#but i love my stories about my silly little space monks and sometimes someone says something bad about my silly little space monks

[margindoodles2407]

HEY

YOU

YEAH YOU. WITH THE TUMBLR ADDICTION.

This is your daily reminder that. If you see something that upsets you. And I'm talking something that really grinds your gears. You can just take a deep breath and react to the situation calmly.

This doesn't mean you shouldn't do anything about it, just that perhaps it's better to consider your options with a clear head.

[plutoswrath]

horror for each sign

(Warning: explict description of violence and disturbing scenes.)

Aries: Gruesome:

I sit in the living room. The TV is turned on but there is no sound but the endless noise of the static. Black and white orbs mix into my vision and the walls are painted red. It mixes beautifully with the minty wallpaper, now adorened with red roses.  Mother was so annoying. Always telling me to move aside from the TV (’Stop watching TV!’). So I took the hammer Mother usues to tender the meat with. She sat in front of the TV. And I smash the hammer towards her head. Tendering her head like a fine filet. (Splatter. Splatter. Splatter. Crimson colored splatters everywhere). Mother is quiet and in my head everything is very loud. But then my favorite TV show comes on and I sit in front of the big, static scene. I forget Mothers now very well tendered head behind me. I am not bothered, being just by myself. 

Taurus: Tragic:

This appartement is a nightmare to sell. I’ve had some tough cases and some tough clients, but this is...nothing I was prepared for. Nothing about appartement 26 seems off at frst. It’s rather small, I could even say it has the potential to be cozy and warm, but there is something eerie clawing on your back, as soon as you enter it. Not to mention the figures I see in the corner of my eye and in the mirrors sometimes. The carpet is old and smells like somebody desperately tried to clean it over and over again in order to cover something up (murder maybe?). The bed always looks as someone just sat on it, even though I made it minutes ago. I learned not to put my keys on the shelf because they will go missing and reapear on strange places (behind the shower curtains). I am doomed because I am bound to this appartement. There has been a number that keeps calling me and asks if it’s still avaible, we made an appointment for a visit, but no one appeared. I can’t call them back, the number isn’t avaible (that’s what the voice of the Lady at the other side of the receiver whispers). But this number keeps calling me, every Friday at 12pm. I know something happened there, but at this point I don’t dare to search for answers.

Gemini: Disastrous:

Once there was a man, with a house big enough for him to live, too small for a family to grow. The man drew a picture of his family every day - 4 people. Happy and smiling, eating dinner at the kitchen table. The man brushed his teeth every night before lying down to sleep and combed his 4 puppets hair.  Humming, humming. He loved his puppets, dear companionship they were always there for him where did my family go? No need for a family I told her to stop shouting at me as his house is too small to grow one. Because he is alone and forever and will be and will not seek out for a real life company what do you mean they aren’t my children? Ding dong. I open the door and see a child a child that is not mine. I will refuse to accept that they aren’t mine I am alone and will keep me company, yes come in, I will buy some cookies, sit down on the couch, you want to look at my puppets?

Once there was a man, with  a house big enough for him to live, too small for a family to grow. But enough space for a small family of puppets, now combing 5 heads every night before lying down to sleep. 

Cancer: Cruel:

It is 08:30 pm. in the deepest of winter. The sun has set a long time ago and the world outside is warpped in a thick blanet of glistening snow. Four children brush their teeth before lying down to sleep, as they hear someone climbing down the stairs and opening the door. 

“Children, lie down, will you? Uncle Vitja will tell you a nice story before you go to sleep, okay? Since your mother and father are still in that restaurant they mentioned earlier they told me to help you fall asleep. Of course I prepared a nice story from Russia, what kind of question - oh, just hear what I have to tell, okay? Have you ever heard of Baba Yaga? No? Ha! I thought so, now, listen closely..never, never go alone into the forest and be disrespectful to nature, you hear me? Baba Yaga has her eyes and ears everywhere and somewhere she will watch you when you try to pick all the flowers from the fields or demolish the trees with a knife; yes I am looking at all of you! You are closeby teh forest, so pay attention! Her hut can’t be found since it stands on chicken legs and wanders around. Also you can’t enter even when you find it, because it turns around when sensing intrudors. But you’ll notice if its her shack even when it looks normal because the garden is adorned with human skulls since she likes eating us. Huh? What are you looking at me? I only tell the truth! She is one with the earth and one with life and death; she decides who needs to die and who doesn’t but this all...makes her hungry at times, it’s exhausting you know and the flesh of humans is so tender....”

Uncle Vitjas eyes run across the room as he turns to the opened window. 

“Rule number one: never leave your windows open when your parents aren’t home. Yaga smells the bad spirit of mean children!”

And his eyes turn red and his nose long. His back shrinks and his skin turns to bark. The teeth long and metallic. The children are in shock and fear grips them tightly as the old womans long finger hover over to them. They can only hope for their parents to come home soon. 

Leo: Mad:

“Manot? Dear, is that you? (.....) Dear, don’t be mistaken, I am sorry for troubling you with my calls lately, but I am so far away and I needed to hear you voice (.....) Oh silly, have you forgotten how to speak? I called your mom yesterday because I read that you couldn’t bring yourself to look her in the eyes after stealing the money she put aside for your fathers surgery (...) Oh- so sorry, I know you told me not to read your diary, but please, put those dangerous pills aside and come to me - no rehab needed, just my ever lasting love that heals you (............) Manot...now, don’t be mean. I wouldn’t break into your home if you would just give me the keys like I asked you to in my last love letter!! Pay attention to my words and you wouldn’t be so troubled all the time!! Stupid bitch, igoring me and my love as always, why do you think you’re higher than me? (.................) Can’t say something? (...............) Hello? (.......crrk.........) Hello? Are you recording this? Just wait till I come home! Hope you don’t fall asleep without me, hehe, mind it if you could put on those sweet mint colored panties you wore back than as you graduated? I loved these...ha..... (....). Well then, I need to go to work now. See you soon love. Bye.”

Virgo: Cold:

Our Grandmother used to tell us stories about her old school. Stories I like to tell my friends when we sit together for a drink after work. She has always been a funny woman, she’s been a clever kid that liked to trick her teachers at times and told me she never got into trouble because of the ‘funny’ old man (a monk to be specific) that apparently no one saw except her. The school (having been a monestary in the past) was old and full of history. And the kids gave the dead walls new life. And so did my Grandmother to this dead man who never talked but stood in the corner, pointing to opened windows  she snook out when her teachers turned away. Or directing her to the funny old photobooks of former students in the big library. He never left the grounds of the school though. She was young - 8 years old maybe - and felt special to have made such an ‘unique and special friend’, that she never thought about the fact that it could’ve been a ghost. So I asked her if he was nice. Her smile turned crooked and she looked out of the window as she answered: “I think he was once, but he was lonely for too long. One day I walked down the hallway and he pointed to staircase to the cellar or our school - something we were forbidden to go to under any circumstances because of the gigantic oven that stood there. Well, as idiotic as I was I followed him, but right in front of the doorway I stopped. His smile was off and he pointed into the black room where the giants red and orange mouth of the oven smiled at me. I felt the chance in the air and left, shaking my head. He looked angry and sad at the same time. Later that day one of our students went missing. And they found him. 2 days later, his ashes and bones in the oven. I am glad I was smart enough not to walk into the room that day and I never saw that monk again.”

Libra: Erroneous:

‘I love you, I love you’, I whisper as I turn the knife in your chest and stab into you heart for more than a thousand times. All the times I told you I loved you, I revisit those memories and breath heavily as I remember our first kiss. ‘Ah, your eyes are beautiful..’ So I plunge them out and put them in a jar, I place them on the top of my bookshelf so I can look at them and you can look at me when I lie down to sleep.  I  f e e l  t h e  w a r m t h  o f  y o u r  b l o o d  o n  m y  b o d y  G  o  d   y o u  f e e l  s o  g    o      o         d. I love the way you looked at me and you loved my smile so I engrave it into my skin, on my face - forever. I place my hand on your chest and the open wound allows me to toucg your heart. I smell you and feel you.

          I                                         l  o  v  e                                                y o  u. 

Scorpio: Demonic:

‘It is him who writes the names behind our wallpaper, when our little daughter tells me to look behind it. He is the nightmare that keeps her up at night, the monster underneath her bed, the long black hair that is tickling me in the shower. There is a shadow I feel standing behind me, someone breathing in my neck; the wind that is closing and opeing our doors and the force that drags me from the couch every time I try to sleep there. The feeling of someone standing behind me and watching how the blood begins to pump under the constant pressure in our own precious four walls.  There are eyes inside of the dark- A pair of two red eyes accompanying me everywhere. They are placed in every little black corner in our house. I see them in the reflection of the TV and the computer screen. They are bloody and since weeks our sleeping room smells foul. And it is I who brought him here in order to bring you back, my dear, and I brought sin over our love, over our home, over the one I swore to protect. And I will continue protecting her - in heaven.’

Love, Helena

(To whoever finds this: leave the ruins of this home and never come back.He will follow.)

Sagittarius: Bloody:

I once visited this town on one of my trips. It was small and far away from the next bigger city, but people from all around it swooned over the restaurants that has been there for several generations - apparently it served the finest meat in town. So naturally, I ordered a table for one the following day and tried a steak myself. Indeed, it was fine - very fine, tender and beautifully pink colored in the middle. I am confused though: I haven’t seen any fields with cattles or any farms on my way to this city. Nor do they have many tourists here; so how does this restaurant survive over the years? Then again, my uncle is an ivestigator and told me that near the next biggest city that is two hours away have been reported people that went missing over the past 50 years. And seemingly, they never reappeared. But they cases went cold since there were almost no hints or tracks. 

Oh god .

.

.

What am I eating?

Capricorn: Sinnful:

Day after day he cared for the old cathedral, being the only Pastor to talk to for the old village, in the dark times of WW1 being the voice of sanity that bring clarification for the desperate citizens. “God”, he asked one day, knees on the ground, “why does his happen to us? What did we do, our small village, to deserve being conflicted in this war?” God -  knowing that the higher sense of the things happening aren’t for this man to understand, the pastor knowing for sure that it is evi, tempted people creating chaos on earth - kept quiet and knew this was an inner war he had to fight for himself. The devil - listening as well - being sneaky and answering the man instead: “You want to know?”, he asked alluring. The pastor cried. “Yes..all this blood and murder..” Content the devil whispered into the ear of the Pastor, telling him all the sins of the people in town, showing him that there is no such thing as innocence.  No, every time someone dared to go to the confessional, it was not the Pastors voice answering him. Something dark devoured his soul that night, letting him lose hope in good and moral. And he shamed them. And he pushed their souls to the cliff in times of gruesomeness. And no one dared to put a foot into the church, even after the war. Because an old, bald man with bloodstained eyes wrote hieroglyphics on the wall at night, talked in gibberish and dared to haunt everyone who stepped into this holy place with their sinfull souls. 

Aquarius: Immoral:

24.11.2017. Day 23. I didn’t leave the labor for almost a month now. I am not interested in eating. I don’t want to sleep. I just...can’t stop hearing those screams of this...abstrusity the doctor shot two days ago.  I think he lost his mind. He thinks creating live is like cooking: grabbing some ingredients that seem to get along together and putting it all into one mixing bowl - hoping for the best. But that’s not it. That’s against nature, that is...disgusting. He is whispering names to those dead mutated baby animals. (Sophie, wasn’t it?) He hopes for them to live, but how are they supposed to live if they can’t even move their limbs? I wonder now, how far will he go? I am afraid he will test on me. I am a female, perfect to give birth to whatever he wants me to. I need to find a way out of here, before I become one of his subjects. He looks at me always a little too long at times. And he complimented my wide hips once.  I will hide this letter somewhere safe, so he won’t find it, but please, if someone’s gonna find this and me, nurse ▇▇ ▇▇▇ is no more, please, stop this madness. He has a cellar I am not allowed to go in, God knows what he is keeping in there, since I already know where he is keeping the animals. To whoever reads this, stay safe, don’t be fooled by easy money making like me.

Pisces: Otherworldly :

Mom doesn’t believe me.

She doesn’t believe that there is a Boogeyman in the closet, with yellow eyes and long, long fingers that tries to grab little children in their sleep. She doesn’t believe that when I close the door behind me, I can hear someone scratching at the other side of it. She doesn’t believe that there is someone standing in front of the window at night, that’s why I close the curtains always for her and force her to look away when the dark figures in the mirrors try to scare her. Mom hates the footsteps at night, but I just try to catch those bats that get into our attic every night. He sends them and tries to scare her so much so that she falls down the stairs and breaks her neck. 

Mom didn’t believe me back then and years later after I died in this house she still tries do deny the evil in it. But I am here to protect her. Even tho she is afraid of me, I love her and will forever be by her side. 

[howlingheartdemigod]

@riotbrrrd sent the prompt ‘Beauyasha + being good with their hands , interpret it how you like :3c’ 

two things 

1. thank you for the prompt, I need you to know I wrote over half of it on nyquill. 

2. there is something so hot about watching someone very good at something do that thing. I just need you to know that for this. 

okay thanks for the prompt feel free to send me more i’m going to bed now

It wasn’t like Yasha was intentionally noticing. It was just hard to miss. Of course, Beau was good with her hands, she was a monk for Gods’ sake. But the last few weeks it had become… distracting.

It started with an arm wrestling match. They were in Hupperdook again, of course. That’s where trouble starts. But it was needed, the time to relax, to cut loose, and they all wanted to see Kiri again. After seeing how the Shuster’s were doing, and after visiting Rissa and Cleff, they ended up at The Blush Tankard, in the corner, getting very, very drunk. Molly was leaning against her, and she was listening to Jester tell a story that seemed pretty made up.

She was marveling at how her family was back together, Molly back from the dead again, when a drunker-than-sin dwarf walked by, stopped short, and challenged yasha to an arm wrestling match on sight.

It was exactly the sort of thing she would normally say a polite but firm ‘no,’ to, but Molly was pressed into her, laughing, a sensation she was still getting used to since his return, and across the table Jester was excitedly putting money on Yasha, a bet that only the dwarf’s friend was foolish enough to take. and past Jester, Yasha noticed, was Beau. Beau, shamelessly flirting with some elf floozy.

So Yasha took the challenge, trying not to think about why that sight hurt so bad. She didn’t expect it to become a big production, but she should have known better with Jester and Nott around, especially if they stood to make a buck.

Jester pushed a small table around, and some chairs, while Nott ran over to quickly bribe Ireena into forgiving them for messing up her Tavern. Yasha watched Ireena smile, and hand some money back in Nott’s hand.

Nott returned to her side with a smile. “Ireena put her money on you.”

Yahsa smiled, pulling her cloak off, and flexing. “Well, we all knew that Ireena had a good head on her shoulders.”

Yasha couldn’t help but spare a glance over, and felt a little bit of pride when she saw Beau’s eyes locked on her.

Yasha focused up, and quickly demolished several opponents in a row. She was feeling good and ready to tap out when a voice behind her offered up a challenge. Yasha turned to watch Beau toss her robe at Caleb’s face, showing off for the crowd, Yasha supposed. No other reason Beau would show off so much skin. No reason she’d flex like that, pulling the chair back to take a seat. Yasha leaned back, trying her hardest to seem unaffected.

“You, uh, sure you want to do that?” Yasha asked, a small smile on her lips. “I would hate to injure your pride.”

“Losing to you wouldn’t hurt that bad.” Beau replied, setting her hand on the table.

Yasha heard bets change hands, Fjord calling out numbers, but it all seemed to fall away. Yashes leaned her arm back on the table, and took Beau’s hand in hers. there was a moment, waiting for the go, that Beau’s thumb drifted along the back of Yasha’s knuckles. That the world pulled small. That Yasha’s eyes drifted from Beau’s eyes to her lips, then back. A smirk appeared on Beau’s lips, then Molly called go, and the world pulled back in.

After that it became hard to ignore. Incredibly hard. Beau had wonderful hands, and used them well; tossing her bo staff around, helping set up tents, stretching one out when Yasha had been knocked down. Beau and her hands were everywhere. Yasha tried to pretend she didn’t care notice, but it didn’t take that long for Molly to call her out.

“You know,” Molly dropped down at the table next to her. “I thought that maybe after everything in Xhorhas,” Yasha looked away from him, letting out a little huff. “That maybe you would pull the trigger on this thing with the Unpleasant one. I think it would be good for you.”

Yahsa shook her head. “I can’t Molly, it’s… Beauregard is wonderful, but Zuella is my wife.”

“Was.” Molly replied. “You told me what you saw in that dream, you told me what she said. We both know that she doesn’t want you to spend your whole life mourning her.”

“We don’t know if that was real or not, though, it’s…” Yasha shrugged. “It could be nothing.”

Molly let out a little sigh. “I love you, Yash. But I’m worried you’re going to spend your whole life wondering what could be instead of finding out. That’s not fair to you, and that’s not fair to Beau. That girl is hopeless. She’s not going to move on if she thinks there’s a chance in the nine hells.”

Yasha took a long drink of her ale. “Go flirt with Caleb or something.” she muttered into the drink. Molly gave her a pat on the shoulder, and presumably obliged. Yasha’s eyes trailed around the space, but, of course, like a magnet, landed on Beau. She was sitting next to Nott, watching her run a three cup con on some locals. After Nott got some money from them, Beau shooed her off, and tried it for herself, without the trickery. The half drunk human who was playing managed to find the shell, but Yasha was transfixed watching Beau move the cups.

Yasha took another drink, then went up to bed, happily passed out before anyone made it upstairs to bother her.

Yasha it took a few more weeks for Yasha to work up her courage. It took another for an opportunity to present itself. Yasha needed the moment to be right. Needed to come up with the right thing to say. She wasn’t a woman of many words, and they were so often in the wrong order. She needed to do this right.

So when Beau said “I’m great with my hands,” it was a full on out of body experience hearing herself say “I’d love you to show me more about that sometime.”

There was a full pause at the table, before Fjord got up and walked away, Jester gasped and pointed between them, and Molly pushed to his feet, grabbing Caleb and Caduceus as he went. Nott handed Yasha her flask, then slipped away, pulling Jester with her.

Beau was staring at Yasha a blush on her cheeks. “You want to talk outside?”

Yasha nodded furiously, pocketing Nott’s flash and following Beau into the cool night air. She felt a little dizzy, a little silly.

Beau walked slowly, a hand lifting to scratch the back of her head. “Uh, if you really want me to…” Beau said, a little laugh in her tone.

Yasha dropped her eyes to her feet as they walked, searching for what to say. “I didn’t mean, uh, that was… I just wanted to… I swear I was trying to think of something better than that to say. I’ve been spending too much time with Molly.” she looked up, the stars over the small town they were in twinkling brightly. She swallowed. “But, I mean… I did mean it. Maybe not in such a crass way, but...”

Beau came to a stop, turning to face her. Beau reached a hand to catch Yasha’s. “What exactly do you want me to show you, just… for the record?”

Yasha’s stomach flipped, but she steeled herself, and closed the space, a hand lifting to catch Beau’s jaw.

Yasha knew Beau was good with her hands, but dear Gods, feeling them in her hair, on her waist, tugging her closer, exploring that night back in their room above the Tavern, that’s what made her certain.

[ladyofcreation]

Abandoned WIP (2018 - Ladyhawke AU)

I’ve decided I want to “declutter” my writing space by pruning WIPs I’m not likely to return to. But I think it would be a shame to just delete them, so I’m sharing the stuff I wrote. I hope they’ll provide some inspiration, or at least that you enjoy them, as incomplete as they are.

This was my second attempt at a fic for the free choice day of AUyeahAugust 2018. With about 1642 words written between two separate scenes, I got a bit further with this one. The premise was a retelling of the 1985 movie Ladyhawke, with Nino as Phillipe, Adrien as Navarre, Marinette as Isabeau, and Fu as Imperius. If you’ve never seen the movie, it’s about an escaped thief getting roped into helping a medieval couple get revenge on the man who cursed them/undo the curse which separates them by forcing her to be a hawk by day, human by night, and him to be human by day, and a wolf by night. I thought it could be nicely adapted to this fandom by changing wolf to cat and hawk to ladybug.

However, I ended up dropping it as I found I wasn’t having much fun just retelling a story, and it was difficult to balance the personalities as shown in the movie with personalities that would keep them recognizable as Miraculous characters as well. The size difference between a hawk and a ladybug also made a rather critical plot event impossible (getting struck by an arrow), and while I attempted to deal with it by changing it to her getting sick instead, it just wasn’t working for me.

Ultimately, I think it’s an AU more suited to renditions of the memorable scenes/lines drawn with Miraculous characters rather than a written adaptation.

------------------------------------------------------

Captain Agreste was a peculiar man.

He wanted something from him, of that much, Nino was certain. No one would help out a fugitive thief who’d gotten himself in a tight spot without getting something out of it in return. But what that was, Nino didn’t know, and Agreste hadn’t said. Nino supposed he’d tell him in due time, so he resigned himself to sit quietly behind the strange man as they rode into the forest. One didn’t have much room to complain after narrowly escaping death at the hands of a squadron of soldiers, after all.

But the peculiarity of the man was hard to ignore. Dressed all in black, he seemed to take amusement with life, and had been quite merry and flashy while brawling with the soldiers. But under this, he seemed to carry a heavy sadness with him, as though troubled by some burden he had no wish to share.

The strangest thing, however, was his reaction when Nino spotted a ladybug on the man’s shoulder. He had moved to brush the beetle off, when Agreste had swiftly caught Nino by the wrist, an impressive maneuver while still maintaining direction on the horse they were riding.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, warning clear in his voice.

Nino listened.

They stopped early in the evening, the sun still high in the sky. The couple that granted them a place to stay for the night didn’t seem like the most savory of people, but sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Night fell as Nino gathered wood for the fire. He got the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching him, and every noise seemed magnified and threatening in the growing darkness. He hastily tried to return to the barn.

He nearly made it.

There was a flash of motion in the corner of his vision, and Nino turned just in time to see, and barely avoid the swing of the axe, held aloft by the farmer. Nino had been right, certainly not the most savory of people.

The man swung his axe again, but something large and black and snarling leapt out of the darkness, tackling the man as Nino rolled away. He looked up to see the creature with its jaws clamped around the attacker’s neck.

A cat, Nino realized, as he saw the reflective, almost glowing green slitted eyes. The creature was a cat. But not an ordinary cat, not one that kept the mice away from the food. No, this was a big cat, like a jaguar from some exotic jungle – one that had no natural business being here.

In a panic, Nino fled into the barn, calling for Captain Agreste. There was no answer, and when Nino barged into his side of the barn, there was no sign of the man. His panic rising, he grabbed the crossbow and prepared to fire on the beast.

A hand plucked the arrow from the weapon, and Nino jumped, turning.

A woman, and certainly not the one of this farm, met his gaze steadily as she pulled his hands away from the crossbow.

“Don’t,” she said firmly. She turned and headed for the exit.

Nino didn’t know who this woman was, or where she had come from, but he wasn’t about to let her get hurt.

“You can’t go out there,” he said, but she waved off his concern, and began calmly walking out into the woods, against all logic.

“Am I dreaming?” Nino asked, wondering if this was some particularly lucid nightmare.

“You are,” answered the woman. Nino wasn’t sure if he believed her. He looked out into the woods again, and immediately regretted it.

The cat, finished with its prey, approached the woman. She reached out her hand, and began stroking it gently, and it followed her as she continued walking.

That wasn’t normal.

Just what had Nino gotten himself into?

The next day, during a break in their journey through the woods, Nino started rambling about what he had seen to Captain Agreste.

“There was a cat,” he said, “a big black cat, like a panther or a jaguar or something. I mean, it was seriously huge! I could’ve died…but it left me alone.”

Agreste seemed amused, as though he knew something Nino did not. Nino felt a little unsettled by it.

When he mentioned the woman, Agreste sat up, eyes intent on Nino’s, as though he wanted to soak up every word. So Nino told him, told him about the woman with the hair like night and eyes like day. When he had finished, Agreste’s expression had softened into something wistful.

“I’ve waited a long time for such a lady,” he murmured, staring down at the little bug crawling along his clothes.

It was not until the next day that Agreste finally told Nino what he wanted from him. And Nino was not too keen on the idea.

“Oh no, no no no,” he said. “I am not going back there. I escaped from there.”

“That’s exactly why I need your help,” Agreste said. “I need to get into the city to get to the Bishop. You’ve gotten out – you’re the only one who’s ever gotten out – you can get me in.”

.

.

.

Nino felt silly as he approached the ruin, insect cupped in hand. He was certain that whoever lived here would think him insane to request healing for a little ladybug. But Agreste had looked at him with such desperation that Nino felt he had no choice.

Nino called out, over and over, until an old man appeared.

“Hello, young man,” Fu greeted. “What brings you here?”

“I…” Nino said, hesitantly, “Captain Agreste asked me to come to you, with this ladybug he keeps with him. She’s sick and he said that you could heal her.”

Fu’s eyes widened, and he opened up the gates, urging Nino in before the sun, already low in the sky, set any lower. He had Nino set the insect down on a cot, much larger than ought to be necessary for such a little thing, and dismissed him from the room.

Nino was curious now. He had known from the beginning that there was something unusual going on, but this was nagging at his mind. For one, odd man like Captain Agreste to be strangely attached to a ladybug was one thing, but for this old monk to be showing similar concern? That wasn’t, it couldn’t be an ordinary insect. But just what was it, and why was Fu so secretive about it?

So, when Fu left, muttering about ingredients, Nino slipped over and picked the lock, returning to the room. He was not prepared for what he saw.

Lying on the cot, where he’d left the bug, was the woman he’d seen in the night.

Nino felt a jolt of fear run through him. His eyes were telling him something that his brain knew to be impossible, or at least unnatural. There was no doubt that this woman…this woman somehow was the ladybug. But how? Was she a witch? A shapeshifter? A spirit? But she lay there, shaking from fever, and such beings weren’t subject to such earthly illness, were they?

“Adrien…” the woman murmured. It wasn’t hard to guess who she was calling for.

“He’s fine, Captain Agreste is fine,” Nino said. “He told me to take you here.”

“Tell him…tell him he shouldn’t be so reckless…” she said, voice hazy and faint. “And tell him…not to worry about me…I’ll be…fine.”

“I will,” Nino said, because what else could he say? This was something beyond his experience with the world.

“I thought of…a funny joke he’d like…but I can’t…I can’t remember it right now.”

“Don’t…don’t strain yourself,” Nino said hesitantly. “You’re feverish.”

She made some faint noise of agreement, as the door opened behind Nino. Fu looked between the two of them.

“Go. We’ll speak of this later,” he told Nino. Nino was only too happy to oblige.

Was what he had seen even real? No…he knew it was. Somehow he knew it was real, even if it defied anything natural. He’d gotten mixed up in magic, and it was too late to get out now.

In the distance, he heard a yowl, and Nino shivered.

When Fu came to him later, the first thing Nino did was confirm his supicions.

“That cat is Agreste, isn’t it?”

Fu closed his eyes briefly and did not answer.

“What’s your name, young man?”

“Nino Lahiffe.”

“Nino…you have stumbled upon a sad tale. Come, sit.”

Nino did, and Fu continued.

“That woman’s name is Marinette. She came to our city after her parents’ passing. And we were all taken by her charm and kindness…many fell in love with her.”

Nino nodded. He could see it. The woman – Marinette – had quite a presence, and although he’d only met her a few times, she’d already had quite an impact on him.

“The Bishop wanted her for himself. He became obsessed with her, desperate to have her. She, of course, wanted nothing to do with him. She could tell the sort of man he was. And not the least, she already had taken a man as her love – the captain of the guard, Adrien Agreste. They were deeply in love, and a more devoted couple you could not find. But in secret…always in secret, until…”

Nino hung on every word, not wanting to press, but wanting to know all the same. Eventually, Fu sighed.

“I made a terrible mistake, and the Bishop learned of their relationship. Marinette and Adrien tried to escape his wrath, but, as clever as they are, they were powerless against the dark powers of hell that the Bishop called upon in his anger. With it, he cursed them, damning them to this terrible existence – Marinette, a ladybug by day; Adrien, a cat by night.”

[maverick-werewolf]

Random Werewolf Fact #5 - Becoming a Werewolf

So how does someone become a werewolf, anyway? Ask almost any Hollywood movie, video game, TV show, novel, and what-have-you, and they’ll say: “Being bitten, of course!” And there are always tons of other wild answers people come up with, too. Here’s a coherent list of some from legend - and some that aren’t, just to point out a few more of those pop culture creations.

I’m going to preemptively say please don’t trust any of the silly lists you see everywhere on the internet or consider them a reputable source. Those make werewolves cry and then go eat someone out of frustration.

Also, this list will obviously not include quite every obscure possibility inside or outside of folklore. There are simply too many around for me to list all of them here (especially some of the wacky things in more obscure legends - as well as some of the even wackier things in pop culture today). Feel free to send me an ask about something if I left it off!

Did NOT appear in folklore:

You’ll notice the majority of this list associates them specifically with disease in some way and turns being a werewolf into an infection. (Keep that in mind for next week’s werewolf fact.)

Being bitten - Some scholars claim there were a few old, obscure legends in which claims were made that a werewolf’s bite could spread the curse - and I’ve seen some around, myself (including some French ones that seem to possibly actually have some basis behind them). But the real question is, are they reputable? I’m personally going with probably not, which is why “being bitten” is exclusively in the section of NOT appearing in folklore. Werewolves transferring their curse via bite was almost certainly created by Hollywood (namely Cut Siodmak again) and then picked up by every form of media imaginable. This is just another of those generally modern ideas that brought them closer to being a disease instead of a curse (looking at you, rabies).

Being scratched - This one is very, very recently contrived (and as you may have noticed honestly kind of irks me for various reasons; more on that later). There’s not a lot to say about it other than that. I’m not sure who exactly made it up or when, but I wish they hadn’t. It’s become quite prolific.

Werewolf sex - Rawr. It’s fine (I mean unless you wanted it?), ladies, having hot werewolf sex won’t give you your partner’s curse, unlike what some pop culture would tell you. This is just another one of those things popular media made up to make werewolves more closely associated with “infection” of various types (yes, including STDs), and to try to associate them more with sex in some way. So have all the werewolf sex you want! You can even get kinky with scratching and biting (disclaimer: depends on your lore, also the werewolf might transform and eat you in a not-fun way during it in most modern media)!

Drinking/otherwise being exposed to werewolf blood - Once again an association with disease, nobody exposed to werewolf blood in folklore was ever at risk of becoming a werewolf, themselves.

Genetics - And lastly, an equivalent to a hereditary disease. This was never a thing in folklore, either. There were no werewolf “genes,” for assorted obvious reasons. All of this is very Hollywood, and very “let’s make monsters into science.”

Appeared in folklore:

Magic skins - A very common one, especially in Scandinavian folklore, someone could always just don a wolf skin and become a werewolf. Usually the skin is in some way enchanted (blessed or cursed, depends on your story and viewpoint). Most often they were wolf skin cloaks, though belts also made some appearances. The hard part, sometimes, was getting them back off, such as what Sigmund and Sinfjotli went through (Sinfjotli himself was later accused of being a werewolf, in the Poetic Edda).

Potions, salves, etc. - Another relatively common one, though this appeared much more often in the late Middle Ages and Early Modern period than any other time frame. One could drink a potion to become a werewolf, or else rub a magical salve all over their body to immediately transform.

Curse from a witch - Watch out for those witches, because they can turn you into a werewolf if they don’t like you. And when it comes to a witch’s curse, you might not necessarily be turning back into a human until you break it.

Curse from a god - Much like the witch’s curse, a curse from a god could result in a permanent or semi-permanent werewolf form, with little (very well spaced out, over a matter of weeks) or no regular shifting back to a human form. For example, Zeus cursing Lycaon to be a wolf - Lycaon was never turning back from that. This isn’t always the case, though.

Performing certain rituals - This is a very broad category, because plenty of werewolves became werewolves after they did some ridiculous ritual or another. For instance, in Arcadia, you had rituals that required someone to swim all the way across a lake under the light of a full moon and they would emerge a werewolf on the other side. Note that none of these rituals involved anything sexual, and generally didn’t even involve violence either (sacrificing virgins has nothing to do with werewolves), unlike modern depictions.

Gift from God - This is an unusual one, pretty much only exampled by the court case of a man named Thiess who came to court admitting he was a werewolf, after multiple eye-witnesses saw him turning into one. However, Thiess said he is a Hound of God. He was released from the court because no one could find fault in him. (You’ll be hearing about Thiess in more detail here in the future! I love his story.)

Test from God - This also didn’t result in evil, feral werewolves trying to kill people. In this case, quite simply, people were either forced to turn into werewolves or even opted to turn into werewolves in order to test the goodness and humanity in others. There are multiple accounts from Christian monks on this subject, of werewolves approaching someone (often a monk, themselves, and the subject of the test) and asking for help, or else helping that person. Their reaction to this kind-hearted, gentle wolf would be the test of their goodness. Because if a man cannot treat a kind, gentle wolf the way he would treat any kind, gentle man, he isn’t really a very good person, now is he?

Deal with the Devil - This started up fairly recently, when werewolves took a turn into being evil - in the Early Modern period, well after the rise to power of the Catholic church (which, in later periods, decided werewolves were evil, unlike the medieval accounts told by the monks). Plenty of people claimed they made a deal with the Devil to receive a salve or a skin that would allow them to take the shape of a wolf. Since they were dealing with Satan, they of course wanted this shape so they could romp about and murder and cannibalize people with the power of a wolf - and also a disguise, since no one would recognize them.

Family curse - There were times, of course, when a family in legend was kind of ambiguously cursed - and this would result in someone being born a werewolf.

Being born on Christmas - Here’s some fun Russian folklore for you: if someone dared to share the birthday of Christ, they would be born a werewolf as punishment. Or, alternatively, according to one account, this was actually an awesome blessing (I’d take it).

Being conceived during a new moon - Again from Russian folklore, if you were conceived during a new moon, you would be born a werewolf. I was born on a new moon... does that count, I wonder?

Next week’s post will be all about this modern idea of lycanthropy as a disease as opposed to a curse (as you saw so readily exampled in pretty much all the newfangled ideas of becoming a werewolf that were recently made up by popular culture), how recent of a concept this is, how it’s become so predominant in werewolf media - and maybe even a little bit of why exactly this is a bad thing.

(If you like my werewolf blog, be sure to check out my other stuff!

Patreon --- YouTube --- Wulfgard --- Werewolf Fact Masterlist --- Twitter)

[raulsparza]

Ghost Quartet 11/4/17

I can’t stop reliving every little bit of Ghost Quartet in my head so I figured I would share with everyone! I was sitting on a cushion on the floor, right in the middle across from Brittain and Gelsey.

-@louarn kept mentioning that the theater was in a random part of town and when we went into the lobby area outside the actual theater she said it was absolutely a liminal space. Then she saw the sign ‘part of ghost quartet takes place in complete darkness’ and was like where tf have you taken me. Quite a wonderful start

-I was sitting on my cushion, happily absorbing the atmosphere of it all, when suddenly Gelsey was right in my field of vision. I almost screamed. And then Brent and Brittain and Dave were all there too and I fully realized just how close they were and how small the space really was like wow my dudes. They all just walked out and poured whiskey for themselves and got ready to start.

-Dave’s pre-show announcement sounded just like the one he does on the McKittrick hotel live recording he’s just always awkward it’s wonderful. And I kept just having little moments of realization like oh Dave Malloy is here and talking and real. It was nuts.

-I don’t know was super sped up and I kept looking over to watch Brent absolutely kill it on the cello. What a star. And him and Dave kept making eye contact across the room. And Brittain and Gelsey are just ethereal human beings words can’t describe them

-It was probably just from the AC/not intentional but there was a tiny breeze in the theater that would ripple the hanging strings on the lampshade between Brittain and Gelsey and it felt perfectly spooky

So much more under the cut this is v long 

-Brittain sounded so lost/annoyed/confused for the camera shop scene. Like absolutely a customer not wanting to deal with a store worker/a generally stressed human not wanting to be around others

-Brent shook his head back and forth a little to help emphasize his bear voice. I fell in love with him during this show. Its casual

-Starchild was surreal and I never realized Gelsey played the metallophone during it so that was neat to see!

-Subway was startling and scary. The floor vibrated and the sound grew and surrounded us and closed us in and I was shooketh

-There was a special mic for Lady Usher that made her sound ghostly and echo-y and far away and Dave probably also had an echo mic (though I couldn’t see him very well) (save for his fluff of hair bouncing when he moved) and it was so unnerving to hear all the reverberation/lingering sound in such a small space

-What the heck was soldier and rose omg! I don’t think Gelsey is real?? Her voice is so loud and clear and all-consuming she had no mic and no music and she just went for it like damn. She also kinda conducted herself using her fingers on her left hand which was adorable. Brittain’s flirtations were too much. I think my heart stopped.

-Gelsey scurrying around to hand out instruments during any kind of dead person was far too adorable. Shoutout to @louarn and @hawkeyeing for sharing their shaker and cowbell with me! Such a fun atmosphere to be a part of!

-Dave made sure all the instruments were collected ‘especially that big one (drum), get that out of here!’ and he put his hand to his ear really dramatically to hear brent playing Thelonious monk what a nerd, and then assumed his position in the front of the room for the astronomer. He sang it like such a full-of-himself fuqboi rockstar it was hilarious. At one point he did a silly riff that wasn’t on the album and I laughed quietly and he NOTICED and nodded his head and smiled

-before family meeting starts Gelsey poured dave a drink and brought it to him over at the piano and dave says ‘thank hon!’. And then brittain just haphazardly bangs her hands on her keyboard while shes ‘playing’ as Roxie. Brent was so flippant and annoyed. This will always be my favorite spoken scene in the show.

-Four friends was wild suddenly dave was placing whiskey bottles along the top of his piano that he then passed out to everyone. pouring myself a cup of whiskey in a tiny little theater while four beyond talented performers sang their hearts out was practically an out of body experience  

-I drank my whiskey really slowly to savor it all. feeling the burning warmth in my chest was a welcome addition to the intensity of fathers and sons. Brent and dave brought drums to the middle of the room and slammed on them while glaring into each other’s eyes. Brittain and Gelsey each held mics for them. When Brittain and Gelsey sang about the man on the platform together Brittain looped her arm under Gelsey’s arm so Gelsey could continue holding the mic for Brent and her and brittain could sing into brittain’s mic together

-Gelsey sat with her legs up next to her for the beginning of tango dancer and then danced with her arms wrapped around her a little. She is a mesmerizing human

-Brittain and Gelsey dancing together during monk was so sweet. And seeing this played out live really helped me to solidify the understanding that Scheherazade is telling the story of parts of ghost quartet itself to Dunyazad, similar to how Edgar tells the subway story to Lady Usher in usher part 3

-Dave said lights out and then all the lights went out, save for the exit signs and a couple pieces of glow tape on the instruments and furniture (‘too many little lights’). I actually loved the glow tape because it was small enough that it would seem to vanish if you looked at it directly, and it would jump around as you moved your eyes. I also fully closed my eyes for a couple seconds to experience complete complete darkness

-all of side three was so haunting because every once in a while someone would be lit for a second with a distant light that made them kinda fuzzy with a ghostly aura. And sometimes there was a bit of an afterimage the second after the light disappeared. I don’t remember specifically when the lights came on because it happened so suddenly and intermittently, but I know that all in all it was a perfectly disorienting experience and I want to hug the lighting designer

-Prayer specifically was so chilling because I was so hyperaware of the gentle sound coming from every corner of the theater. I always wish that song was longer it’s so beautiful

-and then the lights came back on and brittain picked up her mic stand and moved directly! In front! Of me! for hero and geez I was not prepared for that to happen. I was stunned and starstruck and trying to hold back tears so I definitely looked like a mess and she was so beautiful and her voice was so full and then she cried for real and I just wanted to hug her omg. Also Gelsey plays accordion during this song?? I was so distracted by Brittain but then suddenly I saw an accordion in the background and like. alright. Classic dave malloy.

-@joannachristie got a drum during wind and rain and was kind enough to let me tap it a few times! And then Gelsey looked up and made direct eye contact with me and she picked up her metallophone and put it in front of me and crouched down to show me which key to play and I was in shock and disbelief and had so much fricken fun. It probably went on for like two minutes after they left the area

-Talked to everyone after the show and handed out letters to all of them and took pics. They are all such wonderful, sweet, genuine people. louarn went around telling them all it was my 21st birthday and they were all cute and excited for me

-Brent helped me pick out the best tee shirt size and he excitedly told me about cello techniques and I asked what he was using instead of his bow at one point and turns out he just uses a drumstick bc it’s easier during a transition lol. he has such a gentle speaking voice

-Brittain hugged me immediately after she found out it was my birthday and im pretty sure i left that plane of existence. I asked her what she was singing during Pearl’s death speech in usher part 3 and she said she switches it up each night, it’s usually some sort of folk song. She couldn’t remember the name of the song she did that night so she just started singing it! Directly to me! for like, a while! It was so beautiful I am so beyond blessed

-gelsey told me I could develop my own scream if I practiced (and I joked about not practicing enough) so now any time I scream, ever, it is dedicated to her

-while I was still standing with Gelsey dave leaned over to me, extended his hand for me to shake, and said ‘hey I heard it’s your birthday! Well done!’ he said well done a couple times. I couldn’t handle it then, and I can’t handle it now. Well done. Also he said he liked the dragonflies on my scarf im in love. We talked about moby dick a little and I just thanked him for like anything hes ever done ever

so thankful and elated to have been able to experience this incredible show

[smallpressdistribution]

Feast your eyes and your shelves on October’s

SPD Recommends *Backlist*,

ten still-so-relevant titles selected by our very own Matthew Hedley!

1. Cold Genius - Aaron Kunin

Have you heard Aaron Kunin get excited about Milton yet? In love with things that are funny because he loves them, like Milton’s bible fan fiction, or Chiquita banana, or language meaning a particular thing. Is it fair to say Kunin’s quote clusters are a joke, a reflexive reassurance, a kindness that doesn’t force words down your throat, a presentation, a kindness, so that his book feels deeply kind. I appreciate the Ben Lerner blurb – “it occurs to me often to be grateful for his work.” Because I am, also, deeply grateful. Reviewers seem to delight in calling him a genius – because it’s in the title, maybe – but this book is so much more interesting than that. He’s a genius, who cares, “genius” is really a silly thing, don’t you think? It’s a brand, maybe, or something a lover says and is misunderstood and misunderstood until he figures in a Kunin poem.

2. Trances of the Blast - Mary Ruefle

This book of Ruefle poems is an odd gem. Its title is given the lie by the duration of its gaze. A stanza for the thing, a stanza for the feeling about the thing, a stanza for life after living with the thing. Remember Inception? That movie all the memes come from? This book has all the immediacy of an explosion in that movie, as time dilates wider and wider, until we’ve forgotten we were running from an explosion in the first place. What was that movie about? Or – wait, what’s this book about? It’s not exactly still, since there’s so much life ahead to get to, and it has pace, some yearning to be turned on, left on, but its movement comes from turnabout, the unwieldy and furry shift of a person looming in the midst of a poem. 

And so I have had to deal with wild intractable people all my days and have been led astray in a world of shattered moonlight and beasts and trees where no one ever curtsies anymore or has an understudy. So I have gone up to the little room in my face, I am making something out of a jar of freckles and a jar of glue 

I hated childhood. I hate adulthood. And I love being alive.

3. Monk Eats an Afro - Yolanda Wisher

This book is embodied poetry, the talked about but rarely seen kind. It’s important that the book is anachronistic in its sensitivity – Cry of Jazz came out in 1959, Monk Eats an Afro in 2014 – but Wisher loves jazz, and is good at it. The Sonia Sanchez blurb should be a giveaway of how in scene this book is to Philadelphia, to Philly jazz, to clubs where Sonia still holds court at a central table, with similar tables around, Wisher at another, someone, maybe Dawn Evans holds down a third, there aren’t that many tables but they’re mostly full, with men and women who make Philly great. Sure, I’m being overly romantic, because this is a literal memory I have, being in that room, being in my hometown, sometimes it feels like it might disappear, also – this book is romantic. Its romance poems are downright sexy, and god, when Wisher swings into a rhyme at the end of a stanza it rings out. There’s a body at risk here, recounting personal experience with a heady sense of its own cultural touchpoints. There’s something conservative about a jazz fanatic in this day and age – to go through every day hearing what the radio does while still pulling back to Monk and fam takes work, a love of the way things were – which, in context with the rest of this list, makes a deep commentary on how conservative poetry as a whole really is. Because this book feels novel and standout amidst the others of the list for how separate its references are. No other book on this list is more than one degree of separation (in terms of debt owed) from John Ashbery, and this book might be two, and that makes all the difference. It’s not that it’s “anti-academic,” because that term posits the academy as the thing, and everything else as lying in opposition. But I remember a creative writing professor ask a creative writing graduate student what she could possibly talk to a slam poet about. Monk Eats an Afro is incommunicable with that sort of thinking. Not opposition – a powerful voice, sure in her self.

4. Stories in the Worst Way - Gary Lutz

This book makes me want to write better. Lutz’ style should be ponderous -- the whole text appears at a glance almost as marginalia, like liner notes on liner notes, but nothing is frantic. Somehow it feels calm, even, impossibly, focused. Which can be a little frustrating -- the game of the title STORIES IN THE WORST WAY always cycling through my mind as I am shocked by the talent.  Because they are really well written and make you jealous and more than a little productive. Lutz makes me write. Because he really can write, and his overcrowded margin of a text feels absolutely effortless and easy for him, which is also impossible, and also untrue, and it’s – god, it’s frustrating! But if I didn’t have this book around, what other book could I use to make myself write. I admit, I throw this book around a lot. It’s a really nice weight and size to be thrown, and then picked up, mumble a bit, read the same story again, somehow write four pages, go for a walk, turn around mid-walk, come home and read the same story, write some more. It’s a book I love and picked from thousands of titles here at SPD -- and if you can’t handle being jealous and productive, I just don’t even know you.

5. Videogames for Humans: Twine Authors in Conversation - edited by merritt kopas

This book of playthroughs, essays, contexts, games and game-ified writing is unique and complex. Twine as a digital platform stands alongside all my other distant dreams of choice mediums for preventing academia and the state from incorporating language and work into their narrative. But, unfortunately, the space remains uncurated in meaningful ways to further that vision, which, as Wikipedia will tell you (by omission or deletion mill), perpetuates the same power structures as the world outside. So: CRY$TAL WARRIOR KE$HA (made pre-$ removal) is on the sample page today (looking absolutely amazing), while the most recent review is some undergraduate freshboy’s takedown of its writing structure. Which is to say that the academy is always uncomfortably present in the history and training of creators, players, readers – and even in the essays in VIDEOGAMES FOR HUMANS. The tension in the book’s movement back and forth between Kesha and undergraduate with a grudge is what makes the book so incredibly worthwhile. Beyond just a book for digital language nerds like myself, this collection feels so important for asking questions of how to create positive art spaces. Teenaged entertainment proposes an answer, negated in the misogyny of Lil Yachty, reconstituted in the queer narratives of Twine, complicated in the reactionary nature of write-ups… How will any of us make art in a time where to be an instrument of the state is such a bald-faced violence? But magic and a joy in loving self-sabotage shows a glimmer of hope: 

“There’s this assumption that if you stray from The Scientific Method into actually caring about things like lying on the floor of your room in the middle of the afternoon with black canvas hung over the curtains to keep the sun out with a single candle burning, wearing lipstick—even though you pretty much don’t wear lipstick any other time in your life—sort of meditating and sort of tripping off sensory deprivation and sort of falling asleep, that you had better take that weird stuff just as seriously and humorously as scientists are supposed to take science. Like basically magic can’t be weird or fun or fucked up or stupid on purpose. Which is wrong!”

6. Event Factory - Renee Gladman

Event Factory – There’s a setpiece of science fiction where worldbuilding, forced to include some cultural background for the book, treats us to speculative songs and poetry that are, let’s be honest, always awful. The cantina songs, the God-Whispers of Han Qing-Jao, the water songs of the Fremen – let’s be real, these are painful moments. Even Delany – sorry. But then you have Gladman, a luminary poet, writing her Ravicka novels, and suddenly, writing becomes speculative in parsing and content. There’s all the textured concentration and phrasing her talent begets, combined with a character-driven, engaging and difficult science fiction novel. So that our transportation occurs on every level – not escapism, because the density of idea and descriptor doesn’t admit such an easy movement – as we are other before it. It’s a deeply disturbing book, to be sure. The disassociative trip of finding things already happening to yourself makes the book a Ketamine nightmare in its darkest, half-sexual, half-prone. That’s a warning, I suppose, or as much of a warning as I can give for a book I’d like you to read. It’s a book of recollections, and it often recalls the worst. Go read it.

7. In the Time of the Blue Ball - Manuela Draeger, translated by Brian Evenson

This is the only book on this list I didn’t know beforehand, but god DAMN. It reminds me of Kathryn Davis, but with a different set of idiosyncrasies. Or Monica Furlong’s deeply strange cousin. Or it’s not really like another person, but an outstanding talent all to itself that speaks in an unusual voice, with a style and focus all her own. Still, it’s hard not to try to put it in context, because I hadn’t heard of Draeger previously. Shelley Jackson wrote the back cover blurb, and if you’re not down with Shelley Jackson, there’s nothing I can say to convince you to read this.

“I’m warning you, Potemkine,” said the tiger. “Now, here we are together in too small of a space. It’d be better if you didn’t wiggle in front of me. In the darkness, I could imagine that you were running.”

“I don’t look like a wharf rat,” I said.

“When someone starts running in front of me, it’s too late for distinctions between species,” said Gershwin.

Half-accessible, half-mystic fantasy that flirts with various reading levels, IN THE TIME OF THE BLUE BALL is a gorgeous book of fiction. With thanks to Brian Evenson for a stellar translation.

8. This Lamentable City - Polina Barskova, translated by Ilya Kaminsky

He lies naked on something white, She laughs above She covers him With her pearl, her body her Star, her body her snow, her body On top of the word “strange,” On top of the word “fright.”

Barskova wanders the city and chronicles, and edits, and edits, and edits what she sees. This book is beautifully refined, calm, sure.

“In our village where small animals live slowly And humans jump on them.”

I’d like to do this little feature with only quotes, quotes and gasps afterward. The above a reaction to finding the scattered remains of snails in the lane. I hope it snows where you read this, in the evening.

9. The Feel Trio - Fred Moten

Fred Moten. Glory, Fred Moten. One of the most talented writers of a generation who makes the balance of phrasing and legibility feel effortless. Not that every line is beach-read-legible, but that his word clusters are drop-dead gorgeous, and always feel intentioned and deserved. Throughout his published works, Moten remains a cheat-sheet for debut writers – “how do I get away with putting this really fabulous but loud phrase in my writing” – but THE FEEL TRIO is a monstrosity of confidence, even for him.

           “this a service on the surface for frank wilderness and carl flippant.            my absolute beauty studies feelings in an open afterlife. I hold him            and I’ve lost and I feel it in my hands and the sharp distance of his            little bother, explosive flower of I’m not ready and don’t want to.”

10. That They Were at the Beach - Leslie Scalapino

My favorite book of poetry has somehow never been on a previous SPD Recommends Backlist. The narrator of the book fascinates me – defensive in language, insecure in relative positions, honest in gaze – in her movements between mechanism and pathos. The formalization of language, centered around the em dash – pretending to be a device of clarity – reminds me of coding languages, its Turing-complete, it’s a half step from language, but in this case not towards clarity but something else, something that masquerades as clarity but is poetry. Which isn’t an opposite of clarity, but it’s not the same thing either. I find it impossible not to copy this book’s phrasing for months after I reread it, so I’m trying to be good here. It’s the book that made me love poetry.

[vivanalove15]

101 Self-Care Suggestions for When It All Feels Like Too Much

1. Have a good, long, body-shaking cry.

2. Call a trusted friend or family member and talk it out.

3. Call in sick. Take comp time if you can. Take a mental health day.

4. Say no to extra obligations, chores, or anything that pulls on your precious self-care time.

5. Book a session (or more!) with your therapist.

6. Dial down your expectations of yourself at this time. When you’re going through life’s tough times, I invite you to soften your expectations of yourself and others.

7. Tuck yourself into bed early with a good book and clean sheets.

8. Watch a comforting/silly/funny/lighthearted TV show or movie. (“Parks and Recreation,” anyone?)

9. Reread your favorite picture and chapter books from childhood.

10. Ask for some love and tenderness from your friends on social media. Let them comment on your post and remind you that you’re loved.

11. Look at some some really gorgeous pieces of art.

12. Watch Youtube videos of Ellen DeGeneres and the adorable kids she has on her show.

13. Look at faith-in-humanity-restoring lists from Buzzfeed.

14. Ask for help. From whoever you need it – your boss, your doctor, your partner, your therapist, your mom. Let people know you need some help.

15. Wrap yourself up in a cozy fleece blanket and sip a cup of hot tea.

16. Breathe. Deeply. Slowly. Four counts in. Six counts out.

17. Hydrate. Have you had enough water today?

18. Eat. Have you eaten something healthy and nourishing today?

19. Sleep. Have you slept 7-9 hours? Is it time for some rest?

20. Shower. Then dry your hair and put on clothes that make you feel good.

21. Go outside and be in the sunshine.

22. Move your body gently in ways that feel good. Maybe aim for 30 minutes. Or 10 if 30 feels like too much.

23. Read a story (or stories) of people who overcame adversity or maybe dealt with mental illness, too. (I personally admire JK Rowling’s story.)

24. Go to a 12-Step meeting. Or any group meeting where support is offered. Check out church listings, hospital listings, school listings for examples.

25. If you suspect something may be physiologically off with you, go see your doctor and/or psychiatrist and talk to them. Medication might help you at this time and they can assist you in assessing this.

26. Take a long, hot bath, light a candle and pamper yourself.

27. Read inspirational quotes.

28. Cuddle someone or something. Your partner. A pillow. Your friend’s dog.

29. Read past emails/postcards/letters etc. from friends and family reminding you of happier times.

30. Knit. Sculpt. Bake. Engage your hands.

31. Exhaust yourself physically – running, yoga, swimming, whatever helps you feel fatigued.

32. Write it out. Free form in a journal or a Google doc. Get it all out and vent.

33. Create a plan if you’re feeling overwhelmed. List out what you need to do next to tackle and address whatever you’re facing. Chunk it down into manageable and understandable pieces.

34. Remember: You only have to get through the next five minutes. Then the next five. And so on.

35. Take five minutes to meditate.

36. Write out a list of 25 Reasons Why You’ll Be OK.

37. Write out a list of 25 Examples of Things You’ve Overcome or Accomplished.

38. Write out a list of 25 Reasons Why You’re a Good, Lovable Person.

39. Write out a list of 25 Things That Make Your Life Beautiful.

40. Sniff some scents that bring you joy or remind you of happier times.

41. Ask for support from friends and family via text if voice-to-voice contact feels like too much. Ask them to check in with you via text daily/weekly. Whatever you need.

42. Lay down on the ground. Let the earth/floor hold you. You don’t have to hold it all on your own.

43. Clean up a corner of a room of your house. Sometimes tidying up can help calm our minds.

44. Ask yourself: What’s my next most immediate priority? Do that. Then ask the question again.

45. Read some poetry.

46. Take a tech break. Delete or deactivate social media if it feels too triggering right now.

47. Or maybe get on tech. If you’ve been isolating maybe even interacting with friends and family online might feel good.

48. Go out in public and be around others. You don’t have to engage. But maybe go sit in a coffee shop or on a bench at a museum and soak up the humanity around you.

49. Or if you’re feeling too saturated with contact, go home. Cancel plans and tend to the introverted parts of yourself.

50. Ask friends and family to remind you that things will be OK and that what you’re feeling is temporary.

51. Put up some Christmas lights in your bedroom. They often make things more magical.

52. Spend a little money and treat yourself to some self-care and comfort. Maybe take a taxi versus the bus. Buy your lunch instead of forcing yourself to pack it. Buy some flowers that delight you.

53. Make art. Scribble with crayons. Splash some watercolors. Paint a rock. Whatever. Just create something.

54. Go wander around outside in your neighborhood and take a look at all the lovely houses and the way people decorate their gardens. Delight in the diversity of design.

55. Go visit or volunteer at your local animal rescue. Pet some animals.

56. Look at photos of people you love. Set them as the wallpaper of your phone or laptop.

57. Create and listen to a playlist of songs that remind you of happier times.

58. Read some spiritual literature.

59. Scream, pound pillows, tear up paper, shake your body to move the energy out.

60. Eat your favorite, most comforting foods.

61. Watch old Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood videos online.

62. Turn off the lights, sit down, stare into space and do absolutely nothing.

63. Pick one or two things that feel like progress and do them. Make your bed. Put away the dishes. Return an email.

64. Go to a church or spiritual community service. Sit among others and absorb any guidance or grace that feels good to you.

65. Allow yourself to fantasize about what you’re hoping or longing for. There are clues and energy in your reveries and daydreams that are worth paying attention to.

66. Watch Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response videos to help you calm down and fall asleep at night.

67. Listen to monks chanting, singing Tibetan bowls or nature sounds to help soothe you.

68. Color in some adult coloring books.

69. Revisit an old hobby. Even if it feels a little forced, try your hand at things you used to enjoy and see what comes up for you.

70. Go to the ocean. Soak up the negative ions.

71. Go to the mountains. Absorb the strength and security of them.

72. Go to the forest. Drink in the shelter, life and sacredness of the trees.

73. Put down the personal help books and pick up some good old fashioned fiction.

74. Remember: Your only job right now is to put one foot in front of the other.

75. Allow and feel and express your feelings – all of them! – safely and appropriately. Seek out help if you need support in this.

76. Listen to sad songs or watch sad movies if you need a good cry. (“Steel Magnolias“, anyone?)

77. Dance around wildly to your favorite, most cheesy songs from your high school years.

78. Put your hands in dirt. If you have a garden, go garden. If you have some indoor plants, tend to them. If you don’t have plants or a garden, go outside. Go to a local nursery and touch and smell all the gorgeous plants.

79. If you want to stay in bed all day watching Netflix, do it. Indulge.

80. Watch or listen to some comedy shows or goofy podcasts.

81. Look for and Google up examples of people who have gone through and made it through what you’re currently facing. Seek out models of inspiration.

82. Get expert help with whatever you need. Whether that’s through therapy, psychiatry, a lawyer, clergy, let those trained to support you do it.

83. Educate yourself about what you’re going through. Learn about what you’re facing, what you can expect to feel, and how you can support yourself in this place.

84. Establish a routine and stick to it. Routines can bring so much comfort and grounding in times of life that feel chaotic or out of control.

85. Do some hardcore nesting and make your home or bedroom as  cozy and beautiful and comforting as possible.

86. Get up early and watch a sunrise.

87. Go outside and set up a chair and watch the sunset.

88. Make your own list of self-soothing activities that engage all five of your senses.

89. Develop a supportive morning ritual for yourself.

90. Develop a relaxing evening ritual for yourself.

91. Join a support group for people who are going through what you’re going through. Check out the listings at local hospitals, libraries, churches, and universities to see what’s out there.

92. Volunteer at a local shelter or hospital or nursing home. Practice being of service to others who may also be going through a tough time.

93. Accompany a friend or family member to something. Even if it’s just keeping them company while they run errands, sometimes this kind of contact can feel like good self-care.

94. Take your dog for a walk. Or borrow a friend’s dog and take them for a walk.

95. Challenge your negative thinking.

96. Practice grounding, relaxation techniques.

97. Do something spontaneous. Walk or drive a different way to work. Order something new off the menu.Listen to a Spotify playlist of new songs.

98. Work with your doctor, naturopath or nutritionist to develop a physical exercise plan and food plan that will be supportive to whatever you’re facing right now.

99. Pray. Meditate. Write a letter to God/The Universe/Source/Your Higher Self, whatever you believe in.

100. As much as you can, please try and trust the process.

101. Finally, please remember, what you’re going through right now is temporary. It may not feel like that from inside the tough time you’re in, but this too shall pass and you will feel different again someday. If you can’t have faith in that, let me hold the hope for you.