight on for maybe a half an hour long, as I had a Snorlax I wanted to stall out PP on so I could get him down to Struggle. But even that didn’t do much. The foe seemed to have infinite PP and infinite HP. When my last pokemon fainted, its HP bar was still going stronger then ever.

Then I blacked out myself.

TRAINER #253

This next trainer I tried seemed to just be named ‘ゥ.’ They sent out glitchmon #C9, at level 32, just like trainer 249 did. After a couple Ice Beams, it went down. There was something odd about this trainer, though. I mean, even ODDER than what was already a pretty messed up day. Instead of commanding their pokemon to fight, they used an item on them-- Guard Spec. They did it every single turn, though. They never gave the command to fight, they just kept dumping more of that medicine on their pokes. 

I can’t begin to imagine why. How could I know what went on in the mind of a glitch trainer? I could hardly even make out their face, let alone guess what they were thinking. But the battle continued like this, first with C9, then with Mr. Mime, Rhyhorn, Lapras, and Lickitung. Finally, the trainer ended with a Missingno. All of them had been at level 32, and none got a single shot off. I was starting to feel a little bad about fainting them like this.

Then the trainer put away their pokeballs and looked at me. Slowly, so slowly, they opened their jaw. 

In a very small, scratchy voice, I heard them speak.

“ 5 6 E R R O R”

I backed up a little, nervous. I didn’t understand what they meant. They thrust their arm forward, pushing some money at me. It took forever for their fingers to uncurl around the wad of cash and drop it in front of me.

Then, the entire world turned on its head.

I . . . . I don’t know what happened. I was suddenly inside some bizarre building. It felt familiar, but also completly alien. A man was staring at me from across the room for a moment, and then he vanished. 

I realized I felt very, very strange then. I tried to look down at myself. I . . . I swear to you, Professor, I didn’t have hands anymore, or legs, or even a body. I . . . I was . . . a ball. A pokeball. And I was rolling across the floor.

In my panic, I desperaly tried to move. I found I was able to adjust the direction of my roll, moving to the left or right, but I couldn’t completely stop my momentum. I tried to cry out, but I couldn’t speak. Then, I felt myself bump against something familiar. After a moment, I realized what it was: my GlitchDex. Despite the way my body was, I tried using it.

The world melted into pure chaos, twisting and writhing all around me, shapes, sounds, sensations, lights . . . like some sort of entirely disjointed, illogical nightmare. Yet, despite everything, despite the world falling apart all around me, I was still scrolling through the screen on my GlitchDex. I clicked on my Trainer Card to display.

I wondered how I could see without any eyes or a body. Was I . . . inside a pokeball? Was this how pokemon felt when they were inside one? Could they have vague senses of what was going on outside the ball? I could see my Trainer Card, distorted though it was. I tried something else, to access my pokemon menu. Maybe they could help me?

I reached out . . . but, then, only blankness followed.

TRAINER #254 

Somehow, after that nightmare, I woke up in front of the Pokemon Center, and everything was normal again. A little shaken up, but otherwise, everything seemed to be in one piece-- and in the right order. 

I wasn’t too terribly eager to continue my work after that, but I knew I had 2 glitch trainers left to try. If I wanted to finish the collection, I had to press on.

So I met with trainer #254. They seemed to be terribly similar with trainer #248. ZZAZZ was in full effect. I had learned during my experiences that if I threw a pokeball, these trainers would get upset and just leave me alone, so I ended up doing that again. After the trainer stomped off, though, I felt very dizzy and unwell. I checked my pokemon party to see if they were OK, but the GlitchDex didn’t display them. I took a few steps along the Nugget Bridge, thinking I would head back to the Poke Center, but then I passed out. 

TRAINER #255

At long last, the final glitch trainer. This one (named 14S, apparently) was terribly shy. I attempted many, many times to battle  them, but they kept running away. Usually when I approached them, sounds around me became distorted and very odd sounding. Finally, after around 20 attempts, the trainer stayed still and was about to let out one of their pokemon. 

And then I fainted.

CONCLUSION

I realize now how long this e-mail has become. Sorry about that. Hope you don’t mind. But I felt it was appropriate to give you a very detailed record of all my experiments. Especially considering how many times I fainted in order to accomplish all of this. Now that I’m done, I plan on visiting Saffron City for a little R&R. I figure I deserve some rest after today.

I’ll write you after my little break.

-June

---

End Notes

Glitches mentioned/used in this post

* Glitch Trainers

* ZZAZZ

Click for the next part of the series!

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Dec 11, 2019.

[loretranscripts]

Lore Episode 9: The Devil on the Roof (Transcript) - 28th June 2015

tw: animal death

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

In March of 2014, a hiker in Lithuania stumbled upon a warm spring that was melting the ice on a frozen pond. It’s not unusual to find things like this, but he was curious. I would be too – the pond was frozen over, but there was a nice window into the still waters beneath. I have to think any one of us would have leaned in for a closer look. When he did, though, he witnessed something that his mind had trouble processing. It appeared to be a living creature, but it was unlike anything he had ever seen. Thankfully we live in a very connected, very digital age, and he used his phone to take a short video. I have no idea what the creature was, or if it even was a living thing at all, and I’m not going to discuss it today, or tell you more stories about similar sightings, because there aren’t any. It was a one off, a random occurrence that had never happened before, and would probably never happen again. Some stories are like that – sometimes we bump into something new, with no history or record of events to lend it pedigree or validity, and those stories frustrate me. Other stories, though, go deep. Some legends have been told for centuries. Some creatures have been sighted by hundreds of people over the years, and each new sighting lends credence to its story. And even if it’s all made up, or just one big misunderstanding, these layers upon layers of story seem to somehow give life to the creatures they describe. When we find these deep wells of folklore, our minds are presented with a challenge. Do the centuries of first-hand accounts serve as a proof, or do they highlight our incredible, cross-cultural, nearly genetic predisposition toward gullibility? Few places challenge us to such a degree as the Pine Barrens of southern New Jersey. Inside that wooded expanse, mystery runs far and wide. Mystery, and some say, the devil. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

When we think of the east coast of the United States, we think of urban sprawl, of endless strings of bedroom communities, looping around massive metropolitan centres. New York City. Boston. Philadelphia. Washington DC. All of these places are symbols of humanity’s inability to leave an undeveloped area untouched. What most people don’t know, however, is that there is a huge expanse of forested land cutting through the southern part of New Jersey that simply boggles the mind. It’s called the Pine Barrens, and it’s the largest undeveloped area of land in the mid-Atlantic Seaboard. Seriously, this place is massive. There are 1.1 million acres of forest, and beneath it all are underground aquifers that are estimated to contain over 17 trillion gallons of the purest drinking water in the country. As you might imagine, such a massive area of untouched land comes with its own treasure chest of mythical creatures and frightening folklore. The local Lenape tribe of Native Americans tell stories of the Manetutetak, the wood dwarves who live in the forest, a local version of the global “little people” legend. There are other creatures rumoured to exist in the pines, including “Big Red Eye”, the “Hoboken Monkey Man”, undocumented species of large cats, the “Cape May Sea Serpent”, the “Lizard Man of Great Meadows”, and something called a Kim Kardashian. New Jersey, you see, is full of monsters.

But hovering over them all like a patriarch, perched at the top of an ornate family tree, is something that has haunted the Pines for nearly 300 years. The original story goes something like this: in 1735, one Mrs. Shroud of Leeds Point, New Jersey, became pregnant with her 13th child. According to the legend, Mrs. Shroud secretly wished that this child would be a devil or demon child. Sure enough, when the child was born, it was misshapen and malformed. Mrs. Shroud kept the deformed child in her home, sheltered from the curious eyes of the community. But on a dark and stormy night, because bad things only ever happen on dark and stormy nights, of course, the child’s arms turned to wings and it escaped, flying up and out through the chimney. Mrs Shroud never saw her devil child again. That’s the story - or at least one version of it. A more prominent version of the legend identifies the mother as Mrs. Leeds, not a Mrs. Shroud from Leeds, who was from the Burlington area of New Jersey. Mrs. Leeds, according to the legend, had dabbled in witchcraft despite her Quaker beliefs, and this hobby of hers made the old women attending her birth more than a little uneasy. To their relief, though, a handsome baby boy was born that stormy night, and he was quickly delivered to Mrs. Leeds’ arms. That’s when he transformed. His human features vanished, his body elongated and even his skin changed. The baby’s head became horse-like, and hooves replaced his feet. Bat-like wings sprouted from his shoulders and he grew to the size of a man. Other stories have persisted through the centuries as well. One claimed that the monster was the result of a treasonous relationship between a colonial Leeds Point girl and a British soldier, while another story tells of a gypsy curse. There seems to have been no town or county in the Pines area without its own version of the story. Many of them vary wildly. But one thing united them all: the description of the creature. In all the stories it was some sort of hybrid or mutation of a normal animal. Most of the stories describe it in the same terms: head like a horse, wings like a bat, clawed hands, long serpent tail, and legs like a deer. In some accounts, the creature is almost dragon-like. Coincidentally, the Lenape tribe refers to the Pines area as Popuessing which means “the place of the dragon”. Swedish explorers even named the area “Drake Kill”, kill being the Dutch word for river and drake meaning dragon. Whatever the truth is behind the origins behind this legend, and whatever its core features really are, the people of the Pines were united in what they called it: The Jersey Devil. And this devil was more than just a story that was passed from person to person. Over the centuries that followed, countless eyewitness reports surfaced that seemed to point to one overwhelming conclusion. The Jersey Devil… was real.

What makes the Jersey Devil so special is the quality of many of the sightings. Individuals with no need to make up stories, whether for political or professional reasons, all seem to have found the courage to report incidents that would normally be laughable. Stephen Decatur was a United States naval officer who was known for his many victories in the early 1800s. Decatur was, and still is today, a very well-respected figure in American history. There have been five warships named after him, he’s had his own stamp through the US postal service, and in the late 1800s, it was his face that graced the $20 bill rather than Andrew Jackson’s. According to the legend, Decatur visited the Hannover ironworks in Burlington, New Jersey in the early 1800s. The facility there manufactured cannonballs, something Decatur was very familiar with, and he had arrived to test some of the product. On this occasion, Decatur was said to have been on the firing range, operating the cannon. While there, he witnessed a strange creature flying overhead. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before and, like a true American, he aimed a cannon at it. He fired, and the shot was said to be true, striking the creature in mid-air. Mysteriously though, nothing happened. The creature continued on uninterrupted. Another early resident of New Jersey was Joseph Bonaparte, the brother of none other than Napoleon Bonaparte. Napoleon had appointed his brother King of Spain in 1808, but Joseph abdicated just five years later, before moving to the United States. He took up residence in a large estate called Breeze Point, near the Pine Barrens, and lived there for nearly two decades. One of his favourite past times was to go hunting in the Pines. On one of those hunting trips, the former King of Spain was in the woods near his home when he discovered some strange tracks in the snow. They looked like the tracks of a donkey but there were only two feet present, not four. Bonaparte commented on how one of the feet appeared slightly larger than the other, as if deformed in some way. He followed the tracks to a clearing, but stopped when the prints vanished. It was as if the animal had simply taken flight. As he was turning to leave, Bonaparte heard a strange hissing sound. He glanced back, only to find himself standing face to face with a large creature. He described it as having bat-like wings, the head of a horse, and it stood on thin hind legs. Before he could remember to use his rifle, the creature hissed one final time, flapped its wings, and flew off into the sky. He later described the events to a local friend, who simply smiled and congratulated the man. “You’ve just seen the famous Jersey Devil”, his friend told him.

The following decades were filled with more and more sightings and reports. In the early 1840s, a handful of farmers began to report the death of livestock on their land. In most cases, tracks were found but they could not be identified. Others claimed to have heard high-pitched screams in the Pines, a sound that would forever be connected with the Jersey Devil. By 1900, belief in the Jersey Devil was widespread and stronger than ever. Nearly everyone in the area believed that something otherworldly lived inside the Pines. Anytime disaster or death entered their lives, they cast blame on this creature, but some had also begun to do the math. If this creature really was the child of Mrs. Shroud and was born in 1735, then it was very, very old. Folklorist Charles B. Skinner commented on this in a 1903 publication. “It is said that its life has nearly run its course”, he wrote, “and with the advent of the new century many worshipful commoners of Jersey have dismissed, for good and all, the fear of the monster from their mind”. Skinner, you see, thought that it was gone - that the Jersey Devil was too old to carry on terrorising the people of the Pines. But when the events of 1909 unfolded, just six years later, one thing became very clear: Skinner couldn’t have been more wrong.

January 1909 was a busy month for thpe Jersey Devil. In the early morning hours of January 16th, a man named Thack Cozzens was out for a walk under the stars in Woodbury, New Jersey. A sound caught his attention, and he glanced up, only to see a large, dark shape fly past. Cozzens recalled noticing that the creature’s eye glowed bright red. 26 miles away that same early morning, in the town of Bristol, Pennsylvania, a number of people reported seeing a similar creature. One eyewitness, a police officer named James Sackville, actually fired his handgun at it, without effect. E. W. Minster, the town postmaster, also saw the flying thing, and according to him, it also unleashed a high-pitched scream. When the sun rose that morning, several people reported finding strange hoof prints in the snow. No one could identify the kind of creature who would leave such tracks. And just one day later, on the 17th, unusual hoof prints were found in the snow outside the home of the Lowdens in Burlington, New Jersey. The tracks surrounded their trashcan, which had been knocked over and rummaged through. Other people found tracks on their rooftops. Trails were followed into streets, where the tracks would simply vanish. The Burlington police tried tracking the creature with the help of hunting dogs, but the dogs refused to follow the trails. At 2:30 in the morning on Tuesday the 19th, a Mr. and Mrs. Evans were asleep in bed in Gloucester, New Jersey, when a scream awoke them. They both climbed out of bed and approached their window, and then stopped, paralysed by fear. There on the roof of their shed stood a creature unlike anything they had ever laid eyes on. According to Mr. Evans, it was roughly 3ft tall and had the head of a horse. It walked on two legs and held smaller, claw-like hands against its chest. The leathery wings were still present, as was the long, serpentine tail. The couple managed to frighten the creature away after watching it for nearly 10 minutes. Later that day, professional hunters were called in to attempt to track the creature, but they had no success. The following day brought more of the same. A Burlington police officer was the first to see the creature, followed by a local minister. A hunting party that was formed to track the beast claimed they watched it fly towards Moorestown, and in Moorestown, it was seen at Mount Carmel Cemetery. From there, it was seen to fly toward Riverside, and there, hoof prints were found in a cluster around a dead puppy. A day later, an entire trolley full of passengers in Clementon watched a winged creature circle above them. The Black Hawk Social Club reported their own sighting, and when a Collingswood fireman saw one up close, he turned his hose on the creature, chasing it off. Later that night, a woman named Mrs. Sorbinski of Camden heard a noise outside in the dark. She grabbed her broom and stepped out, only to find the mysterious beast trying to catch her dog. Mrs. Sorbinski beat at the creature with her broom until it released the dog and flew away. When a crowd gathered as a result of her screaming, they all claimed to see the creature off in the distance. The mob charged toward the thing, then a police officer even fired shots, but whatever the creature was, it had managed to escape into the sky. The creature made a few more random appearances across New Jersey during late January of that year, but it was one final sighting in February that leaves many questions to be answered. An employee of a local electric railroad was out working on the tracks when he saw what he later described as the Jersey Devil flying overhead. He claimed to have watched the creature fly into one of the overhead electrical wires, generating an explosion large enough to melt the metal tracks directly underneath. A search was made, but no body was found.

Maybe the stories of the Jersey Devil are about something else. Maybe they’re really about fear - fear of the unknown, fear of the dark, a fear of what might be lurking out there in the trees. Humanity has feared these things for millennia, but perhaps the people of the Pines feared something more basic, more fundamental than whatever might be waiting for them in the darkness. Perhaps they simply feared being alone. There’s nothing worse than experiencing a loss you can’t seem to explain, or noises you can’t identify, especially if you are in a new and strange place. The sources might very well be real and normal, but in the setting and culture of their day, the unexplainable only served to highlight the loneliness of the early settlers of New Jersey. The Barrens had a way of giving permission to fear the unknown. They still do to this day. When settlers discovered rare or unusual plants and animals inside these woods, it became easy to take it one step further. Demon children, creatures dancing on rooftops, livestock and pets being attacked – we explain our existence with fantasy, because sometimes that’s the only thing that can help us cope. In 1957, some employees from the New Jersey Department of Conservation found a partial animal corpse in the Pines. It was a mangled collection of feathers, mammal bones ad long hind legs that appeared to have been burnt or scorched. It might be logical to assume that the creature that flew into the electrical wires in 1909 had literally crashed and burnt, only to be discovered decades later. It might, in fact, sound like the creature was gone for good. But in 1987, an unidentified woman in Vinland, New Jersey, reported that her German Shepherd had been killed during the night. The dog had been torn to pieces and dragged over 25ft from the end of its chain. The only evidence the authorities could find around the body were hoof prints.

This episode of Lore was produced by me, Aaron Mahnke. Learn more about me and the show over at lorepodcast.com, and be sure to follow along on Twitter and Facebook @lorepodcast. This episode of Lore was made possible by you, our amazing listeners, [insert sponsor break here]. To find out how you can support Lore, visit lorepodcast.com/support. You’ll find links to help you leave a review on iTunes, support Lore on Patreon for some awesome rewards, and find a list of my supernatural thrillers, available in both paperback and ebook formats. I couldn’t do this show without you, and I’m thankful to each and every one of you. Thanks for listening.

Notes

Most of the sightings mentioned by Aaron seem to come from Monsters of New Jersey by Loren Coleman, which has no public access

[flu-shot]

My pilot survey response for tomorrow under the cut! I could write a whole separate essay on things I didn’t like about sweet enchantment, but heres a hot 1.5k about social issues.

Sweet enchantments has as solid a premise as any other series. I wasn’t especially excited about the high concept, but I’ve always maintained that execution is much more important than format. So I was really looking forward to see what your team would do. I played both routes, even though I’m not attracted to men, because I wanted a fuller picture of the lore. Despite wanting to love sweet enchantments, I’ve found its institutional problems to be too severe. As a survey inherently invites critical engagement, I hope you can keep an open mind to examining these problems.

Sweet enchantments was a strange kind of cognitive dissonance. It’s played as a light hearted café drama, but every element reads as a horror story. And not just because of the customer service work, or the kidnapping. Its implications about race and relationship dynamics were frightening. The lovestruck team has shown that they care deeply about respecting issues of race, sexuality and gender, class, and trauma, so I’m assuming a level of base knowledge here. You know how deeply fiction interacts with life. It’s understood.

To start, Lucien’s route is fun, but the magical alternate world where racism as we know it might not exist isn’t an excuse for how he’s treated as a character of color in our world. His first cg is massively whitewashed, and while the others are better they’re not great. In that first cg he looks vaguely tan, not like the dark skinned black man that he is. Lightening a character’s skin this way is not only unprofessional as an artist, but also as a habit comes from racist norms.

You need to have a sit-down conversation with your artists about drawing people of color. Because while Lucien is the worst whitewashed, he’s not the first. We were all socialized with white beauty standards, but that’s not an excuse to persist with these norms. It’s a demand to resist them. To put it simply, prioritizing light skin and white European features is bad, even if it’s what we’ve been taught. Artists have the ability to look at reference material, to study what they don’t know about brown skin. Art is created. Everything that is done is done intentionally. Palette, filter, and lighting are all generated by the artist, and they don’t exist in actual space. This is not a case of bright lighting. The lighting isn’t real. Even if it were, that’s not how bright light looks on brown skin. The perceived value is just too far from the local value.

Here’s a video on rendering black skin-( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALIBrFzIQ8s)The dude’s clearly a little awkward talking about it, but it’s sweet and technically sound. For more on how lighting black skin works in real space, mic.com has an article called ‘keeping insecure lit:cinematographer Ava Berkofsky on properly lighting black faces’

Runa’s problems are more in the narrative. Many of the lovestruck routes I’ve read are excellent about respecting consent. It’s even been the focus of multiple narratives. So I was surprised by the active use of charm magic here. Please put a pin in this thought- it’s important to pay attention to real life allegories for narrative elements. They will always read as intentional connections. In this case, charm magic jumped out immediately to me as a consent issue. Please at this point jump to planned parenthood’s FRIES- consent must be freely given, reversible, informed, enthusiastic, and specific. By these standards consent cannot exist under charm magic, the same way it cannot exist in any other impaired state of mind. I know this thought wasn’t in any of the producer’s minds, but Runa’s charm magic has the ability to be a magical allegory for a date rape drug. This was a risky choice considering the predatory lesbian stereotype, but I assumed the route would work around it. Unfortunately, her last batch of episodes revealed that she has used her charm magic. Her action on Kamila, to magically intoxicate and coerce her into a relationship that quite probably included sex, is an act of sexual assault. For what it’s worth, Kamila coercing the mc into a kiss is sexual assault as well, and was incredibly unwise to inflict on the players, who have their own traumas. I urge you to not go any further with this route. Oversight that it may have been, Runa is a sex offender. Lovestruck can’t encourage forming any kind of relationship with a rapist.

Individual routes aside, the premise of sweet enchantments has its issues. The choice to set the café as a prison was tone deaf. Particularly troubling is the fact that this prison is mostly inhabited by people of color. The American prison system grew out of slavery and to this day exploits the free labor of black people in particular, and brown people at large. If you need a short introduction, Jaron Browne has an article called ‘Rooted in Slavery: Prison Labor Exploitation’. There is at most one white prisoner in sweet enchantments- I’m not clear on Roman’s race. To have the café set up as the free labor of these prisoners of color, and then on top of that introduce a white mc to save them from their past, is incredibly concerning. Glorifying white crime wouldn’t have been good either, but that’s where we get into the complexity of the penal system being too much. There’s no good way to do this plot.

The penal system is not a light subject. Once again, real world allegories matter- no matter what you do, this is not a new prison system that you’re making up. It will always run in parallel to real life. And prison in America, the country you’re based in, is a corrupt, politically complex, broken, racist system that you can’t hope to create media about with the kind of levity this series is curating. You do not have time to talk about privatized prison, or the school to prison pipeline. Watching orange is the new black is not sufficient research. Nodding to mass incarceration is not effective social commentary. I don’t mean to say that you can’t address the penal system. Lovestruck has handled a lot of complex heavy themes. But the light hearted tone and surface level treatment sweet enchantments is coming at it with can’t do the topic justice.

Also, I realize magical racism is a well-trodden road, but that doesn’t make it good. The prohibition of human/magician relationships in particular hit me hard. The real life equivalent here is anti-miscegenation laws. In my own life, these laws were why my grandparents had to leave the state to get married. These issues have not yet been rendered purely historical. They’re recent, and present in the minds of the public. Real life allegories matter. You can’t have a plot about races not being able to legally marry without invoking real life eugenics and institutional racism. This is another story that could theoretically be done, but never as a fun, quirky subplot as I fear it is in sweet enchantments.

Someone had the forethought to make Liora the warden and I appreciate that. I appreciate that there are so many poc characters in this series, and I’m really hopeful that that’s the norm going forward, which seems likely considering other recent series. Lovestruck is still miles ahead of many other stories. But effective representation requires consideration of the characters’ identities. In this case, not fully considering the implications of the forms of representation in sweet enchantments created some huge misunderstandings and upsetting themes. Diversity without thought is better than no diversity, but still less than true inclusion. It’s a bigger question than percentages. The other day I heard Dr. Dafina-Lazarus Stewart speak, and there’s something they said that I think explains it well. To paraphrase- diversity asks who sits at the table. But inclusion needs to ask, whose seat at that table is in danger? Whose ideas are considered? Who is made to feel that they belong?

Originally, I was going to write this response focusing on ways that sweet enchantments can improve. Lovestruck has yet to actually drop a pilot series, so it seemed like the most efficient option. And in my initial impressions there were several nice things about sweet enchantments that could stand to be played up- the patisserie in Lucien’s route is lovely and well researched, and the plot of overcoming the food critic is fun. Nothing in Runa’s route was super appealing to me, but I appreciated the niche her character would fill. Female characters should be able to have a wide range of personalities, including abrasive ones. But these are little consolation in the face of its larger problems. Sweet enchantment is a minefield of sensitive issues that deserve respect, care, and time that you can’t give to make it even acceptable. While I recognize you’ve already invested time and resources in the series, it needs to be dropped. If you can’t drop this pilot, then there’s no pilot you can.  

[agentnico]

Avengers: Infinity War (2018) Review

So, I find myself in a conundrum. I have seen the big flick of the year, Avengers: Infinity War, however I have no idea how to go about reviewing it. “How so?” you ask. “Just give it a score and be done with it, you silly tot!” you exclaim again. “Well,” I reply. “Firstly don’t call me a tot, who uses ‘tot’ these days anyway? Secondly, let me explain.” Then I take a deep breath, look around wearily at the eager swarm of Marvel fans, and begin my tale of woe...

I hated Avengers: Infinity War... Wow, that was not that difficult to explain actually! Alright, alright! Hang on, hold your “f*ck” screaming crusade back, I haven’t finished yet. Basically, I simply am not the right target audience for this film it seems. And I say ‘it seems’ because in all fairness I used to really enjoy Marvel films. But in the past year I began developing this illness called superhero fatigue! Yes, yes, I hear your shocking screams, it’s a terrible terrible illness, worse than what the Black Death did back in the day. The truth needs to be faced though, I have been infected, like in The Walking Dead, only better, cause that show sucks now! I mean really, what happened to that show??...............*sob* anyway, that’s a rant for another day. Having become more and more bored with superhero flicks, with certain exceptions like the first Deadpool, Thor: Ragnarok and Black Panther actually surprising me, and especially following those last two I was hopeful that this new Marvel entry was not going to be affected by my disease filled mind......okay, that’s a lie, I wasn’t optimistic about this film whatsoever from the start, my friends Paul and Josh would confirm how not-excited I was for this film (hey, I guess this is what a shout out is, cool, hello you guys!!!). But I went into this film with an open-ish mind......and yeah, bloody hated, didn’t I. So here I am wondering how to go about reviewing this film (if I can call it that), because as I said, I hated it, but that doesn’t mean its a bad film. For a casual movie goer and most definitely for Marvel fans I’m sure it a great time, I’m sure people will love it..........holy mother of crabs, this movie has a 9/10 on IMDb? What in the actual a**?? Sorry, sorry, I promised to be calm. Who am I kidding, I didn’t promise jack sh**! But where was I? Ah, yes, the Avengers: Infinity War. So yes, this is 100% Marvel fan service and I understand why people like this film, it has everything a popcorn movie needs going for it, so it’s not my place to give this film a proper review or score as I am not the right demographic and it’s not my place to stray away casual movie-goers from enjoying this film. However who cares what I say, we all know this movie is going to make over a billion regardless what I say. *looks at phone* Oh bloody hell, it already made a billion! Well. Well then. I guess I’m just going to leave some of my personal thoughts on the film down below, I know that I usually don’t do spoilers but, you know, f*** it, SPOILER WARNING!!

Plot: The big purple dude finally gets of his chair after taking the big giant 10 year dump and goes to collect a bunch of stones to shove up his anus. Okay, not his anus, but who cares about this plot description, if you’re reading this you should have already saw the film or, like me, don’t care about it. Once again, SPOILER WARNING. Don’t read anymore, as I’m going to spoil everything in 3, 2, 1...

Thanos dies!! Alright, I’m kidding, Thanos is fine, but seriously, spoilers ahead.

MAGNOLIA YOU ARE NOT - There are too many characters in this film which the story does not manage to balance well, so many of them are under-used. And yes, I did a Magnolia reference, even though this is not the kind of film to compare to Magnolia, but I don’t care, I’m being biased, deal with it!!

THE PLOT - What plot?? I’m kidding, but seriously, what plot?? The film is made up of an escalating series of fight vignettes all under the motto of “We have to stop Thanos!” Especially to the end of the film, we keep cutting to these various locations with different characters that it is hardly possible to engage with any of the stories.

AGE OF THANOS - Yeah, yeah, I know, everyone loves Josh Brolin as Thanos. Well sorry to disappoint, folks, I didn’t like him. C’mon now, get on the trend with this ‘review’, it’s obviously a negative one, stop getting surprised at everything I didn’t like! Obviously if you liked his character, good on you, but I didn’t. In my eyes it was yet again another big CGI villain like the one-note Ultron from the last Avengers flick, only bigger and, in all fairness, had a better motivation, but I found that Brolin played him quite monotone. Yes, you see his tears when he has to kill Gamora to receive the Soul Stone, but I didn’t find that emotional whatsoever. But that’s just me. Or is it?......no, no, it’s definitely just me. I feel your hatred towards me soothing through your body as you are reading this.

THE BATTLE OF THE FIVE ARMIES - Oh look, it’s another massive battle with CGI monsters! Wooo!!

DEADPOOL...ONLY IT’S PG! *GASP!* - MCU films are known to incorporate humour into all their films, but in this one it felt too forced. With the amount of jokes they had it really took away from the gravitas of the darker more emotional moments. As an example, Gamora’s death is straight away followed by a joke about Starbucks. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll happily laugh about Starbucks any day, but still.

“AMERICA, F*** YEAH!!” - Of course the first time aliens arrive on Earth it’s obviously in America! How else are we gonna feel patriotic, eh?

SILLY-LORD - Star-Lord messing up the whole plan at the end with taking the gauntlet of Thanos’ hand could have been done much smoother. Like I get why he was annoyed and angry, but Tony was literally shouting in his ear saying for him to just wait one more minute so that they could take off the glove and then he would have had full right to Fight Club him to his full heart’s desire. But nooooooo, let’s have our characters make dumb decisions. And I’m not just talking about Star-Lord! P.S. Yes, I understand that the whole Star-Lord shtick is a set-up towards Doctor Strange’s ultimate plan of what he saw in the future, but it still feels like a deus ex machina cop out nonetheless.

THE TRUE HEROES - Okay, so I’m sure out of all the complaints on this list I think with this one you might actually agree. Where in the world were Valkyrie, Korg and Miek at the beginning with the Asgardian ship? It’s not like the credits rolled after Thor: Ragnarok and Korg and Valkyrie decided to jump out of the ship into the cosmos in search of coffee? Right? Right??

#TEAMDRAX - Oh, Drax, if only you were.........actually, I don’t have a problem with Drax. No, I’m serious, this one actually is not a complaint. I know, I surprised myself! I do have to give props to both the writing for and performance of Drax. He was actually hilarious in this film and his jokes were actually well timed. From the awkward spying on Gamora’s and Star-Lord’s intimate moment and him being convinced that he’s invisible saying “I have mastered the ability of standing so incredibly still that I have become invisible to the eye....my movement, is so slow that its imperceptible....I’m sure I’m invisible.” to his description of Thor “It’s like a pirate had a baby with an angel.” to the misunderstanding argument where Quill is asking where Gamora is, Iron Man then questions who Gamora even is and then Drax’s logistical, but at the same time misinterpreted response “I’ll do you one better - WHY is Gamora??” In my eyes, Dave Bautista (with his dead-pan delivery of the lines) stole the show as Drax, though Chris Hemsworth as Thor and his buddy-ing up with Rocket was a nice dynamic.

“FREEDOM! I SAID FREEDOM!” - Not going to lie, when Heimdall was killed I actually felt happy for him. You could see in Idris Elba’s eyes how happy he was that he finally full-filled his contract and was freed from his Marvel obligations. We all knew Idris didn’t want to be a part of this franchise, blame his agent.

HAHA, MIDGET! - No, I’m serious, that’s an actual joke in the film.

“WAS THE MUSIC TOO LOUD?” - And we’re back with Marvel films having generic unmemorable scores/soundtracks. Just a bunch of dramatic noises to keep the crowd pumping. Unlike Thor: Ragnarok or Black Panther (and in all fairness the Guardians of the Galaxy films, though I do have a personal vendetta against Vol.2), which actually had good music accompaniment, but now we’re back where we started. Dang it.

“REST IN PEACE, WHY WON’T YOU LET ME REST IN PEACE??” - Those of you who get what I’m referencing with that sub-title, full respect to you. Any-hoot, half of the Avengers die at the end of this film. And it’s the lack of consequence that annoys me, especially with the knowledge of future films on Marvel’s slate. We know some of them will be back. In all fairness, we do seem to have a few proper permanent deaths (then again, this IS Marvel...) in this film with the likes of Loki, Heimdall (good on you, Idris!), Gamora and Vision, but Marvel does have a problem with killing off characters, which is evident at the end of this film. And yes, you can say that its based off the comics and its supposed to be like that, but it does take away any kind of stakes.

GAME OF STONES - The MCU would work so much better as a high budget TV series, since Infinity War seems both rushed and at the same time drags on so much at 2 hours 40 minutes. It’s overstuffed like Thanos’ gigantic purple jawline!

In all seriousness, if you enjoyed Avengers: Infinity War, I’m glad. Truly, I am, and I totally understand why so many people do indeed like it. For me it has definitely proved that I am more of an indie film fan, as to me this endless array of ACTION, ACTION, ACTION with, in my opinion, no deeper meaning or message, is just not my kind of thing. I have lost any kind of excitement for any upcoming superhero films, minus Deadpool 2, I actually think that one will be a good laugh, but otherwise I should stick with independent cinema. I’m not going to give this film a score, as if I would have, it would have been quite low and would have not been fair on the film since I’m not the right person to rate it.

Overall score: N/A

[rebeccaheyman]

reading + listening 9.29.20

It was another week of soaring highs and middling mediocrity, but fortunately no DNFs. Notably, I’ve been dragging my heels on PIRANESI by Susanna Clarke, which has been sitting on my desk in gorgeous hard cover since release day. You ever want to love a book so much that you’re afraid to actually read it? No, no, me neither. Here’s hoping I get brave this week. In the meantime...

It’s Been a Pleasure, Noni Blake (Claire Christian), eBook ARC (US pub date February 2021). I loved this book so much that I’m already looking forward to owning the aBook once it’s available, just so I can relive the magic in a new way. Here’s my five-star NetGalley review: 

I have discovered the antidote to the unmitigated disaster that is the year 2020, and it is IT'S BEEN A PLEASURE, NONI BLAKE. I inhaled this book in under 24 hours and feel soul-satisfied in a way I forgot existed. NONI BLAKE is a rom-com that's so much more than a rom-com; it's as much a character study as LESS and as much a travelogue as WILD, with the sweetness of Mhairi MacFarlane, the delicious heat of Sally Thorne, and the humor of every best friend you've ever gotten drunk with. It is, in a word, perfect.

When I say this book has it all, I am not kidding. In it, you will find: - an average-bodied woman finding sexual empowerment and body positivity - a Scottish book boyfriend for whom you do not need to travel through time - healthy adult friendships - A+ Bechdel Test score - adventurous, consensual sex that is at times hilarious and at other times really, really hot - situational comedy that will legitimately make you laugh out loud - adults who talk openly about their feelings in an authentic, mature way - portrayals of grief that range in severity from mourning the loss of an unborn child to coming to terms with years of self-criticism and negativity - rich, descriptive prose that does not drag down pacing - excellent plotting, perfectly balanced with the protagonist's complex internal journey

...the list goes on. This book is joy exemplified. I can't wait to give it to every woman I know. My only complaint is that the world needs this book immediately to inoculate us against the tidal wave of awfulness bombarding the globe, and yet it won't be released until 2021.

Notably, Australian readers have access to NONI BLAKE as of... today (!), so if you happen to be reading this in Australia, please do yourself a favor and buy this book immediately. And if there’s someone you especially like elsewhere in the world, maybe box up a copy and spread the love.

Act Your Age, Eve Brown (Talia Hibbert), eBook ARC (pub date March 2021). I know, I know -- how many contemporary romcoms with the exact same title structure can I read in a single week? Real answer: 2. But based on how fabulous both these titles were, I’m open to more. Here’s my four-star NetGalley review:

I've decided it's entirely impossible to read the Brown Sisters series without feeling amazing. Hibbert's writing is so smart, funny, and full of A+ banter -- not to mention scorching-hot heat -- that it almost feels like we don't deserve her books' nuances, diverse representations, and patriarchy-shaking feminism.

But we do deserve it, actually, and it's all there in ACT YOUR AGE, EVE BROWN.

If at first Eve seems flighty and difficult to connect with, don't discount the intentionality of her characterization. In a tidy narrative trick, Hibbert gives us the very experience that defines many of Eve's friendships: while the youngest Brown sister may have made a great first impression in Chloe and Dani's books, her flightiness feels off-putting once she takes center stage. But sticking with Eve -- instead of pushing her to the margins of our two-person social circle -- has a massive pay-off, as she soon reveals herself to be intensely focused on helping others, spreading joy, and baking delicious cake. It's a side of Eve too many of her "friends" never get to see -- but Reader, we do. And it turns out, Eve is a wonder.

Many of Eve's quirks align with behaviors on the autism spectrum; while Jacob's autistic presentation is perhaps more conventional, Eve's traits are equally validated by Hibbert's sensitive, nuanced treatment of the disorder. Romance + autism usually means antisocial behaviors, rigidity, and/or Asperger's-like presentation (The Kiss Quotient/Bride Test, The Girl He Used to Know, The Rosie Project... the list goes on). But ACT YOUR AGE explores the all important "spectrum" side of "autism spectrum disorder," and urges us to resist believing we understand what these labels mean just because we understand one small aspect of a very large picture.

All of this happens while a truly compelling, heart-melting romance unfolds. Eve and Jacob are incredibly fun to watch, and Hibbert keeps things moving at a lovely clip. I especially appreciated her resistance to the "h/h have to spend totally unnecessary time apart after an argument/misunderstanding" trope in Act III, which is a convention I would happily see go the way of the dinosaur.

Fair warning to your TBR pile: If you don't reread Chloe and Dani's books prior to picking up ACT YOUR AGE, EVE BROWN, you're going to want to afterward. There's simply no other way to maintain the rosy glow of post-Hibbert reading.

Finally, I'm predicting here and now that Mont, Alex and Tess are the next sibling trio to get the Hibbert treatment. (Please? Like...PLEASE please?)

Set My Heart to Five (Simon Stephenson), aBook (narr. Christopher Ragland, Rachael Louise Miller, Lance C. Fuller). If you combined the signature humor/love combo of David Nicholls, the deeply felt nostalgia of Ready Player One, and the bots-with-feelings hypothesis of Spielburg’s AI, you might come close to understanding what makes SET MY HEART TO FIVE so good. In the year 2054, the world has taken some unexpected turns: humans have accidentally locked themselves out of the internet, Elon Musk blew up the moon (also accidentally), and humanoid bots have been integrated into society as second-class pseudo-citizens. We meet Jared -- bot, dentist, cat-owner -- who has begun to experience curious malfunctions. With a friend’s help, and a heaping dose of old movies, Jared realizes he can feel real emotions. He resolves to journey west to Hollywood, where he’ll write a movie that changes the way humans view bots and paves the way for his bot brothers and sisters to enjoy the full range of human experience. 

Jared’s explanations of human behavior provide a satirical commentary on our curious, often contradictory behaviors (”Humans. I cannot!”). Since films from the pre-bot age figure so prominently in Jared’s emotional awakening, that same satirical analysis is applied to movie synopses, which are rendered with necessary frequency but occasionally feel like overkill. The book relies heavily on a lovely trick of narrative reciprocity; Jared is on an archetypal hero’s journey, even as he strives to write a formulaic screenplay according to the “golden rules” of the fictitious script expert, R.P. McWilliams. But SET MY HEART TO FIVE never feels hackneyed, and in more than one way proves the rule that great stories are all in the telling.

With the innocence and clarity that can only come from being something of a stranger in a strange land, Jared embraces his existence with infectious enthusiasm and charm. It’s virtually impossible not to cheer for his success, even as we’re warned again and again that a great story will “eff us in the heart” at its conclusion. Audio is brilliantly narrated by Christopher Ragland, who manages to imbue the bot cadence we expect with believable nuance and big style. 

Well Played (Jen DeLuca), aBook (narr. Brittany Pressley). I’ve got bad news for fans of WELL MET: If you wondered whether your enjoyment of Deluca’s ren-faire romcom debut of 2019 was due in large part to the book’s setting -- and more specifically, the way h/h’s interactions at the faire advanced the storyline -- the answer is yes. And why is that bad news, you ask? Well, because WELL PLAYED has none of the crackling Emily/Simon tension that carried the first book through its narrative stumbles. In book 2, the glacially slow Act I relies heavily on Stacy’s recitation of what makes her life humdrum, and a long series of email exchanges we *know* are coming from the conspicuously introduced Daniel -- even though Stacy, apparently suffering a traumatic brain injury, convinces herself it’s idiot playboy (and Daniel’s cousin) Dex. Sorry not sorry for the “spoiler,” which is impossible not to see coming from many miles away. Once this pseudo-conflict is resolved, the book boils down to situational fluff: a wedding, a squeaky mattress, the literal number of pumpkin spice lattes Stacy drinks over the course of a month. If it sounds like this is not a plot, that’s because it isn’t. The romance is low-stakes, the “uncrossable divide” that eventually separates h/h is the width and depth of a puddle, and the last third of the book is pretty much solely devoted to setting up a Mitch/April romance in book 3.

Notably, I found references to Stacy’s body-consciousness extremely strange. If we want to normalize average-sized women in romance, maybe we do that by not including, apropos of literally nothing, how “unflattering” woman-on-top sexual positions are?! Stacy is not characterized by self-consciousness, so the moments when her interiority veers toward self-criticism don’t feel necessary. I’m not saying these aren’t authentic thoughts and feelings plenty of women have, but an editor should have pushed DeLuca to answer the question to what end? Why include body hyperawareness in the precise moments when it appears? Like too much of the prose in WELL PLAYED, these inclusions felt like word-count boosting instead of dynamic character development or plot production. Sad as I am to say it, this book was a missed opportunity that shows the danger of rushing book 2 to market. 

The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics (Olivia Waite), aBook (narr. Morag Sims). This book has been on my radar since its publication last summer. Gorgeous cover aside, I’m always here for diverse historical romance. Sadly, for me, the external stakes here were simply too low, and relied overmuch on the baffling revelation that men -- especially in this historical moment --  underestimate and undermine women. I never felt discernible chemistry between Lucy and Catherine. This could be due, in part, to Morag Sims’ narration, which pitches Catherine’s voice in a low, husky range that accentuated the women’s age difference. From the outset, we learn that Catherine is the widow of one of Lucy’s father’s colleagues; while Lucy is the more sexually forward woman in this partnership, there’s something a little An Education about the whole arrangement. 

On my radar this week:

Piranesi (Susanna Clarke) 

A Deadly Education aBook (Naomi Novik)

We Can Only Save Ourselves ARC (Alison Wisdom)

Angel in a Devil’s Arms (Julie Anne Long)

The Project ARC (Courtney Summers)

The Love Square ARC (Laura Jane Williams)

[a-woman-apart]

Falling in Fall

The change of seasons can bring a number of challenges. Some of these can be psychological, and others, physical. For one thing, my nose has been running like an Olympic sprinter, and every so often my shallow breathing is interrupted by a “Dracula sneeze”. Allergies are just another energy drain on my already taxed faculties. My fatigue has risen to the point that I scheduled yet another appointment with my primary care physician to try to figure out whether there is a physical component to something that very well could be largely psychological.

I told my doctor about my depression- which she rated as “moderate to severe” based on a screening- and she said that it may indeed be causing my fatigue, but she wanted to rule something else out. She noted that I had complained of fatigue before, and that it may be caused partially by all of the psych drugs that I take, since all of my previous blood tests had come back normal (thyroid, iron levels, etc.). The only test that I had never received was one for vitamin D deficiency. She ordered that test for me, and told me to take vitamin D3 and B12, in addition to the multivitamin I told her I was already taking. Hopefully these will help alleviate some of my symptoms.

It is no secret that there is a big chance that I have simply run myself into the ground. I took four classes over the summer- two in summer I and summer II respectively- as well as working at a dollar store on the weekends. I also took voice lessons during summer I. During the 10 days in between the end of summer II and the beginning of fall semester, I was actually working three jobs. I had given notice at one job and I was in the middle of fulfilling the two weeks when I started the third one, a retail job. I had completed summer with four A’s and one B, and I had worked my tail off to achieve that.

Honestly, I do not know if I should be proud of what I accomplished, or whether I should kick myself for stretching myself so thin. I did what I had to do to survive. Now I receive SSDI, so I can just focus on my main job and on my classes; no more second job. The main problem now is my depression, which arose immediately when I started having to go back on campus again. Musically, I did not get to do most of the things that I wanted to do over the summer, and I have felt as though I am lagging behind my classmates, both in terms of creativity and enthusiasm. Maybe it isn’t fair to compare myself to them, because I was working a lot and I had CORE classes to be concerned with, but I still feel less and less like an “authentic” music student every day.

I was supposed to be graduating at the end of fall, but I ended up dropping Chorus, a classical voice ensemble that I needed to graduate. Two weekends had passed and I realized that each time I was too exhausted to focus on the material for Monday. Even though the nature of old spirituals is to deal with deep pain, I just couldn’t hear myself harmonizing to “Old Wayfaring Stranger” and crooning on about how lost I was. Despite this, I did enjoy a lot of things about singing with the group, but I just couldn’t picture myself on stage with them this year. This kind of music has to come from the heart, and my heart was not in it this time.

Ultimately, I really wrestled with the idea of just fulfilling my final ensemble requirement in the spring. Even if I had graduated in the fall, I wouldn’t be able to walk until after spring semester anyway. I have just been possessed by this terrible sense of urgency and desperation as my education is drawing to a close. I wanted so badly to be done, to be holding my degree in my hands, to realize that I had actually done it. Now two years stretch into three (or four, if you count my prereqs), and I still don’t know if I’m doing all of this correctly.

Even though I can hear my best friend saying in my head, “It’s a marathon, not a sprint” I can’t help but feel at least somewhat disappointed with how things have gone. When I talk to my caseworker about my depression these days, she asks “What do you think is causing this?” or “Why do you feel this way?” and I can only come up with vague generalities. “I just feel tired all the time” or “I don’t know, it just feels like everything is too hard” and “I just don’t have the energy to do the things that I used to do.” She suggests that maybe nothing has changed, that maybe I am creating difficulties for myself. She suggests affirmations. She reminds me of how much I already accomplished, and again, how nothing has really changed.

I cannot explain how things have changed, but they have. Depression has settled on me like a heavy cloak. I just feel weighted down; I just feel heavy. Moving my limbs takes more effort these days. I derive little to no pleasure from anything that I do. In fact, food might be one of the few things that I am still more-or-less able to enjoy, as strange as that may sound. The only other thing I can think of that really helps is listening to music. In general, though, it is a struggle to get out of bed every morning, not always because I feel depressed but more because of the physical exhaustion that can be associated with depression. A lot of the time, I just feel numb and empty, almost like I am only existing as a theoretical concept.

Even when I look back at everything that I “accomplished’ over the summer, it feels like those things happened to someone else. It all feels so distant and far away; it doesn’t feel like me. I can’t help but wonder if there was a brief wave of hypomania that propelled me through all of that, and this is the major “wipeout”. That was the crescendo and this is the diminuendo. Such is the bipolar tradition of dancing between two poles.

You know that depression is severe when you have to start letting things go, when suddenly you realize why mood disorders are accepted by the government as a disability. The weekend that I almost committed suicide was a weekend where I was expected to go to my retail job and participate in a massive inventory that might’ve lasted until 2 am. I had already given in my two weeks’ notice, but my time was not supposed to be up until the 17th of September and it was only September 8th. Based on how I had been feeling physically earlier that day, and emotionally even a week before that, I knew that I probably should not attempt it. Not to mention the fact that I had had school on Monday morning.

In the end, based on advice from concerned family, I dropped the job early, and I dropped that Monday morning class. I spent the weekend eating soup and drinking tea, and watching Hulu in my pajamas. Sure, I needed it. Sure, I had been doing too much, but even though I have less responsibilities now my recovery is moving at a snail pace. The problem is that I felt like I could do anything before, and suddenly that feeling was taken away from me. Maybe thinking that I could do it all was fairly erroneous. My point is, that depression has taken away my ability to do things, including some things that I really love. Sure, nobody wants to work a second job, but I had made a commitment and I was unable to follow through. Chorus was not my first choice in an ensemble, but my goal was to graduate in the fall and I did not meet that goal.

I’m sure you’re thinking “So what? Life goes on”. The truth is that I have always been afraid that life would go on without me. I spent almost five years in the tenacious grip of bipolar disorder. Hospitalizations for me were a yearly affair. I was on an off medication, and in and out of my mind. It was a dark period in my history, and towards the end of it I had already given up on having a life and a future. All of my college dreams, all of my goals for work and a social life, I had given up on all of it. I was just existing from day to day, too numb to even care that I had become completely broken.

Then a series of events happened that slowly changed my perspective and gave me hope. I moved out of my parents’ house. I started volunteering. I started working. I started going to school. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle started to come together. The more success I experienced, though, the more that I have been afraid that it will all be taken away from me. I have been afraid that this is all some big misunderstanding, that no, I am not capable of doing these things that I have been doing for almost five years now. One day, the “real me” will come back in and dash to pieces all of the beauty that I have been able to cultivate for all of this time.

Really, though, I have been more than fortunate, and I always used to attribute that good fortune to a higher power. Recently, though, as you all know, the foundations of my faith have been shaken. That is a struggle that is really meant to discussed in another post; actually, there are many posts on here regarding my deconversion. I don’t think, however, that I can ever totally discuss my mental health without including that component. Maybe, one day my apostasy will be matter-of-fact for me, but right now I am not there yet.

Despite everything that is happening on the inside, there are certain outward factors that have contributed to my depression. My dad is going through some serious challenges with his health. Again, this would be a good time to call on God, if I still believed in the existence of an all-powerful God. I do believe that there are some things that we cannot explain, and that it is possible for someone to make an incredible turnaround. Human beings are more resilient than we realize. There are documented instances of when someone has made a remarkable recovery by believing they had received a special medical treatment that they never actually received. In other words, I will never fully dismiss faith as important to someone’s recovery, but at this time I am very much preparing for the worst.

So, do I still have hope? Yes, and no. It is unmistakable that I have made some amazing strides in my life, and that I am likely to continue to experience some degree of success in the future. Even though I have had to drop things, “functioning” is not really the problem for me. I still eat, bathe, and sleep. I still get up and go to work and school. The problem is the feeling. Yes, I know that emotions aren’t everything, but anhedonia (lack of pleasure in things once enjoyed) is a very real and devastating symptom of depression. Also, the physical pain, the fatigue, and the daily struggle to just fucking move takes its toll as well. It is incredibly exhausting to fight symptoms all day long, and I am so tired of going from depression medicine to depression medicine trying to find something that really works. What it all boils down to is, “I was ‘fine’ at one point- why can’t I be ‘fine’ now?”

I’ll end with a Paramore lyric from the song “Hard Times” off the album “After Laughter”.  

All that I want / Is to wake up fine / Tell me that I’m alright / That I ain’t gonna die / All that I want / Is a hole in the ground / Tell me when It’s alright / For me to come out

Hard times / Gonna make you wonder why you even try / Hard times / Gonna take you down and laugh when you cry / These lives / And I still don’t know how I even survived / Hard times (Hard times)

And I gotta get to rock bottom!

[thetakenpokemon]

Quill @ Jezebel: the Gothitelle was fascinated by the Delphox's appearance; he'd never seen one like her before. "Oh wow! 'Nightshade' is what they call you? That sounds very ... intense. Nightshade is a very toxic plant, is it not? So where did you pick up that name? Do you specialize in poisons? Are you a very aggressive battler? Or am I reading a bit too much in to this?"

[PoV: Nightshade]

I watch Seraph through focused eyes, out of all of the members of Purging Light…she and Asmund are the ones that I need to keep tabs on.

I witnessed both of Seraph’s interactions, from the encounter with a strange Lucario hybrid to the conversation with another Decidueye. Although I haven’t caught the traded words of either, I know that both of them didn’t end well due to the sour expression on her face.

Despite the various sounds of the villagers coming and going, one particular sound of footsteps catches my attention due how they slightly grow louder...as if approaching me. Although the change of intensity is faint, my ears are far more sensitive compared to other Pokemon…thus allowing me to hear things far better and more clearly.

I turn to the source of the approaching Pokemon, but I couldn’t help but blink a few times upon noticing his…unusual attire.

He is a Gothitelle for certain, but…his outfit seems to have a sort of ‘futuristic retro’ look. This combined with his rather outgoing personality makes me cock an eyebrow, however I couldn’t stop myself from giving the smallest of smiles in amusement.

When he began asking me of my alias, I feel my eyebrow rise further in confusion…since I didn’t realize that my name would spread so quickly in this little town. But I chose not to dwell on it, since it’s an unimportant matter.

Once he finishes his line of questions, I shake my head. “You’re not the first to make such assumptions, although you’re incorrect on all of them.” I chuckle. “However, I don’t believe you’re reading too much into its origins since I consider it mere curiosity. But there’s no need to dwell on it, since I’ll tell you why I go by such a name.”

I plant the pointy end of my staff into the ground, letting it dig into the soft earth. “Firstly,” I begin. “I would wish to correct a common misconception.” My amusement is fully clear to the Gothitelle, as if I’ve done this numerous times before. “The term ‘Nightshade’ isn’t one plant, but a family of flowering plants.”

“Although most variants are highly toxic, there are many that don’t share this characteristic. In fact some of them in this family are the food you eat everyday, such as tomatoes and potatoes.” My gaze drifts to the burning green flames on the top of my staff. “However some of these plants are also used for medicinal purposes, even the highly toxic ‘Deadly Nightshade’ plant.”

I fall silent, as if enraptured by the crackling green flames. But in reality I’ve merely fallen into a deep thought, remembering something from the past. Realizing this I blink once and turn my head back to look at the Gothitelle. “My apologies.” I chuckle again. “I’ve taken to myself to spread knowledge of this plant family, since many seem to misunderstand what it is. This is all I will say on it however, since you’ve asked me on the origins of my name and not an in-depth lesson on fauna.”

“The name ‘Nightshade’ isn’t my true name, but an alias I go by. One of the rules of the guild we’re a part of is that we are to go by an alias to protect our identity, for there are many enemies of the Guardians of Twilight that would try to link our true names to our friends and family in order to harm them.” 

My small smile vanishes for a small moment when I say the reasons why I go by such a name, but when I continue speaking I feel it return. “Its origins didn’t originate from the plant family or how I fight, in fact…it is a nickname from my childhood due to my appearance.”

“As you can see, I’m a rather unusual Delphox.” I gesture to my black fur. “My species originate from a massive network of caverns located south of the Kalos Region. Within these caves is an underground forest, a place like no other.” I couldn’t help but let my gaze drift back to the green flames as I remember the place fondly. “The ceiling of the underground cavern has many openings to let in sunlight, thus briefly providing the vegetation with light to allow it to survive. But due how the place is almost always covered in darkness, we eventually evolved to have dark fur in order to blend in with our surroundings.”

“Although it was our home, my family decided to move out to explore the rest of the region when I was a Braixen.” I continue. “We drew a lot of attention to ourselves due to our unusual colors, especially when we moved into a small village located just off of the map.” My eyes flick back to the Gothitelle again. “The children gave me the name of ‘Nightshade’ because of my dark appearance, not because of a particular plant in that family.”

Just thinking about it makes me laugh, an actual loud laugh. If any members of the Purging Light were here to see this, they would look at me in complete shock due to this being an incredibly rare thing for me. “To my knowledge, the only plant that has anything resembling a dark color is the Black Nightshade. However this plant is called this for their dark berries, but even then…such a plant was never located at the village.” I shake my head, feeling my emotions quickly fade back to the level calmness often associated with me. “They called me it because of a plant in one of their fairy tales, a ‘black flowered plant’ called ‘The Midnight Nightshade’. If I remember correctly, the plant was mysterious and only flowered at night…and it possessed the power of granting a wish to whoever ate it precisely at midnight.”

I shrug my shoulders. “I ended up not only accepting the name, but embracing it as you can see that I go by it to this day.”

I feel a quiet sigh escape my jaws at the fond days of my past, giving me a strong sense of nostalgia. With myself done explaining I give a small nod at the Astral Pokemon. “That’s the origin of my name, although I’m sorry that it took this long to explain it.” As I look at him, I couldn’t help but not at least comment on his appearance. “I must say that I quite like your attire, it’s very striking and incredibly fitting since your kind is known for their connection to the stars.” I glance over Seraph to make sure she’s not doing anything rash, but from the looks of it…she hasn’t done anything yet. Satisfied I turn to the Gothitelle on last time. “I won’t keep you any longer, for I feel that you have places to go…” My eyes twinkle with mirth. “…and planets to visit I presume.”

Just an attempt at humor in reference to his otherworldly attire, since many tend to think that I’m incapable of such things.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 19)

Weiss blinked. “You're going to what?”

“Kill you!” Ruby repeated. “If there's anything that's going to stop your dad from attacking the Valley anymore, it's going to be that.”

Weiss nodded, before she gripped Eluna to her chest, stared blankly off into the distance, and reminisced about the series of bad decisions that had led to this point.

The most immediate that came to mind was her spontaneously telling her father that she wanted to join his newest venture: an expedition into the Viridian Valley. Like her maternal grandfather and his father-in-law, Nicholas Schnee, he wanted to find a new wellspring of mana to tap, ones similar to if not even greater than the gigantic concentrations of energy that rested under the Nexus, Valentino, Lumania, Zeal, or Solaris—possibly even the unprecedented titan that powered Candela.

“Uh, Weiss?” Ruby asked, before she waved her hand before her unseeing eyes.

She didn't know what it was that set her off about his droning on about all the failed expeditions, the rumours of the Keeper being responsible for it and thousands of other incidents, the new incredible advances in technology that made possible to thrive in a barren hellhole like the one surrounding both Candela and the Valley itself, but the moment she blurted out that she wanted to be a part of the scouting team, personally overseeing the operations like her grandfather before her, she never once thought of taking it back.

Now, she really wished that her father had vetoed that plan as he usually did.

With no response, Ruby turned to Penny. <What's wrong with her?> she asked in Actaeon.

<I believe she's experiencing what humans call 'thinking about where they went wrong.'> Penny replied.

<Why? What happened?> Ruby asked.

Perhaps it was how she reacted to Winter's leaving for the Avalonian Armed Forces six years ago. She should have sympathized more with her decision, understood she would have done the same thing if she could, not held it up as a massive betrayal, put a wedge between them until just before she was selected for Queensguard training, and become so surly, cold, and hostile to everyone, “projecting” her anger and hurt as du Pont had said.

She was eleven, yes, and it was a confusing time for her with puberty and all these new, confusing feelings and new responsibilities thrust upon her by society just because her age was now in the double digits, and the fact that her mother was long dead, that she had few close friends, and that her father was a hands-off parent (at best) certainly didn't help, but she probably should have done like Winter had, when she was twelve, had been old enough to fully understand their mother's death:

Grow the fuck up.

<It's probably when you said you were going to murder her,> Penny replied.

Ruby's eyes widened, her ears pulled back in alarm. <What?! I said I was going to 'fake her death' not 'put her to death!' Isn't that what I said in Nivian?>

Penny shook her head.

<But it's the same word…!> Ruby whined.

<It is, but humans add additional words to clarify that it's going to be a faked killing, not a real one.>

Or maybe it stretched even further back, to the one point in life she could clearly, confidently point to as the moment her already less than ideal life went to a constant, ever accelerating downhill slide leading to this moment: the day they got the call from the emergency response teams in Sekhmet, that their mother and her unborn child had succumbed to the plague ravaging the desert, that they couldn't even receive their bodies as they were needed to figure out how the hell they were going to stop the new disease from ravaging the rest of Avalon, and their ashes would likely be mixed with the masses of other dead.

Maybe, just maybe, she shouldn't have agreed with her father, and especially Winter's question, the tie-breaker to her decision to start giving away her beloved collection of plushies, the one thing that reminded them of their mother after her father had every portrait and image of her put into storage or hidden away where he'd never have to be reminded of who they'd lost, what died with them.

On the bright side of things, she'd be meeting her again soon, if the Aether really was real. Winter would probably join them soon enough, though she wasn't looking forward to meeting their father again, even if the Stewards always emphasized that they would be a completely different type of being upon reaching it, “stripped away of all that which divided us, our boundless desires and prejudices, the mortal things we clung to so desperately in life.”

Ruby sighed. <This is why I hate Nivian...> she muttered before she turned to Weiss, still zoned out. “Weiss? Weiiisss…?” she snapped her fingers in front of her face.

Blake turned to Ruby. <May I?>

Ruby sighed. <Go ahead...>

Blake stepped up, and slapped Weiss across the cheek.

Smack!

Weiss reeled from the strike, a new bright red print glowing on her skin. “Ow! Just kill me and get it over with, why don't you?!”

Blake sighed. <Believe me, princess, I would if I could.>

Weiss glared at her. “I don't know what you just said, but I know I didn't like it.”

Blake narrowed her eyes. <Feeling's mutual.>

“Okay!” Ruby cried as she stepped between them. “Blake: calm down! Weiss: what I said earlier didn't come out right!”

“Oh, so you're going to torture me instead, is that it?” Weiss spat.

Ruby frowned. “It's--”

“Ruby actually meant to say that we were going to fake your death,” Penny interrupted. “I believe the confusion came from the fact that Actaeon has very specific variations on the word 'kill'—that of killing an opponent; killing prey; killing predator; killing the enemy's morale or desire to fight; or in this particular case, faking a killing, for purposes of demoralization or manipulation.”

Weiss blinked, letting the realization sink in for a moment. “Can we all agree that, from now on, anything anyone tries to say to me in Nivian goes through Penny first?”

Blake and Ruby nodded.

Penny beamed. “I will try my best to make sure that no more misunderstandings will occur!”

“Good,” Weiss said as she headed out to the exit. “Now let's go make my ransom video! And let's be clear that I'm writing the script—the last thing I want my father to think is that this is all a terrible prank!”

Almost as long as people had been speculating and theorizing about what could be found in the Viridian Valley, they had been dreaming and fantasizing about what they would make of it, the grand cities they would build, the new lives they would lead in a place like nothing that had ever been seen in all of Avalon.

There was no shortage of artistic interpretations and depictions in all manner of fiction throughout the years: grand castles and cities built out of the blackened rock surrounding the area; elaborate wooden mansions dotting the trees and the vibrant vegetation, dirt roads thriving with flowers and herbs, animals left to roam and roost wherever they pleased; sometimes even a modern city like Candela or Lumania, glass skyscrapers, neosteel infrastructure, paved roads and carefully controlled and cultivated patches of nature amidst all the artificial construction, the ultimate symbolism of mankind's domination and control over the surroundings their ancestors were slaves to for so long.

They were all wrong, if only because no human had ever attempted anything like what the Fae had done.

The Bastion was the trees, the mountains, and the vegetation—their homes, infrastructure, and even their transportation built in their hollowed out cores, resting on top of them as foundations, or grown in such specific, intentional patterns and directions, it couldn't have gotten that way by itself. Weiss felt her attention dragged every which way as they walked through the streets of the city—or rather, its many hanging bridges, the giant walkways carved out of even bigger branches, the tunnels and pathways going into and around the rocks and mountains.

She saw Fae in specially made robes and protective gear tending over saplings, fungus, and even living creatures, magic flowing from their hands as they tended to their wards, guiding and accelerating their growth into their desired shapes, grafting and inducing features and details they wouldn't have in the wild.

Water poured out from the faces of rocks and mountains, being piped in by pulsing vines to their crop planters and their homes, spraying out from fountains and intricately carved statues and memorials, adding beauty to the surroundings and a place for citizens of all ages to play and enjoy themselves.

Fae of every shape and size going about their days, tending to all manner of weird and strange animals, giving packages to birds and sending them off, leading their lumbering pack-beasts through the walkways, training ferocious looking predators to attack certain target dummies and not others; going about the various stores and workshops trading, working, or just chatting with one another; strolling about enjoying the scenery, if they weren't immersed in their own version of tablets and comm-crystals, looking not unlike the citizens of Candela when they blogged, caught up on each other on social media, and enjoyed funny holos of cats.

And all the while, Weiss couldn't help but notice the sheer number of eyes looking back at her, the heads doing double takes, the people stopping to take pictures of her before sending it to others.

She didn't understand a word of what they were saying, but regardless of language barriers, you could always tell when everyone was talking about you.

The various “Watchers” posted almost everywhere were particularly wary of her, their eyes trained on her, their weapons at the ready, and their animals heeled, if only for the moment. Some of them were only pulling back just hard enough on their attack wolves' leashes to keep them from getting away, not slashing their paws at the air, barking and slavering at Weiss with their powerful jaws full of massive fangs, their fur bristling and crackling with what looked like electricity.

Ruby, Blake, and Penny surrounded her in a triangle, casting glares and barking warnings at others to stay back.

“I'm not very popular here, am I?” Weiss muttered under her breath.

“Your father's expeditions into the Valley have caused very serious disruption to the peace we usually enjoy here, causing a significant amount of panic, unease, and diversion of time, resources, and labour that would have otherwise gone to different projects,” Penny explained. “And this is not even going into all the casualties.”

Weiss blinked, feeling the pit of her stomach drop. “… Ah. Right.”

Weiss feet were aching by the time they finally made it to the tallest, biggest tree in the very center of the Bastion; she realized she really should have thought of packing at least a pair of bedroom slippers, because apparently the Fae were not fans of footwear of any sort, just straps around part of their feet, or bands of leather, metal, and bone strapped to their toes or heels, obviously meant for combat.

The inside of the “Tree of Life” was not unlike a tower, its circular floors built with giant open ring in the center to let you stare up, marvel at how massive the structure was, see the thick canopy at the very top, the sunlight peeking through the leaves.

“How tall is this tree…?” Weiss asked, dumbstruck.

“Pretty fucking tall,” an unknown, ominous voice said.

Weiss turned, and found herself staring into the face of her nightmares, the terror that haunted the dreams of Avalonians for centuries, like the bastard child of of a rat, a deer, and a wolf, with glowing red eyes that pierced into your soul.

The physical manifestation of fear itself waved. <Hey Ruby.>

<Uncle Qrow!> Ruby cheered, before she pounced and hugged him.

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

Your hygge-obsession is weird and misunderstood, please stop

Being Scandinavian has become a rather weird experience. In the span of just a couple of years, we’ve gone from being a relatively unknown group of shy people from a tiny, cold, dark corner of the world to being hyper-visible and feeling like our culture is being fetishised.

I'm Danish, born and bred, but am now living in London, where I've witnessed this curiosity firsthand. 

SEE ALSO: Two cynical city dwellers try 'hygge' with disastrous results

Over here, we Scandis are the object of much envy. But not for the obvious reasons — like our high quality of life, our equality or even the fact that we’ve supplied like a third of the cast of Game of Thrones at this point. No, it’s for small aspects of our culture that a group of advertising executives somewhere saw fit to export and aggressively market as something that's frankly not really true to who we are. 

I'm talking about the obsession with (and, more importantly, the misunderstanding of) hygge.  Hygge, a Danish word defined as "a quality of cosiness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being," has been practically weaponised in recent years in an effort to sell candles, socks, and blankets. Hygge was never a lifestyle, but it's certainly marketed as one over here by people wishing to cash in on the Scandi-zeitgeist.

What ends up on the shelves in your stores is barely recognisable to us. As a Dane, I’m dumbfounded. And I’m not the only one.

Comedian and co-host of the Secret Dinosaur Cult podcast Sofie Hagen, another Danish expat in the UK, is just as confused as me. She has a habit of calling out nonsensical marketing revolving around Scandinavian lifestyle on social media. 

“It's incredibly strange finding a hygge blanket that costs £85 and promises to make you feel hygge," Hagen tells Mashable. "I found a scented candle called hygge that cost £35 which I had to buy because I was desperate to find out how on earth they thought hygge smelled. I think it was cinnamon.”

Danish comedian Sofie Hagen.

Image: Karla Gowlett

To Hagen, actual hygge can be anything from a cup of coffee on a Monday morning to going out with friends. It’s a feeling closely tied to being relaxed or chilled out. “The weirdest thing is that it is suddenly for sale,” Hagen says. “Hygge, to me, has never been something you could buy.” 

I feel the same way. For me, hygge is comfort. It exists only in the complete absence of stress and nuisance and feeds off feelings of happiness and relaxation. It’s not an aesthetic or a trend. Hygge, like love though far less elusive, cannot be bought. 

Some misuses of the word hygge are innocent and even funny – an article by The New Statesman called The hygge of Oasis (yes, the rock band) is particularly snickered-at by Scandinavians. But as soon as hygge is being used to sell you stuff you don't need, it loses its meaning.

HYGGE FOR HER? On behalf of Denmark, I declare war on everything. https://t.co/ffE6mbrnyY

— Sofie Hagen (@SofieHagen) November 8, 2018

So, how did hygge end up on the shelves of your stores? 

The road to hygge was paved with good television

It’s not exactly hard to figure out what happened. It started with the excellent Nordic noir thrillers (The Killing, anyone?), which gave the world a glimpse of our beautiful Scandinavian capitals; dark, rainy, and filled with pale Nordeners dressed in gorgeous knitwear. 

Seeing detectives run around the dark streets of rainy Copenhagen, the world also got a glimpse of how we Scandis cope with living in a part of the world that is dark for most of the year. We do that by relaxing indoors, snuggling under a blanket with a mug of something hot and lit candles all around: hygge. 

A central element to a quaint, Nordic culture. A hard-to-pronounce word with no direct translation. Brits became obsessed – even at Mashable, the hygge-craze led one Mashable writer to inexplicably play guitar on the floor alone in front of a lit candle.

Guardian journalist Charlotte Higgins writes that the version of hygge marketed in the UK was, in fact, invented by London booksellers, after The Killing became massively popular. “Hygge seemed like a perfect distillation of popular lifestyle obsessions,” Higgins writes. According to her piece, entitled 'The hygge conspiracy,' booksellers started looking for authors to translate the concept of hygge into a successful lifestyle book. 

One of these authors is Dane Meik Wiking, who wrote The Little Book of Hygge, a New York Times bestseller on “the Danish way to live well.” Wiking, who runs the Copenhagen-based think tank Happiness Research Institute, says that “hygge-washing,” as he calls it, is just big business doing what it always does: turning something that has always been free into something marketable. 

“I think what is happening is what happened with yoga and mindfulness,” Wiking tells Mashable. “You can get $200 yoga pants, but that is not what yoga is about. You can get a 'mindfulness plate' – but what the hell is a mindfulness plate, I ask. In the same way you will get companies that try and 'Hygge-wash' their products."

Hygge, Wiking explains, is not about things. Since his book was published and hygge was made trendy, Wiking, too, has noted how the concept has slowly been corrupted. Hygge, which is ultimately just a feeling, has been commercialised, he says. “Hygge is increasingly at risk of being hijacked by commercial interests – and this worries me as hygge, in its original shape, is free.”

While he insists that the original meaning of the word hygge is important to preserve and protect, Wiking also makes the argument that Danes actually don’t have any authority about what hygge is. 

“Some fill things into the term that Danes would not necessarily agree is hygge” explains Wiking, before adding: “Denmark does not have a monopoly on hygge. It happens everywhere.”  

A sign of the (political) times

Another popular Scandi hygge author is Norwegian anthropologist and chef Signe Johanson, who wrote How to Hygge. When she wrote her hygge manual, she had little idea the western world was heading for a boom in hygge. 

“I had no idea there would be so many other books published about hygge, or that it would become a marketing term for companies to flog every blanket, candle, and fluffy slipper,” Johanson tells Mashable. There are indeed many other books on hygge – a quick Amazon search brings up 12 titles.

According to Johanson, the success story of hygge has less to do with clever marketing than with the fact that 2016 (the boom year of hygge) was the year of Brexit and Trump. “It may seem odd to people in Scandinavia that hygge became such a big trend in recent years,” Johanson tells Mashable. “But understanding the context in which it occurred helps us grasp why people became so captivated by all things hygge.” 

Johanson says that she receives lots of emails from readers in the UK and North America who find the idea of hygge to be a soothing element in times of upheaval, and who are genuinely interested in why and how Scandinavia has achieved such a high quality of life. 

“You and I may not necessarily recognise the aggressively marketed version of hygge we see outside of Scandinavia,” Johanson says. “But, what we can do is try to understand that the clamour for hygge isn't just because people are being duped by clever marketeers."

“I don't necessarily recognise or identify with the aspirational side of hygge,” Johanson continues. “But I reckon if shining a light on one small aspect of Scandinavian living brings people joy in troubled times then I can live with the myriad of unexpected ways in which hygge has become appropriated across the globe.”

Johanson, who notes in a tongue-in-cheek way that Denmark is actually guilty of appropriating the term hygge from Norway (a fair point – the origin of the word is the 16th century Norwegian word hugga,) says that she doesn’t necessarily agree that the meaning of the term hygge has been diluted of meaning by over-eager advertisers. “It depends whether you find yourself irritated by the shift in meaning when a word is adopted by another culture,” she says. 

Image: Getty Images/Westend61

You already know how to hygge

What all of we Scandis in this article are getting at— Sofie Hagen, Meik Wiking, Signe Johansen and myself included — is ultimately this: hygge is just a feeling. It costs absolutely nothing. And the thing is, if you’re even thinking too much about it – if you’re forcing it – you’re missing the point. 

Hygge is effortless comfort; it has no element of performance. It is absence of all pretence and worry. The word itself may defy direct translation, but you are very familiar with the concept – trust me. Had a nice dinner with a loved one in a cosy setting? Congratulations, you just had hygge. Enjoying yourself relaxing with a good book? Hygge!

Besides, if you absolutely want to fetishise Scandinavian culture, there are other places to start. 

I ask Sofie Hagen to point readers in the direction of under-the-radar Scandinavian concepts that the world would benefit from adopting as their own. "We pay 30-50 percent in taxes and I have never, personally, heard anyone complain," Hagen says. "Because in exchange we get free education with a monthly salary for even attending school!"

My own bid for the next Scandi word the world should start celebrating is a little less weighty, but significant none the less. 

"Haps" is a great Danish word. It is used when you rapidly and unexpectedly take something (typically a treat) from another person. Haps! Brilliant word, brilliant concept. You're welcome.

WATCH: A Chinese news agency unveiled two AI anchors, but they aren’t very good yet

[aion-rsa]

INTERVIEW: Jim Starlin Returns to Marvel Cosmic with Guardians of the Galaxy

Marvel Studios showed how well comedy and sci-fi adventure can blend together with 2014’s “Guardians of the Galaxy” film, and if the trailers and buzz surrounding May’s “Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2” are any indication, the studio is about to do it again. Yet it won’t just be filmgoers who get to experience an expertly-blended cocktail of humor and wildly imaginative action — May also sees the release of “Guardians of the Galaxy: Mother Entropy,” a five-issue new reader-friendly miniseries by Marvel legends Jim Starlin and Alan Davis, which aims to bring some of the humor from the film incarnation of the Guardians to their Marvel Comics counterparts.

The miniseries, which will be released weekly, pits the Guardians against the titular new cosmic villain designed by Starlin and Davis, and will feature appearances by some of Starlin’s other popular and fan favorite Marvel Cosmic characters like Pip the Troll, and the Mad Titan Thanos.

CBR spoke with the writer about creating Mother Entropy, writing a tale that’s both cosmic and comedic, how he’s “sacrifice some bit of anatomy” to draw like Davis, and the dynamics between his cast of characters.

“Guardians of the Galaxy: Mother Entropy” #1 interior page by Jim Starlin, Alan Davis and Matt Yackey.

CBR: Jim, “Guardians of the Galaxy: Mother Entropy” is designed as an accessible series for fans of both the film and comic incarnations of the team. Does that mean in terms of tone this will be more of a humorous tale? And if so, what’s it like telling a story like this compared to some of your darker toned Marvel Cosmic stories?

Jim Starlin: By the very nature of the characters involved, “Mother Entropy” is so much more a lighter tale than any of the Thanos graphic novels have been or most of my other Marvel work. To start off with, nobody in the Guardians is in love with Death. None of them are suicidal, schizophrenic or cosmically aware. Then you’ve got Pip the Troll thrown into the mix. Hard to find many shadows there.

Yes, it is very different scripting this kind of tale. The way I work is I plot out the story on 3″ x 5″ cards, write a rough draft and keep giving that as many passes as I think it needs to be right. With a humorous story there’s got to be several additional passes, refining the funny lines,rethinking the visuals. It might actually be twice the work a “serious comic” is. Which is why I have always admired writers like Carl Hiaasen and Gary Shteygart. Humor is another animal entirely. I’ve got a warm spot in my heart for past attempts, like the “Thing/Hulk Big Change” graphic novel I did with Bernie Wrightson and the Pip the Troll/Heater Delight issue of “Warlock.”

What do you enjoy most about writing a team like the Guardians? Which dynamics between team members are you finding especially interesting and fun to write?

The interaction between the characters is what makes the Guardians tick. Throwing Pip in to play against Rocket was something I looked forward to right from the start. But I also wanted to explore a few different avenues. So later in the story Star-Lord and Groot become the focus of the yarn for quite a spell. Of all the Guardians, Quill seems to understand Groot the least. So that is where I wanted to go. Misunderstanding is an essential element in both humor and drama.

Personality and appearance is also something I wanted to play with, but I can’t say much more than that about this without this interview becoming one great big spoiler. Trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.

“Guardians of the Galaxy: Mother Entropy” #1 interior page by Jim Starlin, Alan Davis and Matt Yackey.

You mentioned Pip the Troll earlier. What can you tell us about his working arrangement with the Guardians in this story? How does he feel about teaming up with them?

Who says Pip’s working with the Guardians? Rather doubt they’d accept him into their closed little group. Plus, can you imagine Pip sharing whatever ill-gotten gains such a team-up would garner? No, this isn’t “Marvel Team-Up.” This is a story of a bunch of disreputable characters trying to con their way through life and getting in each other’s way.

Pip and the Guardians’ adversary in “Mother Entropy” is the titular new character designed by you and Alan Davis. What inspired Mother Entropy’s creation? What was it like designing her with Alan? What elements did he add to the character?

OK, to answer the character design question first: I described Mother Entropy in the script as female, mossy and a little pregnant and Alan went from there. Davis is incredible. I write out my silly little scripts and a few weeks later these emails start arriving with my story beautifully realized in comic book format. I just love working with this guy. Kind of hate him too, because he draws so damn well.

Man. I’d sacrifice some bit of anatomy to be able to draw like that guy does.

What inspired Mother Entropy’s creation? Well, Thanos is based on all the dark things that reside in all of us, if we’re being honest with ourselves. I wanted something different for this tale. So I decided to go for love. But normal selfless love does not make for a good villain. Mother Entropy is probably a lot like Donald Trump. If it makes Mom feel good, it must be love. If it doesn’t make her feel good, it’s got to get trashed.

“Guardians of the Galaxy: Mother Entropy” #1 interior page by Jim Starlin, Alan Davis and Matt Yackey.

What can you tell us about Mother Entropy’s ultimate goal and methods? How does the way she operates compare to characters like say Thanos or Annihilus?

She’s nowhere near as violent as either of those two. Seriously, she operates on her own crazy notion of what love is. All she wants is for everyone to be part of her harmonious little family. Trouble is her definition of harmonious is strikingly different from anyone else’s. That’s how we justify the fights.

Speaking of fights, can you talk a little bit about how the conflict between the Guardians and Mother Entropy will manifest? Is this a story with massive action set pieces where heroes and villains battle it out? Or is the conflict more of a metaphysical one?

No big massive action bits. Mom wants to recruit the Guardians and Pip into the family. But before that can happen, they’ve got to be tested. Read the book to find out why. Metaphysical? This is the Guardians we’re talking about, not Dr. Strange. It’s more about interpersonal relationships. At first the Guardians don’t take to Mother Entropy. But she’s the kind of character that grows on you.

“Guardians of the Galaxy: Mother Entropy” #1 cover by Alan Davis

Finally, I understand “Mother Entropy” is not connected to your recent series of Thanos stories, but the Mad Titan is in the series. What can you tell us about his role in this story?

Both Gamora and Drax have past history with Thanos. The Titan’s brief appearance in the story is related to them. Actually Gladiator plays a bigger role in “Mother Entropy” than Thanos does. So does Knowhere and the cops on Knowhere. There’s an alien priest, also, who hangs around longer than the Titan does. And let’s not forget the alien rowdies at Starlin’s Bar. Yeah, you just knew I was going to throw that joint into the story, didn’t you?

“Guardians of the Galaxy: Mother Entropy” #1 is scheduled for on release on May 3, with the five-issue series shipping weekly thereafter.

The post INTERVIEW: Jim Starlin Returns to Marvel Cosmic with Guardians of the Galaxy appeared first on CBR.com.

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