#you may carry your memories. your appearance. but your identity? dead. essentially

[canis-dies]

... having a great time.

[caffeinatedseri]

Dead Apple Light Novel

Recently, I decided to buy LN 5, Dead Apple, purely because I’m a sucker for all of BSD’s light novels, so this post will revolve around what I took away from this novel. 

Dead Apple is Canon

Since the story jumps around in the timeline a lot, I had originally thought that Dead Apple took place outside of canon (especially with Atsushi’s flashback). 

However, a particular part of Asagiri’s afterword stuck out to me:

Now, allow me a moment to discuss some of the particulars of Dead Apple. Chronologically, the story takes place after the second season of the anime — in other words, after the war with the Guild, which puts Dead Apple somewhere between the ninth and tenth volumes of the manga. 

The novel also ended up affecting the main story in numerous ways, and I’m sure this new experience will continue to influence my future work as well.

It’s not unusual for a light novel to insert itself into the main timeline (see 55 Minutes which takes place in the 10th volume), but it’s nice to have confirmation that the same applies to Dead Apple. 

Of course, just because a work isn’t canon compliant (see BEAST), doesn’t mean that it has no potential for further analysis or it doesn’t bring any added complexity to the main plot. Regardless, this post serves as somewhat of a precursor to my other posts concerning Dead Apple since I have a tendency to talk about it a lot, and I’d like to establish a basis for a lot of my posts. 

Differences between the Movie and Light Novel

In the afterword of the light novel, Hiro Iwahata (the author of this LN) said:

“Furthermore, I worked on this book under Asagiri’s supervision, meaning there are several lines in certain scenes that differ from the movie. It might even be fun comparing the two!  Nothing would make me happier than the fans enjoying this novel alongside the movie.”

As per Iwahata’s request, I went into the light novel, looking for differences between it and the movie. However, the novel is surprisingly, almost identical to the movie (maybe not surprising considering it is a “movie novelization”).

Because the differences are so miniscule, I believe they hold an even greater significance, since Asagiri must have wanted to change these specific details for a certain reason. 

Some of the differences I talk about might be unimportant, but I did my best to catch everything that was changed from the movie.

1. The movie doesn’t mention SKK as a part of the Dragon’s Head Conflict, but the novel says, “Some fought under the alias Twin Dark.” 

This probably means that SKK became a pair either before the Dragon’s Head Conflict or during (although I’m pretty sure that the “organization” they destroyed over night was Shibusawa’s organization).

2. When Dazai says that he would’ve continued killing people in the mafia if it weren’t for Oda, Atsushi has little to no reaction in the movie; I would describe it as maybe a hesitant or concerned feeling.

In the novel, Atsushi has a more outward reaction.

““Huh...?!” Atsushi was baffled. He had no idea whether that was true. What did Dazai mean by that? (...) The melancholy Atsushi felt from Dazai had disappeared, and Dazai continued to speak in his usual lighthearted manner.”

Not only does he react verbally, but the novel also adds an inner monologue (mainly for Atsushi) that can’t be portrayed as well in movie format. 

To me, this change highlights how Atsushi sees Dazai purely as a good person; he reacts in such a startled manner because he believes that Dazai is too good of a person to be in the mafia killing people (which we know Atsushi hates). This trend reoccurs throughout the story, of Atsushi turning a blind eye to Dazai’s “bad side.”

3. This one isn’t at all the movie’s fault, but the novel gives a lot more clues as to what the “dead apple” and the dagger in the apple motif represents.

The first time it appears is when Kunikida and Tanizaki meet the Special Division’s agent, but they find out that he’s already dead.

“It [the apple] was, without a doubt, a simple fruit... save for the fact that there was a knife sticking out of it as if to condemn the taste of sin. A blade had been driven into the symbol of original sin. A dreary, ominous aura, oozed from the ripe fruit like venom. 

Throughout the novel, it seems to associate the “dead apple” motif with Fyodor pretty strongly, especially since this paragraph ties in Fyodor’s ideals nicely with the symbolism of the apple and dagger.

The apple represents sin, the very first sin — which you could interpret as sin at its purest — while the dagger represents the condemning of such sin. However, the apple can also potentially symbolize life, while the dagger stabbing into life can mean death. 

Fyodor’s ideals revolve around “removing the sin” of ability users (represented by an apple in this case) but he does so through manipulation. The dagger is associated with stealth and deception, which is fitting with what Fyodor does to “remove the sin” of ability users.

However, he’s also taking the lives of ability users in this process, hence stabbing the apple, coincidentally committing another sin in his attempt to relinquish all sin.

4. In the “Snow White” Oda and Dazai flashback, everything is identical to the movie (word for word), but there is some additional narration.

“It was an alarming sight — Dazai sounded like he was in a trance. It was as if he was ignoring all this world had to offer while in pursuit of something else.”

I’ve talked about this particular scene before here, but the gist is that Dazai was discreetly talking about himself while referring to Snow White. 

Dazai joined the mafia because he believed that the violence (or true human nature) would give him a reason to live, but we already know that this kind of thinking was flawed.  Thus, this line most likely means that Dazai was ignoring all of the “good” qualities of the world while pursuing a reason to live, which inevitably wouldn’t work. 

5. Right after the flashback, when Dazai takes the pill, the novel really sells the act of “Dazai walking towards his death and going to the evil side.” 

Personally, this scene in the movie felt more open to interpretation after you’ve seen the ending. You could say that Dazai took the antidote and said “Being on the side that saves people is more beautiful,” because his plan is to continue living to save more people. 

However, the novel throws away any possible double meaning with this paragraph:

“Dazai then reached for the pill with his bandaged hand, neatly picked it up, and slowly brought it to his lips — just like Snow White and the sweet, poisoned apple. The venomous red-and-pure-white-pill disappeared inside his mouth.”

After Dazai’s tangent on how Snow White could’ve committed suicide out of despair, the narration compares him directly to Snow White. With the added venomous pill stated outright, it only further cements the idea that Dazai’s actually committing suicide here.

I don’t particularly like this change, because it feels like this moment was set up entirely just to divert the audience’s expectations, rather than it be a standalone scene that makes sense when considering the rest of the story. (It might not necessarily be a change, possibly just a rough translation from movie to novel). 

6. When Atsushi wakes up from his nightmare, there’s some additional inner monologue:

Everything’s okay. I’m not the same person I was when I lived at the orphanage. I have friends. I have a place where I belong — the Armed Detective Agency. Things are different now.

The anime (and in turn the movie) tends to downplay the effects of Atsushi’s trauma — probably due to the limitations of anime — but regardless the novel portrays it much better with how Atsushi’s trauma affects practically every aspect of his life. 

7. I thought Fukuzawa’s ability only gave his subordinates control over their abilities, but the novel says:

“Yukichi Fukuzawa and his skill, All Men are Equal, a peculiar ability that allowed him to suppress and control his subordinates’ skills.”

Does this mean that Fukuzawa could control and suppress all of the agency’s abilities? It could be a weird translation, but it seems oddly specific.

8. This detail isn’t actually a novel exclusive, but it is an extremely small detail that I missed while watching the movie, so I figured I would add it here too.

“the phantom’s notebook had the word Compromise written on the cover. A copy of himself that didn’t follow ideals but made compromises was an abomination to Kunikida.”

Considering how abilities act as the shadow to every character in this story, this is a nice detail that shows how Kunikida’s inner desire is to compromise, because carrying such heavy ideals is undoubtedly a burden. However, because he holds onto his ideals so strongly, it becomes his biggest weakness AND his biggest strength.

9. There’s a super small detail added to this scene with Dazai, Fyodor, and Shibusawa. When Dazai suggests that Shibusawa could be saved by an angel or a demon, the following exchange occurs:

“Hmm... Maybe an angel?” Dazai picked up the skull on the table. “Or maybe a demon?” “It’s obvious what both of your true intentions are, if you ask me.” The third man mirthfully cackled and took the skull from Dazai’s hand.

In the movie, Dazai doesn’t pick up anything, so as a result Fyodor doesn’t take anything from Dazai either. 

Because Fyodor walked into the scene after Dazai suggested that an angel or demon would save Shibusawa, I strongly suspect that this was foreshadowing future events in which Fyodor does “save” Shibusawa by giving him his memories back.

The novel adds more to this foreshadowing by having Dazai pick up the skull before it’s taken by Fyodor — essentially having Fyodor take the cards out of Dazai’s hands and put them in his favor. 

It’s also worth pointing out that the skull is also the object that Fyodor uses to revive Shibusawa into a supernatural ghost of some sorts at the end of the story.

10. This may be just a difference in translations but in the movie, Shibusawa refers to Fyodor as “Demon Fyodor-kun”, whereas in the novel Fyodor is called “Fyodor the Conjurer.” (Ango uses the Conjurer title as well).

In western esotericism, a conjurer is a person who summons supernatural beings, like spirits, demons, or God.

This slightly changes the connotation of Fyodor’s title from a inhuman being of pure malicious intent to just a human who summons these otherworldly beings. This idea also aligns with Shibusawa’s revival, since he’s some sort of supernatural ghost that was “summoned” by Fyodor. 

11. Skipping past the parts where Kyouka and Akutagawa regain their abilities, and Chuuya talks to Ango in the government facility, (since they have little to no changes between the movie and the novel) there is a somewhat significant detail changed in Draconia once again with Dazai and Fyodor.

In the novel, this glowing ball of energy from the movie is actually described as an apple: 

The two lights melted into one and spun until they formed a juicy sphere. They had produced a single apple — a juicy, poisoned apple red as blood.

It birthed a skill — and an extremely powerful one at that — the ability to absorb. Every last crystal adorning Draconia’s walls was sucked into the apple with intense force. Ten — a hundred — a thousand — two thousand — every last one was greedily devoured by the apple...

The apple swelled as it absorbed the numerous crystals until the red light became hotter than the surface of hell.

Since the “dead apple” motif aligns with Fyodor’s character, we can assume that the apple is representative of sin, and sin is associated with abilities, as Fyodor believes.

This strange poisoned apple is made of abilities and has an ability (the ability to absorb), and it commits a sin (greed) in its devouring of other abilities; it’s also hotter than “hell”, which is a very specific connection that leads me to this idea:

My theory is that a normal apple represents life, while a poisoned apple (or dead apple), indicative of a stained, impure life, represents sin. Fyodor believes abilities are akin to sin (what a clever rhyme), therefore all of their lives are sinful.

12. This is arguably the most insignificant change of this entire post, but I feel obligated to put it here regardless since it was different from the movie. When the Special Division detects the singularity of Shibusawa’s dragon form in the novel, it says:

“Abnormal values for singularity are increasing! They’re twice — no, 2.5 times higher than they were six years ago.”

In the movie, the number is five times higher instead.

Why did this number change? Is it significant? I honestly have no idea (I’m surprised I even caught this), but it’s there and I had to document it anyways. 

13. The novel adds this narration for Shibusawa when he gets his memories back and he’s in the orphanage’s room with Atsushi:

“Shibusawa clearly recalled the events from six years ago. Fyodor had enticed him to go to the orphanage where he tortured a young Atsushi... until Atsushi fought back and killed him.”

There’s two things to take away from this: Fyodor had known Shibusawa for at least six years, and Fyodor had been planning the events of Dead Apple since at least six years ago. 

I find it hard to believe that Fyodor’s plan was thwarted by Dazai, because of how Fyodor demonstrated his ability to plan ahead in the main series, but I’m not sure what the long term effects of this plan could be. If Shibusawa succeeded, then it could’ve aligned with the DOA’s goals, but once again I don’t think Fyodor’s plan was actually foiled.

14. Super minor once again, but right after Shibusawa gets revived, the last sentence of chapter 5 is,

“Nobody would ever see the smile on Fyodor’s face.” 

Honestly, I think this was just added to create an ominous tone, but it’s a nice detail regardless.

15. As the red fog spreads across Yokohama, there’s a good part of exposition that connects the “dead apple” motif to Fyodor once again:

“After the red fog devoured the earth, the planet would undoubtedly look like a floating red apple from space. There would be no humans left on its surface, nor any signs they ever existed. It would be a true paradise, and with that, the Dead Apple would finally be complete. A dead planet covered in red fog — that was what Fyodor had planned and sought out.

Nothing other than death could wash away the original sin of man, so it was only fitting for the sin, which started with a fruit, to end with one as well. 

It’s pretty long, but I like the way this passage is written, more specifically the last part since it fits well with the sinful poisoned apple idea.

It also aligns with Fyodor’s ideals of creating a true paradise, free of ability users. However, if Fyodor had planned to have the Earth covered in fog, that could mean that his plan was actually stopped by Dazai and Atsushi in the end.

16. Shibusawa has a few additional lines of dialogue when he talks to Atsushi in their final fight.

“The dragon and tiger... I see now why they are called rivals.”

The dragon and tiger have their roots in Chinese Buddhism, but to go further into that topic would make this already lengthy post even longer.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, though. I’m not blaming you for what happened.”

This line is a brief moment of weakness for Shibusawa, which is interesting in contrast to his strong will to kill Atsushi. Just as Atsushi learned to accept the past and the tiger’s ferocity, Shibusawa shares the same attitude by separating the blame from himself to just simply accepting the past for what happened.

17. In the aftermath of the last fight against Shibusawa, Atsushi and Kyouka meet up with Dazai.

Kyouka asks, “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” which prompts two different responses in the movie and novel respectively.

In the movie, Atsushi says, “Just as Shibusawa was able to forget that he’d been killed before, I think Dazai can put his past behind him again. But this is fine.”

In the novel, Atsushi says:

“... I could probably seal away this memory just like how I’d forgotten I’d killed him before. But... I’m okay with this.”

I interpreted Kyouka’s question in the movie to be questioning Dazai’s loyalties, as he did betray everyone, and Atsushi responded in Dazai’s defense because he trusts him.

However, the novel does change Atsushi’s response to focus on himself rather than Dazai, which in turn changes the implications of Kyouka’s question. 

Kyouka seems to be asking Atsushi whether he was okay with killing Shibusawa, and Atsushi responds by acknowledging that he did kill Shibusawa, and that’s okay. (a very clear development from the beginning of the story when he believed it was unnecessary to kill anyone, and he didn’t want to kill anyone)

18. In the epilogue, Ango talks about the underlying motivations behind the “Dead Apple” case. This change could be attributed to translation differences (like many others in this post), but the connotation does slightly differ from movie to novel. 

In the movie, Ango says, “How is a man like Shibusawa, so intelligent that others look like alien creatures to him, to act, to be destroyed, or to be saved?”

In the novel, Ango says:

“Perhaps the two of them [Dazai and Fyodor] just wanted to get a glimpse of someone like them... Perhaps they wanted to see what he would do and how he would meet his demise... or perhaps how he would be saved.”

The movie simply poses a broad question of what would happen to Shibusawa, a person alienated from the rest of society. 

The novel changes this to focus on Dazai and Fyodor’s perspective — two irredeemable aliens from society just like Shibusawa — executing this grand scheme out of curiosity to see what would happen to someone of the likes of them, and if there’s a possibility for redemption.

19. This is the final difference on this list, and it’s quite a large change. In Fyodor’s monologue at the very end of the story, he has a completely different tone from the movie to novel.

In the movie, Fyodor says, “But in order to end this world, rife with crime and punishment, I do need that book.”

The novel says: 

Glittering high-rises and stately brick buildings stood side by side in this port city with its countless citizens who struggled against crime and punishment. “I think I’ve taken a liking to this city myself..”  Fyodor took a bite of the apple in his hand, and the juicy nectar ran down his delicate fingers. “You’d all better be on your best behavior until next time.”

The reference to the book may have been removed for consistency with the main series, as the book is a part of the DOA’s plan (or more specifically Fukuchi). 

It also seems like Fyodor has grown fond of the city, and no longer wants Yokohama to be destroyed, so it’s still possible that his plan deterred from what he had originally intended.

Beyond that, I’m not entirely sure why crime and punishment was mentioned, or why there’s such an ominous tone to his ending statement, but that’s up to personal interpretation. 

That concludes the long list of extremely specific and minor differences between the Dead Apple movie and light novel! 

Overall, I would say it’s worth checking out the light novel if you don’t have a strong grasp of the Dead Apple story, because it definitely presents the small intricacies of the plot in a more comprehensible way. 

On a side note, the manga adaptation has a lot of noticeable differences from the movie and light novel, mostly with the addition of entirely new scenes (which you can read @buraihatranslations​ — what a shameless self plug). I would highly recommend reading it as those extra scenes are very amusing, to say the least without giving any spoilers.

Honestly, this post was a lot longer than I intended, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. Thank you for reading!

[lucycola]

The Lone Survivor: Part 2

Spock x Fem!Reader

Premise: Fem!Reader accidentally bonds with Spock when rescued from her own starship crash. The Golden Trio realize the footage from the wreck could wrongfully incriminate the reader. They attempt to find a way out of this. PART ONE HERE

SLOW BURN. Eventual smut in later parts. More Bones dialogue than probably necessary but WHATEVER. Fatherly Bones. There will be more one on one Reader and Spock in part three. Right now it plays like a normal episode with build up because I’m stubborn. 

WARNINGS:  Movie amnesia, sexual themes if you squint, mentions of death, and implied one-sided matrimony.

Part 2: The Night We Met I Knew I Needed You So

There was no mistaking the final moments illustrated in the found footage from the Calvary. It was you assaulting the crew on the bridge-you setting a course straight to destruction on Toravalve 9.

However, Mister Spock had disagreed. He had reached into your mind and saw you in your own eyes. It couldn’t have been you.

After carrying you back to the medbay you were put safely back in your bed with a Doctor McCoy who hovered over you like a disgruntled mother bear. With the tricorder at your forehead you pleaded with him to relax. 

Captain Kirk had been summoned to hear what you both, or rather, Mister Spock had to say. For some stranger reason Spock omitted the existence of the orange tape. He deliberated his own findings via meld instead. 

“A copy of sorts, Captain.”

“And you’re sure you saw the Lieutenant looking...at her own self?”

“As unlikely as it may seem, it is was I saw. Although it was also demonstrated that the Lieutenant received a severe head injury before witnessing her own self attack the crew members.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t some kind of...” Kirk deliberated for a moment, “... out of body experience.”

“Also unlikely. Although it is perceivable Lieutenant L/N maybe have suffered delusions after cranial trauma I possess a suspicion that an illusion was made unto the Lieutenant and the crew.”

Kirk glanced at you for a moment and back to Spock, quizzically at first, but then with a dashing smirk. “A hunch, Spock? How very...human.”

Spock quirked a brow, hands still stonily behind his back, “All endeavors begin with a hypothesis.”

“You believe me,” you murmured, from your bed still although no longer in your white, medbay gown you were graciously presented with black Starfleet fatigues. Nurse Chapel had gently maneuvered your unruly waves into two pleats that were coming undone slowly.

A stark contrast to the pristine, polished head science officer.

The fingers on Spock’s right hand flexed at the sound of your voice.

He only turned his head to look at you, “Empirical data is what needs to be obtained-whether I believe what memories are buried in your subconscious is incidental.”

“They still don’t feel real,” you admitted. Not even your name felt real.

“Such an admission will not help your case and I advise you keep that opinion to yourself, Lieutenant.”

You felt like he was chiding you. Your ground your jaw slightly and you knew he could feel it: the aggravation, the impatience. Fear.

His right fingers flexed again, but his expression, unchanging as ever, gave nothing away.

The electric pool of warmth in the back of your mind hushed you, told you to remain calm. Diplomatic.

How could looking at your own self feel real? ‘She’ seemed so real. You had walked around the corner and met yourself, squaring you up instantly. She lunged for you and you wrestled with her, shocked at the fact that you had your own hands around your throat. They weren’t your hands. It was an imposter. 

How? That was the real question. 

“How do we find proof then, Mister Spock?” Kirk asked, reinserting himself.

“We locate the imposter and confirm my hypothesis.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Kirk replied.

“Indeed it will not be so. Commander Craft is aware of the meld that took place and will order me to testify my findings against the lieutenant. Until the Lieutenant’s sanity can be declared-”

“I’m sure I can help with that,” the doctor said, almost appearing out of nowhere.

“What is left is concrete evidence,” Spock added.

“The imposter,” Kirk finished, nodding. 

“Who’s Commander Craft?” you asked.

He turned to look at you. You were made to feel the oblivious child with everyone in the room talking about you. However, you listened and you absorbed. You were careful with your input. Listen first, talk later, you thought to yourself. The presence in the back of your mind hummed in monotonic approval as if to say, good girl.

You wondered what those words tasted like on Spock’s lips. You shuddered in embarrassment and turned your head away.

Spock coughed uncharacteristically, “Commander Craft is the elected official heading the investigation crew from the Federation. We were contacted yesterday and were to present a full report of our findings and happenings.”

Which included the bond. That detail in itself was still above you, not fully explained nor understood. You could feel it for what it was and knew he was there. Not why or how, however. 

 “We must garner more time,” Spock continued to his captain, “And possibly keep myself from testifying.”

“We could declare you insane,” the doctor quipped earning another brow arch from his opposing.

“You’re asking for a loophole,” Kirk stated.

“Essentially, Captain.”

Kirk seemed to know there was more to it, the way he pursed his lips and put his fists on his hips. You knew yourself that if Spock testified against you with what he saw in the meld then there was no evidence against you truly-just what you yourself witnessed. However, Spock would be asked to tell the whole truth and that included the tape. If you were deemed crazy then your own experiences would be null and void.

Did Kirk already know about the tape?

Kirk sighed,” Spock, I...we’d be misleading not only Starfleet, but the Federation. This isn’t the first time you’ve-”  he glanced at you, “-taken the unorthodox route to obtain justice.”

“Then I am asking for your trust, Captain.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed then softened. He relented and with a sturdy tone which meant business as he relayed, “I suppose you already a loophole in mind then?”

“Indeed, Captain.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Spock paused, fighting to look at you.

“Well, aren’t you gonna tell us?” the doctor asked.

“Proposals are not so elementary to make on Vulcan, even when it is logical...but also yet not as it could fare unfavorable circumstances. Especially if one party is unwilling.”

It took Kirk a moment, and even the doctor even longer.

“You mean...?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“You’re willing to marry her so you don’t have to testify?” he asked incredulously.

You were stupefied, impressed, but stupefied. The stoic Vulcan could play dirty. An actual proposal.

“You’re going to marry her?” Bones asked, mortified, “She’s a person...not a pawn! This is her life we’re meddling with. Marriage is a serious thing-”

“You’ll find, Doctor, that I am quite serious.”

“You could wreck her life.”

“I intend on saving it.”

Spock, your heart breathed.

“It seems like a reach for you, Spock,” Kirk said, “They would never believe the both of you, even if Y/N did agree.”

“It will be most believable as the Lieutenant and I have already made a bond.”

Silence befell everyone.

“You can’t be serious,” the doctor said finally, a fierce protectiveness in his voice. “At a time like this-”

“It was not intended as I am careful to shield my mind when partaking tactility with other forms-but, she called to me.”

And he had found you in the dark.

“She accepted it-although it is possible that may be due to the extreme duress she was suffering.”

“And you were there to save her,” Bones finished, a grave distaste in his voice.

“Such a bond can be mediated by a healer with moderate difficult just as a Terran divorce can be secured.”

It was a slap to the face. He was as willing to ‘save’ you as he was to dump you and leave you for dead. Red hot turmoil threatened in your core and you clenched your blankets. What was the point then?

Your crew was dead, your reputation tarnished, and everyone thought you were a murderer.

Let me die, you thought, just let me die.

“Certainly not,” Spock said quietly. Both the Captain and the Doctor eyed him wearily as this random statement.

“So you...negating your-”

“No, sir. I am simply waiting for Lieutenant L/N’s input on the matter.”

“There’s no way in hell she’d agree to this. The bond is clearly one-sided, Spock. How could you be so irresponsible?” Bones chided. 

“A explanation escapes me.” He was still looking at you with smoldering eyes, with bright stars dancing behind them. Cold, but fierce.

What other shot did you have? How else could you bide time while searching for this monster? You wanted to give up. It would be easy.

Kirk leaned in to his second in command and suggested softly, “Perhaps you should ask more properly, Mister Spock. She is a lady. Bones is right. It’s her life.”

“Lieutenant-”

Kirk elbowed him.

“Y/N,” he corrected himself, “Will-”

“Yes,” you blurted in a hushed voice, “I will marry you, Mister Spock.”

x

You were left in your bed again under strict supervision this time. You reveled in the shock of what you’d just agreed to, and even the shock of the situation in its entirety. Rediscovering the monster that claimed your crew and your identity was still fresh and seeing it through your own eyes again with the meld drained the life out of you. You were exhausted, but your mind still raced. ‘It’ was on the ship-it had to be. They didn’t find a copy of you or anyone else in the wreckage. You wondered how recognizable some of your crewmates were and you had to still your frantic thoughts. 

“What ever is going on up there it needs to stop. You heart rate is very high.” Doctor McCoy was already readying a hypo. 

“That...thing. It might be here-”

“We’re on high alert, looking for any copies of ourselves. It’s not the first time this kind of thing has happened,” he tried to assure you.

“There are no red lights.”

“They get annoying after awhile. Whatever it is, it’s damn good at hiding. But we’ll flush it out. The Captain has a plan.”

“Did Mister Spock tell you the imposter can read your memories? That’s how it tricked me. Did he tell the captain?” you asked, wring your hands with the blanket. 

“Your guess is better than mine.”

You thought back to Spock’s omission to the orange tape. Always flipping back and forth between elusive affection and monotonous professionalism. Marry me. Divorce after. 

“He’s hard to place sometimes.”

“And you agreed to marry him.”

“I did,” you blurted stubbornly. “We’re bonded.”

Bones suddenly became eye level with you, bracing both hands on the rail. “But do you know what that even means?”

You arched a brown similar to Vulcan fashion, “Do you, good doctor?”

Bones shook his head and instead asked, “Sleep now or later? Does it help with the nightmares?”

“Yes, I think so. Now, I think. Doctor?”

“Yes, kitty?”

“Thankyou.”

x

Sleep was apart of the healing process and being roused from it interrupted that. That was at least what Bones tried to argue when the captain requested your presence in the conference room. Flanked by your fiancé and the kindly captain himself you were expected to hold an interview of sorts with Commander Craft via telecom before his arrival at the crash site. Several ships had already come to help clean up. 

“What am I supposed to say?” you half pleaded with them, “I’m not good at lying.”

“You do not have to be deceitful. However, if you find yourself under duress the commander may suspect a guilt as I had sensed upon our initial meeting,” Spock replied, one arm linked on your good side. 

Your other arm supported a crutch when had a nervous hand floating behind it via the captain. 

Kirk shot a reassuring look your way. “I recommend the truth. Tell him what you told me, and you’ll be fine. He’s a bit of a stickler for rules and he’s tough on the stand-”

“Jesus,” you muttered. 

“Or...a bit of theatrics couldn’t hurt if you get too overwhelmed. You did just lose your crew.” 

“How could I forget?” Your lip quivered. 

You three paused at the door. 

“I trust my first officer, Y/N,” Kirk turned to face you, “As unorthodox as this has become, I put trust into his melds and by what he has told me you didn’t do anything wrong. That thing-that monster did.”

You couldn’t stop the tears dribbling. “Captain, I let my crew die.”

“Any death having occurred was unintentional on your part, Lieutenant, ”Spock said in his chilly tone, “As was demonstrated in your memory you tired to apprehend and fend off the creature, but to no avail. You did everything in your power. The human emotional phenomena your are experiencing is common upon singular entities having being spared from genocide.”

“That is?” Kirk asked. 

“Survivor’s guilt,” you sighed, finishing the statement for you fiancé. 

x

Commander Craft was not unkind, nor did he smile. He was neither young or old and his questions were fairly basic as the captain’s were three days earlier. You recounted all you could remember, and it was stressed by you and the captain that you had lost most of your general memory due to head trauma. Whether he seemed convinced was unknown to you. You tried to hold back in your distress. The warmth in the back of your mind wrapped around the little knot that pain and anxiety was birthed. It was squeezed it slowly, like the grasp of a hand. You delivered your answers calmly. 

“The double of yourself, you saw. Did you see it transform from your father to yourself?” the commander asked.

“No sir.”

“Have you seen a copy of yourself since you boarded the Enterprise?”

“No sir.”

“And no foreign entity has been detected on the ship?”

“No sir,” the captain replied. 

“Mmm,” the commander paused for the first time in what seemed like hours. “L/N, had you ever experiences delusions or hallucinations before?”

“I don’t remember.”

“And did you experience the trauma to your head before or after you saw yourself sabotaging the ship?”

“I...” you glanced, “I’m not sure. After?”

“Do you remember hitting your head at all?”

“I remember the copy throwing me hard against the wall and everything going black.” You tried to strengthen your voice, but it kept cracking. You heart continued to race. “And-”

It flashed. 

“When I let my father on the ship. I went black there too. But I’m not sure if I hit my head that time.”

“And Mister Spock you were able to witness what Lieutenant L/N saw?”

“Affirmative.”

“But...through her point of view.”

Fuck. You had a feeling he would try to pull the crazy card. 

“Were there any observation tapes recovered from the crash?”

“My  crew obtained few, but to my knowledge they are still processing them,” the captain answered smoothly. 

“Has any other information been made available to any of you?”

You could feel the edges of your vision blacken. You couldn’t make eye contact with him. Cold sweat had broken from your brow.  A cold, steady hand placed itself to your brow. The natural warmth on your mind shimmered. 

“She has a fever, Captain.”

“I won’t tolerate any nonsense, Lieutenant-”

“Commander, she has just lost four-hundred members of her family to a people-eating imposter!” Kirk bellowed lowly, “She’s kept it together well so far. I commend her efforts. You have the wrong idea about her.”

“Until I can find proof of this ‘imposter’ and until her psyche can be cleared by one of our doctors then we’ll see. This isn’t the first time the Federation has had to deal with the Enterprise’s shenanigans.”

“People eating?” you whispered in disbelief.  Oh my god. 

Spock caught on to Kirk’s unnecessary honesty. “It was discovered the imposter’s prime directive was to use the Calvary’s crew as sustenance.”

You toppled forwards and were caught and cradled by your fiancé. 

“Take her to the medbay, Mister Spock,” Kirk ordered. 

“Call for the doctor. I am not taking my eyes off her until we arrive!” the commander snapped. 

“By the time Doctor McCoy arrives she will succumb to shock. I must attend to my t’hy’la in the most logical and efficient manner possible.”  

Kirk fought the need to smile, not realizing that your theatrics weren’t really theatrics. 

x

PART THREE

[lichbarry]

A host’s perspective on Molly, Lucien, and approaching identity (spoilers for c2e117)

This is NOT going to be as eloquent as I want it to be and I can only speak for myself and my own opinions, but this is for @creativside and anyone else who wants to hear this particular perspective. Again, I’m speaking only for myself, not for every single system, especially not for Molly or Lucien fictives. I’m also referring only to DID systems here but OSDD systems, I see you. 

I don’t really advertise it on this blog (or anywhere), but I’m the host of a DID system. My relationship with the system is not quite the same as other systems we’ve gotten to talk to but nevertheless communication has greatly improved since our diagnosis and I dare say that I feel “valid” enough to try to sludge through how I’m feeling about the whole situation with Molly/Lucien. Put under a cut b/c it’s long 

For anyone who might not understand the connection I’m trying to draw: a situation where there is one body that has been inhabited by two different consciousnesses who are not otherwise aware of each other and who have different personalities, abilities, and ambitions is a situation that directly parallels the textbook DID experience. Having people call you by a different name, talk about things you supposedly did with them but have no recollection of, and having people ask or expect that they will be able to talk to this other person in your body whenever they want are all things that pretty much every system goes through. I’m not saying that Lucien has DID, but there are a lot of identical and/or incredibly similar terms and concepts being thrown around regarding him, so for the sake of this thinkpiece I’m essentially going to be acting like he does.

I’m going to make some bullet points and just try to give my two cents on how everyone is approaching this situation:

Molly was a real person, just as much as Lucien. This was discussed by some of the characters, but I’m just validating it. Lucien called Molly a “fragment” of himself-- fragment is a term systems use to describe a certain “type” of alter. DID fragments are alters who typically aren’t as “developed” as some of the others in the system, meaning that they may only exist to feel a particular emotion, store a certain memory, or carry out one very specific function. In my experience, fragments do have names just like any other system member, but likely don’t have much distinguishing personality beyond that. From what we know about Molly when he first “woke up”, calling him a fragment would be accurate. He was, originally, a consciousness who only knew a singular feeling-- emptiness. That’s all he was. But he was still his own consciousness, his own unique person, and as we all saw, he was able to grow beyond his emptiness and develop into a fully realized creation (to borrow a term). His being a fragment wouldn’t have invalidated him as being his own separate person in the first place, but the Molly we knew was no longer a fragment; he was just... a person! By the time we parted ways with him, he was just as complex and unique of an identity as Lucien is. He is not as simple as Lucien is making him out to be, we know this. 

Lucien implied that Molly integrated into him and is not dormant. What do these terms mean? Dormancy (or becoming dormant) is experienced a little bit differently for each system, but generally an alter becoming dormant means they no longer appear in the headspace/inner world, cannot communicate or interact with any system members, and will not be able to front/switch out (take control of the body). In our system, becoming dormant is equivalent to becoming comatose. Due to the way our inner world is constructed, we do know where the “body” of our dormant alter is, but we cannot interact with her in any way, nor does she interact with us or appear anywhere else in the headspace.  Integration, on the other hand, is better explained in the context of fusion from Steven Universe. A few years ago, I (the current host) integrated with our gatekeeper & primary protector (basically the one who managed the functioning of the system). Where once we were two separate consciousnesses who inhabited the same headspace, we are now joined together into someone who is a little bit of both of us, just like when two gems fuse in SU. I also happen to be the core (the consciousness who was in the body when we were born), so it could be seen as her simply “returning” to me, or fusing back with me after having broken off during her formation. Complete system integration is the end goal of some therapies, but there are some alters who view integration to be the same as dying, since the alter as a singular unique consciousness no longer exists but is instead “merged” into the consciousness of another system member.  Lucien said something along the lines of his soul having been fragmented but now fused back together. He appears to believe that he is the only consciousness currently in his body. This means that Molly is not “trapped” inside somewhere waiting to be set free. It also implies that it would not be possible to “get Molly back” as we remember him without finding a way to fracture Lucien’s soul again. Depending on your view of integration, you can view this two ways: 

Molly is Lucien, and/or Molly is dead. Matt’s slips of the tongue in continuously calling him Mollymauk further supports the idea that Molly is integrated, not dormant, and therefore is Lucien in one way or another. Molly was, after all, a part of Lucien all along, and despite having developed into his own personality in the wild 2 years he was fronting for, all that he was are now part of what Lucien is. That being said, it is clear that Lucien, just like Mollymauk, is his own person with his own goals, quirks, abilities, and personality traits. Aspects of Mollymauk do live in him, but being fused does not mean that we’re going to recognize all parts of who Molly was in who Lucien is now. Lucien (we’re assuming) is the core, the original consciousness of the body, and is thus far more developed than Molly ever had the chance to be. They’re the same person in the sense that Molly is no longer a separate entity, but not the same person in that Lucien has any of Molly’s memories or would suddenly feel compelled to start acting more like him just because they integrated. 

Mollymauk is not back; Lucien is. The Mollymauk we knew is not there anymore, and it’s a good time to mourn him. I don’t know what kind of DND fuckery Matt or the cast might be able to do, but from my perspective of what’s going on, Molly isn’t going to suddenly pop out or break free or anything like that. Mollymauk as an individual died when we saw him die, and I think the Mighty Nein are at least starting to realize that. Lucien even genuinely offered his condolences. Again, it’s DND, there’s always some chance that they might find a way to talk to their friend again, but by this point the idea is making me uncomfortable. Trying to separate Molly from Lucien again at this point feels... unnatural and disrespectful. No one has ever sought to de-integrate the alter that I integrated with, but I would be very disturbed if they did, and the idea of doing that even in this context unsettles me. Find hope in the possibility if you want to, but I’m probably never going to support it. Molly is a part of Lucien now and I think both we and the Nein need to accept that. Lucien may be evil, but he has just as much right to be in control of his own body as Molly did (arguably more, but I’m not getting into that debate). Whether you like Lucien or not, it’s his body, now only his, and no one has any right to take that away from him.  I know it’s not exactly the same and it’s probably not how people mean to come off, but I can’t help imagining me in this position. If someone was very close with the alter I integrated with and did everything in their power to try to make her split off again, even if it meant harming me or making me lose autonomy over my mind & body... you can see how that’s a very uncomfortable thought, at the least. Again, I’m not saying anyone is inherently bad for wanting Molly back or missing him, I’m just saying that the situation we’re being presented with is that it’s only Lucien now and we & the m9 should respect that. If you want to mourn Molly, now’s as good a time as any. You even have Lucien’s blessing. That being said...

Lucien doesn’t want to know about Molly, and that’s fine. As someone pointed out (I think Jester?), Molly didn’t want to know about Lucien either. As is the case with a lot of systems who don’t have well-developed communication, they’re practically strangers to each other. All they knew about each other is what was on their body when they woke up and what other people (also strangers) told them they supposedly did once. Again, parts of Molly exist in Lucien, and I’m sure aspects of Lucien existed in Molly, and even now there are some similarities to draw. But neither Lucien nor Molly have any obligation to feel kinship towards each other. In their eyes, they are two completely different people who have never interacted. Systems only start to feel like families after a long time of having good communication, of developing relationships, of working through trauma or the complications that come with having DID. From what we’ve been told, Molly and Lucien likely never even developed a headspace or been in a situation where they would’ve had the possibility of actually meeting. People are just talking to them about someone they didn’t know and honestly the typical response is to just nod along in the moment and decide if you really want to unpack that later. And not wanting to explore who this stranger who inhabited your body was is a completely valid response! Especially given that Lucien doesn’t explicitly have DID-- he doesn’t have the goal of trauma recovery, nor does he have any reason to find out more about who Molly was given that he’s now supposedly fully integrated.  Again, it’s more a matter of autonomy. Lucien is his own person, and to him Molly might as well have been something he called himself when he spent 2 years blackout drunk (which, let’s be real, is a pretty accurate comparison). Sometimes it’s fun to hear accounts of what other system members got up to when they fronted, but that’s only after years of therapy and working through my own feelings about having DID. Before that, there were times when it felt like a frustrating invasion of privacy, or an unnerving sense of losing control of not only what I did, but what it meant to be me. I don’t really see Lucien struggling with these things, but I’m just saying that there’s only so much he can be expected to care about who Molly was given his circumstances. 

This got super long and I’m never sure how to conclude these things, or if that’s even all my thoughts on the matter. Send me asks if you want to I guess, just please be respectful. I’m not trying to start any arguments, I’m just giving my perspective/how I feel about this situation as a system host. 

tldr; Molly integrated with Lucien and it’s more respectful/probable to assume that he’s not coming back the way people wanted him to. Getting Molly back the way people expected is incredibly unsettling to me because it takes away Lucien’s autonomy and basically says that Molly is more important than Lucien’s control over his own body because we like Molly more.  Their situation does resemble the experience of being part of a system in a lot of ways and I don’t know how to feel about it besides just kind of awkwardly going “ahaha” and looking around to see how singlets are approaching this. 

Again, not saying there’s a right or wrong way to feel about this, nor am I “diagnosing” Lucien with DID. Just talking about connections I’ve made and the things that I relate to/make me uncomfortable. Whether Matt is aware of how much this situation resembles DID or not, I think that he’s handling it incredibly well and have no complaints about Lucien or Molly’s characterizations. 

[themuzzleofnemesis]

3–Memory of the Four Seasons; Scene 2

The Muzzle of Nemesis, pages 92-101

The apartment that wound up being my new residence wasn’t particularly extravagant, but even so it was better than being in prison.

The town of Rolled, in the Lucifenian Republic. This was the first time I had ever come here in my life, but it wasn’t all that far from Aceid, and there didn’t seem to be a ton of differences culturally speaking.

On the door to my room was displayed the name “Themis Eight”.

That was the fake name that had been given to me.

…Nemesis Sudou had been arrested as the main culprit behind the Titanis incident, and then died soon afterwards during some trouble in her prison block—that was what the public records claimed.

But the truth was different.

I had already been gone by the time the violent prisoner Jorm went on his rampage in the prison.

I had been taken outside by Bruno. In all honesty I still didn’t understand why he had taken such an action, given that he was the reason I was arrested in the first place. He hadn’t said one word of explanation to me about it.

After that I was entrusted to a certain soldier, and taught how to use a gun.

It seemed that Bruno had intended for that to be for self defense purposes, but a year later I could tell very clearly that the way he looked at me had changed.

That was because I had far more talent with a gun than he’d expected.

And so—I wound up being given a new “job”.

And that “job” was part of the reason why I had come to this country.

All of the essential supplies and furnishings that I would need were already set up in the room. And they had evidently been courteous enough to bring over my things from where I had once lived in the forest. Items of sentimental value to me had been tossed into several wooden boxes.

After I went through sorting all of them, I realized there was something missing.

That doll that Mr. Ziz had scooped up was nowhere to be seen. …Well, PN was probably holding it as evidence relating to the S.S. Titanis incident.

Mr. Ziz…

I thought of my friend as I gazed upon the empty water tank. I wasn’t allowed to go to the Millennium Tree Forest, so I couldn’t even go collect his corpse.

Nikolay…I will never, ever forgive you—

I knew one day I would get my chance, once I had obtained some credibility by reliably carrying out the “job” I had been given by this organization—Pere Noel.

Right then, the only thing on which I could sustain myself was my desire for revenge against Nikolay.

.

After getting all of my things unpacked and sorted, I looked out at the scenery from my window.

I could see trees bearing beautiful, pale pink blossoms. They were splendid, large trees.

Even in the Millennium Tree Forest there would be many trees that would be covered with vibrant flowers when spring came around.

But I had never seen flowers that color before.

My interest piqued, I went to leave my room and look at the trees from up close.

…They really are quite pretty.

They weren’t flashy, but their delicate hue was had a fragile beauty, and calmed my heart.

--After I had been staring at the flowers for a short time, someone spoke up from next to me.

“Do you like the cherry blossoms?”

It was a young man. When I looked his way, he smiled at me good-humoredly.

I immediately tensed up. He was wearing a police officer’s uniform.

Perhaps I should have ignored him, but it would have also been unusual for me to not reply when spoken to.

And I was a little curious at him calling these “cherry blossoms”.

“Cherry blossoms? But I’m sure that the cherry blossoms I know have a much deeper color than this.”

“These are a little different from the ones that have been in the Evillious region for ages. This is a variety that was brought over from Jakoku maybe a hundred years ago.”

“Wow…You know a lot about flowers.”

“Oh no, not really. I just know that little fact about the cherry blossoms. My late father told it to me, as part of my ancestral roots.”

“Your ancestral roots?”

“I have Jakokuan genes. That might be why I always feel nostalgic whenever I look at cherry blossoms.”

The man approached me, and we looked at the cherry blossoms together.

“Jakoku, huh…I guess we have something in common.”

“Do you also have Jakokuan genes?”

“Yeah—My mother was from Jakoku. She told me that herself.”

My mother hadn’t come to see me at all when I’d been arrested for the Titanis incident, despite my name having been reported many times on the news.

Perhaps that was understandable, given her daughter had committed such an unspeakable crime.

…Even so, alone in my cell I had been seized with the feeling that I’d been abandoned.

Now that I was presumed dead, I would probably never see my mother again.

As though somehow able to tell my feelings, the man peered at my face worriedly.

“You’re looking a bit grim…I’m sorry. I guess this isn’t a great topic for you.”

“No, that’s…alright.”

“Still, I am a bit glad. It’s rare for me to meet anyone with Jakokuan ancestry in this country. Where do you live?”

“…Is that a police question?”

“Huh, why do you ask?”

“You’re…a policeman.”

I pointed to the uniform he was wearing.

“Oh, no, well…I am, yes. But this isn’t meant to be a formal conversation or anything like that. It’s just simple personal interest.”

“…Over there.” It probably wouldn’t look good for me to be unreasonably evasive. I pointed to my apartment building. "Room 202 in that--"

"--What a surprise. We live in the same apartment building. My room is number 304—How odd that I’ve never seen your face before today.”

“Ah…Well, I just moved in.”

"Is that right. So then…It’s nice to meet you, neighbor," he said, holding out his hand.    

Well…I guess a handshake is alright.

I gripped his hand.

"May I ask your name?"

"It's uh…Themis."

"That's a good name."

The praise didn't really make me happy. It was a fake name after all.

"I’m Shakuson. If you need anything--Uh oh." He suddenly looked at his wristwatch. "I have to get back to work soon. Please, excuse me."

He ran towards the road, looking flustered.

--But then he turned around, appearing to have forgotten to say something.

“Ah, right right…I agree that the cherry blossoms are pretty—In fact, they’re as beautiful as you.”

“…B-bwahaha!”

What a cheesy line that was.

Without thinking, I burst into laughter.

“Ha ha…Hey, Mr. Shakuson? Were you trying to flirt with me?”

“Oh no—well—Maybe.”

“Judging by your looks you’re older than me, right? If you’re going to flirt, I’d appreciate it if you were a bit cleverer at it, hahaha…”

“I see, I’ll try to be more diligent…But still, I’m glad.”

“…?”

“I finally got to see you smile—Well then, see you around!”

He waved at me, and then ran off.

…What an odd guy.

All the same, it felt like it had been a truly long time since I had enjoyed myself just talking to another person.

Feeling a little bit lighter, I continued to look upon the cherry blossoms for a while after that.

.

--My calm was blown away the moment I returned to my room.

Two unwanted guests were waiting there for me.

“…I’m pretty sure I locked the door on my way out.”

“Sorry, but I had a duplicate key made. Not accepting any objections on that.”

I hadn’t really said it with intent to complain.

I was just uncomfortable with it.

“Do you have some business with me, the very day I moved Bruno? And—who this is person here in the red coat?”

“I’ll answer in order. First, I came here today to have you set about with your ‘job’ immediately.” Bruno set a sheet of paper on the desk. “This is your target list. It’s five people in all. Their names and details are written on this sheet. …But it’ll be difficult for you to take them all out at once, so there are some people whose whereabouts have not yet been made clear.”

Then he set down a new sheet of paper—and a gun.

“So, take out the first person on the list before anything else. This paper contains a photo of your target’s face and their home. Kill them within the week.”

“…I’m guessing I don’t have the right to refuse?”

“You can, certainly. You’ll just wind up dead in their place.”

“…”

“I came along because today is your first time—but from now on, all of your assignments will be sent to you through ‘Postman’ here.”

Bruno indicated the person in the red uniform who was with him.

“…”

Postman said nothing, merely standing in place.

“He will never speak to you. Postman will never answer any of your questions. He’ll contact you later to follow up on your second target onward. Just carry out the “job” written on the papers you’re given. Any weapons you need will be provided each time.”

“And when I’m done using the weapons?”

“After we confirm that the ‘job’ is complete, Postman will collect them for you. You just need to give them back. We’ll deal with the disposal ourselves.”

“And what if the police find out about my ‘job’?”

“It’s your responsibility to make sure that doesn’t happen, ‘Number 8’.”

Number 8. That was the codename given to me.

On the surface, I was Themis. Underneath, I was Number 8.

No matter where I went, I would never be allowed to go by Nemesis again.

“…I do have one concern.”

“What’s that?”

I pointed to the ceiling.

“A policeman lives in the room above mine.”

“…I see.”

“This isn’t an ‘I see’ kind of thing. Didn’t you do any preliminary research when you picked my room? You guys should do your jobs properly before saying anything to me!”

“Well, I don’t see it as being much of a problem. It’s not like you’ll be killing anyone here.”

“But—”

“If you like, you could even use this to your advantage.”

“…?”

“Use your feminine wiles. If things go well, you might be able to get your hands on some info for police investigations.”

“…You’re scum.”

“Say what you like. I’m giving you this advice for your own sake. Use any means you have to to survive. For yourself—and for ‘Master’.”

“Master”—that was what Bruno called the leader of Pere Noel. He had never revealed to me what his true name was, nor had I ever met him.

But given Bruno’s occupation, when I thought about who I would be doing these “jobs” for, I could easily guess their identity.

--The Dark Star Bureau Director Gallerian Marlon. Assassinating people who could oppose him was the job given to me.

Gallerian’s wife and daughter had been riding on the S.S. Titanis.

That meant that I had a “duty” to work to atone for that.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[aion-rsa]

WandaVision Finale Ending Explained

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article contains WandaVision spoilers.

After eight near-perfect episodes, the story of WandaVision has concluded with a finale installment that sticks the landing on all fronts, including multiple cinematic battles, several heartfelt goodbyes, and a long-overdue moment of agency for a heroine who has so often been denied a choice in her own future. 

But while “The Series Finale” is a deeply satisfying coda to what is probably Marvel’s most emotionally satisfying outing to date, it leaves us with more than a few questions about where these characters go from here. Let’s break down what happened in the WandaVision finale, and what it might mean for the Marvel Cinematic Universe going forward.

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Wanda Transforms Into the Scarlet Witch

Thanks to Agatha’s pronouncement last week, we already knew that Wanda was the legendary Scarlet Witch but in “The Series Finale” we see her fully embrace her chaos magic, right down to an amazing contemporary riff on her traditional comics costume. (That headpiece! The cape! We love to see it!)

There’s even a return of the mind control visions we saw her deploy to such great effect in Avengers: Age of Ultron. What can’t this Wanda do?

Granted, we still don’t know what all this power now means for her character in a larger sense, but to be fair, neither does she. Wanda’s abilities as displayed in this episode are fairly tremendous, as she uses witch runes to neutralize Agatha, wipes her mind, and brings down the Hex she’s built around Westview, freeing its residents. 

In the episode’s post-credits scene, however, her abilities appear to have grown even further, as she’s able to take in a scenic lake view even as her astral self is also busy reading the Darkhold, right down to making its pages turn on their own. 

This is a move we’ve seen Stephen Strange pull before, but according to Agatha, Wanda is even more powerful than the Sorcerer Supreme. So….what else will she be able to do? That seems to be what she’s trying to find out.

Westview Returns to Normal (Sort of)

During her (quite frankly pretty badass) battle with Agatha, the older witch frees several Westview residents from Wanda’s mind control, forcing her to face what she’s done to the townspeople in her quest to build a perfect life. The simultaneously angry and desperate crowd of Westview residents – who look like nothing so much as a suburban take on a horde from The Walking Dead – confront Wanda and reveal a bit of what it must really like as a person who lives under the town’s spell.  

The most harrowing victim is certainly town queen bee Dottie, who comes to herself long enough to beg Wanda to allow her to see her daughter, or perhaps write her into the larger storyline as one of the twins’ friends. But we also learn that Wanda has been projecting her grief and pain into Westview’s nightmares, forcing them to suffer right alongside her, rather than providing a peaceful, perfect escape. 

What Happened to Agatha Harkness?

At least one resident of Westview won’t be returning to normal, however. After Wanda defeats Agatha by scattering witch runes around the Westview Hex to neutralize her magic, she uses her own power to wipe Agatha’s memories and essentially turn her into nosy neighbor Agnes, the WandaVision “role she chose,” for good. 

Your mileage may vary on whether this is an acceptable ending for Agatha – a character who was, admittedly, often monstrous, even though she was right about the way that society is all too willing, even eager, to vilify powerful women out of fear (and often just because it can). On the plus side, since nothing lasts forever in the Marvel Universe and Agatha Harkness is a pretty powerful witch in her own right, there’s every chance this character will reappear down the road. After all, Agatha was Wanda’s mentor in the comics and she tells Wanda here that her magical expertise will be needed in the future. 

We Said Goodbye to Wanda’s Kids (Or Did We?)

As products of the Hex, young Billy and Tommy Maximoff’s fates were always going to be tied to it, so in choosing to break the illusion, Wanda also accepts that she’ll have to say goodbye to her sons. In one of “The Series Finale’s” most heartbreaking scenes, she and Vision, knowing what’s coming, tuck the boys in for bed one last time, as the red glow of the shrinking boundary line edges closer to their house. 

Wanda also thanks the boys for choosing her as a mother. Reader, I cried. Plus, this basically confirms that Billy and Tommy aren’t entirely constructs of Wanda’s imagination. They’ve come from somewhere, and possess something like souls. How that all happened is anyone’s guess – here’s your entry point for Mephisto, folks! – and it’s something future series can explore, but it’s certainly the way I’d prefer to read it. 

But, since the last thing we hear on WandaVision is also the voices of Tommy and Billy shouting to their mother that something is wrong, it seems pretty likely we’ll see some version of these characters again. There’s precedent in the comics after all, and finding her lost boys is a pretty powerful narrative throughline to carry over to Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness. 

What Happened to White Vision?

Paul Bettany’s dreams of essentially working with himself are realized, as Vision and the White Vision come to blows in the skies of Westview. But despite the epic battle between the synthezoids – or, synthezoid and Mind Stone-fueled recreation of that same original, as the case may be – physical combat isn’t the most compelling, or even interesting part of their encounter.

Instead, it’s philosophy. Yes, you read that right. Upon realizing that the two are too evenly matched for either to emerge victorious, Vision decides to engage the White Vision in a thought experiment about their shared existence, and whether either of them is truly the man (robot?) they claim to be. The two end up in a sort of pseudo-philosopher’s debate about The Ship of Theseus, a thought experiment centered on issues of identity and meaning, and what makes a thing real. 

This is surprisingly deep stuff for a Marvel property but the conversation contains tantalizing hints about what we could expect as we head into Phase 4 of the MCU. After all, it will likely contain stories full of magic, mutants, and transformation of all types; this is simply WandaVision giving us a metaphorical anchor to hang onto throughout. Well, that and providing a way to bring Vision – or some version of him – back for good, as Westview Vision restores White Vision’s memories and gives us all a reason to hope that he and Wanda will one day be reunited again.

Was the Vision in Westview Real? 

Yes and no. The Vision that lived in Westview and shared a house with Wanda wasn’t physically the Vision we’d previously seen in the Avengers films. He was a flesh and blood construct, created by Wanda’s power, informed by her grief memories, and born from the piece of the Mind Stone that lives inside her. (This makes sense, given that the rise of Wanda’s magical abilities was connected to her initial exposure to the Mind Stone. As Agatha puts it, the Scarlet Witch is forged, not born, and for Wanda, that crucible was her time with Hydra and the Infinity Stone that served as a sort of cosmic gasoline on her sleeping abilities that might never have stirred otherwise.) This Vision represents Wanda’s hope and sadness, but mostly her love. 

And, as a result, even Westview Vision doesn’t greet his oncoming demise with sadness, or even fear. Instead, he reasons, he and Wanda have been here before twice already, forced to say goodbye before their time. And since their relationship has survived before, there’s every reason to believe it will again, and they’ll find their way back to one another.

Monica’s Powers, the Skrulls, and Captain Marvel 2

Unfortunately, thanks to everything else going on in “The Series Finale,” Monica Rambeau doesn’t have a ton to do here. However, she does get a straight-up hero moment, where she throws herself in front of a bullet (or four) for Wanda’s kids and reveals a heretofore unseen ability to phase through objects and slow them down. She also frees the real Ralph Bohner, and happily helps send dirtbag SWORD director Tyler Hayward to prison. 

Happily, however, despite her limited screentime in this episode, Monica’s MCU future looks bright. In the mid-credits scene, she’s approached by a Skrull disguised as a SWORD agent who takes her aside and reveals she was sent by a friend of her late mother, Maria’s. And that friend, who is most likely Nick Fury, would like to see Monica – in space. 

We’d all basically assumed that Monica, who is Maria’s daughter and clearly has some as-yet-unprocessed resentment toward Carol Danvers, would be a significant player in the upcoming sequel Captain Marvel 2, but perhaps there’s an even broader future in store for her, as part of the SWORD-like organization Fury and the Skrull named Talos formed at the end of Spider-Man: Far From Home. 

Who Was the Fake Pietro Maximoff?

Sadly, the character played by Evan Peters in WandaVision was not actually Wanda’s brother Pietro ported over from the FOX X-Men universe like we all hoped. So, yeah, unfortunately, that means mutants technically still do not exist in the MCU, and that’s a problem another movie or series will have to address.

While trapped in his self-described “man cave”, Monica discovers that the Fake Pietro is really just Ralph Bohner, the mysteriously absent husband Agnes was constantly complaining about throughout the season. Agatha kept him under her spell using an enchanted necklace, and when it was removed his real identity returns. Whether the fact that Agatha’s punishment to live as her Agnes identity involves being really married to Ralph is unclear but in Westview, anything is possible, I guess.

Wanda’s Future and Doctor Strange 2

Wanda has long been confirmed as a major player in the upcoming sequel Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, but we haven’t known how exactly she would fit into this story, having never exactly met Stephen Strange before. But since the WandaVision post-credits scene confirms that the new Scarlet Witch is determined to learn more about her powers, it seems that will change fairly quickly. The only question is, how?

Stephen Strange has served as a mentor to many magic users throughout Marvel Comics history and could certainly be someone that Wanda seeks out to help her access and control her new abilities. But, given that she’s also currently DIY-ing her knowledge of witch history with a magical item that is basically subtitled the “book of the damned” it’s also very possible that she and Strange will end up at odds over the Darkhold’s existence, her possession of it, or both. Plus, there’s that interesting wrinkle of her still hearing the voices of her construct children that shouldn’t still exist outside of Westview thing. Time to explore the multiverse, anyone?

The post WandaVision Finale Ending Explained appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[hearthfeuillemort]

The Twelve Nights of Yule! - Children’s Night

Blessed Yuletide! Today I continue on with the seventh post in twelve-post series on how I plan to observe all twelve days of Yule for the first time! During my research on how to celebrate each of the twelve days I, unfortunately, didn’t find too much information. Much of the information about how the Viking Age people of Northern Europe - from which most of our winter holiday customs originated - was lost to the ages and many pagans and heathens alike are left piecing together our practices from what little remains.  It’s my hope that my posts will assist others who wish to try to observe all twelve days, but remember: not all of us can do this for whatever reason, and that’s absolutely fine! 

The seventh night of the Yule festival is sacred to the Old Norse god Thor and his wife, Sif.  Thor was, among other things, a protector of children and this night was dedicated to celebrating the youths in Old Norse culture and the bright future they represented for the people and their traditions.  Therefore, though it appears that the traditional name of the night has also been lost, I’m choosing to refer to this night as Children’s Night. The observation of this night of Yule was assimilated into early Christian culture and is probably the origin of the Catholic observance of Childermas or the Feast of the Holy Innocents.

Most of us are already familiar with the famous Norse god of thunder, Thor, who has captured the modern imagination perhaps even more than that of our ancient Heathen forebears, of whom Thor was also a particular favorite! During the cold, dark winter nights these ancient people looked to Thor for protection, believing he was the only one brave and strong enough to face down the goddess Hel, who presided over death and the dead. The Yule Goat is an ancient pagan symbol representing Thor (possibly referencing the two goats which pulled his chariot, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, who the god could famously slaughter, eat, and then revive with a blow from his magical hammer, Mjölnir) that remains today as a Christmas symbol in much of modern Scandinavia as the julbock. It was the tradition of the Viking Age people on this day to slaughter a goat for the evening meal in Thor’s honor. Today in Iceland and much of Scandinavia, it is the Yule Goat who delivers the presents for the children - not Saint Nicholas - and reveling carolers dress as goats when they go door-to-door.

Sif, Thor’s beloved wife, is unfortunately not as popular in modern society, but she was particularly venerated on this night in ancient times as well. Sif was the goddess of grains and of the fields, and her famous long, golden hair was thought to represent sheaves of golden wheat. From the grain, Viking Age people were able to make all the bread and beer that would help them survive the long nights of winter. Offerings were made to Sif for bountiful harvests, and the last sheaf of wheat harvested before Vetrnætr (Winter Nights, or what we acknowledge today as Halloween or Samhain) was offered to Sif and Thor.

Together, both Thor and Sif were generally regarded as the divine protectors of children, and therefore the future of the people. If veneration of deities is a part of your spiritual practice, make offerings to Thor and Sif - or to whichever deity or deities you have the closest relationship to who presides over the welfare of children. If this is not part of your spiritual practice, ask yourself what you can do to celebrate the children in your life. Pray for the children in your life, and swear oaths of protection for them.

Traditionally, in modern society, we’ve come to strongly associate the Christmas holiday with being especially about and for children: the myth of Santa Claus or Father Christmas was invented for adults to inspire wonder in their children and observe their reactions on Christmas day.  The myth of Krampus - which has enjoyed a resurgence in the last few years - was invented to make sure that our kids behave themselves during the season of goodwill and sharing (things kids aren’t always the best at). Children are the most likely reason we observe the tradition of wrapping gifts: to keep them secret and see the surprise on our kids’ faces. But how does someone like me - who doesn’t have kids, and doesn’t want any - observe Children’s Night?

I feel like this may be a good time to talk a little about what it’s like for me to be a pagan woman who has chosen not to have kids. This is one of the things (the other is being vegan) that I personally come into conflict with a lot in the course of researching and learning more about what pagans believe and how they traditionally have practiced their faith. Granted, my female pagan and heathen ancestors didn’t have as much choice about whether or not they would have kids as I have the privilege to enjoy; but given the choice, they very well might have still chosen to marry and have children as it was such a strong part of not only their spiritual beliefs but also their societal structure and identity as women. The ability to create life was often seen not only as a gift from deities, but it was a known expectation. Without children, there was no future: but looking at things purely practically, children were needed to help tend property, care for livestock, and work the fields as well as carry on the family name.  This ability to have children is at the center of goddess worship and Wicca beliefs, and it follows that this ability is at the center of what it meant to be a Viking Age heathen woman as well. Having children - or the ability to have them - is considered an essential part of a pagan woman’s spirituality, one that brings her closer to the natural cycles of our planet and Nature’s creative energy.

So, having chosen not to have kids of my own, how does someone like me even observe Children’s Night?  Maybe I could focus on the things that children represent for society: the future, hope, a continuation of the customs and traditions of our ancestors, the continued stewardship of the lands and waters, humanity’s continued relationship with the world.  Children also represent humanity’s wildness, our truly untamed nature before we’re domesticated into our society. They represent wonder, magic, innocence, and curiosity.  Children also represent our personal voyages through life and beyond: after all, we bring children up by sharing our knowledge, hopes, dreams, motivations, ethics, morals, and even prejudices with them. We give our children all of what we are, and in return, they carry us with them all their lives and make us a part of who they are. They are the ones who will keep our memory when our spirits have flown from this world.

Considering the current state of our world, these concepts are more important than ever. For me, tonight may be a good night for reflection, meditation, and prayer for the future of both humanity and our precious planet. It may also be a good time for me to get in touch with my own inner child - my own sense of hope and wonder - and perhaps focus on activities that I loved as a kid.

For those of us that do have kids in our lives though, this night should be pretty easy to observe. Make offerings to Thor and Sif (or whichever protective deities you have the closest relationship with) and ask for their divine protection for the children in your life; but if you don’t make veneration of deity a part of your spiritual practice, that’s perfectly okay. Focus on activities tonight that involve the kids, and maybe even get them to lead the evening’s rituals and festivities. Maybe this could be a great time to gather the family around and talk about your family’s history, and what your kids want their future to look like.

Of course, I’m always interested in how you and your family celebrate Yule, and what brilliant ideas popped into your mind when you asked yourself how you would honor Children’s Night in your practice.  Please feel free to send me an Ask (or just comment on this post) if you want to share!

Glad yuletide, and hail!

[trifrost17]

YGO Advent Day 10: Return

Summary:  Coming back to life had some strings attached. It turns out that one of them is that Atem couldn't be separated from Yugi for too long or he would literally die. On the plus side, at least that meant he had to stay at Yugi's side for the rest of his life.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811635/chapters/39851328

10: Return

Osiris was an interesting god. Nothing what Atem had really expected; being raised his entire life to revere and worship him, it was a little unnerving to actually meet him face-to-face. He was... surprisingly down to earth. He had done the whole godly "I'm so majestic, bow down to me" thing when Atem first arrived in the Field of Reeds, but that seemed more like an act he put on around other people, like he was obligated to do it. The few times they had seen each other after that, Osiris was just... nothing what Atem thought the god of the underworld would be like. He was shockingly kind and gentle and even a little playful. He was always checking up on Atem, ever so quietly seeing how he was doing and making sure life was relatively good. Atem, meanwhile, returned to being a pharaoh and living out the life he never got to live.

Well, sorta.

He was missing some very, very key parts of his life that made him feel half-fulfilled; not that he ever said this to Osiris or anyone else. But there was a lot missing. No Yugi. No Duel Monsters. No Joey, Tristan, Téa, Kaiba, Ryou, or Duke. No Grandpa. No modern games. No Yugi. No electricity or showers or toilets or air conditioning or computers. No one to understand his references to pop culture or games. No Yugi.

The no Yugi part was probably the most important.

Atem tried not to watch over Yugi that much. When he first crossed over, he had watched almost obsessively and was dismayed. There had been a lot of tears and sobbing from his partner right after his departure and Atem couldn’t stand it. Mahad had been the one to tell him that it was better not to watch—so both of them could move forward with their lives. And for a while, it was… okay.

Then the Millennium Puzzle was put back together and Atem suddenly had a direct connection back to the world. And the moment Yugi put it on, he could feel him again and it was the best, most comforting feeling in the entire world. When he felt Yugi fainting, Atem was filled with that instinctive blind rage that someone would dare to hurt his partner He jumped at the chance to rush down there and save Yugi.

And that was when the downward spiral began. He took the Puzzle with him and severed his connection with Yugi. It was horrible, giving him the feeling like he had willingly chopped off both his limbs. For days after that, when Atem had returned to the afterlife, he was just... existing without much of a will. It was like half of his heart was missing. His friends and family did their best to comfort him and try to cheer him up but Atem couldn't shake off the sense of loss and disconnect.

Then Kaiba suddenly appeared one day to duel him—and finally beat him—and it was like life had been breathed back into his body. It was a connection back to the ones he loved so dearly. But then, Atem could see that his rival was finally ready move on. They were all going to move on without him and Atem knew he should be relieved. Yugi would be happy. They were moving on with their lives.

Instead, he was filled with unbelievable panic and crushing loneliness.

“He misses you,” Kaiba had said right before he left, seemingly sensing Atem's mood shift.

“Yes, but he doesn’t need me anymore.” Kaiba had rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t need you anymore than you need him. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do anything to see you again. I may see if I can bring him over. I owe him that much.” It gave him hope. Atem felt himself perk back up after Kaiba left because there was a chance that maybe, just maybe, he could see his partner again.

Atem had waited eagerly for Yugi to appear but he never did. With each passing day, he felt more and more listless. At some point, the desire to see Yugi turned into crippling regret. He wished he would have stayed down there and lived out his life with Yugi. Even if he would have been forced to return to the Puzzle for another 3000 years, it would have been worth it. Yugi was worth it.

He was moping on his throne when the god of the Duat appeared. Osiris didn’t look particularly majestic compared to anyone else there—well, the crown with the ostrich feathers was pretty grand—but the way he carried himself commanded attention. Atem had scrambled to bow and prostrate himself before the god, only to get an amused chuckle and tugged back up on his feet.

“You’re not happy here,” Osiris had started with the slightest bit of a pout. His voice was so soft—funnily enough, it reminded Atem of Yugi. “This is supposed to be the ultimate paradise but I've been watching you fall further and further into despair. What troubles you so?”

Atem had tried to come up with an excuse but Osiris had simply waved away his words, seeing through his lies. Finally, with a sigh, he had said, “I suppose I, too, would be unhappy if I could not see Isis. I always did think you were much too young to come back here. You never got a chance to experience life. It was not my will for you to cross over.”

“What?” Osiris had gestured to himself.

“I know what it’s like to die young. You were even younger than me. Sixteen is not a long life and you sacrificed it to save your people. Such actions... “ He had tilted his head and gave a mysterious smile. “I’m sure I can make an exception or two. I do want you to be happy, Atem.”

And that was how Osiris had decided to bend the rules of life and death and bring Atem back to life.

It had taken a little bit of time to hammer out of the details and get it arranged. Atem still wasn't sure exactly how Osiris did what he did, though he knew the god of the underworld had roped some other gods to assist him in the project. Nonetheless, Osiris appeared in front of Atem again several weeks—months? years? time worked strangely in the Field of Reeds—later with a smile playing on his lips as he told Atem that it was done. He would be heading back to the living world. However, there were a few stipulations to his revival. Some of which Atem wasn’t privy to until after he had been revived (which he knew Osiris had done intentionally because if he had told Atem the truth, Atem wouldn’t have crossed back over).

The main one was that Atem was tied to Yugi permanently. Osiris had explained that Atem’s life spark was now linked to Yugi’s—he had to feed off of Yugi’s living soul to stay alive. It only worked because their souls were so deeply entwined. Atem and Yugi truly were soulmates; Yugi was literally the other half of his soul. Osiris had used Yugi as a base of sorts, taking the living part of him and tying it to Atem’s body in order to give Atem life again. He described Yugi as an anchor, like a rope that tied Atem to the living world. If he didn't have that, Atem's soul would, essentially, try to float back off to the underworld. Apparently dead souls didn't do well coming back to life.

Making Yugi his tether had consequences. The only two Osiris had told him was that he needed to remain relatively close to Yugi to restore his lifeforce—separation of great distances for long periods of time could theoretically cause Atem to get a one-way ticket back to the Field of Reeds. The other consequence was that if Yugi died, well, so did Atem. Yugi was the only thing keeping Atem in the other realm alive so when he kicked the bucket, Atem was going to follow.

What Atem found out later, after the deal had already been struck and he was in his own body, was that it worked vice-versa, too. It was the final bit Osiris had told him before practically fleeing before Atem could get angry with him. If Atem were to die, he would drag Yugi with him to the Field of Reeds. Needless to say, Atem had been less than pleased at the withheld information. He never wanted his revival to endanger Yugi's life.

But what was done was done and Atem was unceremoniously shoved into his new-old body with all his memories and name intact. Osiris credited Isis with restoring his body to pristine condition (a miracle in itself after it had been so thoroughly evaporated with the spell to seal Zorc; but Isis had experience putting together dead bodies, so it was all good).

His return, however, was not quite so nice. He materialized in the living world literally on top of Yugi. His only saving grace was that Yugi was manning the counter in the game shop and it was a slow day, so there wasn’t a customer in sight to see Atem fall out of the air.

Yugi had screeched when Atem landed on his lap, falling backwards with him in a heap of limbs. When he had processed what had happened, looking up to see Atem hovering over him with a large grin, he had started to cry. “I’m back, partner.” And the cries turned to sobs and backbreaking hugs.

Yugi’s grandfather had been thrilled to see Atem and Yugi’s mother took everything in stride, hardly blinking when Yugi told her Atem was going to live with them. Apparently she had been told the story behind the Millennium Puzzle during Atem’s time away. Her only response to Yugi’s words were, “I figured as much. Do you want your own bed, Atem, or should I just save the money and you two share one?” They opted to share.

Being back brought another slew of problems, though. Atem wasn't a real person legally and he was in a body that was theoretically from 3000 years in the past. Yugi's mother was horrified at that and had scheduled appointments for Atem for every imaginable thing: doctors, dentists, vaccinations, hell, even an eye exam! While Yugi’s mother made sure he had a clean bill of health and wasn't going to bring about the plague, Kaiba and Mokuba created his identity. He was the same age as Yugi, born in Egypt but was a Japanese legal citizen. 

Atem's last name had been something of a debate—Yugi's mother had offered her maiden name, Mokuba was willing to name Atem a Kaiba (Seto, on the other hand, was not willing to adopt Atem into his family), Yugi had suggested the Mutou last name for ease, and even Ishizu had contacted them and gave them permission to use the Ishtar last name. 

Atem wasn't too keen on any of the options, though. He didn't want to be thought of as one of Yugi's cousins if he took Yugi's mother's maiden name, Atem didn't really want to be a Kaiba just as much as Seto didn't want him to be one, he despised the idea of someone thinking he might be Yugi's cousin or, worse, his brother (because Atem was definitely very romantically in love with Yugi at that point), and adopting the Ishtar last name unsettled him.

He finally decided on something simple. Sennen. After all, the Millennium Puzzle was what gave him the chance to meet Yugi and live his life in the modern century in the first place. It seemed fitting.

The first two months back had been a lot to handle as he adjusted. He and Yugi talked frequently after the first month about moving out together, mostly to get a new sense of normal established. It took them another month to finally find an apartment but the change definitely helped ground Atem. He finally felt like he was settling into his new life and really becoming his own person. Soon enough, he started college, being about a year behind Yugi. He and Yugi got jobs at KaibaCorp. Atem rose quickly through the dueling ranks, participating in various tournaments with Joey and Yugi.

It was during this time that they found out exactly what Osiris had meant by distance, though. The first time Yugi had flown to America for a conference and Atem stayed behind, he fell ill rapidly. Yugi was scheduled to be gone a week; by the fifth day, Joey was calling him in a panic, telling him Atem was barely conscious.

Yugi had abandoned everything and Kaiba personally arranged for him to get home on one of his private jets that same day. The effect on Atem was nearly instantaneous when Yugi walked in the door. He perked up, sitting up and talking for the first time in a day. Yugi refused to leave his side for two weeks straight.

They experimented after that. The farther away Yugi was, the more it strained Atem. The longer away Yugi was, the more it taxed both of them. It turned out Yugi was also adversely affected by their parting, but it just took longer for the effects to kick in. As the months turned into years, though, they both learned how to deal with it. They learned what was too far or too long and would either cut their travel plans short or demand the other come with them.

A week away was about their limit assuming they were still in Japan. Two to three days max was all they could handle when one was in another country or continent.

This time around, Yugi was the one that was gone. Atem was restless, tossing back and forth in their shared bed, uncomfortable and unable to sleep. It was going on day three and Atem knew Yugi was due home tomorrow morning but he had been away at one of the KaibaCorp branch offices again in America and that always made it harder. They were pushing it to their max limit of being away. Atem's chest hurt. His head ached. He always felt utterly miserable and drained when Yugi was away.

Hell, he had already called off work tomorrow. Luckily, Kaiba and Mokuba had both expected as much and had left his schedule free of any meetings or photoshoots. With the new Dungeon Dice Monsters promotion going on, Atem had been made a chief model along with Duke and had been spending a lot of time shooting commercials and photo ads. But if he looked anything like how he felt, he would be useless as a model.

Atem groaned, finally sitting up and deciding it was pointless to try and sleep. He was hot and sticky with sweat—his body always went through hot and cold spells when Yugi was away—and he knew it would only be a matter of time before the vomiting started. There was a pattern to these things, after all. Tired at first with headaches and chest pains. The second day brought fever-like symptoms with increasing pressure on his chest and limbs, like he was dragging himself through water.

Day three was the hot and cold spells, crippling headaches, anxiety attacks, insomnia, lethargy, more chest pain, and body aches. He usually stopped eating around day three, too. Day four was when it got bad. He would vomit most of the day, his headaches becoming blinding migraines, while his body became so heavy he could barely walk or talk. Day four was usually when he needed someone to stay with him.

Day five was slipping in and out of consciousness. Atem had never made it past day five to day six to see what happens when Yugi was in another country. To be fair, usually by day five, Yugi was feeling the equivalent day two or three symptoms that Atem had experienced.

Atem padded down to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of water. He sipped at it, knowing from past experience that even though he felt so thirsty, if he chugged it, he would just end up spewing it out instantly. After taking a few sips, he laid his head miserably on the kitchen table, staring listlessly at the cup of water. He was starting to freeze now.

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to wear short-shorts and a tank top but he had been so hot when he went to bed. He’d have to find a blanket to curl up in for a few hours. Maybe he’d watch TV and if he was lucky, he’d pass out on the couch.

There was a sudden rattling at the apartment door. Atem sat up straight, wondering who the hell would be walking in at—Atem glanced at the clock on the stove—3:34 in the morning? Joey had keys and so did Yugi’s mother, but Atem couldn’t imagine either of them coming over this late at night.

The door opened and shut quietly behind the person. Atem heard shuffling and something heavy drop on the floor.

His chest felt lighter than it had in days. Atem took a deep breath and knew who was there. He bounded up and over to the entryway, meeting Yugi in the doorway. Atem nearly bowled him over, jumping into his arms and kissing him without warning. His limbs felt light as a feather suddenly, his body easing the aches and pains that had plagued him for so many days.

“You’re still up,” Yugi responded with a smile, twirling him around. “How are you feeling?”

“So much better now that you’re here.” Yugi kissed his forehead, before swinging his legs up to hold him closer to his chest. Atem wrapped his arms around Yugi's neck, nuzzling into the hold as he was carried into the kitchen. They both knew that the first day back after being parted from one another would make both of them clingy. Besides, the more they touched, the better they felt. It was like their souls had to re-energize each other.

It still made Atem grin thinking about the first time he had left Yugi alone for three days. While he was feeling pretty miserable by his return, he was shocked when he arrived home to see how awful Yugi looked, too. They had just started dating then and when Atem had walked in that evening, Yugi had dropped what he was doing to greet Atem.

And by greet, he had opted to run and jump into Atem’s arms, his legs wrapping around his waist, his arms winding around his neck, and Yugi simply clung to Atem. It was like he was a koala bear. Yugi refused to climb off of him for the rest of the night, too—not that Atem really complained. If he had to carry around his boyfriend all night because said boyfriend missed him that much, well that was a sacrifice Atem was happy to make.

“Are you up to drinking tea? Or do you want to go to bed?”

“Tea sounds nice,” Atem murmured into the crook of Yugi’s neck as he readjusted to make it easier for Yugi to hold him. His legs wrapped around Yugi's waist to help support some of his own weight and he settled more on Yugi's hip, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He was beginning to feel a little sleepy. “Then can we curl up and watch TV together?”

“Of course, my love.” They had done this hold enough times to know how to maneuver comfortably with each other. Yugi worked smoothly with Atem in his arms, deftly making the tea and handing the cups to Atem to carry while he continued to hold Atem. He settled on the living room couch, letting Atem snuggle into his side.

“You’ve got to be freezing,” Yugi finally murmured. He tossed the Marshmallon blanket around their shoulders but it was Yugi's body heat that warmed Atem more than anything.

“A little," Atem finally said. "Not as much with you here. I’m feeling better, too.” Yugi smiled and kissed Atem’s forehead in response. He turned on the TV and both of them settled in, relaxing in the other’s embrace.

It was these moments, after one of them had returned, that made living with the side effects of Atem's revival not nearly as bad as they seemed. They had learned and adapted to the conditions and Atem always appreciated how gracefully and easily Yugi accepted these challenges in their life. He just simply readjusted his plans and worked with whatever he got, never complaining. His adaptability was one of the reasons Atem had fallen so head-over-heels for Yugi. Of course, Yugi had always smiled so breathtakingly whenever Atem apologized for his difficult conditions that came from coming back to life.

"You're here with me," he always said. "I'll live with any side effects if it means you're always going to be here with me. Besides, it just means we'll always return to one another. And for that, I wouldn't change a single thing. I'm just infinitely grateful that you came back to me. That's what matters the most."

The side effects of Atem’s return would never go away. It was something both he and Yugi had to learn to live with and adapt to. Yet, even with all the inconvenience and worry it caused, Atem had to admit, if he was given the opportunity to go back to the Field of Reeds, he wouldn't take it. No, he wouldn’t change any of it so long as he got to remain at Yugi's side. To be in Yugi’s arms was far better than what the afterlife could offer anyways.

[chiseler]

My Beit Daras, My Nakba: Two Palestinian Intellectuals Reminiscing about Their Destroyed Village

Dr. Ghada Ageel 

Dr. Ghada Ageel and Dr. Ramzy Baroud have more in common than their scholarly research on Palestinian history and politics. They are both refugees, and the direct descendants of Palestinian refugees who have been expelled from their historic village of Beit Daras at gunpoint during the catastrophic events that led to the Palestinian Nakba of May 15, 1948.

Starting on March 27, 1948, a small Palestinian village, called Beit Daras, came under Zionist militias’ attacks. With little means - a few old rifles and kitchen knives - the Badrasawis fought back, repelling the first raid and the second.

The final attack on the peaceful village followed a scorched-earth military strategy, leaving in its wake scores of dead and wounded, and the entirety of the village on the run.

Among the thousands of ethnically-cleansed Palestinians in Beit Daras, two families, Ageel and Baroud salvaged a few belongings and went searching for a safe place, with the hope that they would return home in a few days.

Hundreds of their descendants are yet to return to Beit Daras, 72 years later.

“I always say that my body is here in shatat (diaspora), my heart is in Gaza, particularly in Khan Younis refugee camp, where I was born and raised, but my soul is in Beit Daras, my village that is no longer on the map,” Dr. Ageel said.

“I have never been to Beit Daras but I carry it in my heart. I feel immense love and connection, and a sense of belonging. This is thanks to my grandmother Khadija who instilled in us the memory of the land and the desire for freedom. She instilled that memory and that love.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6mf93UMYSIQ

Dr. Ageel added, “Today when we are commemorating the 72nd anniversary of the Nakba, of course it is a very sad day, because that day represents the destruction of Palestine, the destruction of Beit Daras and the eviction of over 800,000 Palestinians.”

“Among them, there was my family, my parents and my grandparents. So, I consider myself a third generation of Palestinian refugees and then my children have inherited this.”

For his part, Dr. Baroud contended that that generation of Palestinian refugees has never embraced a sense of victimhood. “Our grandparents were not victims, they weren’t prepared to be victims,” Baroud said, emphasizing that Palestinian Resistance was an immediate response to the Nakba.

“In our village, pretty much everybody knew each other. Imagine what it must have been when the villagers found themselves mixed among hundreds of thousands of people, new faces, new tribes, new families, new clans. It’s almost like death and rebirth in your own lifetime.”

“My original family didn’t own much land, and this is a key for me. Because my Right of Return is not attached to an actual material wealth or entity, it is because it is my right and it has been so embedded in my identity as a Palestinian, and my understanding of myself and my being can only be complete when I am back there, whether I have a small plot of land or a massive one.”

Dr. Ageel insisted that “the Right of Return is possible.”

“It’s not only a dream, I would say this is the magic wand. If we mention it, in front of any generation (of Palestinians), their eyes would light up, because this is the return to your homeland. And in fact, it is not only a physical return, it is a return to dignity, it is a return to freedom, it is a return to where you belong.”

Ramzy Baroud

Baroud and Ageel discussed the importance of reclaiming the Palestinian narrative by Palestinians.

“The story that we are communicating right now (that of ordinary Palestinians) is not the dominant narrative. It is important to go to the Israeli archives or to the British archives and dig out some testimonies of soldiers about killing and raping; yes, it is important, but what about our version of that story? Why is it that Palestinian history must be always centralized around an Israeli point of view and an Israeli narrative? How do your grandmother Khadija and my grandmother Zeinab fit into this trajectory of historical narratives?” Baroud asked.

“It is so essential that we, Palestinians, unconditionally reclaim our history and retell it from the beginning, not only for the others, but for ourselves and for our children as well,” Baroud concluded.

by Romana Rubeo

- Dr. Ghada Ageel is a visiting professor at the University of Alberta Political Science Department (Edmonton, Canada). Her latest book is Apartheid in Palestine: Hard Laws and Harder experiences.

- Dr. Ramzy Baroud is a journalist and the Editor of The Palestine Chronicle. His latest is “These Chains Will Be Broken: Palestinian Stories of Struggle and Defiance in Israeli Prisons”. Baroud is a Non-resident Senior Research Fellow at the Center for Islam and Global Affairs (CIGA), Istanbul Zaim University.  

Romana Rubeo

- Romana Rubeo is an Italian writer and the managing editor of The Palestine Chronicle. Her articles appeared in many online newspapers and academic journals. She holds a Master’s Degree in Foreign Languages and Literature, and specializes in audio-visual and journalism translation.

[elvesofnoldor]

i do have to say maglor as a character is weirdly inspiring for fanfic/ fan comic ideas cause i literally have, like, three versions of who or what he becomes after supposedly throwing the simarli into the sea and wander the shores for centuries to come 

version one: the ghost bound to the shore 

(in this version, maglor has faded from grief so much that he essentially became a living ghost. His own guilt over the bad deeds he has committed and allowed, effect of unfulfilled oath aka “everlasting darkness” and doom/curse of Mandos that came with it trapped him on the shore and a state between life and death. it is implied that his dead brothers did not go to the halls of mandos and were drawn to the last living member of the dead house. ) 

Despite his complicated feelings toward his surrogate father figure, Maglor, he looked for him. And towards the end of second age, Elrond actually found him by the exact spot where he has supposedly thrown the simarli gem into the sea, and Elrond pleaded with him to come back and fight on the behalf of his kins to redeem himself of the crimes he committed. “cleanse your soul of guilt so that you may come home”, Elrond said. Maglor responded with a sad smile and said that it would not be possible. He said that whatever he does, he would not be able to wipe the blood from his hands; he said that he is damned and that eternal exile is the fate of his lot. Elrond didn’t understand him for he has not heard the cursed spoken by Mandos himself, and in much frustration, he left Maglor by the shore. 

Then third age came and war of the ring passed, and Elrond knew it was time to go home. He has seen too much, and lost too much, his heart was weary and he only wanted to bring his family home. So he made another effort to search for Maglor, only to find him by the exact spot where he left him ages ago. This time, it was maglor’s singing that led Elrond to him in a seaside cave where maglor made a small home out of. He lit a fire inside the makeshift fireplace, yet the air remains cold and stale inside the cave. Elrond pleaded with him again--this time he pleaded maglor to come home with him to the west. Yet again, maglor said no to his request. “My brothers are here, this is home for me now.” Maglor said. But Elrond is at the end of his patience and he would not have the cryptic response for an answer, so he dragged Maglor by the sleeve in an attempt to get him to come with. Frightened, maglor cried out, “I told you--i CAN’T leave!” then elrond suddenly understood why maglor refused to leave the shores all these centuries, why he always found him in the same spot on the same shore, and why the air is cold and stale inside the cave he “lives” in. Then the fire went out and Maglor tearfully said his goodbye--the final goodbye--to the child that was not his. When Elrond, in great sorrow, finally mastered the strength to turn around and walk out of there, he swears that he saw, at the corner of his eyes, the six other sons of feanor--with blood streaming down their faces--standing in a circle around the poor maglor. 

version two: the legend, the “mad witch”, basically inspired by a post i reblogged yesterday

(basically the same idea as above, except that maglor is almost definitely dead--by drowning or completely faded from grief--and has become “as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after” according to the doom of mandos. In this version, elrond never found maglor in his search and this version is supposed to highlight how maglor came to love the twins--to make up for being responsible for their abandonment in the first place, and to take care of their family, even if they are just distant relatives. It was out of his desire to take care of his family and also out of his guilt over what he has done, this should not be rocket science lol. I shouldn’t think it’d be too hard to use your brain cells and understand maglor’s motivation instead of downright demonizing him and think it makes no sense that maglor loved the twins lol like can some of you not understand basic texts?) 

The remote towns near the shore all know of an urban legend. Fathers and mothers warned against their children--especially the twins with dark hair--to be wary of the mad witch that led away from their parents. legend has it that a ghost of a tall and slender woman with long raven dark hair haunts the shores in white frayed robe, carrying nothing with her but a lute. She sings in a strange tongue nobody recognizes, and with her beautiful yet sorrowful songs, she is capable of bewitching the hearts of children. They say the mad witch has either killed her own two children or has unintentionally led them to meet their untimely deaths, and after she drowned himself, her spirit is doomed to wander the shores in grief, desperate for her children to be back to her side. Some says they once saw the mad witch by the sea or by rivers and ponds near the sea, and flee at her terrifying and desperate cries as she tries to wash the blood on her hands that she can not wash away. Every once a while, the mad witch would come near the nearest seaside town. There, with her fair songs and even fairer voice, she’d lure to her side a pair of young twins with raven dark hair as black as hers. She would then disappear to raise the children as her own until they come of age, and by then the grown children would, without fail, miraculously re-appear at their parents’ doorsteps--unharmed and healthy yet they can only speak a strange dead tongue which no one knows the origin of, possessing knowledge they should not know of and old tales long forgotten by most and unheard of to mankind. When they were re-taught the modern tongue of men, the now grown children would claim they have no memories of where they have been--saved the sounds of a gentle voice and the many sweet songs it sings. 

Men’s Imagination weaved a haunting tale of the mad witch, but nothing about the tale came close to the truth behind it all. While the mad witch is neither witch or woman, the ghost is real and has indeed perished on the very shores it wandered. The name Macalaurë--as the ghost was once called--belonged to an elven prince from a time long gone, he was once known as the greatest singer among the clan of noldor elves. Like his kind, he once bodied the light of the two trees. However, that light died within him a long time ago and his heart was sick and broken by the oath long before he perished. Gentle he may be in spirit, he was not strong-will enough to defy the desire of his brothers, and he was just as lost as all of them. In desperation to fulfill their dreadful oath and avoid the consequences in the breaking of the oath, they have damned all of their souls. Three kinslayings, with the last one being the worst of it all, and Macalaurë had a hand in all of them. He closed his heart to his would be victims and shut out his guilt to do what he thought must be done. Some’d call it cowardice, some’d call weakness, either way his soul is stained and his heart made wary. In the last kinslaying, Macalaurë found two children--a pair of twin from the house of fingolfin, abandoned by their mother. There was blood, so much blood on his armour, his clothes, even in his hair. He watched his brother cut down unarmed elves one by one and worst of all--he helped him. Maedhros was filled with rage as he committed the crime while Macalaurë simply lied to himself as he always does. “It has to be done, they asked for it, we have to fulfill the oath and they should have been smarter than to refuse us that” Macalaurë thought to himself, “they killed our brothers and called upon our oath, so death they shall have to accept.” When both of them came to their senses again--when he came to his senses again--Macalaurë saw two of their kins shivering in fear at the sight of them. Macalaurë thought to himself, no more, no more blood, no more senseless tragedies, and he took them in. 

At first they were leverages, bargaining chips, defences against rightful anger from gil-galad. Then they...become his children. Was it because they reminded him so much of the twin brothers he lost? Was it because the guilt of being responsible for their abandonment eat him from the inside? Or was it out of desire to make up for even a fraction of his crimes? Was it the children woke the part of him that longed to be someone’s parent, someone’s guardian? Or maybe it was all of them at once? Either way, the elven prince with a sick heart raised them and loved them--and he still does, and that much he was sure of. There was so much blood and he could not wash them away, and part of him thought maybe in loving the children--he could. Even in death, as he was trapped in a purgatory where time itself bleeds into each other and the past becomes the present and the future at once, he still believed that raising the twins can wash away his sins and regrets. So he repeated the act of redemption, over and over again, even when the twins he raised are never the twins he raised he loved and raised thousands of years ago--it did not matter to him. 

Stories are always simpler than the truth, and perhaps it was better that the men of seaside towns know of the ghost...simply as the mad witch who mourned for her lost children. 

version three, the happier version: The wandering Bard. only partially inspired by the post i reblogged yesterday

(maglor is alive and relatively well, he’s forsaken his identity and lives as a bard that moves from taverns in one seaside town to taverns in another. in this one, he evaded elrond’s searches for he could not face him at rivendell. this version emphasizes on maglor’s role as a poet and storyteller. in this version, he has written the manuscript he’d later title Silmarillion and he’d given that manuscript to Sam when he encounter the hobbit after he could not find Elrond at a now abandon rivendell ) 

Later on in the ages of middle earth, the drunks of tavern would speak of a strange young bard with raven dark hair and a pair of eyes darker than the blackest night. Like all bards, he sings of past deeds of kings and princes, lords and ladies; different than other bards, this one sings of events so distant in the past that they become barely believable. He sings of the tragic fates of kings and princes of elven king, and a land in which fae-like beings live among Gods, as well as two mighty trees that shine before there was even sun and moon. “Tall tales of fairies,” the loud mouth patrons’d say, “you make them up just for a laugh, lad, anybody can tell!” The young bard only laughs at the accusation and offers no defence. Sometimes he would amusingly rebut that he is no lad, and when the patrons asks of his age, he’d smile and simply say that he is “old enough.”. The young bard is embodiment of walking contradictions--he is both mischievous and cheerful, yet wistful and weary; his eyes are the windows to a bottomless storm, at the same time, they are the colour of gentle cool summer nights. some says that he is an old soul wearing the face of a youth, little did they know, they weren’t so much further from the truth. 

However, only the ones that threaten his well being would be able to see his true identity--the face of an elven prince who has killed in too many battle and a taste of the wrath of elvenkind. Bandits often gamble at the tables and the clever bard’d always manage to win the rounds and takes their coins--even when they are sure that the game is rigged to their favours. So the crude men would ask for their money back, thinking that he was but an unarmed lone traveller who would fall to their knees and gave them all that they are owned and more. They were wrong, of course, when the bard struck a chord on his lute and sent them flying, when he moved like a snake on the ground and evaded their clumsy attacks with ease and used their weapons against them. Dead man tell no tales, or those who can hear what they’d say would be terrify of the strange young bard. But if you hear it from the bard, he’d only say that it’s regrettable business--he shed too much blood and he wishes that he could stop doing so. 

The bard fathered no children, and took no wives, but he has taken sindar lovers of many kind through his life. After all, his voice isn’t the only thing that is fair about him. Some were women--mostly those that tend to him at the taverns and steal shy glances at him as he sings his songs, and most were men--mostly rangers and sellswords that pass through the towns for a gig or two. Men were short-lived beings whose hearts are filled with yearn for violent and filthy delights, yet ironically, their simplicity let them forgive him in ways his kins can never do. There once was a sellsword with hairy chest and tanned muscles, who killed men for a living and once helped him to dispatch a gang of bandits. When he told him about his true identity--under the guise of “lie”, of course--the man only laughed, “kinslaying was your greatest crime? if that was the case, I have killed my kins for a living and i don’t see the big deal in that.” The bard does not how to respond to someone who could not even understand his sins, and their ignorance is a bliss and relief to him at the same time. it was not hard to captivate the hearts of men with his beauty, but it was hard when he has to say no to those who wanted more from him than one or few nights of passion. The same sellsword has accompanied him for a while, and when he asked why the man has taken such interest in him, the sellsword simply said that he wish to protect him. Maglor is no wise prince but even he could tell that the man wanted to be with him, that the man has fallen in love. “you life is too finite to waste on someone like me,” Maglor had told him. “your life isn’t?” The man threw the statement back at him and it ached Maglor that he could not tell him the truth. 

[wheresmyrubyslippers]

Lesson Learned

One day, you look up, and the world seems to come together like a beautiful symphony. Little snippets of the path come to mind, bringing a little smirk to my face, many filled with embarrassment, too many to count. When I was 26 years old I was subhuman. Life was no longer something that I wanted to participate in, nothing new seemed exciting and the only constant that ever brought a smirk to my face was the knowledge that a drink was out there just waiting. Music was always a lifeline for me- when I couldn’t put words to feelings I would turn to the music and let my soul flow with it. Ups, down, sideways, backwards it would take me. These past three years music has uplifted my journey, brought depth and surround sound to a dynamic experience of sobriety and it continues to be a feast for the memories. 

On August 11th 2014 I “dried out.” It wasn’t necessarily that day that I decided to change my world, perspective and trajectory. It was that day that I was trapped and broken- lost and entirely without hope. The initial reaction was one of a feral cat- I thought about jumping from the 2nd floor window and making a run for it, almost walked out of the gates to ease the torment of my mind and pour a little gas on that fire. Two weeks it took before I broke a smile and all this time without my soul settling music. Nothing dramatic happened that made me alter my perception of the reality within rehab, I just decided that if I was stuck here, I’d do the best I could to remain sane. 

That idea, “the best I could to remain sane,” took on new meaning and still does every single day. Sanity is such a tricky thing, especially for those of us who have the means and tools to escape it. 

The first year of sobriety was packed full of emotions- everything seemed heavier and far more important than it ever had in the past. Simply having the car back and being able to go to the gas station was a practice in restraint, within those walls lie my favorite obsession- encased in brightly lit displays. “Look at me!” “Remember Me!” The pull was always there, the urge always on the edge of my mind. Living with other people attempting to get sober provided an interesting case study in who I had developed as a person over the years and who I wished to be moving forward. From the community’s successes and failures I tailored myself into a different person. At times the shucking of the past was excruciating, knowing that the friends I had and the places I had felt most comfortable were no longer aligned with the woman I wished to be. This era of my life featured music filled with the delicate tones of a friend playing the guitar late at night, serenading the group with his beautiful voice. When I think back to these days, the love of those moments almost feels overwhelming while the pain of loss and relapses began to take shape. 

Year two was one of extreme growing pains. What appeared so entirely improbable in the first year slowly became achievable. Uncertainty of the future has always played up my insecurities, even to this day. The past 10 years of running away from anything and everything concrete came to a skidding, Tokyo drift styled halt. As I sat with my parents trying, once again, to redefine myself, I decided to finally finish college. No longer was I content being a college dropout, it may have perfectly suited my former lifestyle but it would not define the future. So at 27 I decided it was time to move back to a place so filled with horrible and beautiful memories, with the mentality of a scared and sheltered 18 year old. It took bravery, I can admit that now, but I only saw what I had to do. What a person of character and integrity would do and that right there is who I wanted to be. It was at this time that I could look in the mirror with an ounce of pride and see a future removed from the dead gaze of the woman only a year before. Coffee shops, soft music, loneliness, and gratitude define this year. Here, in year two, is where I started developing my identity separate of the influences from family and truly for the first time. Perhaps that was a huge part of my anxiety and resistance before, that I didn’t want to disappoint but I also didn’t want to become anything. Where there was once a void being topped off with alcohol, now there was a direction and passion blooming.My muse through this time was the almost tribal beats dashed with soul-rendering female vocals. Driving around the old haunts and seeing everything with fresh eyes, music re-imagining this territory for me. 

Year three has carried some heavy adulting. Learning how to work in the profession I so desperately want to; the failures and successes involved with working in a caring industry. I’ve lost family members and have been altered to the core by these losses. When people who have, for your entire life, been a part of your landscape and a note in your orchestra, it feels as if the entire composition will fall apart. Their presence was so massive and integral to the structure, their personality a defining trait in a story not entirely my own. This year brought me the realization that with death, the gift of memories and significance of storytelling is essential to build off of and with. While these physical bodies may no longer be present, their charisma and character live forever if we continue to share it. 

My symphony becomes more intricate with each year, my understanding of my own condition and the beauty in self-awareness add dimensions that were unfathomable. These lessons in everyday life may seem common sense to most, but to us who struggle with meeting reality without a substance, they are more keenly felt. That, in itself, is what I find to be the loveliest feature about my experience. Having lived life so entirely buried in the sand, everything from here on out is something to appreciate; regardless of the pain incurred or fear anticipated. So the lesson I’ve learned in early sobriety is that all of life is a symphony, at times you hear one note above all others but it takes the entire orchestra (the deep throbbing bass as well as the piercing cry of the flute) to create the masterpiece. 

[lodelss]

Soraya Roberts | Longreads | January 2020 |  9 minutes (2,284 words)

I hate jocks. Like a good Gen X’er, I walked around my high school with that patch on my backpack — red lettering, white backdrop, frisbee-size. A jock high school. It’s impossible to overstate the contempt I had for sports as a kid. I hated what I took to be phony puddle-deep camaraderie, the brain-dead monosyllabic mottos, the aggressive anti-intellectualism. More than that, there appeared to be a very specific cruelty to it. The way there were always a couple of kids who were always picked last. The collective bullying if someone didn’t measure up to the collective goals. And none of the teachers ever seemed to be as mean as the coaches. They strutted around like grown children, permanently transfixed by the ambitions of their adolescence, actively excluding the same kids they had mocked in their youth.

When I hear about sports stars who kill or commit suicide or generally behave antisocially, I always think: no wonder. In a culture that destroys your body and your mind, no wonder. It’s something of a paradox, of course, because, as we are repeatedly told, physical activity is often essential to psychological health. But why is it so rarely the other way around? I watch Cheer and I watch Killer Inside: The Mind of Aaron Hernandez and I watch former NBA star Delonte West get callously thrashed and I wonder why these athletes’ inner lives weren’t as prized as their motor skills. That’s not true; I know why. It suits a lucrative industry that shapes you from childhood to keep you pliable. And what makes you more pliable than mental instability? What better way to get a winning team than to have it populated with people for whom winning validates their existence and for whom losing is tantamount to death?

* * *

There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment in the Hernandez doc when there’s an unexpected crossover with Cheer. A childhood photo of the late NFL star and convicted murderer flashes on-screen as we learn that his female cousins made him want be a cheerleader. It was the same for Cheer’s La’Darius Marshall, who is shown in one snapshot as a young cheerleader, having discovered the sport after hanging out with one of his childhood girlfriends. Both men came from dysfunctional backgrounds: Marshall’s mom was a drug user who ended up in prison for five years. He was sexually abused, not to mention beaten up by his brothers; Hernandez found his own mother distant, and he was also physically and sexually abused. Both found solace in sports, though Hernandez had the kind of dad who “slapped the faggot right out of you,” per one childhood friend, so he ended up in football, his dad’s sport, instead. But their similarities underscore how professional athletics, when so closely tied to a person’s sense of self, can simultaneously be a boon to your mental health and its undoing.

Killer Inside is a misnomer for a start. Everything pointed to Hernandez’s conviction for murdering another footballer (semipro linebacker Odin Lloyd) — or at the very least a fair amount of psychological distress. (I’m not certain why the doc chose to focus on his sexuality — besides prurience — as it seemed to be the least of his concerns.) As he said himself to his mom, who almost immediately replaced her dead husband with Hernandez’s cousin’s husband when he was just a teenager: “I had nobody. What’d you think I was gonna do, become a perfect angel?” The way he fled from his home straight into the arms of a University of Florida football scholarship, having wrapped up high school a semester early, is telling. Football made him somebody. He depended on being a star player because the alternative was being nothing — as one journalist says in the doc, at Florida you had to “win to survive.” 

If the NFL didn’t know the depth of his suffering, they at least knew something, something a scouting service categorized as low “social maturity.” Their report stated that Hernandez’s responses “suggest he enjoys living on the edge of acceptable behavior and that he may be prone to partying too much and doing questionable things that could be seen as a problem for him and his team.” But his schools seemed to care more about his history of drug use than his high school concussion (his autopsy would later show chronic traumatic encephalopathy) or the fact that he busted a bar manager’s eardrum for confronting him with his bill. Physical pain was something you played through — one former linebacker described a row of Wisconsin players lining up with their pants down to get painkiller injections — and psychological pain was apparently no different. “It’s a big industry,” the ex-linebacker said, “and they’re willing to put basically kids, young men, in situations that will compromise their long-term health just to beat Northwestern.”

Cheerleading, the billion-dollar sport monopolized by a company called Varsity Brand, has a similarly mercenary approach. While the money is less extreme — the NFL’s annual revenue is more than $14 billion — the contingent self-worth is not. A number of the kids highlighted in Cheer had the kind of childhoods that made them feel like Hernandez, like they had nobody. Morgan Simianer in particular, the weaker flyer who is chosen for her “look,” radiates insecurity. Abandoned by both her parents, she was left as a high school sophomore in a trailer with her brother to fend for herself. “I felt, like, super alone,” Simianer said. “Like everyone was against me and I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t important to anyone.” Though Marshall’s experience was different, his memories of growing up are almost identical to his fellow cheerleader’s. “I felt like I was really alone,” he said. “There was nobody that was gonna come save me.” Like Hernandez, sports was all they had.

And if a competitive sport defines you, then its coach controls you. Hernandez’s father, the ex-football heavyweight, was known as the King; Monica Aldama, the head coach on Cheer, is the Queen. Describing how she felt when Aldama remembered her name at tryouts, Simianer said, “It was like I’m not just nobody.” For her ability to literally pummel a bunch of college kids into a winning team in half the regular time, Aldama has been characterized as both a saint and a sinner. While she claims to be an advocate for the troubled members of her team, she fails to see how their histories skew her intentions — her position as a maternal figure whose love is not unconditional ultimately puts the athletes more at risk. Aldama proudly comments on Simianer’s lack of fear, while it is a clear case of recklessness. This is a girl who is unable to express her pain in any way sacrificing her own life (literally — with her fragile ribs, one errant move could puncture an organ) for the woman who, ironically, made her feel like she was worthy of it. “I would do anything for that woman,” Simianer confesses at one point. “I would take a bullet for her.” Jury’s out on whether Marshall, the outspoken outsize talent who regularly clashes with his team, would do the same. His ambivalent approach to Aldama seems connected to how self-aware he is about his own struggles, which affords him freedom from her grasp. After she pushes him to be more empathetic, he explains, “It’s hard to be like that when you are mentally battling yourself.”

That Cheer and Killer Inside focus on the psychological as well as the physical strain faced by athletes — not to mention that athletics have no gender — is an improvement on the sports industries they present, which often objectify their stars as mere pedestals for their talents. The Navarro cheerleaders and Hernandez are both helped and hurt by sports, an outlet which can at once mean everything and nothing in the end. This is the legacy of the 1994 documentary Hoop Dreams, which followed two teen NBA hopefuls and was as much about the intersections of race and class as it was about basketball. Not to mention OJ: Made in America, the 2016 ESPN miniseries that explored how the story of the football star and alleged murderer reflected race relations in the United States in the mid-’90s. Conversely, mainstream film and television continues to be heavily male when it comes to sports, focusing on individual heroics, on pain leading to gain — the American Dream on steroids. Cheer and Killer Inside expose this narrative for the myth it is, spotlighting that all athletes have both minds and bodies that break, that their legacies as human beings are not about what they have won but who they are. But the climate in which they’ve landed cannot be ignored either, a social-media marinated world in which sports stars are no longer just players but people who are willing to be vulnerable with their public, who are even further willing to sign their names next to their problems for The Players’ Tribune, the six-year-old platform populated by content provided by pro athletes. “Everyone is going through something,” wrote NBA star Kevin Love in an industry-shaking post in 2018. “No matter what our circumstances, we’re all carrying around things that hurt — and they can hurt us if we keep them buried inside.”

Fast-forward to that new video of former basketball pro Delonte West, the one of him having his head stomped on so hard in the middle of the street that I still wonder how he survived it. He also came from an underprivileged, unstable background. He chose the college he did for its “family atmosphere.” Like Simianer, he fixated on his failures and played with abandon. Like her, he also had trouble verbalizing his feelings, to the point that they would overflow (in anger for him, tears for her). Though he says he was diagnosed with a bipolar disorder, he considers his biggest problem to be “self-loathing.” But why? He was a sports star who signed a nearly $13 million contract in his prime — what better reason for self-love? A study published two years ago in the Research Quarterly for Exercise and Sport, profiling the psychological well-being of 99 elite athletes, may provide an answer. The study found that those with high perfectionism, fear of failure, and performance-based self-worth had the highest levels of depression, anxiety, shame, and life dissatisfaction. Those with a more global self-worth that did not depend on their performance had the opposite outcome. As if to provide confirmation, a subsequent study published in Psychology of Sport and Exercise that same year revealed that athletes with contingent self-esteem were more likely to burn out. When sports become your only source of value, your wins ultimately don’t come to much.

* * *

The irony of all of this is that I came back to sports as an adult for my mental health. Obviously, I’m not an elite athlete — whatever the opposite of that is, I am. But having no stakes makes it that much easier to use physical activity for good. Nothing is dependent on it; that I’m moving at all is victory enough. But my circumstances are different. My jock high school was a private school, sports were (mostly) optional, and elite academics were where most of us found validation — and financial stability. “Conventional wisdom suggests that the sport offers an ‘escape’ from under-resourced communities suffering from the effects of systemic neglect,” Natalie Weiner writes in SB Nation. “If you work hard enough and make the right choices — playing football being one of the most accessible and appealing ways for boys, at least, to do that — you should be safe.” This reminds me of Aldama telling a room of underprivileged kids with limited prospects, “If you work hard at anything you do, you will be rewarded, you will be successful in life.” This is the American Dream–infused sports culture the media has traditionally plugged — the one, ironically, dismantled by the show in which Aldama herself appears. As Spike Lee tells a group of the top high school basketball players in the country in Hoop Dreams: “The only reason why you’re here, you can make their team win, and if their team wins, schools get a lot of money. This whole thing is revolving around money.” 

In the same SB Nation article, which focused on how school football coaches combat gun violence, Darnell Grant, a high school coach in Newark, admitted he prioritized schoolwork, something both Cheer and Killer Inside barely mentioned. “My thing is to at least have the choice,” he said. Without that, kids are caught in the thrall of sports, which serves the industry but not its players. Contingent self-worth does the same thing, which is why mental health is as much of a priority as education. The head football coach at a Chicago high school, D’Angelo Dereef, explained why dropping a problematic player — which is basically what happened to Hernandez at U of F, where coach Urban Meyer pushed him into the NFL draft rather than taking him back — doesn’t fix them. “They’re not getting into their brains to figure out why,” Dereef told the site. “It’s like putting a Band-Aid on a big cut — that’s not going to stop the bleeding.” While the NBA was the first major sports league to address mental health in its collective bargaining agreement in 2018, in mid-January the WNBA signed its own new CBA, which only vaguely promised “enhanced mental health benefits and resources.” That the sports industry as a whole does not go far enough to address the psychological welfare of its players is to their detriment, but also to their own: At least one study from 2003 has shown that prioritizing “athletes’ needs of autonomy” — the opposite of contingent self-worth — as opposed to conformity, has the potential to improve their motivation and performance. In sports terms, that’s a win-win.

* * *

Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

[sweetdevotedsoul-blog]

fotograf svadba cennik

svadobny fotograf Wedding photography is really an exciting discipline with many photo hobbyists wanting to make some additional cash around the section delivering low cost wedding photography. Soon after paying 100s for only the dress alone, never head the cathedral, the blooms, the reception and every one of the food and drink. It's extremely attractive to publication a low priced wedding day wedding photographer; of course, the taking photos is one of the last item you intend to consider. Selecting your own wedding photographer is the most vital move to make when arranging your own wedding. Actually it needs to be the initial thing you need to do. Very first-class wedding party photography lovers get reserved up many months ahead of time so don't let it rest to the eleventh hour to publication. Even so saying that, there can be several times not reserved, so give to them a ring and then determine in case your particular date cost nothing. Clearly absolutely everyone needs to the gown being beautiful, the blossoms stunning, the food being scrumptious as well as the reception to become charming. The wedding party photographer, having said that, ought to be one of many top notch stuff on your own set of essential items. When you purchase an inadequate level of quality wedding ceremony digital photographer, it will be noticed in just about every photograph that you check out. Nothing is much more substantial than your wedding event taking pictures. Why's that? Very well, just think about it - what happens when your wedding is finished? The plants are dead, the gown becomes lock up-dried out (or anything the products do) and placed in the pack, the wedding cake is ingested, plus a 12 months after the wedding you won't even remember that which you ate. All you'll have left because of this day time are your thoughts - and also your photos are the doorway to the people memories. Right down to the guidelines: 1. Does the shooter have numerous distinct pictures coming from the identical wedding party to show you? I'd be involved should they ended up all from your same wedding event. Suitable specialist photography enthusiasts took wedding event photos for many different would-be brides and therefore ought to represent within their perform. In contrast if you only see just one picture from every single wedding event I might think that the professional photographer only obtains one particular very good photograph from the whole day. You should know that they are steady and get consumed shots at numerous marriage ceremonies with a minimum of several distinct photos from each individual wedding party within their collection or guide. As a possible ordinary guide, images from three recent wedding parties are correct. 2. Does the shooter enjoy you? A shooter that tells you all the time about how exactly wonderful they may be is another person you have to be cautious about. If your professional is just not well prepared to listen for afterwards you they are not very specialized, I am talking about how must they do know what you are searching for? 3. Would you in fact this way individual? You can be investing the most crucial day time of your life using a stranger, make sure you like them. If the photographer's persona clashes with your own property, you can be set for an unsatisfied working day - or at least an uneasy one. Why chance being unsatisfied on the most important day of your life? That's why browsing the photographer's persona is, i believe, more significant than inspecting their stock portfolio. Do they really be officious? Offensive? Aloof? If you chat with a prospective photographer, get a feel for them to see should they be someone you'd need to be buddies with. If the answer is "certainly", then place them on top of your record! A Specialist has design. A professional professional photographer can have a distinct style and taste. The pictures could be in monochrome or even in coloring; you could see a lot of manipulation from the graphics or not any. An newbie digital photographer posing as being a expert will not likely have much of a fashion. Their graphics will look uninteresting and vulgar. If their fashion is in many different places then you can certainly bet your lifetime they are not experts. Which are the photographs like? Would be the images level? Too dim or way too gentle? Would you begin to see the particulars on the wedding ceremony gown or perhaps it merely a white-colored blob? Perform people the images appearance cumbersome or distracted? Carry out the class photos search untidy? Include the qualification in the pictures jumbled? Carry out the backgrounds contend for awareness for those inside the photograph? Will be the people today checking out the video camera? Do they really continue to have their heads? In the event you respond to indeed to such issues i would point out that the digital photographer is just not an experienced.

[lodelss]

Be a Good Sport

Soraya Roberts | Longreads | January 2020 |  9 minutes (2,284 words)

I hate jocks. Like a good Gen X’er, I walked around my high school with that patch on my backpack — red lettering, white backdrop, frisbee-size. A jock high school. It’s impossible to overstate the contempt I had for sports as a kid. I hated what I took to be phony puddle-deep camaraderie, the brain-dead monosyllabic mottos, the aggressive anti-intellectualism. More than that, there appeared to be a very specific cruelty to it. The way there were always a couple of kids who were always picked last. The collective bullying if someone didn’t measure up to the collective goals. And none of the teachers ever seemed to be as mean as the coaches. They strutted around like grown children, permanently transfixed by the ambitions of their adolescence, actively excluding the same kids they had mocked in their youth.

When I hear about sports stars who kill or commit suicide or generally behave antisocially, I always think: no wonder. In a culture that destroys your body and your mind, no wonder. It’s something of a paradox, of course, because, as we are repeatedly told, physical activity is often essential to psychological health. But why is it so rarely the other way around? I watch Cheer and I watch Killer Inside: The Mind of Aaron Hernandez and I watch former NBA star Delonte West get callously thrashed and I wonder why these athletes’ inner lives weren’t as prized as their motor skills. That’s not true; I know why. It suits a lucrative industry that shapes you from childhood to keep you pliable. And what makes you more pliable than mental instability? What better way to get a winning team than to have it populated with people for whom winning validates their existence and for whom losing is tantamount to death?

* * *

There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment in the Hernandez doc when there’s an unexpected crossover with Cheer. A childhood photo of the late NFL star and convicted murderer flashes on-screen as we learn that his female cousins made him want be a cheerleader. It was the same for Cheer’s La’Darius Marshall, who is shown in one snapshot as a young cheerleader, having discovered the sport after hanging out with one of his childhood girlfriends. Both men came from dysfunctional backgrounds: Marshall’s mom was a drug user who ended up in prison for five years. He was sexually abused, not to mention beaten up by his brothers; Hernandez found his own mother distant, and he was also physically and sexually abused. Both found solace in sports, though Hernandez had the kind of dad who “slapped the faggot right out of you,” per one childhood friend, so he ended up in football, his dad’s sport, instead. But their similarities underscore how professional athletics, when so closely tied to a person’s sense of self, can simultaneously be a boon to your mental health and its undoing.

Killer Inside is a misnomer for a start. Everything pointed to Hernandez’s conviction for murdering another footballer (semipro linebacker Odin Lloyd) — or at the very least a fair amount of psychological distress. (I’m not certain why the doc chose to focus on his sexuality — besides prurience — as it seemed to be the least of his concerns.) As he said himself to his mom, who almost immediately replaced her dead husband with Hernandez’s cousin’s husband when he was just a teenager: “I had nobody. What’d you think I was gonna do, become a perfect angel?” The way he fled from his home straight into the arms of a University of Florida football scholarship, having wrapped up high school a semester early, is telling. Football made him somebody. He depended on being a star player because the alternative was being nothing — as one journalist says in the doc, at Florida you had to “win to survive.” 

If the NFL didn’t know the depth of his suffering, they at least knew something, something a scouting service categorized as low “social maturity.” Their report stated that Hernandez’s responses “suggest he enjoys living on the edge of acceptable behavior and that he may be prone to partying too much and doing questionable things that could be seen as a problem for him and his team.” But his schools seemed to care more about his history of drug use than his high school concussion (his autopsy would later show chronic traumatic encephalopathy) or the fact that he busted a bar manager’s eardrum for confronting him with his bill. Physical pain was something you played through — one former linebacker described a row of Wisconsin players lining up with their pants down to get painkiller injections — and psychological pain was apparently no different. “It’s a big industry,” the ex-linebacker said, “and they’re willing to put basically kids, young men, in situations that will compromise their long-term health just to beat Northwestern.”

Cheerleading, the billion-dollar sport monopolized by a company called Varsity Brand, has a similarly mercenary approach. While the money is less extreme — the NFL’s annual revenue is more than $14 billion — the contingent self-worth is not. A number of the kids highlighted in Cheer had the kind of childhoods that made them feel like Hernandez, like they had nobody. Morgan Simianer in particular, the weaker flyer who is chosen for her “look,” radiates insecurity. Abandoned by both her parents, she was left as a high school sophomore in a trailer with her brother to fend for herself. “I felt, like, super alone,” Simianer said. “Like everyone was against me and I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t important to anyone.” Though Marshall’s experience was different, his memories of growing up are almost identical to his fellow cheerleader’s. “I felt like I was really alone,” he said. “There was nobody that was gonna come save me.” Like Hernandez, sports was all they had.

And if a competitive sport defines you, then its coach controls you. Hernandez’s father, the ex-football heavyweight, was known as the King; Monica Aldama, the head coach on Cheer, is the Queen. Describing how she felt when Aldama remembered her name at tryouts, Simianer said, “It was like I’m not just nobody.” For her ability to literally pummel a bunch of college kids into a winning team in half the regular time, Aldama has been characterized as both a saint and a sinner. While she claims to be an advocate for the troubled members of her team, she fails to see how their histories skew her intentions — her position as a maternal figure whose love is not unconditional ultimately puts the athletes more at risk. Aldama proudly comments on Simianer’s lack of fear, while it is a clear case of recklessness. This is a girl who is unable to express her pain in any way sacrificing her own life (literally — with her fragile ribs, one errant move could puncture an organ) for the woman who, ironically, made her feel like she was worthy of it. “I would do anything for that woman,” Simianer confesses at one point. “I would take a bullet for her.” Jury’s out on whether Marshall, the outspoken outsize talent who regularly clashes with his team, would do the same. His ambivalent approach to Aldama seems connected to how self-aware he is about his own struggles, which affords him freedom from her grasp. After she pushes him to be more empathetic, he explains, “It’s hard to be like that when you are mentally battling yourself.”

That Cheer and Killer Inside focus on the psychological as well as the physical strain faced by athletes — not to mention that athletics have no gender — is an improvement on the sports industries they present, which often objectify their stars as mere pedestals for their talents. The Navarro cheerleaders and Hernandez are both helped and hurt by sports, an outlet which can at once mean everything and nothing in the end. This is the legacy of the 1994 documentary Hoop Dreams, which followed two teen NBA hopefuls and was as much about the intersections of race and class as it was about basketball. Not to mention OJ: Made in America, the 2016 ESPN miniseries that explored how the story of the football star and alleged murderer reflected race relations in the United States in the mid-’90s. Conversely, mainstream film and television continues to be heavily male when it comes to sports, focusing on individual heroics, on pain leading to gain — the American Dream on steroids. Cheer and Killer Inside expose this narrative for the myth it is, spotlighting that all athletes have both minds and bodies that break, that their legacies as human beings are not about what they have won but who they are. But the climate in which they’ve landed cannot be ignored either, a social-media marinated world in which sports stars are no longer just players but people who are willing to be vulnerable with their public, who are even further willing to sign their names next to their problems for The Players’ Tribune, the six-year-old platform populated by content provided by pro athletes. “Everyone is going through something,” wrote NBA star Kevin Love in an industry-shaking post in 2018. “No matter what our circumstances, we’re all carrying around things that hurt — and they can hurt us if we keep them buried inside.”

Fast-forward to that new video of former basketball pro Delonte West, the one of him having his head stomped on so hard in the middle of the street that I still wonder how he survived it. He also came from an underprivileged, unstable background. He chose the college he did for its “family atmosphere.” Like Simianer, he fixated on his failures and played with abandon. Like her, he also had trouble verbalizing his feelings, to the point that they would overflow (in anger for him, tears for her). Though he says he was diagnosed with a bipolar disorder, he considers his biggest problem to be “self-loathing.” But why? He was a sports star who signed a nearly $13 million contract in his prime — what better reason for self-love? A study published two years ago in the Research Quarterly for Exercise and Sport, profiling the psychological well-being of 99 elite athletes, may provide an answer. The study found that those with high perfectionism, fear of failure, and performance-based self-worth had the highest levels of depression, anxiety, shame, and life dissatisfaction. Those with a more global self-worth that did not depend on their performance had the opposite outcome. As if to provide confirmation, a subsequent study published in Psychology of Sport and Exercise that same year revealed that athletes with contingent self-esteem were more likely to burn out. When sports become your only source of value, your wins ultimately don’t come to much.

* * *

The irony of all of this is that I came back to sports as an adult for my mental health. Obviously, I’m not an elite athlete — whatever the opposite of that is, I am. But having no stakes makes it that much easier to use physical activity for good. Nothing is dependent on it; that I’m moving at all is victory enough. But my circumstances are different. My jock high school was a private school, sports were (mostly) optional, and elite academics were where most of us found validation — and financial stability. “Conventional wisdom suggests that the sport offers an ‘escape’ from under-resourced communities suffering from the effects of systemic neglect,” Natalie Weiner writes in SB Nation. “If you work hard enough and make the right choices — playing football being one of the most accessible and appealing ways for boys, at least, to do that — you should be safe.” This reminds me of Aldama telling a room of underprivileged kids with limited prospects, “If you work hard at anything you do, you will be rewarded, you will be successful in life.” This is the American Dream–infused sports culture the media has traditionally plugged — the one, ironically, dismantled by the show in which Aldama herself appears. As Spike Lee tells a group of the top high school basketball players in the country in Hoop Dreams: “The only reason why you’re here, you can make their team win, and if their team wins, schools get a lot of money. This whole thing is revolving around money.” 

In the same SB Nation article, which focused on how school football coaches combat gun violence, Darnell Grant, a high school coach in Newark, admitted he prioritized schoolwork, something both Cheer and Killer Inside barely mentioned. “My thing is to at least have the choice,” he said. Without that, kids are caught in the thrall of sports, which serves the industry but not its players. Contingent self-worth does the same thing, which is why mental health is as much of a priority as education. The head football coach at a Chicago high school, D’Angelo Dereef, explained why dropping a problematic player — which is basically what happened to Hernandez at U of F, where coach Urban Meyer pushed him into the NFL draft rather than taking him back — doesn’t fix them. “They’re not getting into their brains to figure out why,” Dereef told the site. “It’s like putting a Band-Aid on a big cut — that’s not going to stop the bleeding.” While the NBA was the first major sports league to address mental health in its collective bargaining agreement in 2018, in mid-January the WNBA signed its own new CBA, which only vaguely promised “enhanced mental health benefits and resources.” That the sports industry as a whole does not go far enough to address the psychological welfare of its players is to their detriment, but also to their own: At least one study from 2003 has shown that prioritizing “athletes’ needs of autonomy” — the opposite of contingent self-worth — as opposed to conformity, has the potential to improve their motivation and performance. In sports terms, that’s a win-win.

* * *

Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

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