#you know how depression compounds upon itself so you can imagine where my head's been latley

[elvenking42]

Is there a secret to self love and recognizing your worth? Because I think it just hit me all at once that I've never really identified that feeling in myself and I've been on this earth for 24 years.

[fyasamisato]

Character Talk: Korra - Choices and Identity

Hi all! Been such a long time since I’ve done this. I had a absolutely wonderful conversation with a friend yesterday about Korra and I wanted to put it into writing. (Warnings, depression)

It’s difficult for me to express the impact Korra had on me as a character. How much I could relate to her journey and her spirit. We both fell upon dark times together, and watching her overcome, helped me to do the same. It’s that journey into darkness I want to shine a light on. Because in my opinion, Korra’s journey is one of the best written arch’s for a protaginist I’ve ever experienced. 

Korra was raised in unique circumstances. Understandably so given the recent history with the avatar. But being raised on a compound, prevented her from experiencing the world beyond the horizon, being taught about the role you are expected to fill, the power and expectation in your legacy and the weight of the world that you will be expected to carry is going to have an effect on who you grow into.

For Korra, that shaped her into a fiery, headstrong, reckless, and even sometimes arrogant young woman. She chose to embrace that legacy with both arms. I’m the avatar, you got to deal with it. She didn’t shy away from her destiny, instead her destiny became who she was. The brightest point in life to look forward to.There was no other option, no other dream and no other option only a desire to measure up to that legacy and to prove she was worthy to carry it.

Being the avatar, was her identity.

So it only makes sense that the series tests that resolve and that identity over and over again.

She expects to change the world for the better. She expects to bring balance to the world because that is what she is told she is meant to do, and thousands have done it before her. Anything that falls short of that idea, that legend, any grey area is going to be considered failure in the eyes of someone who being the Avatar is all they ever wanted. The expectations others put on her, don’t hold a candle to the expectations she put on herself. To measure up. To be what the legends told her she should be. In both books 1 and 2, that identity is put to the test. What can the avatar do for the non benders and their oppressors? What can she do when a civil war divides her loyalties? What choices will she make when the world stands poised to be changed forever? She faces these questions, with mixed results. In both the eyes of the world, and herself. She’s ridiculed and even despised. When you alone stand to make the choice to reunite the spirit and human worlds, you’re going to have second thoughts, you’re going to question if you made the right call. Headstrong as she is, Korra asks herself that question constantly. Is she fulfilling her destiny? Is she doing a good job, or is she making things worse? Could someone else have done better? Could Aang have done better? She was raised to think that she would make a difference. That she was the only one who could.

It’s easy to buckle under that weight when the world is at stake.

Book 3 begins, and Korra is left to question if she made the right decision, opening the spirit portal. It hasn’t made life better for everyone. Human or spirit, none of whom were asked if this is something they wanted. She made the choice for them, because she was the only one that could. Right? She was the avatar, this was her responsibility, no one else. To bring harmony between human and spirit was the point right? Wasn’t that balance? Korra is left to ponder this, racked with so many doubts as to her place and her ability to make the right choices. To question herself more deeply than she had before, and she had before, so many times. Every challenge she faced shook her resolve. Losing her bending, Unalaq’s manipulation. Nothing was as simple as she expected. 

So it must come as a huge moment of shock and relief, when she discovers her actions had side effects. That air benders are returning, and that was entirely due to the choices she made. For Korra, this is something of a revelation. The equalist conflict wasn’t clean. The water tribe civil war left its marks. Could things have been handled better? Did she do the right thing? Those are the thoughts gnawing away at her, and yet this? The return of a people? Of her predecessors people? That is an absolute good right? No grey, no complicated motivations, no villains with justified causes. Just something good, that she caused. She did the right thing. Finally she brought unquestionably positive change, like an avatar is supposed to.

But then it has consequences you never imagined.

No one. Could have predicted the air nomads return. What’s more, no one could have predicted what that would lead to. The damage it could cause. What happened next, what Zaheer and the red lotus did, is Korra’s fault. She’s sure of it. Intention doesn’t matter to her, nor how unexpected the results. All that matters is these consequences came as a result of a choice she made. You think you’re doing the right thing, but the world always becomes more complicated than you expect. It would be unfair to blame yourself for that, but that’s exactly what Korra does, and the the world changes. All she can do is try to catch up.

For a brief moment, she felt like the avatar’s of legend. Felt like she was living up to the legacy she so tied her identity to. For once in her life, she was worthy to carry on Aang’s story. The Avatar’s story. Bringing back the air nomads was her proudest moment. The best thing she’d ever done.

To have it turn on her so violently...

What is Korra left with? She faced her most challenging battle. She survived, after the most suffering she’d ever experienced.  Suffering no one should have ever had to endure. But the balance is broken, and the earth kingdom is in chaos. Once again, the resolution of one conflict gave birth to another. Something worse, around each corner, and for the first time, she’s in no state to fight it.

And this time, she doesn’t have to. Watching Jinora’s ceremony, and seeing her come into her own. One can’t help but see a glimpse of Avatar Aang in Jinora’s shaved head. The legacy Korra is trying to carry. The shadow she’s lived under the whole of her life. 

And that’s when Tenzin, her guide, the living legacy of Aang, comforts her with the best, and worst thing she can hear right now.

They’ll take up the cause. They’ll take up the legacy of balance until she can return. She can rest.

The Avatar isn’t needed.

I don’t think it’s by accident that moment of Korra’s reaction is one of the most talked about and praised moment of the series. Is she happy for Jinora? Of course. Is it a relief to know the world will have someone to protect it? That things won’t fall apart because she’s gone? Yes.

But they shouldn’t have to. 

Every conflict in the series, is a direct attack on the Avatar. On it’s role. The world has changed since the hundred year war. Leaving one to wonder if heroes even have a place anymore. Amon attacked her abilities. What was she without them? Unalaq presented her with a dark reflection. What lines could she cross before she goes too far? Zaheer meanwhile struck at something deeper. Her cause. Her legacy. The avatar imposes balance. One person, decides the fate of millions, and now, those people she tried to protect, are beginning to protect themselves.

Of course Zaheer was wrong, but the issues he proposed didn’t slink back into the shadows. They’re present for all to see the flaws in the system.

Her whole life, Korra was told she was needed. That the avatar was needed. They are one and the same in her mind. Now she’s faced with a sobering truth. She’s not needed. The world will move on without her. It’ll survive without her.

If she isn’t needed, if someone else can bring balance, then why should she? Why should she suffer again and again when she doesn’t have to? When no one needs her to? Why should this responsibility be solely hers to carry?

What is Korra to do, when all she’s left with is time to ask herself those very questions?

When she’s alone?

A long time ago, I loved the finale of book 1. Because I asked myself, what Korra’s lowest point could be? When someone so physical, so tied to her own ability to affect change, lost that ability? I thought losing her bending, losing the chance at the avatar state was the lowest point. I bet if we could have asked her that, if we could have peered into her fears in book one, she would have had the same answer. And that made me worried. Where could they go from there?

Thankfully, I was wrong. Losing her abilities, wasn’t her lowest point. Even powerless, an Avatar can still do great things. Still promote the balance of the world.

No, the worst thing that could truly happen for her, the darkest hour would be the revelation that she didn’t have to. That the world would balance itself. That she’d failed more profoundly than being beaten down. Than a villain achieving their goal.

That maybe the world didn’t need an avatar anymore. 

Her destiny, that legacy, that responsibility wasn’t needed. Someone else could do her job, and they could do it better than she ever could, cause all she’d done is make mistake after mistake. (This is what she tells herself)

What she’d so wrapped up her own identity with was unraveling. If Korra wasn’t going to be the avatar? What would she be? 

The scariest answer of all is the only one she’s left with. Nobody. 

Korra never had another dream. Her want, her need, was to be a good Avatar. To live up to that calling. Her childhood on that compound had prepared her for nothing else, no other door was presented to her, no other choice. Her life was decided for her the moment she was born. She was going to be the avatar and that was it. So what is one to do when that’s not enough?

Korra had nothing else to fall back on. Nothing to replace that yearning, that drive in her that burned like fire. All she was left with was a hollow where that fire used to be. With nothing else, she begins a downward spiral. A self perpetuating sense of directionless. A depression that began to eat her up from inside, and that grew worse for three years, until she turned away from her legacy, from her friends, and from her family, because all of them were better off without her.

Those are the things we tell ourselves when we struggle with depression. Achievements? The good we do doesn't seem to break through that fog. The love and support from those we care about, doesn’t seem earned. Leaving us only with the worst doubts our minds can conjure.

There are times it feels like no one can hurt us the way we can hurt ourselves

Depression is something I’ve battled myself, and to this day, I have never connected with a character’s struggle as much as I have Korra’s. 

Nor has a triumph ever felt so cathartic.

“If you look for the light, you can often find it.But if you look for the dark that is all you will ever see.” -Iroh

Watching Korra find that light again, helped me to find my own.

Korra defined herself as the Avatar for most of her life. When she at last overcomes that struggle, the avatar is still a part of her identity, but that’s just it. Only a part.  Moving forward, she learned that her identity could be more. Was already more. That there were so many wonderful things in this world. Friends, family, and all of it leaves a piece of itself to carry on. Even the antagonistic forces in our lives, present us with a chance to learn. To overcome. Every experience builds up who we are, and what we become, more than titles ever could.

She learned the weight of the worlds didn’t have to rest solely on her shoulders, but that even so, she could still do the right thing. She could still make a difference. Maybe it was more complicated than the world needing an avatar or not. Regardless of title, it needed her. It needed Korra.

Korra began as a character forged by expectations. Both in universe and out. If you’re reading this I doubt have to tell you what she had to overcome along her journey and in the eyes of the fandom itself. The bar she had to clear, was immeasurably high. Expectations of whether she could live up to it all hung over her head, as much as it hung over the series itself. 

When that was always the wrong question.

For so long she wanted to be the perfect Avatar, to live up to the heroes that came before. She was trying to forge the legend of the avatar, rather than the Legend of Korra.

Her journey, works so well, because it’s tied to the legacy of the series. The question of how to followup something so brilliant as avatar is the question Korra faced every day. How do you follow up a legend?

Instead of allowing herself to be crushed by the legacies of the past, Korra learned a far more valuable lesson. That the choices we make shape us, not the expectations of legends long gone. That we can forge our own identities, and our own futures. That to be something, isn’t the end all be all. We can define ourselves by more than our responsibilities.

That we will make mistakes, and that those mistakes will have consequences. That we will make choices and sometimes things will go dangerously wrong. That sometimes we will break, shatter into pieces and wonder how we can ever be put back together. 

Those are the sorts of things destiny doesn’t prepare you for. Things that get left out of the retelling. A legend, doesn’t have blemishes.

So why would we ever compare ourselves to them? Why would we hold ourselves to those mythic ideals no one could ever match? Why run ourselves bloody and ragged trying to be something we’re not? Something no one ever really was?

A person’s story, isn’t beautiful because it’s flawless. Life, is messier than legend. Failures define us just as much as successes. Those flaws help us to build, to reflect on who we really are and the things we really want. 

She never had to be the perfect Avatar, because there’s no such thing.

All she had to be was Korra, and being Korra, was enough.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Why (most of) the 2010s Marvel legacy characters didn’t work

For Marvel characters I think it comes off as profoundly undermining when they get legacies, at least in the specific way Marvel attempted this throughout the 2010s.

To explain this we need to actually first look at DC’s characters in order to compare and contrast why legacies for them tend to work out better than they do for Marvel.

Simply put back in the 1930s-1950s (if not even later) DC’s characters were almost always created as powers first, people second. Wish fulfilment fantasy figures over flawed mere mortals.

Consequently you could legacy Green Lantern and the Flash in the 1950s and then do so again in the 1980s-1990s because so so long as you had a guy with a ring and another guy with super speed you were retaining the essence of both characters, the fundamental point and appeal of them.

But the Marvel characters were the other way around and practically deliberately designed to be so. 

Thor was the story of the life and times of Thor Odinson. Spider-Man was the story of the life and times of Peter Parker. The Fantastic Four was never the story about a brainiac who stretched, a girl who could go invisible, a kid who could burst into flame and a guy who looked like a rock monster. 

It was about a stern scientist obsessed with his work. A nurturing young woman who loved him but was frustrated by his tendency to get lost in his work. Her younger brother interested in sports cars, girls, excitement and other typically hot headed teenage endeavours. And an average Joe who was tortured and depressed that he was no longer human. 

Ben Grimm could’ve looked like any kind of monster and the central point of his character would have been retained. The F4′s specific powers, complemented their personalities, but they were not the driving point unto themselves. 

In contrast let us consider Captain America, probably the Marvel character who’s done the ‘replacement legacy hero’ storyline the most (at least within 616 canon). How comes he  lends himself so much better to this type of story than the other Marvel characters? 

Simple, because unlike most of the big name Marvel characters you know of, he wasn’t created in the 1960s or beyond. Cap was the product of the 1940s and was a peer to those same early days super heroes from the Golden Age, including the original Green Lantern and Flash. Like them he began fundamentally more as a symbol and powerset than a person. 

But now flashing forward to the 21st century many (most in my view) Flash fans were upset (and continue to be so) Wally West’s ascension to the Flash mantle was undermined and ultimately undone for the sake of restoring Barry Allan to the spotlight. The reason for this upset when Wally himself had replaced Barry? Wally had proven himself a far more flawed, nuanced and complex character than Barry had ever been. 

He demonstrated a degree of characterisation in the Flash role that Barry never had. It wasn’t even that he simply had more of this than Barry, but that Barry, just like Jay Garrick preceding him, had little to speak of in the first place. Thus the contrast between Jay and Barry was mostly superficial but the contrast between Barry and Wally was as stark as comparing Spider-Man to 1950s Superman.*

But Wally West, and the entire DC Universe from Post-Crisis onwards in fact, were in that mould precisely because they were trying to be more like Marvel comics has been since the 1960s onwards. 

DC in effect began prioritising the people beneath the costumes over the powers.** But Marvel starting in the 1960s had pretty much always been like that with their heroes.

Consequently when legacies popped up and those new characters were pushed as being just as good, just as worthy, or (in some cases) lowkey pushed as being better  than their predecessors it naturally rubbed those fans with decades of emotional investment the wrong way. OBVIOUSLY  a woman or a POC can be just as worthy and just as capable as a man or a white person as a superhero. But series to series, character to character, it was almost like Marvel was taking away your beloved pet.

Imagine for a moment you had a pet named Rex that you’d known and loved for years. 

Then Marvel insisted on taking Rex away from you when there was nothing wrong with him. In his place they give you another clearly different pet with Rex’s collar, who gets Rex’s bowl, Rex’s food, Rex’s toys, Rex’s bed and even Rex’s name and asks you to treat them not as just a new dog but straight up the new Rex.

Except he isn’t Rex. Rex is Rex. The ‘new Rex’ playing with Rex’s toys, doing the same tricks as him or having his collar doesn’t change that.*** 

Because Rex was more than a collar, his toys or his tricks. He was an individual that you’d known and loved. And even if you know Rex is going to come back ‘eventually’ having Rex taken away from you at all, having the new Rex supplant them (especially if old Rex was screwed over for the sake of new Rex’s arrival) and having so many people insist new Rex is just as great or more great than old Rex (to the point where many people loudly proclaim they don’t even want the old Rex back and the old Rex was kinda lame and boring) is going to create a massive dissonance. Maybe you would’ve been chill with the new Rex is he was just another additional pet called Rover or even like RexY who was similar yet different to Rex, but not actually promoted AS Rex or as his replacement. 

Maybe you would’ve been okay with the new Rex if the old one got too old, died naturally or accidentally. But you aren’t okay with it because there was nothing wrong with Rex, you LOVED Rex and Rex had been with you and been around generally forever. So the new Rex felt like he was undermining him, especially undermining Rex’s individuality. 

That’s how I think most Marvel fans felt about practically EVERY legacy situation that’s ever cropped up from the 1960s onwards, not even the ones just from the 2010s. I remember  the outrage when Bucky was announced as the new Cap. I know there were people salty about Eric Masterson as Thor and the Spider-Man Clone Saga speaks for itself.

Compounding the situation is that more than a few media outlets (despite imo not representing the feeling’s of the majority at all) promoted (and in some cases still promote) the new characters as not just better than they are (see the dozen or so lists talking about how great Riri allegedly was) but along with many fans tear down the older characters whilst doing so. 

See every article ever talking about why Peter Parker in the movies (and sometimes in the comics) NEEDS to die for the sake of Miles becoming the new Spider-Man in spite of their rationales rarely making sense from a creative/financial POV and utilizing misrepresentations of both characters to varying degrees. Even fans that appreciate the social/political relevancy of the new characters are going to naturally be upset in response to that and angrily voice opposition when the character they love gets dragged through the mud like that. And that then gets exacerbated when they are labelled as bigots for feeling upset by the changes or reacting against the character they love being dragged through the mud.**** 

Especially considering they would’ve reacted the same way regardless of who was the replacement hero.  Again, fans at first didn’t take kindly to John Walker or Bucky as the new Captain Americas so the idea that backlash against Sam Wilson was entirely or primarily racist was itself profoundly ignorant. Especially when you consider black reviewers such as those on the Hooded Utalitarian were calling it out as bad storytelling and bad representation for black people. SpaceTwinks went issue by issue through Spencer’s Sam Wilson run and called it out as racist, ignorant and naive. NONE of which is me saying that there isn’t more than a little bigotry going around detractors of these new characters nor that there aren’t obviously bad actors.

But those people did not and do not represent the majority and framing the situation as though they do is disingenuous and highly unethical. In conclusion, the backlash against the 2010s Marvel legacy characters was entirely natural, understandable and for the vast majority came from a place of love for the original characters not a bigoted hatred for the new characters skin colour or sex. 

It was a testament to Marvel’s, and the wider media, misunderstanding the psychology of most comic book fans. 

P.S. In regards to that, though it isn’t exactly talking about what I’ve spoken about I’d highly recommend checking out this video which touches upon the disenchantment Star Wars fans felt over the Sequel Trilogy, which itself could be viewed as doing the same thing Marvel did with it’s replacement legacy characters.

P.P.S. The reason I think the likes of Miles Morales or Kamala Khan succeeded where others failed is chiefly due to their rise to the role of legacy replacements stemmed from their predecessors not  being sidelined for their rise to the spotlight. Miles never ever replaced the 616 version of Peter Parker, widely considered by most fans and Marvel internally as the true and legitimate version of the character. Kamala Khan meanwhile picked up the Ms. Marvel only when Carol Danvers discarded it and became Captain Marvel. She was still in the spotlight in her own right, Kamala simply got her own spotlight using Carol’s obsolete name. Which isn’t all that dissimilar to fan favourite Cassandra Cain’s rise to the Batgirl mantle now I think about it.

P.P.P.S. A possible counter argument to all I’ve said is the success of the Superior Spider-Man/Otto Octavius. After all why was he embraced when Sam Wilson and Jane Foster wasn’t? Was a double standard rooted in bigotry at play?

No, but the answer isn’t neat and simple.

I think Ock as the new Spider-Man was more embraced partially because Ock had been around essentially as long as Spidey himself. But more poignantly  pre-Superior Spider-Man was so atrocious that a sizzling and sexy idea like Superior (which generated tons of cheap novelty) felt utterly refreshing, even to people who had actually LIKED pre-Superior Spidey under Slott. It’s like how people praised the early Big Time stories despite their problems because compared to BND they were genuinely better.

Plus Superior, for all it’s god forsaken writing, didn’t exist to clearly workshop potential movie ideas or chiefly in aid of a social/political cause. Someone can agree that there should be more black or female superheroes but disagree that the older characters should be sidelined in the attempt to achieve that.

Especially when there were better alternative options such as introducing those newer characters within and alongside the established hero’s narrative or simply introduce them independently as has happened recently with the likes of Lunar Snow.

*This is also why I suspect Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman survived from the Golden Age into the Silver Age. Because they were the DC characters who (more than any of the other ones) had actual personalities/substance to them. **Of course this didn’t begin wholesale with the post-Crisis era. But noticeably the characters who had worked with this new shift in priorities prior to Crisis on Infinite Earths stayed generally the same thereafter (E.g. the Titans, Batman) whilst characters who had largely vacillated or struggled (e.g. Superman and Wonder Woman) were given fresh starts which proved critically and financially successful.  

***Not even if he does everything just as well as Rex did or does some stuff differently that’s still good (although the overwhelming majority of the time new Rex is clearly not as good as the old Rex).

****I’ve seen people be called racist and misogynists for calling out Riri Williams honestly ridiculous degree of competency as a hero/tech genius in spite of her age. This is not an invalid criticism, yet disliking the character because of those reasons is grounds to be labelled as something ugly by another (imo minor yet also vocal) contingent of fandom. 

Hell I was called a Trump supporting Breitbart reading bigot for calling out Marvel as two-faced due to never putting a black writer in charge of Sam Wilson as Captain America or a woman in charge of Jane Foster as Thor. It isn’t exclusive to comics either as I and other people have been accused of racism/misogyny for disliking the Last Jedi in spite of that film to my eyes being itself racist and sexist anyway.

[deathandhumanresources]

Chapter 1 - Research and Development

I remember having wings.

Back then, I spent a lot more time working with Father. Heck, back in those days, it seemed like Father tried to spare time for nearly anyone who asked for it. That was when we were all still working on “The Plan.” Father was so excited for “The Plan” and, since we were all a part of Father and a part of “The Plan,” we were excited alongside him. We all had our purpose, assigned and appropriated before the beginning of time, and we flitted about with a jovial motivation that only the most wonderful of work environments could provide. This was, of course, before the concept of dissent and rebellion was established. But I’ll get to that...

In the beginning, Father relied on His two hosts of spirits to work out His design for “The Plan:”

The Djinn, born of Father’s fire.

And the Angels, born of Father’s light.

The Djinn dug at the inner workings of the cosmos with their powerful flame, carving a vast and complicated universe from Father’s labyrinthine blueprints. As Father devised new chemical reactions and new forms of elemental fusion, the Djinn would test these experiments in the vast emptiness of space. They were beings of will and might, spending days upon days composing the largest structures and the smallest molecules with an impossible patience. When something didn’t work- when what was supposed to be a dense crystal instead shattered upon the lightest touch, or when the molecular compound for water would instead create marshmallows- they would bring their findings to Father. He would tweak His notes and send the Djinn back out into the field, where they would attempt his vision again. Though Father regarded them harshly, the Djinn worked their hardest to shape His universe.

Meanwhile, the Angels were tasked with pondering the finer eccentricities of “physical law” and devising a world that did not require the workarounds that their magic had otherwise facilitated. They were philosophical and energetic beings, worried with the “why” more than the “how.” Angels were mostly good at pontificating and soapboxing, and their blustering arguments over ideas like “age” and “love” lead to decisions that made very little sense at all. Angels were bureaucrats before they had invented bureaucrats. More often than not, Father would step in on their heated debates to explain how He wanted His ideas to be expressed on a universal level. As the crowds dispersed, one could always hear the skulking grumblings of one Angel or another, expressing with no self awareness that “What Father just said was what I was trying to get at all along!” 

I am technically an Angel, though I’ve always been a bit different from my brothers and sisters.

When I had approached Father and asked how He wanted me to help, His reply was brief and cryptic:

“We are in the creation stage of development. Your part comes a little while later.”

He had barely regarded me with a sideways glance. His nose was buried in His notes and He was pulled in every direction by some other, more assertive spirit. I shied away at His presumption and began to sulk towards a corner to wait for my turn in the universe. My pathetic display must have caught Father’s attention as He suddenly set His gaze upon me.

“Little Azreal,” Father cooed, “Your task in all of this is of the utmost importance. As all things will come to be, so they must end. Once I find out exactly how they are supposed to end, I shall call on you. Until then...” He slowly extended an enormous closed fist towards me until I was in reach. He uncurled His fingers and produced a wisp of cloud that contorted into the form of a large book. “I’d like for you to give every living thing that shall come to be a name.”

“A name?” I repeated

“Yes, a designation. Give every living plant and creature that we design a name and write it in the pages of this book. I need an inventory and I need it to be clear and concise.”

I took the tome from Father’s gigantic palm. I was about to ask how I was to write the name of every living creature if I didn’t even know what the word "write" meant, when my head was instantaneously filled with the gift of all languages. Father smiled at my bewildered realization and offered His other massive hand towards me. He pinched the air with His thumb and forefinger and produced a writing quill made from a feather of brilliant purple and gold (I would later learn that this feather came from one of Father’s rejected designs.) I took the pen and my muscles twitched with the immediate knowledge of perfect penmanship.

Father was once so generous.

“What happens when I’m done writing the name of every living creature that comes to be?” I asked, my voice dry.

“By that time, there will be another book.” Father explained as His look turned from kind to pensive. “When you are done writing all the names in the first, you will write them again in the second. When you are done writing all of the names down in the second book, there will be no need for either.”

Before I had time to ask for some clarification, a fat Cherubim had impatiently approached. It began to pester Father about the nature of odor or some other pedantic detail of “The Plan.” I did my best to recapture Father’s attention but, back then, I was such a tiny Angel and so my efforts were in vain. Father turned and moved to His next task. He was so busy back then. Instead of pressing further, I opened my new book and looked within. The pages were all blank (of course they were, it was the first book ever created.) I was filled with an overwhelming sense of purpose and I sat to consider the first living creature that I was supposed to name.  

I sat in my spot for a long time and it felt as though my head was filled with that sense of purpose and not much else. I became frustrated and considered that I was a failure to Father’s plan, that perhaps He would consider my lack of progress and unmake me. I slammed the book closed. As I let my worry get the better of me, my thoughts were interrupted by the bickering of two angels walking by. I could see that one was holding a malleable, cylindrical something that writhed and slithered in her hands. She held it away from the second Angel who grabbed at it greedily. When the second Angel decided he couldn’t grab the something from the first, his face grew red with fluster and he cursed.

“Harut, you have created a horrid thing and Father will ridicule us for your lack of reason!”

“I think it’s cute, Marut.” the first Angel stuck out her tongue. “And I believe it will be a symbol of great importance when ‘The Plan’ is ready.”

“We already have something like this in the designs! And unlike your foolish creation, it has legs!”

“This one doesn’t need legs!”

“A land creature that travels without legs?” Marut hissed, “Have you completely ignored the doctrine?”

“I think Father will like it.”

“Let me have it so I can destroy it and save us the embarrassment!”

“No!”

The Angels walked passed, the second pawing furiously at the first. They did not seem to notice me at all, though the thing on Harut’s arm had crawled atop her shoulder and looked at me with wonder. As our eyes met, it popped a little forked tongue in my direction. Harut was right, it was cute.

Without any warning, a thought entered my head and was doing its best to escape through my mouth. The image of the wriggly creature had seemed to turn itself into newly-formed letters in my imagination. Before I knew what I was doing, I spoke.

“Snek.” I said to no one in particular. 

“Snek.” I said again. The word felt good in my mouth. My fingertips that held the golden quill tingled as I repeated the word over and over.

I once again opened up my book and I began to write.

My knack for nomenclature developed at an even keel alongside Father’s universe. News of my purpose spread throughout the Angelarium. Before long, a line of heavenly spirits had collected in front of me. Each Angel had with them a prototype of their creation for me to evaluate. Some Angels held their ideas in the palms of their hands while others led their monstrous musings by lengths of solid chain. I had not told these gatherers to organize in any fashion. They had decided by their own desire to form a perfunctory queue and wait patiently for my attention. Angels were always so orderly.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK?” a Seraphim shouted at me as it approached from its place in the queue. It outstretched one of its six crimson wings and, nestled gingerly in its plumage, there sat an amorphous mass. The blob looked like if a water droplet was having a rather depressing day. At its base, a cluster of hair-like appendages flopped with morose nonchalance.

“Er,” I regarded the hopeful-looking Seraphim with skepticism, “This is supposed to be an animal?”

“INDEED! I’VE BEEN WORKING ALL DAY ON IT!” The spirit opened its mouth and a blue flame erupted in tandem with its enthusiastic shout.

The Seraph belonged to Father’s highest choir of Angels and were, by design, never subtle.

“PRECAMBRIAN!” It continued emphatically, “ONE OF THE FIRST MULTICELLULAR ANIMALS! A BIG DEAL, RIGHT HERE! IT IS SUPPOSED TO MAINTAIN ITS FORM THROUGHOUT THE AGES WITHOUT MANY CHANGES TO ITS INITIAL DESIGN!” It made sure to brag this detail to the line of Angels behind it.

“You don’t say?” I wondered aloud as I once again considered the absolute brainlessness of the supposed “creature.” Leave it to the Seraphim to only work in abstracts.

“I DO SAY!” It replied. “I JUST SAID IT A MOMENT AGO! WOULD YOU LIKE TO HOLD IT?”

Ignoring my protest, the Seraphim reached its wing towards me and dropped the living snot puddle into my reluctant hands. The thing was cold and without physical reason. I did my best to feign a look to match the Seraphim’s obvious excitement. I was only made uncomfortable by the creature’s viscous form for a moment before I noticed a clamour near the end of the Angelic queue.

It appeared as though one of the Angels near the end had broken rank and was approaching, much to the chagrin of the other line-goers. Each Angel seemed to speak up as it saw it was being bypassed. As soon as it took a better notice of the offender in question, it huddled back to its place in line without a further peep. The figure moved with authoritative diligence. As it moved closer to the front of the queue, I could see it wore the shimmering, night-black robes of the Archangel. A nervous spike shot through my spine when I realized just who was approaching.

“WELL!?” The Seraphim once again pulled my attention, “WHAT DO YOU SAY!? I BELIEVE THIS BEING INVOKES A POWERFUL NAME INDEED!”

“Do you think it could wait?” I asked with a begging smile, “Perhaps you would like more time to, er, muse on this one while I sit back and think of the perfect name for this little guy.” I dropped the heap of wet cells back into the Seraphim’s cupping wing tip. 

“THE DESIGN IS QUITE COMPLETE!” The Seraphim coddled its blob close. “APPROVED BY FATHER! ALL IT NEEDS IS A NAME!”

I looked past my guest’s shoulder at the queue behind. The Archangel was getting ever closer and I could see in his face that he meant business. I cursed under my breath and realized I had to hasten my meeting to a close.

“Approved by Father, you say?” I turned back towards the eager Seraphim, “In that case, the name for this poor creature has popped into my head as clear as day!” I held my fingertips to my temple and released a grunt of faux-exertion. The display seemed to work as the Seraphim observed with a look of pure wonder. “From henceforth, this being shall be known as a... Jellyfish!”

The Seraphim furrowed its shining gold brow and wrinkled its nose as if it had tasted something fermented and sour. 

“JELLYFISH!? WHAT IN HEAVEN IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!? WHAT IS JELLY!?”

I shrugged dismissively. “I dunno. I don’t make the words, I just use them. My will and my words are the same as Father’s. This name is His through me. Anyway, let’s move along. Lots of creatures to name and we can’t take all creation to name them, can we?” I attempted to shoo the stubborn Angel before shouting behind him, “Next in line please!”

“NOW WAIT!” The Seraphim protested, “SURELY YOU CAN COME UP WITH SOMETHING BETTER THAN JELLYFISH. IT IS NOT EVEN A FISH!”

“They can’t all be winners, pal.” At this point, I was hefting my entire weight against the persistent Seraphim but the spirit was a mass of eyeballs and feathers twice my size and it pushed adamantly back.

“I SHALL NOT LEAVE UNTIL YOU HAVE GIVEN MY DESIGN A NAME WORTHY OF FATHER’S HONOR!”

“Qaspiel,” a voice emerged behind the Seraphim that was as deep and calm as it was fearful and commanding. “I hate to interrupt but I must have a discussion with the little Azrael.”

Qaspiel the Seraphim’s face hunkered into a look of statuesque rage. Its flaming eyes tore from my gaze and its glittering cheeks blushed an angry heat. It craned its neck and spat towards the source of the offending voice.

“NOW SEE HERE! IT IS MY TURN WITH HE WHO GIVES NAMES AND I-” Before it could even conceptualize another tempered word, its stony face dropped into a mask of intense dismay and regret. Its lips sputtered and its throat gurgled several primitive groans before a single word allowed itself to escape.

"LUCIFER!” it finally said.

I feel as though I don’t need to explain who Lucifer is to you, humble reader. Even a mythologically-inept person could probably recognize the Angel who would eventually become the very first supervillain. That being said, I think it’s important to understand who Lucifer was pre-Fall From Grace. At the very least, the tale will help you understand my story...

Lucifer was Father’s first Angel and, as far as any of us could tell, Father’s first creation whatsoever. He was a being of immaculate light that shone in a brilliant display of every color simultaneously. He was the strongest and most powerful Angel ever created and his mold was used to build every Angel after him. He held Father’s secrets and his magic in his very core and, some say, he was nearly as powerful as Father himself. 

Lucifer stood at Father’s side as Chief Angel and guardian of the Heavens. Long before creation was more than a dreamy idea, Lucifer was granted a legion of Angels to train and command in the art of war. Back then, no one had the forethought to ask why Heaven needed to prepare for war. Back then, none of us were advanced enough to ask Father such questions. For a time, Lucifer was least likely to question Father’s methods. None of us were prepared to learn that Lucifer was training the army to one day fight him.

It was said that Father loved Lucifer more than any of His other creations and even more than “The Plan.” We other Angels were never jealous. It was unbecoming of our upbringing to feel such horrid emotions towards each other. Instead, we revered our Chief Angel with the same love and admiration that our Father felt. Lucifer loved Father as well, though he did not revere his fellow Angels in the same manner. Lucifer was proud of his love and proud of his standing in Heaven. Though he wouldn’t admit it at the time, he was most proud of how the others would fear him.

If I were to describe Lucifer in one word, it would be “pragmatic.” The Archangel had little time for dilly-dallying. He believed every moment had a purpose and any moment without purpose was a moment wasted. He regarded “The Plan” as if it were his own and, rumor had it, he sometimes spoke as if it was.

“Azrael, come walk with me.” Lucifer commanded with no hint of mercy in his voice. I looked past the Chief Angel, expecting to see frustration and dissent amongst the waiting queue. All of the Angels in line regarded Lucifer with the same look of intimidation that I felt on my own face. An Archangel visiting the lower Angelarium was a big deal. The Archangel visiting the lower Angelarium meant there was trouble. 

“Er, yes sir.” I replied with reluctance. “Of course, sir.” I gave an apologetic shrug to the queue, the eyes of each waiting Angel followed me with annoyance behind fear. Lucifer ignored the Angels and clasped his giant hand around my shoulder.

“And bring your book.” He bellowed.

We travelled past the gates of the major Angelarium out into the abstract Heavens. The roads of radiant silver transitioned into a soft and grassy cloud under our feet. The stars shone so much brighter out beyond our workways; the Djinn had done such lovely work on them. I ran to keep up with Lucifer’s haste. The gait of his step doubled mine. He had taken my book, with no protest from me, and he was pensively scanning the pages as he walked. He said nothing and I was too afraid to speak either. We reached a peak of cloud that looked into the dark. The black of absent space was dotted with massive expanding galaxies of different dazzling colors. I looked with wonder at Father’s creations while Lucifer flipped nonchalantly through my book. After a moment, he closed it with a snap.

“This is all very good work, Azrael.” He finally said.

“Thank you sir!” I responded with an air of officiance in my throat. I was not one of Lucifer’s soldiers but I guessed it was in my best interest to act as if I was.

“You may relax, little Angel,” his response was almost jovial, “I did not bring you here to exact Father’s judgment.” Such a statement should have put me at ease but I could not shake my tension.

“You didn’t?”

“No. I’ve only come to audit your progress. You’ve become quite the popular being, haven’t you?” As Lucifer said this, I felt a heat rise from my chest into my face.

“I s-suppose.” I stumbled. “The Angels find me and I give them what they require.”

“Compliance,” Lucifer almost interrupted, “is an admirable quality. You’ve done well in your book. Your names for Heaven’s designs are apt. Tell me, have you considered why we must provide a name for every living thing?”

I regarded the question and did not have an answer for Lucifer. My silence prompted him to continue.

“Father has instilled us with the means to build His Creation. As the Djinn create the constructs of this plan, the Angels create the concepts. It is not enough for a creation to exist. The explanation for why it exists is essential in it existing at all. Do you agree?” He only gave me a moment to respond. I said nothing. He began again.

“Furthermore, to explain a creation in specificity is to award it uniqueness. Therefore, a concept and its construct are not truly complete until it has a name to make it unique. Father’s plan is contingent on the uniqueness of each of his creations.”

Though I was confused, Lucifer’s points made sense and it almost felt like Father Himself was explaining to me.

“Once a being has been created,” Lucifer started again, “do you think it should exist forever?”

It took a moment for me to realize that the Archangel expected an earnest answer to his question. He stared at me while I found the words.

“I-” I mumbled, “I always assumed we were to devise and build Father’s plan to be admired forever.”

To this, Lucifer’s great wings flexed and swayed with the Archangel’s pensive stance. His deep black feathers shimmered in the radiance from above that was Father’s light. His mouth opened and closed several times before he spoke again. 

“You are not wrong, Azrael.” He said with a hollow tone that struck me with a hidden sadness. “Each element of Father’s plan will be admired forever. Though, in order for each creation to be admired to its fullest, it must not only be created but it must be subjected to change and, ultimately, it must be destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” I gulped. I had never heard the word before.

“Yes.” He rejoined, “Destroyed. It must reach a state of change so intense that it does not subsist. Thus, each creation will be appreciated in its fullest, even and especially when it no longer exists. Do you understand?”

I had not understood the moment Lucifer had asked the question. But as I let the thought permeate in my mind, the idea became as clear as all of creation itself. As things must be created, they must too be destroyed to be whole. 

“Yes.” I finally said. “I understand.”

“There is a burden...” Lucifer spoke as he peered into the vastness of the space beyond. I could almost hear a choke in his throat. “...to the facilitation of this process. This burden lies in your book. As you give each creation a name, and write that name into your pages, you acknowledge its existence and thus further acknowledge that it will one day be destroyed. Do you understand this as well?”

“Yes.” I did not hesitate this time.

The sound of heaving wings echoed behind us in the cloudy bluff. I looked over my shoulder to see an Archangel in brilliant golden armor approach from a foreign angle in space. His wings were like painted flame, vibrant reds and yellows speckled the feathers. His skin was the color of thunderclouds, just like Lucifer’s. He approached with urgency and landed behind us with an immediate march towards the Chief Angel.

“Aamon.” Lucifer regarded the soldier without turning its way.

“Sir.” Aamon responded, his approach unflinching. “I am sorry to interrupt-”

“And yet you persist.” Lucifer cut the excuse short. He turned and his shock-blue eyes pierced the intruding Angel in a way that stopped him in his tracks.

“It’s the Djinn.” Aamon insisted with a quivering in his voice that suggested he would much rather be anywhere else. “They’re setting off neutron stars in the forty-fourth quadrant. They’re collapsing them just to see what happens.”

“Again!?” Lucifer hissed and the whole heavenly valley quaked. His stance turned from one of preparation to one of diligence. He curled his left hand into a fist and flexed every muscle up through his arm. A muted light grew from his grasp into a form of horrible, radiant flame. In a matter of moments, he materialized a blade of pure fire and clutched it adamantly. Though I did not yet understand the purpose for such a sword, it’s image filled me with terror.

“Azrael,” Lucifer’s gaze turned toward me. “We will continue this conversation later. Excellent work so far.” He handed my book back to me before crouching into a launching posture. His wings lurched and propelled him into the sky. A surge of wind created a vacuum underneath the departing Archangel that briefly eliminated all sound around us before erupting in a sickening pop. There was a flash, and he was gone. Aamon stood, astonished, before ascending himself and following close behind. I sat upon the cloudy cliff, alone, and further considered my purpose.

I must clarify that I cannot fully and accurately explain these events to you, the reader. Your human brain currently lacks the capacity to process the reality that Angels like myself experience. Thus, I am prone to use what you humans call “Metaphor” to describe in terms that you may understand. It may be easier for you if I depict a simple act of reality manipulation as magic or miracle instead of trying to explain the exact scientific process an Angel uses to bend the fabric of space and time. Your miracles are our mundane tasks, much like your eons are our days. 

So please understand when I say I spent all day contemplating what it meant to keep a record of every living thing’s eventual unbeing.

Father’s Heaven and His creations thus far had been devised under the pretense of permanence. From what we knew, Father had been around forever and even before there was a beginning. As we understood, we were permanent as well. Each Angel (and presumably each Djinn) was brought into being by Father, given a name, and assigned a purpose towards enacting “The Plan.” None of us ever asked what “The Plan” was or why it was so important. Instead, we went to work. We built the structure of the universe from the atom up. We concocted the idea of life, intelligence, and sentience to create beings that would propagate within the confines of “The Plan.” Father could and would unmake certain aspects of "The Plan" if they didn't fit or were made in error. However, none of us considered that all of the things that we made had the potential to be destroyed on purpose.

I watched from the cloudy cliff face as a star trillions of miles from my little spot in Heaven vibrated against the dark backdrop of the universe. The yellow sparkle dipped and flashed into shades of dramatic purples and reds as the intensity of its light ebbed into varying degrees of brilliance. It looked as though the little light extinguished before blooming into a detonation of a new color I had yet to see. For a moment,the exploded star resembled a concept devised by one of our top Angels. She had called the idea a “Flower” and it would be an important symbol once “The Plan” was enacted. As soon as the bloom of the star reached its dramatic peak, shooting detritus and innumerable amounts of dissipating energy into the vacuous space, the light from the event faded until only blackness remained. It was almost as if the star had never been there in the first place.

A thought bloomed in my mind, much like the star and much like a flower: 

Some things must be unmade to make more things, whether they be stars or sneks or jellyfish. “The Plan” wasn’t about the permanence of creation, but the further creation yielded by change. In that way, the unbeing of something was as beautiful and significant as its being in the first place.

I felt cold in my little spot and I realized how alone I was outside the major Heavens. I reached behind my back and pulled my oversized black wings closer to my body. Father had formed me a bit smaller than many of the other Angels but, for some reason, He designed my wingspan as big and boisterous and black as vast space. I curled those wings around my body until the tips touched at the top of my head. I felt warmer and more comfortable. I began my walk back towards the Angelarium.