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moonbaby26 · 4 years ago

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Title: The Man from the Sky

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: You were a Greek sea goddess, just enjoying a typical day of nothing when a strange new god dropped into your land.

Warnings: None yet. There is smut in future chapters already written. Will post more soon.

Notes: I’m aware that what we’d think of as ancient Greece well predates who we’d call the vikings and their like cruising around the seas. This doesn’t take place at the height of the Greek pantheon worship, but old enough in human history that some men still believed in both sets of deities.

Chapters: Next Chapter Here

My Masterlist

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You dipped your feet a little deeper into the warm water as it lapped the edges of the rock you sat upon. The sea was calm today, and the wind gentle as the nymphs chatted around you about the usual things. A bit of gossip one had heard from a local river nymph, a new shipwreck one had found, status of a fish migration from another.

You wouldn’t exactly call it boring though, you specifically chose these more remote areas when you came ashore for this very reason. It was so much more unlikely for you to run afoul of mortals here, or even others of your own kind that you may not feel like putting on airs with at this very moment.

It was so quiet in fact, that you were considering getting up to go lay in the sand on the beach in a few minutes and enjoy a nice nap in the sunlight.

That was before the boom which echoed through the air all around you. Somewhat like thunder, but not quite as all the nymphs fell silent.

When nothing came after, you felt all their eyes then turning to you. Their voices piped back up soon enough, though the tones in them changed to all nerves now.

“Do you wish to leave, milady?”

“Could it be Zeus?”

“But it didn’t sound like him.”

“Is there a volcano nearby?”

“What else could it be?”

“I don’t know what it was, I’ve never heard that sound.” You finally said, though now looking inward to the land. You were at least sure that the sound was not of the sea. But you refused to give in to the nymphs’ skittishness too quickly. And without real reason to leave, eventually you all did start to relax again.

Yet then came the cries. “Goddess, mistress please!” That cry absolutely was from the land as you looked in time to see the river nymph you’d met earlier in the day now running from the tree line and down onto the sands. She stumbled slightly, just before reaching you where the sea met the rocks.

She was panting, clearly having run some distance as she continued. “I’m so glad to still find you here,” She bowed slightly, only because she didn’t know you well enough to realize you didn’t require this.

“What is it?” You asked simply, honestly more curious now than anything else. What could she have seen that would strike her so alarming? Any nymph worth their ilk would know every creature, every natural occurrence, all that existed within their lands.

“There is a man in the forest, he came from the sky!” Yet she continued quickly, sure you would only think of Olympus. “But I do not recognize him as one of your own family. And his clothing, he is not of our territory. This I am sure, my goddess. I watched him only long enough to see that he was very angry. I am afraid of his intentions here.”

A man? But not truly a man. Mortals did not come from the sky.

“An angry god?” You said, now standing as you then stepped down from the rocks. The forest belonged to Artemis truthfully. But being this close to the sea, you thought that the older goddess would forgive you this if it came down to it. She would rather the nymphs be protected you were sure from any childish acts of a god’s wrath that may now come into play here.

You had brought no armor, the possibility of battle so far from your mind when you’d come ashore today. But that didn’t mean you travelled completely defenseless. “Bring me my spear please.” You requested of the sea nymphs.

Though they were still anxious, they responded dutifully, one sinking beneath the waves before reappearing with the glinting weapon in hand. It shone a brilliant silver, sea foam still running off its blue spear tip as she handed it to you out of the water.

“Show me the way, and I will investigate this stranger.” You spoke plainly, hopping down onto the sands as you strode barefoot towards the forest, spear in hand. “We will keep our distance as best we can, we don’t seek conflict, understood?”

“Yes, milady.” You heard, the sea nymphs staying behind you as the river nymph moved in front to lead you upward, the sand transitioning to rocky soil and the sparse vegetation and trees beginning to increase as you climbed the hillside.

For the sea nymphs, you could hear them losing their footing here and there in the loose soil, themselves of course far more adapted to swimming the ocean’s depths at your side rather than hiking up into the forests.

You did hope you were not putting any of them in danger. But if you felt they truly were in harm’s way, you would have no qualms in telling them to retreat back to the water at once.

“Up ahead,” The river nymph whispered to you, pointing towards a clearing you could now see leveling off in the distance. But the opening looked so strange with the density of the other trees now around you.

“Was that always there?” You asked her, knowing something unnatural when you saw it, even when this far from the water.

“No,” She confirmed. “When the sky opened up, it carved out the land as well. He appeared when that force receded.”

“Understood.” You replied, though in truth not really understanding at all as you motioned for all the others to proceed no further. You’d never seen something like this. “I will go alone. If he should attack me, please return to the sea to seek help.”

They fidgeted, looking unhappy but not arguing your choice. “Please be careful, goddess.”

You nodded, but kept on slowly. You tried to remember what you’d been taught as a little girl about stalking and hunting on land. So many moons ago, running through the forests with Artemis and at times Pan, being mentored before returning to the sea to your father, mother, and so many siblings.

But the closer you came, the more you realized that the stranger would likely not notice any sound of light footsteps approaching or ground shifting. As you neared, you saw his form pacing back and forth in the clearing, seemingly cursing to himself in a language that was not your own.

Yet it still sounded familiar. Abruptly you knew where you had heard a dialect like this before. It sounded so much like those voyagers from the northern seas. The ones with their longboats and course beards, sometimes with hair as red as fire as they fished and sang and fought.

And he did look as pale as them as well. But with hair like black of night, and a frame far more slender than the burly mortals you’d seen rowing those northern boats along. And just as the river nymph had warned, his clothing confused you as well. Rich green robe, but with black and gold as well. It was wholly foreign and exotic to you in its styling, as was he.

When she’d said a strange man had arrived, honestly you had also expected someone older in appearance. He looked quite youthful to be honest, even as his brow remained furrowed and his fists clenched at his sides.

And just when you thought his feet may actually cut a path in the earth from his agitated pacing, he finally slowed, then stopped all together.

This is when you froze as well, knowing you now had a decision to make. Should you keep to your hiding, just to hope he should eventually leave in whatever fashion he came? Or should you reveal yourself to question his identity and purpose here?

“Done spying yet, or do you intend to actually do something with that spear?” A cutting voice spoke abruptly to your side, so suddenly that you almost lost your footing, shocked as the same man emerged from behind other trees only feet from you.

But you still saw him in the clearing as well, at least you did momentarily before the image of him there dissolved, leaving only the form now nearest you.

“You speak my language?” Was all you questioned instead of answer him though, as he had said those last words only in your tongue. You also kept focusing on backing away as you chose to keep a safer distance. He was some sort of illusionist at least then, which could escalate the danger here very quickly if he made you lose your bearings.

And he was starting to circle you a bit you realized as he began to walk again. But you willed yourself to keep your spear at a neutral position, rather than aim at him, still not intending to provoke attack if it could be prevented. You had no idea what other strengths he might have, and your primary goal was still to keep the nymphs from getting caught in any crossfire.

“Not all of us are so uneducated,” He snapped back at you, still in your language, though you could detect that foreign accent underneath.

You were not wholly unused to rudeness though, yet it had been a very long time since you could recall being spoken to directly in such a manner. It was more the bickering between others in the palace that you were sometimes forced to be party to. Which was only another reason you often favored the relative isolation of the mortal world.

“You need not be so offended, stranger. I only came to see who had entered our land, and to protect my friends if need be.” You answered as reserved in tone as you could.

“Then you have done your duty, girl, and can now be gone. I came here to be alone. If I was actually intending to plunder this wasteland of nothingness, your little cohort never would have made it back to you to begin with.”

You stared, a little coldness entering your eyes then. So that was what had given you away. He’d already been aware of the river nymph to begin with, and had been waiting for someone to return the entire time while leaving that illusion of himself still in the clearing as distraction.

And he’d actually referred to you as ‘girl’. Did he really think you just one of the nymphs then? It was hard to say if he was intentionally trying to goad you, or if he really was so unfamiliar to not realize you for what you actually were.

You straightened a bit, replying, “Insults to our homeland aside, I will leave you to this quiet then, if you should at least tell me your name. You are clearly not of Olympus, and we still have right to know who it is who traverses into this particular land of mortals which we hold sovereignty over.”

He scoffed, clearly wishing to not speak to you even a moment longer. But in the way his chest puffed slightly, you thought it was only pride then that made him physically incapable of denying his identity.

He actually moved closer to you as well, that agitation still rising further in his voice. “Little fool, you stand before Loki! Son of Odin the Allfather. I am god of mischief, prince of Asgard. Your witless mortals should count their blessings that an Asgardian should ever see fit to even set foot here!”

You didn’t know if you’d been quick enough to mask the true surprise from your face. You had already assumed him a god. But never...never had you actually laid eyes on an Asgardian. They never came to this part of the world as far as you knew. And was he telling the truth? Was he really a son of Odin?

This stranger’s arrogance aside, if he were a child of Odin, you knew your own father would be furious with you if you were intentionally insulting now. Asgard and Olympus had never had the closest ties, but you were not enemies either. Asgard was honored by the mortals of the north, and Olympus still honored by those of the south, though perhaps not quite as much as the true olden days.

It took real will, but you bowed graciously to him in return. “It is an honor to meet you then, Loki, son of Odin.” As you straightened up, in his eyes you could see he was trying to judge you as sincere or not. But you just continued smoothly. “As promised, I shall leave you to your thoughts then. But I would be unmannered to not offer my assistance should you need a hostess in your time here as a guest in our land. My name is (Y/N), daughter of-”

You hesitated only the briefest moment, “of the sea,” is what you decided on though. Unlike Loki, you preferred a little anonymity with strangers. You didn’t wish to be targeted just for your lineage.

And with that, you turned, beginning to walk back towards the beach, even as you finished talking. “If you should need me, you need only find the sea’s edge and call for me. One of our creatures will hear you soon enough and seek me out.”

But some odd part of you regretted not being able to see his expression as you left. You wondered if you only would have seen more disdain and condescension at your offer.

Regardless, he said nothing else and soon enough you were back on the sand, the nymphs chittering in a mix of horror and awe around you.

“Who does he think he is, speaking to you that way!?”

“Do you really think he’s of Asgard? Shouldn’t we alert your father?”

“Why would he even come here? He seemed so bitter. Do you think they cast him out?”

“I’d cast him out, with a dirty attitude like that!”

You looked to the horizon, just taking a breath. “I don’t think we need to rush and tell my father just yet. But I do know where I want to go now.” You looked to the river nymph briefly though, “Please have those in the forest keep a distant eye on him. Should he leave or do anything else of note, please let us know.”

You glanced back to the sea nymphs then. “The rest of you return to the oceans. I’m going to Olympus, to the libraries there. I want to find out more about Asgard, to see if he is who he says he is. I’ll return to the water soon.”

They all nodded, “Yes, milady. Please let us know what you find!”

“I will,” you agreed, just watching them dissolve back into the waves.

Were you excited perhaps? Or just very curious? Nothing interesting in this way had happened in ages. You were determined to learn all you could on this new arrival.

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The Olympians had been a little surprised to see you gracing the halls there. So many of your cousins had dropped in time and again to say hello, curious themselves of why you were out of the water this long and seemingly such a bookworm all of the sudden.

And you did read for days. All you could find on Asgard, on Odin, the Norse mortals, and their language. You found record that Odin had born two sons, honestly an oddly low number you thought in comparison to the many children of your own kings.

But there in these tomes, were those two names, Thor and Loki. Thor, god of thunder, amusing of course in comparison to Zeus, king of all, including lightning. But also Loki, god of mischief, just as he’d said.

You were surprised, but enthralled as you actually found a drawing of Loki within the book. Though not completely accurate you thought, you still recognized that type of clothing. The green and gold, and the pale skin and black hair with his icy blue eyes. You tilted your head a little, looking at the gold helmet he wore in the artist’s depiction, with long horns curving from it like those of a great beast.

Was he really a beast? Or just a too arrogant manchild? And why did you increasingly wish to find out?

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(Continued in next chapter here)

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki #loki fluff #loki fandom #marvel fic #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x oc #loki x original female character #loki layfeyson imagine #loki layfeyson x reader

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fromtheplanethexagon · 4 years ago

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the robot problem: a critical look at tobecky, 5 years late

hello wordgirl fandom i am back :) and i have a lot of thoughts that i never got around to expressing before i moved on from the show. so be aware that everything i'm saying is based on my experiences during the 2012-2016 era of the fandom & state of tumblr in general, and i am not familiar with more recent fan content.

it's been over five years since the show ended, and @ifbrd reminded me (along with some great analysis) that while tobecky was super popular since before the show technically started (thanks to the play date shorts), it's pretty unhealthy in a lot of ways that tend to be excused or flat out ignored in fanworks. i'd like to reflect on that a bit (a lot); specifically, how both the show and the fandom approached this enemies-to-lovers ship, and how easily this ship can slip into uncomfortable territory if we're careless about how we interpret the ship and create fan content of it.

i will admit, i'm mostly writing this as a response to past me and my old creations - though i moved on from the show as a whole years ago, i do like taking the time to reflect on old interests once in a while, and reevaluating my thoughts on them. and this ship is probably the biggest one that still lurks in the corners of my mind once in a while, so let's go.

cherish is the word: a short positive note before a much longer negative one

i wanted to start this essay off with some positivity, because i am going to be very negative after this. tobecky was, in some ways, cute. it's obvious from the very beginning that these two characters are on pretty equal ground, even if one of them isn't aware of it. and that's part of the fun - the irony of how unaware tobey is that his nemesis/crush/person that pretty much always wins against him is someone that he completely dismisses as incompetent. i want to point this out because honestly, in general i don't like enemies-to-lovers because a lot of them use a power imbalance within the dynamic, and i hate power imbalances, especially when it comes to actual life-or-death scenarios (at least, as much as cartoons can do that). in most episodes, becky is never actually forced to go along with his wishes. she's not held in a 'date' against her will, nor is she ever really outwitted by him. i bring this up because there is one huge, uncomfortable exception, which i will get to later.

another big plus to the ship is the fact that they just... get along? even when fighting? of course we get brief moments where they just hang out and talk about paintings or whatever, but i'm talking about how much they get each other, even if they don't realize it. like the word banter, for example. been there since day one. becky loves words, and while most other people in her life don't really care (ranging from 'eh, that's cool i guess' to her brother calling it annoying), tobey gives her a chance to show off and thus treats her as a worthy adversary as herself, not because of her more generic superpowers - something that we've seen in canon that she feels self-conscious about (see: her motivation in patch game). one of the less noticed examples, to me, is "it's your party and i'll cry if I want to", because it's just - okay. they both are excluded from a social event, and while it's obvious that tobey deals with it by destroying the city, it's also pretty obvious that becky also deals with her frustration by fighting in that battle. like, yes, realistically it's just objectively bad that he's destroying buildings. but they're also providing each other with a way to work through their frustrations, first by fighting and then by talking things out, and finally by hanging out together instead of dwelling on being excluded from the party.

so it makes a lot of sense to me that many tobecky fans gravitated towards writing far-in-the-future fic, usually by implying that some growth had taken place before starting to write the ship. (there are, as far as i'm aware, 2... maybe 3 exceptions, that take the time to attempt a real redemption for him, at least when i left the fandom.) because if you take away his worst moments, either by reasoning out that he was 10 years old and a mess, or that he was a cartoon character in a cartoon world where everyone's actions are over-the-top, or by just flat-out pretending that certain episodes never happened, there's some pretty solid ground to start a ship on.

go gadget go: we all do not see it, we simply close our eyes (review of canon)

when the show began, i was the same age as the characters. a lot of other people were, too - at least in my cohort of the fandom. i think it's pretty safe to say that many of us have fond memories of the show's earlier seasons, and held on to that interest as we got older, for whatever reasons. so like, not to be all 'as an OG fan...', but i remember seeing the shorts air for the first time in 2006. i have a diary entry in july of 2009 about how i, a 12yo with no concept of the idea of 'shipping', was disappointed in the new tobey episode because i wanted more tobecky interactions. (that was robo-camping, btw, lol.) and so i remember how exciting their rivalry felt, watching them as someone literally their exact same age, and then watching that again as a nostalgic 17yo, and then uh... growing up, to put it frankly, and realizing just how unhealthy most of their interactions were.

okay what i meant to say was, this section is an overview of the relationship's canon portrayal throughout the years.

first, we have early tobecky: this includes the shorts and the first few seasons. this is their classic relationship: he likes her and takes robots on rampages to get her attention, she majorly disapproves and has fun taking him down. we've all seen the show, you know what i'm talking about. his backhanded ways of trying to find out her identity often feature prominently in the episodes, which - sigh, i've mentioned this whole issue before, but it's kind of a grey area in the whole uncomfortable-factor thing, because while trying to find out her identity is VERY invasive, it's something that like... everyone in the show tries to do, even her canon crush (scoops). on the one hand, it's really not a great look, but on the other hand, this is a cartoon meant to parody a genre in which this trope is extremely common. so i just wanna say that i have Issues and Thoughts on this aspect of their relationship, but there are other things i find more important to discuss here.

second, we have late tobecky: this is seasons 7-8. this is... a very strange and huge shift from the previous dynamic, though it's not necessarily obvious. what i mean by that is that for some reason, the show writers made it so that half of tobey’s rampages have nothing to do with his crush on wordgirl, even though that used to be the sole reason for his villainy. seriously. we have the birthday episode, where he's upset because he feels left out; wg vs tobey vs the dentist, where he's mad that he has a cavity; and trustworthy tobey, where his robot goes on a rampage... after becky accidentally makes it malfunction. the two outliers are ‘guess who’s coming to thanksgiving dinner’ and ‘patch game’, but they still differ from previous seasons because 1) his destruction is isolated to a forest far away from the city, and 2) his motive is still to impress wordgirl, but his methods are relatively tame. also he completely gives up on the secret identity thing??? i may have missed some things but i think he straight up tells her 'yeah there's no way you're wordgirl, lol' and the subject is just dropped for the rest of the show.

i also want to include 'the robot problem' here, because it's one of two season 6 tobey episodes, and follows the 'doesn't destroy buildings to get her attention' pattern: in fact, he teams up with her to try and stop someone else from going on a rampage (even if his reasons are selfish, lol).

and finally. the other season 6 episode. we have go gadget go, the bane of my time spent in the fandom. because GGG is the single episode where tobey truly manages to take away her autonomy, and proceeds to abuse that power for an extended period of time, for his own amusement. it's bad. it's Very Bad. put in the context that it's a white boy doing this to an (ambiguously) brown girl, it's REALLY REALLY BAD. and the more i look back on it, tbh, the more weirded out i am that the show not only made it seem like she wasn't affected at all within the episode, it just... forgot about it (which is not unusual for shows and especially children’s shows, but WG does make some efforts to either retain continuity or create canon reasons for why things are forgotten about). it's the kind of thing that you can't excuse and honestly you can't redeem (like at this point, you gotta ask yourself why you're spending so much effort trying to redeem this guy when becky has several other possible ships that are nowhere near this unhealthy - violet, scoops, honestly even victoria if you want another hero/villain ship, my absolute fave rarepair rose, etc).

so if you want to still ship it you have to just pretend that it never happened. (i remember trying for weeks to write something exploring the aftermath of this episode, to try and make myself feel better about it, but the more i wrote the more i realized just how traumatic this event should've been, so i eventually just dropped it.) and i brought up my own timeline of experiences earlier to point out that this episode aired eight whole years after the show started. which means that when i saw it, even though i was a huge stickler for canon at the time, i'd built up my own idea of the show and characters strongly enough to go 'yeah, no, this episode sucks and i am going to pretend that it doesn't exist'. and i think a lot of other people did too, because i really saw like... no one mention it, ever, except for some rogue fanfics over on ff dot net that already liked dynamics like that.

because here's the thing, and i don't know if people nowadays are aware of it? but i'm 80% sure (cannot find a source, so the other 20% is that it was just a rumor) that the show was originally supposed to end after season 6. and even if it's a rumor, it makes a ton of sense, because we get 1) an 'ending' to tobecky, which is a bad one, 2) a permanent wordgirl identity reveal that significantly changes one of the major dynamics in the show, 3) an episode where TJ gets to work with wordgirl and get a nice potential ending for their sibling dynamic, 4) an episode where we see Two-Brains explore life without his henchmen... the list goes on, and idk how many of these are just major stretches. but the point is. if the show had ended there, that would've been a pretty solid ending for many things, including their relationship: aka, it would prove that it was only ever heading somewhere bad, and when tobey finally has his moment of triumph, he is truly evil about it. and this provides us fans who HATE go gadget go with an easy reason to dismiss it - we can say that it was an attempt to conclude things in a way that wouldn't have happened if the writers had known they'd get more time. but despite that... it is still a canon episode.

it is odd to me how dramatically the dynamic shifts after that, though, because we seriously go from 'worst case ever, tobecky is toxic, your ship is dead' to 'no actually they get along and hang out and get ice cream together and tobey isn't even pressuring her into it, she's happy to go along with it :)' like, immediately. i never knew much about the show writers, so i don't know if the writers changed in between these seasons, but i would absolutely not be surprised if they did.

the earlier episodes are definitely problematic as well (though they pale in comparison to GGG) but i think everyone who ships it is aware considering that tobey is, yknow, a villain. from memory, he destroys buildings to get her attention, lies to her about the level of danger that people are in to trick her into spending more time with him, blackmails her into reading his poetry, and he creates a robot based on her that’s supposed to be devoted to him (but of course, all of these things backfire). not great stuff of course, but like... he’s a villain, that’s the point of his character. and considering that he’s a child these are things that can be redeemed, if done thoughtfully.

anyway, to sum up this section, the show starts off with a pretty standard 'enemies with an unrequited crush' setup, takes a really dark turn for a single episode, and then for the rest of the show takes their dynamic in a direction that makes it much, much easier to ship. as long as you ignore a lot of previous content.

wordbot: where's becky's autonomy in all of this? (misogyny)

we've finally gotten to the fandom. i recognize that a lot of this is going to come across as hypocritical considering how active i used to be re: this ship, but like... i'm a very different person now. anyway. disclaimer i guess - i don't write this to accuse all tobecky shippers of being like this - i know a lot of us aren't/weren't! but boy do i have things to point out, so without further ado:

it is very hard to ship this without allowing some bit of misogyny to slip into it. very, very hard. the entire premise of the ship involves a girl falling in love with a boy that repeatedly pressures her to date him via threats to the safety of herself and people she cares about, which... it's 2020, i shouldn't have to explain why that's terrible & a terrible example to set for children (which is why i am glad they never made it canon, tbh). best-case fan content has tobey stop pressuring her and start working to redeem himself out of an actual change of heart, which leads to becky seeing him in a new light. worst-case fan content treats his incessant pressuring and sometimes outright threats as something romantic - and even worse, romantic to the point where he deserves her attention and love as a reward for not giving up or whatever. i did see this pretty frequently for a while, especially in the earlier 2010s (didn't read much, Not My Thing At All), but i don't feel like going into detail here because of how obviously problematic it is. one medium (but still bad) case is where the fan content makes him start his redemption, but treats her liking him back as a reward for not knocking buildings over anymore. another not great case is where she tries to fix him with her love, which is a very common and very dangerous romantic trope. both are just... so incredibly unfair to her.

in content where she tries to 'fix him'... yeah i feel like it's really obvious how misogynistic that is. girls and women should not feel responsible for the evil actions of men, plain and simple. idk what else to say here i just really hate that trope and hated it back then and it just sucks! so can we not do that anymore, thanks.

in content that treats her like a reward for good behavior, there really isn't much of an explanation for what she sees in him. if she just goes 'oh wow, you're good now, i am going to fall in love with you for it' the whole thing falls flat because it makes NO sense whatsoever. we get to hear so much about tobey and his feelings and why he likes her and how he feels about it, but where is that energy for becky? why does she choose to trust him, to spend time around him, what does she enjoy about his presence? where is her getting over scoops in the process of falling for tobey? where is her telling her friends about this, confiding in them, asking them for advice? where is her choice in the matter?

win a day with wordgirl: do you guys even like becky or do you just like the idea of her (misogyny... 2!)

it was pretty standard for all fandoms the early-mid 2010s, but that's still not a good excuse for why so many tobecky fanfictions centered specifically around tobey's feelings while refusing to give becky the same level of empathy and nuance. it is true that to ship them comfortably you have to redeem him to some degree, which means spending time figuring him out and trying to find ways to pull him to the light without feeling super OOC. but ships take two people??? and there was so much potential for fanfics to explore becky's complex feelings on the matter - because she is! complex! she's heroic and kind but she's petty and has a competitive streak, she easily befriends villains but also doesn't trust them and doesn't believe they can ever really change, she's the savior of an entire planet but has feelings of inadequacy as her civilian identity and struggles with feeling like she can be successful without superpowers, she's great at the straightforward meanings and uses of words and loves reading but struggles to write passages that aren't dry as hell, it can be easily headcannoned that she's neurodivergent (special interests, issues with fitting in with her peers, taking things very literally, etc)... seriously there is SO MUCH to explore about her character, and a lot of it comes into play when you add tobey into the mix (literally ALL of the things i mentioned are explored at some point using tobey as a parallel or foil), but i rarely saw fanfiction that explored her thoughts on things further than 'he's evil but... maybe good?' or 'he's evil but... i kind of like him anyway?'.

if you want her to fall for him while being a villain, explore it!! why does she go against her morals? does she lie to herself about it to feel better? does she feel like she has to 'fix him' as part of her superhero duties to the city, and if so, how does that affect her as she tries and fails to help him? does she fall for him when she believes that he's turning good, only to feel betrayed when he starts acting worse because he feels like he can get away with it? it's such a shame that fanworks spend so little time even considering these questions, and it is absolutely a product of how deeply misogyny is/was baked into how we approach media (especially back then).

tobey goes good: but wait, i thought this show was progressive (a conclusion, i guess)

ifbrd wrote a great meta recently about how the show is a bit misogynist, despite being progressive in several ways. honestly i don't have much to add, but i'd really recommend reading through this; it makes a lot of great observations about the ways that male and female characters are presented differently through the show

i have little to add, so i'd just like to conclude with a reflection on the ship from my current viewpoint. i do think part of the reason so many of us latched onto the ship, despite how obviously problematic it was, is that the show treats a lot of things that would be serious in real life as normal or even comedic - which is fine lol, i'm not going to pretend that it's not a show for little kids, so they have to keep the tone light.

but if we, as teens/adults, decide to engage with this content in a more realistic manner, we have to be prepared to confront how messed up so many of the things going on really are. and if you still want to ship it, there's nothing inherently wrong with that! there's a lot of interesting things to explore in this ship, no matter what stage of enemies-to-friends-to-lovers you write them at, and it can be really helpful to have a space where you can explore a dynamic such as this in fiction. (speaking from experience here tbh, writing some fic for them helped me deal with complicated feelings about some ex-longtime friends.)

so to write this ship at all means that there are canon issues that you need to deal with if you want to have them end up in a healthy relationship in any manner that makes sense (unless you create an AU where none of that is applicable, which, power to you then). and i’m not saying ‘write them with a healthy endgame or you’re Bad’, not at all lol. but at least please, please take a step back once in a while to examine the dynamic that you’re writing, and please be careful about whether you mean to be romanticizing whatever behaviors you end up portraying as good.

#wordgirl #becky botsford #tobey mccallister #tobecky #tobecky critical #has anyone ever used that tag before LMAO #anyway: i may come back and reword the ending because i am not totally happy with it #but wow this is so many words. so many. send help

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iampikachuhearmeroar · 3 years ago

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yknow while this hellsite continues on the whole religion discussion thing, i’d like to jump in on it with my experience particularly with leaving catholic school.

like aside from my angsty pop-punk/emo etc teen phase (which’ll obvs be weaved into story later on) that led me to have different views from the church and aside from the whole sexism thing that i endured over my year 10 formal/junior prom in 2010 and 2011 from staff there….. i found it within myself incredibly hard to leave there… mostly because i’d known literally 1/3 of my year group at catholic school since kindy/kindergarten or some other point in primary school.

this affected my choice to leave and it was quite tumultuous inwardly. knowing the safety and predictably of the people i was with for all those years was a comfort to me. i knew their parents due to parent mixer bbqs that we’d have after mother’s day and father’s day liturgies- although i hated the mother’s day ones mostly, due to personal reasons. but to leave that comfortable place for overly loyal, kinda sorta shy (although everyone who knew me at that school wouldn’t’ve described me as shy bc i was a very loud show off because of drama class 😅) and by year 10, very lonely, highly socially anxious and depressed, teen me was terrifying. it meant losing her friends and stability and she obvs hated that thought. it meant leaving the one one place she ever felt good at something, drama class.

obviously, after she did leave for public school, she visited the catholic school on a few separate occasions, to try and keep the connection “alive” or whatever the fuck she wrote in a fake deep status on her fb (that i now get in my fb memories every year lmao). but it all ended pretty badly, when everyone from that school stopped talking to her once high school finished. no one invited her out. or if people did try to invite her out, like a couple of people did, it always fell through…. and it made her feel like she was just a bad luck charm or whatever other low self esteem talk she was telling herself. there was quite a few moody statuses around that too lmao.

but yeah. leaving catholic school was a massive thing for me back then, because even though i hadn’t gone to church on sunday for literal Y E A R S at that point; i still had a strong pull to that school because i’d known SO MANY kids at that school from primary/elementary/grade etc school, regardless of their year group level. because if there’s one thing catholic school was good at, it was networking 😂. you knew everyone, and everyone knew you. it was safe, it was sound, so i didn’t want to leave.

but once you leave, you lose your friends and what almost felt like an extended family (although they obvs weren’t). but at the same time, i’d grown to hate the safety and almost insularity of the school, because as i mentioned earlier, you felt like you could predict how people would react or behave in class/events etc.

i felt the above distinctly, because as i’ve mentioned plenty on here, from years 7-10 i was a very emotionally demonstrative kid. in some classes (mostly religion and PE when i was bothered to participate) i’d end up in shouting matches with the teacher or other students…. or y’know just have a casual meltdown in the middle of class, which many people saw as “attention seeking” behaviour. i felt watched, i felt ready to snap, and to quote the ever present All Time Low i felt like the bridge lyrics from “therapy” (which was/is quite obviously somewhat partially about the price of fame and hollywood imo- but that went over teen me’s head at the time lmao):

“arrogant boy, love yourself so no one has to, they’re better off without you (better off without you). arrogant boy, cause a scene like you’re supposed to, they’ll fall asleep without you; you’re lucky if your memory remains”

like yes. i’ll admit those bridge lyrics being applied to this time is rather overdramatic, in hindsight, but hey. that was teen me for ya lmao. and don’t even get me started on applying ATL’s song “sick little games” to this at the time as well 😂😅. anyway. from all the “lms and i’ll tell you what i like about you” trend statuses that people were doing back then on fb, i’d gained the tag of “cool/chill girl”, my crush rich boy, once called me “outrageous” because of how loud i was and how willing in years 7-9 to scream out stupid song lyrics like “i want to fuck dog in the ass” by blink 182, fight song by marilyn manson and then idek probably my humps by black eyed peas at the top my lungs through the very few halls that that school had 😂😅. i was being purposely and annoyingly offensive most of the time.

but eventually, once it came to things like one of the girls in my group wanting to run for vice school captain and the other girls in my group A L W A Y S being given leadership positions (LPs)….. while i always had to apparently “repent” my behaviour by being made (in theory from my teachers) to sit alone at lunch because of my “embarrassing” and “unseemly” behaviour at the so-called “training”/ “retreat” days we had for things like being peer support leaders for the new cohort of year 7s etc etc. i felt like everyone was just waiting for me to leave…. and that they couldn’t stand my “embarrassing” presence and that i’d ruin my friends chances of being selected as co-captain or whatever other bullshit LPs they wanted to run for. but still. i felt like i couldn’t leave. just. how do you leave a bunch of people that you’ve known for so long???

and even when my teachers were nice enough to give me a chance in a leadership position once; in that dastardly bullshit internet safety workshop thing that they should’ve literally just hired a professional workshop co. to do….. but to save money they used students in my year group instead. so, instead of being marked by my teachers on this program; i was marked by the catholic education office. they had a lady come in from the ceo to judge/mark us while presenting…… and this lady went off at teen me for “not being professional, responsible and respectful” or whatever the fuck the woman told 15/16yo me…. which teen me then fired back with “i don’t have to be fucking professional and responsible!!!! IM FUCKING 15!!!!”.. so from then on i was never given an LP or any other type of “peer support” role against my friends who were littered with offers for them. mind you, i did call a whole room of 14 year olds “a bunch of cunts” or the like and then stormed out thinking that i’d made a solid point, so the CEO woman had a good reason 😂😅….. again in hindsight.

of course there was also the bitterness of teen me being angry at the english dept for not giving her a spot in the top class of english in her half of the year. but as i’ve said previously on other posts, i’ve forgiven this because i did essentially fail one shakespeare in class assessment in year 8 or year 9 😂. but i strongly felt this during my time at catholic school bc my friends believed that i should’ve been in the top english class too lmao.

but aside from those troubles and foibles, i still found it incredibly hard to leave. to leave the perceived closeness of that group of girls, who would sometimes walk me down to the office and sit with me in “purple room” while i waited for the teacher that had to act as my therapist almost lmao. even though i always told my friends to leave me be and go back to class bc i felt bad about dragging them out of class for so long.

but yeah. with all the above behaviour, the song lyrics to me at the time made sense bc teen me just felt so pressured to fit into the whole “funny, cool, outrageous girl” bs box that people had put her in…. but at the same time she wanted to escape it bc she was just *flyleaf voice* SO SICK of being laughed at instead of laughed with (atl weightless reference here kids) just because… like she DESERVED to be taken seriously for fucks sake, and not a be a “monkey do funny dance” person… she obvs felt this the most in drama class. where in the shakespeare unit, she picked a medley of romeo and juliet and taming of the shrew monologues to do for her monologue. although she nearly did lady macbeth throwing herself off the tower, to be hella edgy…. but she opted not to do that in the end. but she picked serious pieces bc she was sick and tired of being classed as the one trick pony go-to funny person.

okay. this really went off topic. but y’all get the point??? the decision of leaving catholic school was a hell of a ride for little 14-16yo me. it was confusing, terrifying and tied up in years of being overly judged and feeling like people wanted me to leave bc they were sick of me. it was tied up in years of mid-class meltdowns that had become kind of routine for me to have, and that people were just brushing me off as “attention seeking”…. but also ironically waiting for me to snap at any second for another wild shouting match or walkout; which would then make me look like i was “unruly” or “untameable/unmanageable” or whatever the fuck….. but i couldn’t take that anymore, for the final senior years. i HAD to leave it.

again it was hard to leave for loyal little teen me, despite how lonely and isolated she felt. why leave your friends when you’re comfortable??? but also: why stay in this toxic environment where people are just waiting for you to either shut the fuck up and put up with it or just blow up and absolutely lose your shit??? that’s just unhealthy asf. and the only unruly thing that’s happening here is the complete lack of mental health help or management in the aussie education system; but most especially in religious schools.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #ilona’s catholic school memories #ilona’s catholic school rants #sorry it’s another tl;dr in the feels post lmao

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memorylang · 4 years ago

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12 Months’ Pandemic Chronicled | #51 | March 2021

Happy Palm Sunday yesterday, and Happy Passover from the night before! Right under two weeks ago, March 16, 2O2I, marked the one-year anniversary to the close of my first Peace Corps Mongolia service. While I’ve continued to serve virtually, I’ve done so informally as a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. Having lived these past 12 months back in the States, today’s tales chronicle that year.

Also commemorating the one-year anniversary, I’ve uploaded dozens of photos from my first nine months serving Mongolia. You can find those on my Instagram and Facebook, from February and March. I begin today’s stories with those. From there, I chronicle my journey across the year.

Evacuating Mongolia (February 2O2O)

February’s final week, on Ash Wednesday 2O2O, I was in Mongolia celebrating the third day of Tsagaan Sar, its Lunar New Year. Returning to my apartment from my last supper, I read an email from Peace Corps Mongolia that we were evacuating. I pulled an all-nighter packing my apartment. Shortly after sunrise, I visited a Peace Corps neighbor’s apartment to pack theirs. Then in my final two days, I said hasty goodbyes to community members, exchanging parting gifts.

Sunday morning, which began Peace Corps Week and March 2O2O, I and fellow Volunteers loaded into Peace Corps vehicles and rode in our caravan till evening. Then the snowstorm caused us to need to stay overnight in a hotel coincidentally located in a city that my cohort would frequent during our summer 2OI9 for training. My evacuation group reached Mongolia’s capital Monday afternoon, with briefings from staff throughout Tuesday. Mongolia had already begun to enforce mask-wearing and physical-distancing, so we couldn’t do much with our final hours in Mongolia. Indeed, since mid-January, many public places had already closed due to quarantine.

Wednesday night, the week after my peers and I had received notice of our evacuation and now mere hours before my group would depart the country, we awaited the arrival of fellow Peace Corps peers to the capital. For, Peace Corps staff staggered our arrivals into and departures from the capital to account for both the time drivers would need to assemble us from across the nation and the limited flight options still going out of the country. Those of us who remained awake through our final night enjoyed getting to see and embrace peers for our final moments together.

Over the course of Thursday, March 5, my group flew first from Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, through Moscow, Russia, to Berlin, Germany. Many of our itineraries diverged. From Germany, I and a few flew to Amsterdam, the Netherlands. From the Netherlands, I and a couple others flew to New York, New York. I slept four and a half hours’ in a hotel. Then I flew alone Friday from New York to Las Vegas, Nevada. I returned to my home of junior high and high school in North Las Vegas.

American Twilight Zone (March 2O2O)

My first few weeks in the States felt weird, not just because of reverse culture shock. Back in Mongolia, fellow Peace Corps Volunteers, particularly Health Volunteers, had followed American media and read that our presidential administration had been downplaying the COVID-19 pandemic. Problematically, too, when leaders acknowledged it, some labeled it the “China virus” and accused Asians of spreading it. These set the tone.

When I arrived in New York, I felt perturbed by the lack of mask-wearing and physical distancing. The morning when I’d fly out, I felt annoyed when the worker who checked me into my flight joked that I might have the virus since I’d flown in from Mongolia. Mongolia had no COVID cases—and wouldn’t have its first community transmission till November 11, 2O2O. Friends, too, when I said that I’d come back, distrusted that I couldn’t have the virus. So, although Peace Corps peers and I had already been quarantining nearly a month and a half before returning to the States—and very much craved to reconnect with folks—we found ourselves again isolated.

Then Vegas felt weird. Nevada had reported its first COVID case the day before I returned, yet Mongolia hadn’t any. Yet Mongolia had shut down, and Nevada hadn’t. Society moved as though little was happening. My brothers still had school and were gone most of most days. Dad worked weekdays out-of-town. Thus, while I lived again in the States, even inside my family’s home, I was the only one around. I felt lonelier than how’d I’d felt before leaving my life abroad.

The Filipina family of my father’s fiancée was perhaps the most understanding of my circumstances. The oldest daughter was celebrating her birthday that first Sunday, March 8, since my return to the States. So, I got to join them in enjoying the occasion. As I’d come to learn, Mongolia and the Philippines had more cultural similarities than I’d expected. I’d also feel dismayed to learn that people weren’t treating the youngest daughter kindly in her food service role, for some customers believed that her being Asian meant that she had the Coronavirus.

Resettling Into Lent (March 2O2O)

Most every morning, my first few days and weeks, tracks from Disney's “Frozen II” became my anthems. I’d seen the film that Friday, March 6, when I’d flown alone back to Vegas. I’d connected especially with “Show Yourself,” “Some Things Never Change” and “The Next Right Thing.” I started to learn the lyrics not only in English but also in Mandarin Chinese and Spanish.

My local church was still open. Meanwhile, in Mongolia, our church had been closed for nearly months. So, I attended services daily. I overheard old parishioners wondering what all this pandemic talk was about. I visited Reconciliation and a Stations of the Cross service. I applied to sing in the choir with which my late mom sang.

My second week in the States, church and schools closed. Meanwhile, Peace Corps announced its global evacuation. My peers and I weren’t to expect to return to Mongolia this summer and instead were to expect that fall would be the soonest. My youngest brother’s hs senior spring ended abruptly, so he stuck around at the house. Our oldest brother left to quarantine with his girlfriend and her sisters.

I cleaned much in and around the house. My greatest achievement early in the pandemic was to lead a garage clean-up with all siblings when my sisters visited. The task enabled us to at last park a vehicle in it once more. My siblings and I donated, too, decades of belongings.

Among the unearthing, I dove deep into family history. I wrote up my understanding of my father's and my late mother's ancestries, which were also mine. Months later, I'd join WikiTree, talk to distant relatives and migrate large swathes of history onto the platform.

Easter in Action (April–May 2O2O)

Gloom seemed to enshroud the world by Easter. I saw from the telly the Vatican's Lenten services, witnessing Pope Francis’ words from his city to the world and for Holy Week. His Good Friday Way of the Cross felt especially moving, for prisoners had written beautiful reflections that made me realize how little of a prison our quarantine was.

My younger sister in LA had also returned to visit Vegas. I resumed daily exercise routines, including trying to concurrently complete handheld video games and walk miles on the treadmill. This began my May push to make the most of my days back in America. I kicked up a daily Duolingo habit, rising through leagues, and talked regularly with Mongols during early mornings. Such helped my sanity, especially when state offices gave me a hard time trying to get the unemployment assistance to which lawmakers entitled evacuated Returned Peace Corps Volunteers.

Around Memorial Day, an uncle and aunt visited from Kansas to celebrate my youngest brother’s high school graduation online. The relatives also took my siblings, a family friend and me on my first national parks trip in years. We saw Saguaro, Great Basin and Capitol Reef. During the trip I’d grown my Goodreads library and soon enough uncovered the Libby app. The journey led me too to begin a pensive look back on my life.

Summer in Reno (June–July 2O2O)

Dad remarried on June 6, 2020. Shortly thereafter, I relocated to Reno to help Pa and Stepma (“Tita”) handle copious amounts of yard work. With more time to reflect, I took up the request of a homebound friend to pray rosaries daily over the phone with him.

Another friend of mine was going through a dark patch too but had a love of films. So each morning I’d rise early to see one of his recommendations then discuss it while working the yard if I wasn’t praying a rosary. I fondly recall the conversations while trimming plants, as I wander the Reno backyard even now.

Near the same time, the friend and another encouraged me to tell my stories. So I began to write a memoir, on which he’d give feedback. The other friend had me appear on his podcast. Both experiences made the summer feel very whole. In memory of my first summer in Mongolia 2OI9, I also wrote a more detailed series on those experiences. [Arrival (June 2OI9), Meeting Host Family (July 2OI9), Summer’s End (August 2OI9)]

I celebrated my 23rd birthday in Vegas with an overnight vigil, praying 23 rosaries alone and with Catholic friends from around the globe. I felt such joy to reconnect meaningfully with so many across languages and cultures. Languages became a growing theme for me. I’d also begun again playing Pokémon GO after having not played since 2OI6.

That summer, I finished seeing “Star Wars: The Clone Wars” (Season 7) as well as relevant bits from “Star Wars: Rebels.” I kept up with the Japanese episodes of “Pokémon Journeys: The Series.” Those, I’ve watched with English subtitles to know what’s happening. I’d also begun to read chapters of the Bible daily, at that time checking in weekly with an ol' friend. I started with Acts then Proverbs, Ephesians then Psalms. Meanwhile came Hebrews and John. Then were Ruth and Matthew. Now I read 1 Kings and Mark. I’d grown to appreciate both the Hebrew and Christian Bibles with renewed interest.

Autumn Languages (August–September 2O2O)

Much of that fall, I was back in Reno. Yet, my younger brother had also come to Reno for his undergraduate fall semester. The guest room where I’d stayed quickly became his room, which left me a tad displaced. Still, I stuck through. Mornings, I rose early to read through a Latin textbook before daily conversations with a close friend who’d majored in classics as an undergrad.

Meanwhile, I’d stepped up to arrange meetings with Congressional lawmakers on behalf of the National Peace Corps Association. I’d also taken on roles within my alma mater Honors College and within the Social Justice Task Force for the American Psychological Association’s Society for the Psychology of Religion and Spirituality. I kept people organized and took notes during meetings. Meanwhile, my siblings and I had been starting a scholarship foundation, so I’d taken point on negotiating a partnership with the Vegas-based Public Education Foundation.

As a nice break, I joined friends I’d met in high school on their near-monthly trips to national and state parks. These sights included Lassen Volcanic, Burney Falls and Tahoe’s Emerald Bay. Realizing that I wouldn’t return to Mongolia that fall, I booked a Department of Motor Vehicles appointment to renew my learner’s permit—The earliest appointment would be in December.

In entertainment news, I’d finished seeing “Queer Eye: We’re in Japan,” “Love on the Spectrum” and “Midnight Gospel.” I’d also started playing “Pokémon Masters EX” when I’d heard that it included characters from multiple generations. I enjoyed how the stories felt new yet nostalgic.

National Park Winter (October, November, December 2O2O)

October was a great month for my spiritual life. I got to attend my youngest sister’s Confirmation. I enjoyed my first retreat in years. I also got to tape videos for my alma mater.

Then I returned to Vegas some weeks to complete more yard work. I’d also relocated belongings in different rooms and was able to have my own bedroom back in Vegas. This gave me a decent space in which to work. From November, I’ve also been hosting weekly video calls to help Mongols from my community abroad continue to practice English.

I’d also listened to Riordan audiobooks, “Blood of Olympus” and “Hidden Oracle,” and various authors’ financial literacy materials. By December, “Kafka on the Shore” was a real highlight. In Reno, I saw too “The Mandalorian” (Seasons 1–2), emphatically recommended by a friend with whom I’d hiked at Red Rock Canyon. My other friends and I reunited to try again at Crater Lake and succeeded.

My siblings and I partnered with the Vegas-based Public Education Foundation to launch our family LinYL Foundation to honor our late mother with scholarships for students. Though my formal role’s within outreach, I’ve done a fair bit of organizational leadership given my undergrad experiences. I’ve also been helping another non-profit start-up. Through it, I’ve gotten to meet alumni of overseas programs.

My family celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas in Vegas with our stepsisters. I’d also celebrated American Independence Day with them. Christmas felt peculiar, as I’d returned from Mongolia to Vegas the Christmas before, too!

Then my national parks friends and I hit a new record, seeing Walnut Canyon, Petrified Forest, Meteor Crater, Sedona’s Devil’s Bridge and the Grand Canyon. Having successfully renewed my learner’s permit, I scheduled my driving test for the earliest date—February. I returned to Reno and at New Year’s reunited with friends for whom I’d participated in their wedding the year before.

Road to Rejuvenation (January–February 2O2I)

Following the U.S. elections came the presidential inauguration. I felt more at peace with the state of the nation after that. Though U.S. politics have absorbed media significantly throughout the pandemic, I felt relieved by the calls for unity and returns to political normalcy from Inauguration Day.

Meanwhile, I sought to kick off 2O2I strong, with renewed optimism and control. I practiced driving almost daily. I’d seen “Daredevil” (Season 3) too and progressed in the Blue Lions story of my younger sister’s “Fire Emblem: Three Houses” copy. At February’s start, after years of challenges, I secured my driver’s license.

Mid-February, my national parks friends and I saw Utah’s Mighty Five. Our trip spanned Canyonlands, Arches, Capitol Reef (different section), Escalante, Bryce Canyon and Zion. I got to help drive at the end from Vegas to Reno, a major milestone.

Thanks to Discord, I attended a virtual alumni reunion of my high school alma mater. I experienced our school's recreation in “Minecraft: Java Edition,” wandering into the classroom where I used to play “Minecraft” as a freshman. In “RuneScape,” after 12 years on-off, I’d achieved level 99 in all but the newest skill. I'd even gotten the characters I wanted in “Pokémon Masters EX” and nearly finished my Kanto Pokédex in “Pokémon GO.” (I've never before completed a Pokédex.)

I finished February recording music for my undergrad parish’s online edition to our annual performance for “Living Stations of the Cross.” I got to lector at and attend a friend’s baptism. I’d also soaked up my youngest sister’s boyfriend’s Disney+ again and saw “WandaVision” entirely. Its takes on grief and joy astounded.

Social Justice (March 2O2I)

These bring me to where and how I am today. I write from Reno, Nev., where snow had fallen and the weather grown warmer. Spring is here.

The announcement of increasing vaccines gave me lots of hope. Since I've lost so many people this past year to COVID-19 and other conditions I'm grateful that we may near the end. An email from and a check-in call with Peace Corps confirmed that summer would be the soonest I’m going back abroad. Still, I’ve kept in touch with my people in Mongolia.

My older brother and his girlfriend moved into the Vegas house, so I haven’t felt as obligated to be there. Thus, I’ve focused more time on the church in Reno.

A great fount of a spiritual joy for me has been getting to help lector for my college parish’s weekly Proclamations of the Word. I received particular acclaim for my reading from 2 Chronicles, for Lent’s Fourth Sunday, which delighted me. At the time I’d been reading 1 Kings, so I’d enjoyed recognizing parallels. In some ways the exercises are like a miniature college course. Beyond regular Sundays and Holy Week, I’d also lectored for such feast days as St. Joseph’s Day (March 19) and the Annunciation (March 25).

My siblings’ and my family foundation chose our first year of recipients. It’s been an exciting process, reading and witnessing our inspiring candidates. I hope that I'll get to meet these students someday, but ah, the pandemic.

I’ve gotten back into “Frozen II,” thanks to its authentic behind-the-scenes docuseries. I've also passed the one-year anniversary of my first seeing the film. Each morning I’ve sought to see something on Disney's platform—real' nice.

Our psychological division’s presidential task force for Social Justice released our statement about the Capitol riots, which received strong critics but stronger supporters. Then came the Atlanta situation.

In my U.S. Week 5I (Feb. 19–25), during a walk past the nearby elementary school, I’d had an unpleasant personal experience that led me to feel very grateful when the #StopAsianHate campaign began. I’ll likely share more later, but today’s blog story is about done.

Hope and Easter 2O2I (April 2O2I)

At the last Adoration activity before Easter, our parish offered Reconciliation, so I returned again. Absolution offers such sweet cleansing for my mind and soul. Now Holy Week begins. I'm still lectoring, too!

This summer, I hope to write more on my memoir. I’m still revising my research. I'm set to finish all five tiers of Duolingo Latin tomorrow. Then I'll get back to my textbook.

I still delight in chatting with ol’ friends. My national parks homies and I will hit Redwood next weekend. Then my parish has Spring Retreat. I look forward to getting vaccinated in coming months then hugging folks forevermore.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

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softschofield · 5 years ago

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i’m so perpetually frustrated with the audience members who criticise 1917 for having “no backstory or development for the characters”

like, yes, it’s subtle. because they’re friends and friends don’t talk to each other like “oh, yes, remember all these details of my life i’m conveniently and clearly reiterating for an omniscient third party?” but fuck dude, if you pay attention and know basic facts about war or do your goddam research, there is SO MUCH DETAIL TO THEIR BACKSTORIES

like, just from one TINY DETAIL, you get so much: schofield’s wounded stripe on the left sleeve of his uniform. to get a wounded stripe in world war 1, you had to be officially listed in dispatches as being a CASUALTY, not just having been in a field hospital, meaning the wound was BAD. but, wait, what kind of wound could be so well-hidden and subtle? it could be a gunshot wound or trenchfoot, but there were also two categories that could earn a soldier the wounded stripe: gas, or shellshock. it’s therefore entirely possible that he was suffering from trauma rather than a physical wound before he met blake. given that 60,000 rounds of field artillery and 45,000 rounds of heavy artillery were fired in the first DAY of fighting, and one german described the experience of the shelling as “the earth shook, the sky seemed like a boiling cauldron [...] the ability to think logically, and the feeling of gravity, both seemed to have been removed”, shellshock is a very plausible diagnosis.

so, we know he fought in the somme, and we know which battle he fought, meaning he had been at the front for at the very LEAST 7 months. SEVEN MONTHS. that is a LONG time to be in the trenches, and it is a STAGGERING amount of time to have withstood the horror and still come out of it soft, gentle, and compassionate - think on THAT when y’all say schofield is a flat character. think about what kind of a person could kill and see people killed and live in the constant, crushing, claustrophobic terror and boredom and nothing of the trenches for most likely LONGER than that and stay kind and quiet. NEED i say any the fuck more, NEXT

just from that, we then know that blake did NOT fight in the somme, meaning he arrived at the front some time after november 1916. and, judging by his excited and fearful reaction to the front line trench before a predicted push, there’s the distinct possibility he had never seen a battle, meaning his arrival can be placed after the 18th of december 1916 and that he was still deeply innocent.

if he arrived in december and the film begins on the 6th of april, that ALSO means that they had known each other at the most for just over 3 months, very possibly less, and that they had formed a very close bond in that time.

which brings me to my next point: where are their other friends? all the other soldiers are shown to have close-knit groups, so where are theirs? why is it only them? why are they even friends in the first place? why is blake, a new recruit who had only just arrived, already the same rank as a veteran who had been there for very possibly up to or more than a year? why is a veteran hanging around with a chattery, bushy-tailed, never-seen-battle replacement? why isn’t he hanging out with his own cohort of soldiers who has been there the same amount of time as him and could much more easily relate to his trauma and exhaustion? WHY is a middle-class-sounding guy even hanging around with a lower-class farmboy in the first place?

the most plausible answer? all of schofield’s friends he went through training with are dead - probably in the somme - and he’s purposefully isolated himself to grieve with his survivor’s guilt. he was most likely wounded, lonely, and agonisingly depressed for months until a cheerful replacement arrived at the front and befriended him. and THAT’S where schofield’s fanatic devotion to him comes from, and THAT’S what “he saved my life” means, more than in the literal sense - he was lost, and broken, and numb, and blake saved him.

furthermore, because boy have i got more, blake’s backstory, in case someone out there has seen this film and still wants to hit me with that fucking “we know nothing about these characters”: we know he has an older brother, we know he has a female dog called myrtle, we know they live with their mum in a farm in the countryside with a cherry orchard, and we know his father isn’t in the picture and that he most likely hasn’t been for a long, long time, judging by blake’s lack of bitterness and daddy issues, his closeness with his mother, and the fact he isn’t in blake’s family photo. we know, from interviews, that he enlisted as soon as he came of age because his brother was an officer and he idolised him, and we know he was barely this side of 18.

another thing? the story about wilko. blake knows stories about men schofield has almost certainly known for far longer - but he didn’t interact and wasn’t told, and blake did, and he was more familiar with all of them and had stories to tell that schofield would have known if he’d been sitting in the same circle when the gossip was told. how’s THAT for subtle characterisation, chumps.

and if you just think about it, there’s so much depth to blake’s overly trusting nature - because he’s still naive, he’s still innocent, he’s still young. schofield tucks the things most special or necessary away in his inside pocket, where’s it most safe, because he’s learned lessons the hard way; blake puts them carelessly in his trouser pockets where they could fall out. schofield keeps his rifle with him even as he’s going to fetch water for the german pilot; blake discards his rifle and leaves himself vulnerable. if you just LOOK, it’s all there!

FURTHERMORE, we know schofield is in his early 20s and older than blake. we know he has a much more refined accent, and we know from interviews that he’s from cookham, berkshire. we know he has two daughters and a wife (or a sister and nieces, it’s open to interpretation, go to town), we know he suffers from shellshock, we know he most likely couldn’t face going home on his last leave and instead stayed in france and gave his medal away to a french captain, we know the subject of home is deeply triggering for him, we know he refuses to talk about his daughters, we know that his family haunts him as much as he longs for it, and we know that he didn’t receive any mail from his wife - interesting, considering blake received a letter just telling him his dog was having puppies.

and don’t even get me started on the “lack of character development”. watch me scream here about that.

also, some more backstory because now i’m on a fucking roll: lance corporals were typically the second-in-commands or heads of sections, of which there were 4 within each platoon, each comprising 12 soldiers, it's likely blake and schofield were in command of different sections in the same platoon. where does that come into play? well, scho seemed to slip very easily into a position of authority when the convoy got stuck in the mud, didn’t he? MOVING ON.

more? i have more. another little tidbit: lieutenant leslie asks schofield and blake if they are his relief, and then asks when the fuck they’re getting there when they say they aren’t. he and his men are exhausted and it was said by another soldier that “they had been blown to hell a few nights ago” - they’ve clearly been at the front a long time, which, again, is interesting, considering front line soldiers were typically rotated back into reserve after 8 days. clearly, it’s been a lot longer than that, meaning order and routine have completely broken down and a new type of despair, hopelessness, and mess has taken root. there, more backstory again.

“oh, it’s just a shitty saving private ryan” “oh, it’s definitely no all quiet on the western front”. FIRST OF ALL, it fucking IS all quiet on the western front, have you literally even read it? baumer goes to such lengths to hardly ever use the word enemy because he doesn’t view the soldiers in the other trenches as bad, just as other innocents swept up in a war that no one should be fighting. he spends a whole chapter sobbing over the only man he’s ever killed in close combat. it’s a hundred times slower than 1917 and it hasn’t even GOT a plot. what the FUCK are you talking about?

oh, and it’s just saving private ryan? show me WHERE. a bunch of soldiers have to go into enemy territory to rescue a soldier because all his brothers have been killed in action and his family wants him home. two soldiers are sent into enemy territory with a letter to stop an attack. i am LITERALLY struggling to think of any more similarities than that and even THOSE are fucking reaching.

also, it’s literally a different war. who are you and why are you saying these things to me i am BEGGING you to please use your fucking head for just a few seconds and actually THINK

“it was so convenient that the river just happened to take him to the devons” ??? “the river. it goes there” did you just entirely miss everything lauri told him? the river quite literally flows exactly past where he is supposed to go, that’s the entire POINT, that’s WHY he jumped into it, because he KNEW it would take him there, oh my GOD

“if the convoy was going exactly where he needed to go, why didn’t erinmore tell him to meet it?” i know it might be a shocking concept, but even a general may not have known exactly the route a convoy of trucks was going to take, especially in the confused wasteland the germans had left behind in their retreat. in fact, he might not have known about the convoy at all if they were coming from a different sector of the front - WHICH, guess what, THEY WERE. captain smith mentioned they crossed no man’s land just outside bapaume, which was much further south, in the old somme battlefields. scho and blake’s trench was somewhere near boyelles, 11km north of bapaume.

“it’s unbelievable that scho would just sit quietly and relax in the convoy truck, and then get out to give orders and take command, after what he’d just been through - and, plus, he would have gotten to écoust quicker if he’d just walked” there’s this thing called trauma. shock. dissociating. compartmentalisation. just shutting down in the face of too much grief when you don’t have the time nor capacity to let yourself feel it, acknowledge it, register it. in the script, scho is said to “almost disappear into the noise of the men.” and, honestly, the emotional illusion of regaining a scrap of control over a situation he was utterly out of control of would have been enough to prompt him to get out and give orders - but as it is that wasn’t the only thing driving him: he was desperate, and an NCO, and he needed to go. AND “he would have gotten there quicker if he’d walked”?? ???????? first of all, he didn’t know that? second of all, scho said it would take them nine hours AT THE MOST to get there and, given the fact they weren’t attacking until dawn and it was most likely morning when he and blake set off, he wasn’t in a TERRIBLE rush. THIRD of all, it was a direct order from a captain. FOURTH OF ALL, do you really think he felt like walking all that way when a truck was RIGHT THERE?

“there are too many coincidences” films are built on coincidences. they are conveniently put with a character who will end up being their soulmate at the end of it all. they conveniently uncover information that would take people in real life months to find. coincidences drive stories - one of the greatest tools of screenwriting? “don’t write what would happen, write what could happen.” what could happen is that scho finds a teenage girl and an orphaned baby sheltering in a ruined town - in a war. what could happen is that a convoy of trucks heading north towards the battle of arras logically uses the road running alongside a farmhouse. what could happen is that scho jumps into a river that he knows runs east. i just don’t understand what you’re trying to say

“oooohh for soldiers on a life-or-death mission to save one of their brothers, they sure do take their time to sight-see” they’ve seen absolutely fucking nothing but the walls of a trench and the reserve camp for months. also, it’s pretty much just common sense to clear out a building before you turn your back on it and keep walking. also, they had 8 hours, scho ended up getting there in under two hours, and blake is allowed to feel more than one emotion at a time and to be excited about exploring new places, ESPECIALLY when it’s almost certain that neither he nor schofield had ever even been out of england. war or not, the french countryside was still beautiful and blake is allowed to appreciate that. next question

“how was there a milk pail full of milk if there was no one around to milk the cow” german soldiers were stationed in the farmhouse before they got the order to move out. “they’re not long gone.” they left an hour before hand, someone probably milked the cow before they knew they were leaving. you don’t have to read the script to have a functioning braincell

“unbelievable that they weren’t killed by the tripwire explosion” it detonated in the tunnels, not in the bunker. they wanted to collapse the escape routes first and foremost. please, i am begging you, use your head

“why did they pull an enemy out of the plane” basic human decency. i cannot believe i have to explain this concept. soldiers in the first world war were especially conscious of the humanity of the men in the other trench. you say blake had no character and then get mad when he’s shown to be so kind and selfless that he’ll burn himself rescuing a german. i don’t know what you want from me, get out of my kitchen

“schofield was an idiot for stopping to interact with lauri and the baby” he was concussed. he knew there was somewhere he had to be but he didn’t remember what or where until he heard the church bells. also, for people who criticise the “lack of character development and backstory”, ya hate to see character building moments. it clearly wasn’t the first time he’s recited that poem to a baby. make the connection dipshits

“the germans shot like fucking stormtroopers, how did they not hit him?” point one: one of them was blind drunk. when muller is ranting while scho is strangling baumer, he says that maybe they should head back and that maybe they won’t realise they’ve been missing. the implication? either they’ve gone AWOL, or they’re stragglers from the retreat back to the new line. either way, at least one, and very possibly all of them are off their fucking faces, considering the one by the burning church tripped over his own goddamn feet chasing scho. point two: not in a thousand years would they have expected a lone english soldier to just pop up out of nowhere in ecoust. it was so unexpected that you really can’t blame them for being flustered and confused.

“how the FUCK did the letter survive the river in one piece?” he put it in his tin. there’s literally an entire 30 seconds of the convoy scene just devoted to showing scho tucking it in there. i don’t understand how i have to say this

“it’s too gruesome” aside from the hand in the corpse and the dead horses, where? where? also, it’s the first world war. i can’t believe what i’m hearing. who are you people

“it’s not exciting enough, it’s slow, it’s dull” IT’S SUPPOSED TO SHOW THE CONSEQUENCES AND AFTERMATH OF WAR INSTED OF THE SHALLOW EXCITEMENT OF IT YOU DUNCE

in conclusion, suck my ASS anyone who says they didn’t have backstory or development or that there are ~raging plot holes~. FUCK

anyone who doesn’t want the actual soft and only good person in the world William Schofield to live a happy life in peace just isn’t valid and that’s all i’ll ever say on the matter you fucking degenerate scum rotten tomato reviewers

#in which i just fucking lose my mind and go fucking apeshit #1917 #will schofield #william schofield #1917 movie #mine #also my mum pointed out that they both have scenes where they try to haul the other up and say 'we have to go we have to stand up'#and the other says 'just let me stand / just let me lie here'#fuck #there's SO MUCH THAT I'M STILL ONLY JUST SEEING AFTER 5 WATCHES

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morwensteelsheen · 4 years ago

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I’m starting grad school this autumn and honestly I’m getting nervous. Like yes I am v excited about the whole prospect overall and I do miss being a student but am intimidated by 3 hr long seminars and thesis writing and massive amounts of reading… everyone keeps saying it’s gonna be very different from undergrad so okay, but how specifically? Is it the large amounts of reading? I already had insane amounts of reading (humanities degree hurrah) especially in my last two years but could you expound on your own experience and how you take notes/read quickly/summarize or just how to deal with first time grad students?

Oh, yeah for sure! A necessary disclaimer here is that I'm at a certain poncy English institution that is noted for being very bad at communicating with its students and very bad at treating its postgrad students like human beings, so a lot of these strategies I've picked up will be overkill for anyone who has the good sense to go somewhere not profoundly evil lol.

So I'll just preface this by saying that I am a very poor student in terms of doing what you're supposed to. I'm very bad at taking notes, I never learned how to do it properly, and I really, really struggle with reading dense literature. That said, I'm probably (hopefully?) going to get through this dumb degree just fine. Also — my programme is a research MPhil, not taught, so it's a teensy bit more airy-fairy in terms of structure. I had two classes in Michaelmas term, both were once a week for two hours each; two in Lent, one was two hours weekly, the other two hours biweekly; and no classes at all in Easter. I also have no exam component, I was/am assessed entirely on three essays (accounting for 30% of my overall mark) and my dissertation (the remaining 70%), which is, I think, a little different to how some other programmes are. I think even some of the other MPhils here are more strenuous than that, like Econ and Soc Hist is like 100% dissertation? Anyways, not super important, but knowing what you're getting marked on is important. I dedicated considerably less time than I did in undergrad to perfecting my coursework essays because they just don't hold as much weight now. The difference between a 68 and a 70 just wasn't worth the fuss for me, which helped keep me sane-ish.

The best advice anyone ever gave me was that, whereas an undergrad degree can kind of take over your life without it becoming a problem, you need to treat grad school like a job. That's not because it's more 'serious' or whatever, but because if you don't set a really strict schedule and keep to it, you'll burn yourself out and generally make your life miserable. Before I went back on my ADD meds at the end of Michaelmas term, I sat myself down at my desk and worked from 11sh to 1800ish every day. Now that I'm medicated, I do like 9:30-10ish to 1800-1900 (except for now that I'm crunching on my diss, where, because of my piss-poor time management skills I'm stuck doing, like, 9:30-22:30-23:00). If you do M-F 9-5, you'll be getting through an enormous amount of work and leaving yourself loads of time to still be a human being on the edges. That'll be the difference between becoming a postgrad zombie and a person who did postgrad. I am a postgrad zombie. You do not want to be like me.

The 'work' element of your days can really vary. It's not like I was actually consistently reading for all that time — my brain would have literally melted right out of my ears — but it was about setting the routine and the expectation of dedicating a certain, consistent and routinized period of time for focusing on the degree work every day. My attention span, even when I'm medicated, is garbage, so I would usually read for two or three hours, then either work on the more practical elements of essay planning, answer emails, or plot out the early stages of my research.

In the first term/semester/whatever, lots of people who are planning on going right into a PhD take the time to set up their applications and proposals. I fully intended on doing a PhD right after the MPhil, but the funding as an international student trying to deal with the pandemic proved super problematic, and I realised that the toll it was taking on my mental health was just so not worth it, so I've chosen to postpone a few years. You'll feel a big ol' amount of pressure to go into a PhD during your first time. Unless you're super committed to doing it, just try and tune it out as much as you can. There's absolutely nothing wrong with taking a year (or two, or three, or ten) out, especially given the insane conditions we're all operating under right now.

I'll be honest with you, I was a phenomenally lazy undergrad. It was only by the grace of god and being a hard-headed Marxist that I managed to pull out a first at the eleventh hour. So the difference between UG and PG has been quite stark for me. I've actually had to do the reading this year, not just because they're more specialised and relevant to my research or whatever, but because, unlike in UG, the people in the programme are here because they're genuinely interested (and not because it's an economic necessity) and they don't want to waste their time listening to people who haven't done the reading.

I am also a really bad reader. Maybe it's partially the ADD + dyslexia, but mostly it's because I just haven't practiced it and never put in the requisite effort to learn how to do it properly. My two big pointers here are learning how to skim, and learning how to prioritise your reading.

This OpenU primer on skimming is a bit condescending in its simplicity, but it gets the point across well. You're going to want to skim oh, say, 90% of the reading you're assigned. This is not me encouraging you to be lazy, it's me being honest. Not every word of every published article or book is worth reading. The vast majority of them aren't. That doesn't mean the things that those texts are arguing for aren't worth reading, it just means that every stupid rhetorical flourish included by bored academics hoping for job security and/or funding and/or awards isn't worth your precious and scarce time. Make sure you get the main thrust of each text, make sure you pull out and note down one or two case studies and move right the hell on. There will be some authors whose writing will be excellent, and who you will want to read all of. Everything else gets skimmed.

Prioritisation is the other big thing. You're going to have shitty weeks, you're probably going to have lots of them. First off, you're going to need to forgive yourself for those now — everybody has them, yes, even the people who graduated with distinctions and go on to get lovely £100,000 AHRC scholarships. Acknowledge that there will be horrible weeks, accept it now, and then strategise for how to get ahead of them. My personal strategy is to plan out what I'm trying to get out of each course I take, and then focus only on the readings that relate to that topic.

I took a course in Lent term that dealt with race and empire in Britain between 1607 and 1900; I'm a researcher of the Scottish far left from 1968-present, so the overlap wasn't significant. But I decided from the very first day of the course that I was there to get a better grasp about the racial theories of capitalism and the role of racial othering in Britain's subjugation of Ireland. Those things are helpful to me because white supremacist capitalism comes up hourly in my work on the far left, and because the relationship of the Scottish far left to Ireland is extremely important to its self definition. On weeks when I couldn't handle anything else, I just read the texts related to that. And it was fine, I did fine, I got my stupid 2:1 on the final essay, and I came out of it not too burnt out to work on my dissertation.

Here is where I encourage you to learn from my mistakes: get yourself a decent group of people who you can have in depth conversations about the material with. I was an asshole who decided I didn't need to do that with any posh C*mbr*dge twats, and I have now condemned myself to babbling incomprehensible nonsense at my partner because I don't have anyone on my course to work through my ideas with. These degrees are best experienced when they're experienced socially. In recent years (accelerated by the pandemic, ofc), universities have de-emphasised the social component of postgrad work, largely to do with stupid, long-winded stuff related to postgrad union organising etc. It's a real shame because postgrads end up feeling quite socially isolated, and because they're not having these fun and challenging conversations, their work actually suffers in the long term. This is, and I cannot stress this enough, the biggest departure from undergrad. Even the 'weak links' or whatever judgemental nonsense are there because they want to be. That is going to be your biggest asset. Talk, talk, talk. Listen, listen, listen. Offer to proofread people's papers so you get a sense of how people are thinking about things, what sort of style they're writing in, what sources they're referring to. Be a sponge and a copycat (but don't get done for plagiarism, copy like this.) Also: ask questions that seem dumb. For each of your classes, ask your tutors/lecturers who they think the most important names in their discipline are. It sounds silly, but it's really helpful to know the intellectual landscape you're dealing with, and it means you know whose work you can go running to if you get lost or tangled up during essay or dissertation writing!

You should also be really honest about everything — another piece of advice that I didn't follow and am now suffering for. The people on your courses and in your cohort are there for the same reasons as you, have more or less the same qualifications as you, and are probably going to have a lot of the same questions and insecurities as you. If you hear an unfamiliar term being used in a seminar, just speak up and ask about it, because there're going to be loads of other people wondering too. But you should also cultivate quite a transparent relationship with your supervisor. I was really cagey and guarded with mine because my hella imposter syndrome told me she was gonna throw my ass out of the programme if I admitted to my problems. Turns out no, she wouldn't, and that actually she's been a super good advocate for me. If you feel your motivation slipping or if you feel like you're facing challenges you could do with a little extra support on, go right to your supervisor. Not only is that what they're there to do, they've also done this exact experience before and are going to be way more sympathetic and aware of the realities of it than, say, the uni counselling service or whatever.

Yeah so I gotta circle back to the notes thing... I really do not take notes. It's my worst habit. Here's an example of the notes I took for my most recent meeting with my supervisor (revising a chapter draft).

No sane person would ever look at these and think this is a system worth replicating lol. But the reason they work for me is because I also record (with permission) absolutely everything. My mobile is like 90% audio recordings of meetings and seminars lol. So these notes aren't 'good' notes, but they're effective for recalling major points in the audio recording so I can listen to what was said when I need to.

Sorry none of this is remotely organised because it's like 2330 here and my brain is so soft and mushy. I'm literally just writing things as I remember them.

Right, so: theory is a big thing. Lots of people cheap out on this and it's to their own detriment. You say you're doing humanities, and tbh, most of the theory involved on the humanities side of the bridge is interdisciplinary anyways, so I'm just gonna give you some recommendations. The big thing is to read these things and try to apply them to what you're writing about. This sounds so fucking condescending but getting, like, one or two good theoretical frameworks in your papers will actually put you leaps and bounds beyond the students around you and really improve your research when the time comes. Also: don't read any of these recommendations without first watching, like an intro youtube video or listening to a podcast. The purists will tell you that's the wrong way to do it, but I am a lazy person and lazy people always find the efficient ways to do things, so I will tell the purists to go right to hell.

Check out these impenetrable motherfuckers (just one or two will take your work from great to excellent, so don't feel obliged to dig into them all):

Karl Marx and Fredrich Engels (I'm not just pushing my politics, but also, I totally am) — don't fucking read Capital unless you're committed to it. Oh my god don't put yourself through that unless you really have to. Try, like, the 18th Brumaire of Louis Napoleon for the fun quotes, and Engels on the family.

Frantz Fanon — Wretched of the Earth. Black Skin White Masks also good, slightly more impossible to read

Benedict Anderson — Imagined Communities. It's about nationalism, but you will be surprised at how applicable it is to... so many other topics

Judith Butler — she really sucks to read. I love her. But she sucks to read. If you do manage to read her though, your profs will love you because like 90% of the people who say they've read her are lying

Bourdieu — Distinction is good for a lot of things, but especially for introducing the idea of social and cultural capital. There's basically no humanities sub-discipline that can't run for miles on that alone.

Crenshaw — the genesis of intersectionality. But, like, actually read her, not the ingrates who came after her and defanged intersectionality into, like, rainbow bombs dropped over Gaza.

The other thing is that you should read for fun. My programme director was absolutely insistent that we all continue to read for pleasure while we did this degree, not just because it's good for destressing, but because keeping your cultural horizons open actually makes your writing better and more interesting. I literally read LOTR for the first time in, like February, and the difference in my writing and thinking from before and after is tangible, because not only did it give me something fun to think about when I was getting stressy, but it also opened up lots of fun avenues for thought that weren't there before. I read LOTR and wanted to find out more about English Catholics in WWI, and lo and behold something I read about it totally changed how I did my dissertation work. Or, like, a girl on my course who read the Odyssey over Christmas Break and then started asking loads of questions about the role of narrative creation in the archival material she was using. It was seriously such a good edict from our director.

Also, oh my god, if you do nothing else, please take this bit seriously: forgive yourself for the bad days. The pressure in postgrad is fucking unreal. Nobody, nobody is operating at 100% 100% of the time. If you aim for 60% for 80% of the time and only actually achieve 40% for 60% of the time, you will still be doing really fucking well. Don't beat yourself up unnecessarily. Don't make yourself feel bad because you're not churning out publishable material every single day. Some days you just need to lie on the couch, order takeout, and watch 12 hours of Jeopardy or whatever, and I promise you that that is a good and worthwhile thing to do. You don't learn and grow without rest, so forgive yourself for the moments and days of unplanned rest, and forgive yourself for when you don't score as highly as you want to, and forgive yourself when you say stupid things in class or don't do all of (or any of) the class reading.

Uhhhh I think I'm starting to lose the plot a bit now. Honestly, just ping me whatever questions you have and I'm happy to answer them. There's a chance I'll be slower to respond over the next few days because my dissertation is due in a week (holy fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) but I will definitely respond. And honestly, no question is too dumb lol. I wish I'd been able to ask someone about things like what citation management software is best or how to set up a desk for maximum efficiency or whatever, but I was a scaredy-cat about it and didn't. So yeah, ask away and I will totally answer.

#asks

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pochapal · 4 years ago

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rank every year of the 2010s from best to worst i want some pochapal lore

[warning for discussion of my fucked up mental health and my myriad traumas. we’re really opening the pandora’s box here gang]

ok time for me to overshare on the internet again! super long post because i can’t shut up and you asked for it. anyway, by objective ranking:

#1: 2012 - halcyon era, my personal peak. spent the whole year writing hunger games oc fics with my deviantart fanfiction besties whom i still think about all the time and always hope are having the best possible day. if you were here for this era understand i still hold you so closely and dearly in my heart <3.

#2: 2013 - god i was such a good example of a human being back then. was the year my writing like actually took off and i had a healthy balance between creative stuff and a social life (said social life consisting of spending lunchtimes at school breaking into classrooms and discussing fandom shit with five other people. reading homestuck updates in the music room on one person’s really shaky mobile data...legendary). highlight of the year and maybe my life was in the april of 2013 when i got out of failing to submit a hard deadline essay by telling my english teacher i wrote a whole novel over the two week break and then producing said novel. god i wish i had that level of like. fucking confidence back me back then knew what i wanted and how to get it.

#3: 2010 - the last year of childhood. i was 12 and played pokemon all the time with my friends and went places and had a moderately successful youtube channel and it didn’t matter that i was bullied so badly at school because i was basically high off life. summer of 2010 was so good specifically. i’d used to get the bus with a friend and go see movies and break into historical sites and get into normal childhood mayhem and maxed out my pokewalkers twice a month and i was buzzed because i had two (2) whole friendship groups to choose from and that was such a huge deal to me the terminal social outcast. it was so simple and carefree and even though everything and everyone involved in this era grew up to suck except for one specific person i kinda really miss it.

#4: 2018 - this was the first year i wasn’t depressed to the point of nonfunctioning. it was 20gayteen, i was on antidepressants, i was as close to thriving as i got at uni (going into town with people once a week, attending art and culture events, getting good grades across the board), i started to write for fun again, i got my cat whom i love dearly, i was exhibited in my uni’s city’s literature festival, GOD i actually nearly attended a pride event that year can you imagine. this year was basically my life’s second peak. miss getting the 8am train and daintily sipping on a cherry coke to keep me from passing out. wish this time could have lasted longer.

#5: 2019 - kinda absolute middle of the road year not for lack of anything happening but because the overwhelming amount of good and bad things cancelled each other out. so like there’s the fact that i was at the top of my uni game this year, was basically making the first steps into a professional writing career (covid i will never forgive you for killing all that dead </3), finally saved up enough to buy myself a gaming pc, and the summer after the homestuck epilogues, but equally 2019 was the start of the Pochapal Gender Fiasco which is by far the most horrible thing i am still currently undergoing and i burnt myself out mentally about halfway through the year (being stuck overnight in a hospital for a panic attack absolutely horrible horrible irredeemable) and then got like super death plague flu that i was sick with for three months (literally recovered less than a month before rona hit. god’s cruel karma.). so like...it kind of averaged out? the good shit was good but not as great as other years and the bad shit was awful but nowhere near as terrible as it could have been. gotta give a shoutout to 90% of my current mutual cohort for following me in 2019...omelette route gang make some noise !!

#6: 2014 - oof. this year essentially marked the start of a four year long downward mental health spiral because everything fell into awful alignment. i’d just turned 16, finished secondary school, had all my friends up and ditch me at once, was home alone for a whole summer, and was hit with Sudden Intense Body Image Issues that i couldn’t explain until uh. after very recent developments lmao. this one goes out to the me of july 2014 who did nothing but lay in bed and listen to the same two marina albums on a loop because fuck i’m attracted to men and also my facial and body hair are really starting to come in and if i think about this for too long i will literally kill myself because oh god i can’t handle getting older which is clearly and definitely the issue going on here. my brain fucking broke super hardcore and it’s a miracle that an overeating disorder was like the worst thing i walked away with.

#7: 2015 - downward spiral year two!! i was so volatile this year it was such a mess. i was totally socially isolated after a brief stint of falling in with a group of people at the start of my first year of sixth form until january where in quick succession a) it turned out every single one of these people was friends with the person who sexually assaulted me whom i obviously had a lot of complicated feelings towards and b) baby’s first crush came out as bisexual but in the “women and also trans women” kind of way which tore me up so terribly in ways i couldn’t begin to understand. no words for the experience of seeing a girl kiss a boy and crying so hard at night you threw up because you could never be her no matter how much you wanted it. actually kinda get the sense what was going on there was bigger than just some crush lmao. then after that i was so mentally ill i basically attended school less than half the time and it was the only year in my life i failed my exams. i ended up having to resit my entire set of first year a level exams because jesus christ was i in such a bad way it was a miracle i even showed up to them. all i did was either have anxiety attacks or enter bedbound depressive slumps for weeks at a time. but it’s okay because it gets worse.

#8: 2016 - downward spiral act iii: the spiralling. prefacing this by saying that i actually had two whole good months (april - may) in that i was functioning enough to do my exams and finish school with decent grades. the rest was super extra mega terrible. my school attendance for year 13 dipped below 65% and literally the only thing that kept me from being kicked out was the fact that i was naturally smart at the subjects i took and also because the school would have a lot to answer for after letting me get to that state despite having a hefty file on how damaged i was. keep in mind every single part of this was fully untreated btw - i was just floundering around and letting it all fester. i spent three solid weeks going to school but locking myself in the bathroom all day every day and having mental health episodes then going home like nothing else happened only to continue the breakdown that night. then things got kicked into fucked up overdrive when i moved out to uni and was cut off from what little support structures i did have. it was so bad all i did was cry all the time and never went anywhere to the point where three separate sources recommended me to the wellbeing and crisis counselling service that i stopped going to after two sessions because i was fucked up in ways cbt techniques could not even touch. at least i tried to make an effort for the first two months of uni which like. good for me?

#9: 2017 - what lieth at the base of the spiral. helltrench year. i was at literal rock bottom. i stopped going to class, i didn’t hand in a single piece of work. i lied to my parents and would book trains each day only to go back to my student flat and sit there and contemplate suicide. like i would just slump on the floor in a catatonic state and vividly contemplate one of four or so ways i could end my own life. i only didn’t because i wanted to wait until the summer to collect my last student loan and transfer it to my parents as an apology for my death which obviously didn’t end up happening. honestly i can’t remember much of the first half of 2017 that’s how bad it was. i remember taking a gender studies class and the teacher made it Weird that i was the Only Male Student in the room and then she sent me a scolding email after i walked out halfway through a class and never returned. apparently i got into a lot of online discourse in this year but i don’t remember anything other than being put on a blocklist by the milkfic author over ace discourse which is funny if you have the context. mostly i just baited terfs and weirdo freaks to get them to say horrible things to me as what i guess amounts to some kind of digital self harm. anyway breaking point came in late august when i got kicked out of university and then nobody could ignore it any more so there was no choice left but for me to seek out help and recover enough to function which luckily i did. i really Do Not remember 2017. you could tell me anything about that year and i’d probably believe you.

#10: 2011 - extra circle of hell for this little fucked up gem of a year. on the surface it wasn’t actually that terrible, until the Summer 2011 Domino Effect Of Bad Shit. up until like may/june it was a pretty all right year! i was 13 and had a surprisingly successful youtube channel uploading pokemon soundfont remixes to an audience of i think ~350-400 subscribers at my peak? anyway then i got hit with the early summer triple combo of childhood friends moving away, cute and quirky sexual assault at the hands of a person in my friend group, and then having some Really Great and Super Appropriate interactions with adults on deviantart. like obviously there’s the actual ptsd-inducing event which totally disrupted and killed the person i was right up until that moment and reshaped every facet of my life for better or worse (there’s an alternate timeline where that didn’t happen and i got into electronic music and/or coding instead) but really it’s the events that followed in its wake which were kind of more fucked up. so like all of a sudden i was super aware of my body and me growing my hair out and being mistaken for a girl in class suddenly became this Less Innocent thing and i ended up spending hours overnight going to transgender questioning forums and looking up hrt timeline videos and having the wikipedia article on tracheal shaving saved because it was a life raft to me whose voice was imminently gonna deepen and i was simultaneously reeling with constant trauma flashbacks and the whole thing was so so fucked up. then i was on deviantart and i don’t remember exactly how but a small group of furry guys ten to fifteen years older than me started messaging me and encouraging and requesting me to produce nonsexual fetish stuff for them and talking to me about stuff like if i’d ever thought about growing up to be gay and i didn’t think anything of it for a long while because they called me a very talented writer and it felt so good to have someone be nice to me after being so alone and isolated for months on end. anyway the only reason i got out of that before it got bad was because they invited me to one of the big furry sites and i was weirded out because i thought it was a porn site and thinking about sexual stuff was a huge trauma trigger so i just ended up blocking them all and pretending like it didn’t happen. at the time half this shit didn’t bother me but in retrospect holy fuck 2011 was such a damaging year. to think if like three events didn’t happen i wouldn’t be the fucked up mess you see before you today.

god fuck this turned out super long but i’m not apologising because this was a therapeutic exercise for me and also constitutes as one of the biggest pochapal lore dumps of all time. come get your food or whatever.

#Anonymous #long post #read all of this if you have vested interest in knowing intimate details about my life or whatever

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curiosity-killed · 4 years ago

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super long rambling and a fair bit of whining abt my relationship with dance AUs bc this is what my brain chose to fixate on for my whole extremely sloggish run

Because I love dance and because I love writing and because I do rather a lot of both, I pretty consistently struggle with my complete and utter block on writing dance AUs and I’ve basically realized that it comes down to a three-prong barricade that gets progressively harder to overcome as you move through it

Because part of it is just technical. Writing about dance is hard from a dancer’s perspective. I know dance, I know the mechanics of it and the sensations of it. I can walk you through the technical details of a 3-minute variation and I can tell you how my heart lifts and body fills with light the moment I step onto the stage. I can give you the nitty gritty and I can give you the grand metaphors—and I cannot for the life of me balance the lens on the middle ground.

I got asked on bumble what my favorite dance step is and immediately answered tour jete (or entrelace, depending on your school). And then, because the person wasn’t a dancer, I followed up with, “it’s a big fun jump that makes you feel like you’re flying.”

Yeah. That clears everything up.

A story cannot be made by a Big Jump That Feels Like Flying. Do you know how many steps that could cover?? Hell, how many disciplines?? A barrel leap is a big jump that can feel like flying. So is an Italian pas de chat. All three of these are w i l d l y different steps.

So there’s the words but—how to translate a language of precise motion and sweeping emotion into plain language accessible to people who haven’t grown up in this pidgin tongue of bad French and weird metaphors. Tombe pas de bourre glissade pas de chat contre temps—this is my language of dance. This is not only clear instruction on what steps to take but also the rhythm of it conveyed in the syllables and accents. I read this and not only see the dance across stage but feel the sway of my torso as I mark along, the flick of my wrist as I shape the steps before they’re taken, physical reminders of 17 years of training and study.

A reader reads this and their eyes glaze over and roll back in their heads.

To go the opposite way, to lay it all out in the actual physical motions is, if possible, even worse. Fall (gracefully) onto your right leg while extending your left with pointed foot to cross your left behind your right to step your right to the side to— *gasp for breath* Yeah, no.

The solution to this, in theory, is the kind of checklist I go through while performing: emotion, motion, technique. (Incidentally, this is the opposite of my checklist while rehearsing or taking class) Draw the reader in with the feel of it, move them with familiar steps, punctuate with the details. In theory. I’ve yet to make it work.

And then there’s the fact that I have had a very weird education and career in dance. I grew up dancing in the rural Midwest US—not exactly a hub of performing arts (and if you mention Joffrey, I will kindly invite you to look up “rural” and then look at Chicago).

The vast majority of dancers in the rural midwest (...RMWUS??) go to competition schools. Think Dance Moms, high kicks and tricks on Instagram, trophies and tiaras.

I.....went to a university.

We learned more about kinesiology than kicks. My teachers were fascinated by the way I could “jump like a boy” and didn’t once mention my waist circumference. It would be a lie to say it was all daisies and sweetcakes. We were competitive. Sometimes we were brats. We learned to push through severe physical pain and turned perfectionism to a weapon. Teachers had favorites and older girls could be downright mean.

But, having now danced at a competition studio, it was wildly different. When there were tears in the dressing room, it was because we were graduating and going far across the country from each other—not because a teacher had come in and yelled at the entire cast for 15 minutes right before the show. When auditions came around, we discussed each other’s strengths and weaknesses and together determined what we thought the best casting would be (tbc we did not have a say in casting, it was all just a thought exercise).

We learned about dance not as an isolated thing we do but as a part of life—dance as an expression of culture, dance as a remarkable maximization of the human body—and are still always welcomed home.

I do, if I’m totally honest, think I got a better education than people at competition schools. But when it comes to writing fanfic...this is not a model of dance that is super easily accessible. Competition dance is on TV, Instagram, it’s all over. A rigorous academic approach to modern ballet...is not.

Lastly and ultimately the biggest stumbling block is: dance has always been a very gendered experience for me. My weird university education was surprisingly queer and unsurprisingly liberal, but I am a ballerina—not a danseur, not a ballet dancer. I grew up huddling under the edge of the grand piano with my friends hastily sewing pointe shoes and tingling with anticipation when we were finally old enough to wear platter tutus. I grew up pulling my hair back in tight buns and only being allowed to wear small earrings in class when I was in high school.

There’s some crossover of course. I’ve got (as Colorado Ballet says) Mad Hops so my teacher would make me do men’s tempo jumps while the rest of the girls stood on the side and caught their breath. My partner for a pas de deux fell sick one tech week so my best friend, female, partnered me instead.

Men can (and increasingly do) train in pointe shoes and wear tutus. Look at James B. Whiteside and Harper Watters for some of the most obvious examples. It is wonderful and remarkable to see gender roles changing in ballet and dance and that should be expressed in fiction as well. Men dance. Men do ballet and not just to hold up the women or to do big jumps. They can point their feet too, y’all.

(Here is where the whining really begins. Just so you’re warned.)

But when I sit down to write, the stories I want to tell are the stories I know—queer women growing up and training and learning together and challenging and supporting each other. The way you are taught ballet is very dependent on your gender. Men can train in pointe shoes, but that’s not the classical or traditional route.

While my friends and I were taping our toes and grimacing about dead shanks, the guys in our cohort were in a separate class learning how to perform big jumps and turns in second. While I was cinching tight my friend’s corset-back bodice, the guys were in tights and a shirt. Again with the jumps—it wasn’t that I was a good jumper or that I was a strong jumper, it was that I jumped like a man. It was a compliment, but it was also an exception.

Meanwhile, most of my fandoms are very heavily male. The one time I attempted to write a dance AU was for VLD and I immediately ran into the baffling problem of “There are too many boys.” As someone who’s danced my whole life...this is not (usually) a problem in the real world of dance. If I write AUs about the main characters, I am writing about male dancers. Again, great! We need more positive and varied depictions of men dancing—but it’s not what I want to write.

I wrote out an entire paragraph here only to realize that the crux of the problem is actually the usual crux of my problem with gender in fanfiction and it is, quite simply: I want more well-developed female characters. Because I can write a story about side characters, but there’s so much less to go on — and sometimes, that’s where the fun comes in. Getting to play with and create a wealth of history and character for a written-off member of the cast can be really fun. But, for me at least, the delight of AUs is slipping in and twisting around canon in a new context.

If I write a wangxian ballet AU, Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation can be traded for his switching abruptly to a new studio—one that uses harsh methods, demands too much from him, cuts him off from the people he used to dance with—all so that the money from his tuition can be turned to help Jiang Cheng continue at his chosen academy and pursue dance professionally. It’s a stretch, it’s a twist, but it’s within a frame readers recognize.

If I write a ballet AU with Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing...well, it’s all free form. We have so little to go on that you can make it work—Cloud Recesses becomes a summer intensive, Wen Ruohan’s conquest becomes the buying out and closing of the Jiang academy for some new development—but there’s less resonance. We’re on new ground and the reader has to offer up a lot more trust and disbelief.

Which I suppose leads us to genderbends?? Good lord. I do not know my own feelings about that enough to go anywhere. b l a r g h

so i guess this is all to say: writing good, dance good, writing dance hard. pouty face pouty face pouty face :<

#long post #personal #BEHOLD A VERY VERY VERY RAMBLING LINE OF THOUGHT

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jedimaesteryoda · 5 years ago

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The Mandalorian S1 Review

Warning Spoilers Ahead:

I admit I had my doubts when I first heard about the series, given my opinion of the Disney Star Wars universe has never been particularly high. I thought it might go the way of the sequel trilogy (my thoughts on the last one).

However, to give Jon Favreau credit, he actually does a pretty decent job. The show is basically a Wild West-version of Star Wars that takes place on the frontier with bounty hunters, homesteaders, mercenaries, roving gangs of bandits and corrupt officials.

I can’t go into it without mentioning the story it’s partially based on the manga, Lone Wolf and Cub. The story follows a ronin in Tokugawa Japan who travels as an assassin for hire with his son (an infant at the beginning) after being framed and betrayed by a powerful Imperial official. He cares for his son while being on the run as the Imperial government declares them both outlaws, and puts bounties on their heads.

This show gets right what the movies in the sequel trilogy didn’t. For starters, this show avoids exposition and instead relies more heavily on visual storytelling, slow pacing and info revealed offhand through brief bits of dialogue. The show does an excellent job of visual storytelling as everything about this character is shown through actions, body language and a little dialogue. The first half of the first episode tells much of what the viewer needs to know about him.

Mando is introduced by coming into a bar, and killing a bunch of men harassing some alien. In that moment he shows that he is a skilled gunslinger and fighter. The alien initially thanks him, only for it to be revealed that the only reason Mando helped him was not out of a feeling of justice or simply wanting to help someone out, but because he came to capture him for the bounty on his head. Mando isn’t some white knight, but a mercenary who acts generally out of self-interest. We learn that Mando doesn’t like droids when he refuses a ride on a transport from one, and instead preferring the more beat up transport. He is also a man of few words, rebuffing attempts by the alien to engage in conversation, and he speaks only when he feels he needs to.

He gets his jobs from Greef Karga, a disgraced former magistrate (who likely lost his position as a magistrate for shady dealings) who heads the bounty hunters guild, and like Mando and the other guild members is generally an amoral, self-interested individual who looks out for himself.

However, we also see that Mando isn’t a completely selfish, amoral rogue as we see him adhere to the code of his Mandalorian culture (”This is the way”), and give some of his bounty to the foundlings (orphans). We also see flashbacks of him as a child, undoubtedly during the Clone Wars, as Super battle droids attack his town.

We don’t need him to outright state his motives for saving some strange child given we see he always save a piece of his beskar iron payment for the Mandalorian foundlings, showing he has a soft spot for orphans given he himself was one, compounded with the child saving his life. We know that Mando hates droids, but he doesn’t need to tell us why as we see that in a flashback of his town being massacred by Separatist battle droids. However, we also see him grow past that as he is stricken when IG-11 decides to sacrifice himself to help the rest of the group.

The start of the protagonist's journey comes when he receives a job that should give him the biggest payment of his career up to that point. He is contracted by an old Imperial official to capture someone in exchange for a large payment in beskar iron, which he knows could be used to make the full Mandalorian armor he wants.

It takes him to a planet where he meets Kuiil, a moisture farmer who helps out Mando many times. He speaks matter-of-factly, often ending his sentences with his go-to phrase “I have spoken.” Being an Ugnaught, like other members of his race, he was enslaved by the Empire, but he managed to buy his freedom. He likely did so through his skills as a mechanic, as he managed to help Mando rebuild his ship and repair and reprogram IG-11. He is very proud, but not haughty and willing to go out of his way to help out a complete stranger at no benefit to himself such as helping Mando get back the parts for his ship and helping to repair it. He even goes with Mando far away from home on a dangerous mission. It’s also his reprogramming of IG-11 that ultimately ends up saving our protagonist and his party in the end.

To get to the prize, Mando has to fight his way through a compound with armed guards with the unexpected help of IG-11, an assassin droid. The entire sequence is a Western-style shootout which is well-done, and Mando demonstrates his skills and smarts such as using the heavy repeating blaster to shoot down the blast door. He goes in, and is surprised to find his target is actually an infant of Yoda’s species.

His relationship with Baby Yoda starts off with him shooting the droid, because it was about to shoot the baby. He does defend the baby, but he does it at the beginning simply out of self-interest, ie he is getting a huge payload for this job and he needs the child alive in order to get it. He even recklessly puts the child in danger by taking the baby with him when going to face the Mudhorn, simply because he doesn’t want to keeps his eyes off his prize. However, in that moment the child demonstrates that he can use the Force, lifting the Mudhorn off the ground, saving Mando’s life and giving him the opportunity he needs to slay it. After that, one can see him warm up to Baby Yoda. One can see it when he tells the stormtroopers to “take it easy” when lugging the cradle, and he even uncharacteristically asks about the fate of the child when he delivers it to the Imperials.

Even after he gets his payment and a new Mandalorian cuirass, you can tell the child is on his mind. Mando is about to leave for his next job, and try to get his mind off him, only to find the top of the handle for the ship removed by the baby earlier. He pauses, and then shuts off the ship. He doesn’t need to say anything, we know he is genuinely concerned for the baby, and later breaks into the Imperial compound and rescues him. However, all the other bounty hunters who tried and failed to capture the child before, go out to stop him. Even Greef who was friendly towards Mando as long as he was making himself useful to the Guild (and by extension, Greef himself), instantly turns on him. He manages to escape thanks to the interventions of the rest of the Mandalorians. Mando finds himself having to leave town being pursued not just by Imperials but by the Bounty Hunters Guild with bounty hunters on his tail. The episode is called “The Sin,” which refers to his act of rescuing the child. While any person can admit that he did the right thing, he broke the code of the Bounty Hunters Guild, and that action ultimately is what turns him into a fugitive. That none of the people he killed as a bounty hunter ever got him into trouble with the law, but doing the opposite and rescuing an innocent does, shows the skewed ethics and morality that govern the world he inhabits.

He flies to a backwoods planet in “Sanctuary,” where as the title suggests, he is hoping the planet’s isolation would give him the perfect hiding spot until he comes across a former Rebel shock trooper, Cara Dune. Cara Dune is shown to be a skilled fighter by being able to go toe-to-toe with Mando when we first meet her, and has the viewer easily believe that she is a former commando. Now that the war is largely over, finds herself out of work and without anything in the way of a home or purpose, not that different from Mando’s situation when they first meet.

He is about to leave until in a plot straight from a classic spaghetti Western, a poor farming community approaches the gunslinger for help against outlaws. He initially refuses given the poor payment, but only accepts after he learns of the community’s isolation, thinking it would be the perfect hiding spot. You see him work with the Cara to help the villagers defend themselves, and after the bandits had been routed, he decides to leave the child there, thinking he will be safe and happy there. He even refuses an offer to stay, saying he doesn’t belong there (another trope straight from a Western a la The Searchers). However, in a seemingly happy ending to this episode, cold, dark reality inserts itself in the form of a bounty hunter appearing and nearly killing the child were it not for the intervention of Cara. He is then again forced to leave with the uncomfortable knowledge that they may never be safe from others coming looking for them. In this episode, you actually see him develop as a character, putting the child’s interests above his own. He doesn’t agree to help the villagers until he learns their village is a place where he could hide the baby, and potentially have the child live in peace.

Among the episodes, 5 and 6 (”The Gunslinger” and “The Prisoner”) are easily the weakest, as well as both being the only two episodes written by writers other than Favreau. The former has him working with a neophyte bounty hunter, Toro Calican, to capture a wanted mercenary and assassin, Fennec Shand. The latter has him help an old cohort, Ran, free a prisoner from a New Republic prison ship. Both plots are just criminals and wanna-be bounty hunters allying with him just to screw him over in the end, and neither episode really contributes to the overarching narrative. At least “Sanctuary” had some heart in it, and we got to be introduced to interesting new characters that would go on to play a larger role in the story arc, as well as show some character development for the protagonist.

It picks up again with the final two episodes, “The Reckoning” and “The Redemption,” as Mando returns home per Greef Karga’s invitation ostensibly to help them get rid of the Imperial presence. Of course, after Baby Yoda heals Greef’s mortal wound he has a change of heart. He reveals the whole thing was a setup (I know, big surprise there at this point), and he decides to help Mando. They end up having to fight a new enemy: Moff Gideon. Through dialogue from other characters and his own actions such as killing his own men, Gideon is revealed to be a largely cold, ruthless figure who oversaw the wiping out of the Mandalorians.

It ends in a shootout, and we get to learn our protagonist’s name and see the face behind the helmet for the first time. In his final fight, he manages to take down Gideon in a TIE fighter after having earned his jetpack. He then refuses an offer to stay by Greef, and leaves the planet off to new adventures. However, as Jawas are scrapping the TIE fighter for parts, Gideon cuts his way out with the Darksaber, the lightsaber of the leader of the Mandalorians, suggesting that his part in the story isn’t done.

As for the child dubbed “Baby Yoda,” he has no name. Being an infant, he can’t have much in the way of personality other than being precocious, and he does seem to genuinely care for Mando. The child is Force-sensitive, and completely capable of using the Force as shown by lifting the Mudhorn, healing Greef and redirecting the blast from a flame projector. However, he is still just a baby, only using his Force powers randomly rather than consistently, and as such, can’t really be relied upon. Nothing demonstrates this more than in the final episode where under fire by a TIE fighter, Greef says “Baby, do the magic hand thing,” only for the child to respond by simply waving his hand. This works as it has the mystical part of the story, the Force, used in a constrained manner, at certain moments without overwhelming the plot.

As a result, the battles are still largely won through Mando’s fighting skills and smarts. The action sequences are good with plenty of Western-style shootouts such as when Mando attacks the compound, when he leaves town against other bounty hunters and in the final episode against Imperials. The shootouts also serve a role in the plot in serving as markers for the main character’s growth. The first shootout has him using a heavy repeating blaster and working with IG-11 to take out the fighters defending the child. The second shootout has him going up against bounty hunters wanting the child in hopes of the reward very much like he was at the beginning with even Greef referring to the child as “the bounty,” and he is saved by his own family, the Mandalorians. The last shootout has him again using a heavy repeating blaster and working with IG-11 like in the first shootout, but the roles are reversed as now his party is the one defending the child with the droid that originally tried to kill the child instead rescuing him.

The Mandalorian is for the most part a good show, and a breath of fresh air for the new Star Wars universe. The action scenes are excellent, but any show/movie good or bad can do that. What really makes the show work is the storytelling, and how it follows the main character on his journey, both externally and internally, going from amoral mercenary to hero.

Hopefully, Season 2 continues along that path and we get to see more of the character’s growth as well as more fight sequences as this is the way.

#star wars #the mandalorian #mando #baby yoda #moff gideon #cara dune #the force #kuiil #greef karga

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thebarefootking · 5 years ago

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The Rocket Ship

It's a well-observed fact that the strange ones tend to find one another.

We all have heard of cliques in high school (or even earlier) that, over the course of life, individually discover themselves (and often, then, each other) to be queer, neurodivergent, or some other kind of not-normative. Many of us belonged to them.

This is the story of my friend KV and how we fell into mutual weirdness.

KV and I met for the first time in daycare, just before I aged out at ten years old. They were half a year younger than me, and a grade lower in school. (They, like myself at the time, were not out as nonbinary; I didn't know anyone who used singular they pronouns or who was out as nonbinary, or even what that meant, until I was well into adulthood.)

We were fast friends, possibly because neither of us had bonded particularly well with any of the other kids at daycare. Maybe one or two would acknowledge and chat with us at breakfast, but most of our recreation time was spent just the two of us, playing imaginative games among the playground equipment.

The next year, I aged out of the daycare, and KV aged up into the same middle school I attended. I frequently made time to visit their locker between classes, and we grew closer.

One catalyst for this closeness was a number of musicals we performed in together. The first was a local production of Children of Eden which had open casting for children, and which was being directed by a mutual friend of our families. Both of us were accepted into the production.

As the children's cast for this play was only needed for two scenes or so, there was plenty of time to screw around doing whatever we wanted to do (so long as we were quiet about it). There, one of our playground games solidified into a full-on roleplay of sorts, an unending game in which the two of us took the parts of anthropomorphic cat people sent by a rocket ship from the planet Meowmix in the Eukanuba galaxy, in order to complete a long-term recon mission.

It suited our (to this day undiagnosed, but very much present) autistic traits. What autistic person hasn't at least once felt like a different species, trying to learn the culture and habits of Earth's dominant lifeform? We simply made a canon of it, and developed that canon everywhere.

We even had a secret substitution code, full of words that meant other things. "I'm going to buy a pineapple," they would say, before slipping off to use the restroom.

"I'll keep an eye out for sprinkles," I'd reply, and begin to covertly sweep the area for cops/untrustworthy adults/mall security… for some reason.

It was the sort of game that could truly be an artificial context for anything else.

Mostly, though, it tended to be an artificial context for our profound isolation and loneliness, even if we never dared break character long enough to say so to one another. If our alien characters talked about being misunderstood and missing home, it meant we never had to admit to being estranged from our cohort. I, for my part, didn't even admit to myself what emotions we were loading off onto our game.

Besides, our 'Cat-Human' counterparts had something we did not, when it came to that topic: hope of a return to 'normalcy'.

I could write for hours about our game, and all the fun and weird things we got up to. (For a while, our thing was giving individual nickels [which we called 'engravings of Thomas Jefferson'] to random mall-goers, just for the thrill of human interaction, and to see how they would react. Once, one dude gave us an 'engraving of George Washington' in return, for a profit of 20 cents!)

Instead, though, I'll tell you about the ostensible end of the game.

It was another play we were in together, some two years after the first. Both of us had tried out for middle school 'children's' roles in the high school's yearly musical, and gotten our parts. Mine was a major speaking role; theirs was a chorus part. Even so, I still had few enough scenes that we had time to play in between.

Things went pear-shaped, though, in a way I didn't expect. On the first night of the show, KV was dealing with unexpected and intense stage-fright. I walked onto the backstage floor from the back entrance, and half a dozen other kid actors were surrounding them, trying to talk them down from what I now know was either a panic attack or an autistic meltdown. (Maybe both! Hell knows I sometimes can't tell the difference in my own.)

I told all the other actors to back off and give them some space, and then I moved in to check on them. They were speaking rapidly and almost incoherently about there being too many humans in the audience, and how they weren't ready to be seen. They were talking to me as if still in the game.

And I, twelve-year-old that I was, and in an empathic panic on their account, didn't understand.

I didn't know that they were communicating their emotions about the impending performance in the only way they knew how (that being, through the game we had both used for so long to frame our emotions). I thought they were confusing the game with reality. I thought that they were legitimately convinced they were a humanoid cat alien and that the Earthling audience was dangerous.

And with about twenty seconds to go before our scene, I was pissed. They picked now to play a stupid game?

I snapped on them. "It's not real, KV. You're not a freaking cat person. You're a human, and you already committed to doing this show. No one here is dangerous. There's just you, and you've done plays with a way bigger audience than this, before."

I didn't stop to think that this role was much more intricate than most they had performed before. Or that it was much closer to home, with their father leading the pit orchestra below, and likely with their entire extended family watching. Or any of the other reasons they might have had on this particular night that I couldn't know about. It didn't even occur that I was taking away their last support in the face of sheer panic.

In my opinion at the time, they were just being childish. And I let them know it, as viciously as I could manage in fifteen seconds. Then I pushed them into the lineup, went to my own spot, and seethed.

Really, I thought, how dare they try to use our game as a way to avoid responsibility?

We didn't talk much for a while after that.

Thankfully, it was a short while, and -- somehow; I have no idea how -- we eventually came up with a new game. Somehow -- I have no idea how -- we fell into a solid friendship again, if a slightly more formal one.

After all, we had to hold the fort; both of us were the topic of bitter rumours, usually about our sexualities and what we did with them. (Oddly, despite us both being rumoured to be lesbians, no one ever rumoured that we were together. I suspected it was because of the class year difference, but it's more likely because we each had closer friends that filled the rumour role better.)

At any rate, things moved along, all the way past my graduation from high school. Even then, I frequented the school football games, just to hang around the band, in which they played the saxophone. (This irritated KV’s father, the band director, to no end! haha)

And one night, at a house party one of our mutual friends was hosting, they verbally pulled me aside. We moved to an out-of-the-way porch swing in a darkened corner of the yard. For a while, we just played catch-up; there had been something of a lull in our friendship, just on account of scheduling. And then,

"There’s something I wanted to tell you. I'm a lesbian."

We were both silent for a moment.

"I know," I eventually admitted. Because I did; there had been too many hints for too long. Even beyond just rumour.

This, in retrospect, was a fucking shitty way to respond, but they took it in stride. After another silence, they prodded me further. "And what do you think about that?"

"I think it's a sin. But I still care about you, and this doesn't change my opinion of you."

Again, a shitty thing to say.

"Well," they said. "It's just... how I am."

I really can't overstate how unfailingly kind and polite they were to me, when I very much did not deserve it. Maybe they were trying to salvage the friendship. I don't know for sure. For my part, I just assumed that being gay meant you weren't trying hard enough. After all, I was attracted to girls, too, and I wasn't gay. Right?

Not that I said that to them. We didn't really hang out much after that, and they soon moved away for college.

College, and then the subsequent year and a half spent living away from my family, had an enormous impact on my views toward many things, but sexuality in particular. Eventually, I was able to apologise, some time after I got kicked out of my parents' house for coming out as bisexual. (Surprise!) We discovered at that point that we had both drifted away from Christianity in favor of eclectic paganism.

We've been oddly in step, that way.

When I told them recently that I was nonbinary, they told me that they were as well. Later, when they came to town, we got Mexican food and had a long talk, during which we discovered that we are both neurodivergent, and in some extremely similar ways… which caused us both to drop out of college.

We each finally got a cat, which we'd both been wanting for years.

Halfway through lunch, KV said one of the most weirdly intimate things I've ever had said to me: "If there was anyone on Earth I was drift-compatible with, it'd be you."

It was blown away for a second or so; that's like admitting to a form of soulmatedom. But then… I got it, y'know?

Because, honestly, there's no one I've been more understood by than them, even if we sometimes had to create a new language to make it happen.

I wish I got to see them more frequently. I feel like I can appreciate them now in a way I didn't know how to before. I haven't been the best friend to them; in fact, I've been downright abhorrent at times. But I think I can make it up, now.

#a year of writing #03102020 #homophobia #biphobia #internalised biphobia #antiautistic ableism #actuallyautistic #long post #in which lauren is NOT the hero of the story >_>

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gav-san · 5 years ago

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The Hollow Kingdom

Review and Defense of a classic fantasy favorite.

Warning: Below is a large explanation that spoils some upcoming projects and talks about things you may be uncomfortable with, but are important to talk about. Also, spoilers of the book.

Please consider reading the book!

There’s a stage that man girls go through, likely after watching the 1986 Labyrinth. I like to call it the ‘Goblin King Craze’. After all, few things match the childhood spectacle of David Bowie dancing in very tight pants with his cohort of bumbling goblins, coupled with the magic of Jim Henson.

I can imagine many of you who have watched this movie, had like me, also longed for the imagination and craze in your own life, or at least something similar in fiction.

Cue being a teenager, and discovering The Hollow Kingdom (published 2003), but mere chance in your hometown library.

Here is the Goodreads summary: “In nineteenth-century England, a powerful sorcerer and King of the Goblins chooses Kate, the elder of two orphan girls recently arrived at their ancestral home, Hallow Hill, to become his bride and queen...”

It’s no surprise that I ended up loving this book.

This book is generally under a YA fiction/fantasy tag. It has won various awards, including the 2004 Mythopoeic Fantasy Award for Children's Literature. It’s well-written, relatable to a young woman, and full of intelligent moments and clever thinking. The characters are fully-fledged, as are the societies they live in.

It’s not a perfect book. Sometimes the pacing and choice of focus can be inconsistent, and sometimes the timing and structure are not as strong as they could be. Its lack of care for developing romance can cause problems with the reviewers, had they been expecting a romance.

Now let’s chat a bit. As a teenager, it was an eye open experience to discover a book that didn’t pander another tale of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ once again. Meaning, an easy tale that force-fed me obvious morals, and condescended to my 'age-level’. And, I thought, it was better to talk about difficult things then pretend they didn’t exist.

And so time passed, the internet grew, and the Me Too movement rolled along, said hi, and sorta gave a half-hearted wave as it did so. Now, much older, I have finally had time to work on some projects that I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I do fanfic’s as a writing exercise, but my true love is illustrating stories on the webtoon platform. I have a series called ‘Vixen’ out that has been a trial run of sorts to sharpen my skills and get me back on track.

One of the long-running projects that I’ve desperately wanted to illustrate for a long time is ‘The Hollow Kingdom’. I am only in the beginning steps and have yet to contact the author or any of the other relevant sources. This research stage is mostly an exploration to see if this is even possible, and how it would be done.

As I’ve delved into the internet to see how my old favorite has aged... I was a bit startled.

Despite its initial accolades around 2018, when a lot of Hollywood was being stripped and scattered, and there were many accusations worldwide of prominent figures accused of sexual abuse, perhaps it was predictable that a complicated book that does not deal with a traditional happy ending started becoming maligned in general. And as social media, as a rule, tends to ignore content in favor of a thoughtful readthrough, I felt the need to go reread and reassess my POV.

So I did.

And I still enjoyed the book. As did the roughly 10,000 others who rated it 4 stars and above.

But to be fair, here are some reviews from other who didn’t:

----

1. The end is some sort of apologia for rape, abduction, and Stockholm Syndrome.

2. I expect that when I’m told said female protagonist is intelligent for her to actually be intelligent, like you know, by giving her any ounce of sense, resourcefulness, or deductive skills.

3. (The Goblin King)...seriously tries to justify his actions by saying he doesn’t have a choice...

4. I also did not like the pointless slaughtering of animals…which really if you think about it made no sense…why would the monkey and wolf not be threats and be all for following kate but not the bear or the snakes…

5. It didn't help that I was well aware of how the main character got tricked. I mean, if her guardian believed her and was concerned for her sister why would still keep Kate locked up in her room and offer freedom from the room in exchange for info on goblins?

6. A young woman is coerced into marrying the Goblin King, Lord of the Hollow Kingdom.

7. What I'm trying to get across is that this is another example of a story where a young woman gets virtually everything taken away from her - her passions, her freedom, everything - but (through Stockholm Syndrome or sheer stupidity, I'm not sure) she forgives it all in the name of love and becomes a supremely contented Stepford Wife.

8. So a girl is kidnapped by the Goblin King, and is trapped in the goblin kingdom. The end. Well, she ends up liking it, doesn't struggle, doesn't really care about what is happening to her.

-------

Sorry, that was a lot. I understand that there are many who are just not going to jibe with a book. But I think it’s fair that on the complaints that accuse the book, it can be rebutted.

1(a). Perhaps many of the problems with the book that people expected it to be the perfect mash between Labyrinth and Beauty and the Beast. First of all, Beauty and the Beast is a classic tale, which many accuse of Stockholm Syndrome. It isn’t, by the way, but that’s not why I’m here. Or here.

Neither is the Hollow Kingdom. It seems that many of the reviewers are sure that Kate is forced into marrying the Goblin King. She wasn’t. She actually ends up going to the Goblin King and agreeing to marry him in exchange for the release of her sister.

But Gav-san, the Goblin King )Marak) misled Kate into thinking they had her.

No, they didn’t. It even points out that had she asked, they would have told her. It’s stated very early on that Goblin do not lie under any circumstance (though are prone to being crafty beasts).

Kate never is isolated with her captour, or ignore his awful parts and has does not fall in line with his ideas, holding strongly to her own. In fact, it’s her very ideals that lead to her success in the end, and that leads to Marak’s change of ideology. Kate’s own honor often compelled her to make choices that seem frustrating to the (modern) reader (who perhaps forgets this is 1815 England). To demand modern ideologies from the protagonist is awfully stupid and presumptuous.

1(b). This book, in no way shape or form, is an apology for rape and abduction. It’s a large point in this book that is unavoidable. The Goblins and Elves kidnap humans (and the occasional elf) to marry. The King must always marry outside of his race. This inevitably leads to unhappy women and broken families.

It is not seen as a happy, good event, but often a stressful, angry one that leaves tragedy and scars that echo across the generations. It is also a revealing look at humanity and our own atrocities. Much like the goblins and elves, sometimes these things are painted as noble when they weren’t, and thus it makes the societies feel real, having these pitfalls.

And, as a King whose entire, beloved kingdom is at stake, do you chose to make one person miserable, or condemn the entire lot to a slow death?

It may make us uncomfortable to see the reality of this situation played out in such close-to-the-chest terms.

Because Kate ends up happy and the victor, even in a situation that was not perfect, should she be condemned? I don’t think she or any women forced into that situation should be denied a healthy joy they find.

Remember, at the end of the book, it’s because of Kate that the Kingdom continues.

2. Kate is intelligent. (How could you miss her relentlessly scheming, most that succeed?!?!) And due to her heritage, she has top-notch instincts (untrained though) she continually outsmarts and outmaneuvers the Goblin King and the meddling human family. I think, had her Uncle not kidnapped Emily, she would have escaped. But her own concern for her sister was more important, and so she made that choice. That’s why she agrees to settle in, and that’s what open’s the door to her falling in love with Marak. She isn’t his prisoner, but his equal, who he learns to respect. Many human relationships could learn that last part better.

3. The Goblin King doesn’t justify himself in any degree. He knows he’s not going to be a desirable, handsome husband to any woman, especially in 1815 (or any time before and long after). If the only way a magical kingdom could continue is the misery of one person outside your race who is treated well, all things considered, then why would a brusque goblin who is not naturally inclined (thanks to his heritage) to get his feelings hurt easily worry? Many of the King’s Wifes never fell in love with their husbands, especially the sensitive elves.

In the animal kingdom, it’s not as important. Stop projecting modern standards on a fantasy culture. JRR Tolkien's goblins murder, are crass and cruel, but we don’t expect them to be human and learn to be polite. Dunkle’s Goblins are far more genteel and human-like, but they are not humans.

4. At the end of the book, there is a sorcerer who is a bad man and uses human and animal parts in his spells. If you are sensitive to that, perhaps it’s something to consider, but the book doesn’t go into great detail of these things. And frankly, ‘traditional’ medicine in many parts of the world does the same.

And why would Kate release animals that would hurt her?

5. Kate’s Guardian was never concern for her. He thought about murdering her and was concocting plans to do so. As it says in the book, society would not be kind to Kate or Emily. This is no surprise. A wealthy young woman in 1815 England? A prime target.

Kate manages to trick the doctor who the guardian brought (to put her in the insane asylum) and save her sister, though she needed to Goblins help. She was in a bad position!

6. Why are people so determined to take away Kate’s dignity and choice? Her uncle lied to her, and he was punished for it later, by the Goblin King. She went to the Goblin King and bartered her own freedom. Women make their own choices and feminism is respecting those choices as a man’s would. Her acceptance of the Gobline Kingdom is not proof of her weakness, but a show of her strength. You will face difficult problems you cannot change, and the only decision at that point is how you react.

Just because Sarah didn’t chose the Goblin King doesn’t make her strong. It was what she learned doing it. The point of reading the book is the journey.

7. Or you can see this as a book that takes on the idea of conflicting cultures that are forced upon a woman, and she makes decisions that ensure the important things to her are seen through. A real woman who, much like real women, is put into a difficult situation that is fraught with dangers and missteps, and does a decent job at navigating them without giving up her integrity or beliefs.

Don’t be taken in by easy illusions that meant to be as shallow as they appear. Feel free to message me and we can chat about it more.

In the end, this is just my opinion. But I don’t think I’m wrong, and I stand by it, which is why I’m writing it, and why I hope to illustrate this magnificent work one day.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

#the hollow kingdom #hollow kingdom #Clare B. Dunkle #review #webcomic #defence #book #Ya lit #goblin #goblin king #fantasy #slight romance #adventure #spoilers

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letmeliedown · 5 years ago

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how do you let go of the constant shame about never having the spoons to explain why you act so fucking weird all the time and don’t say the things or move your face and body the way people expect, and the fear of causing harm just by existing?

since i’ve been at DV shelters for the past month i’m just constantly realizing after the fact that the way i positioned my body or how my face looked or the particular way i worded something could easily be triggering or interpreted as threatening because i’m too overwhelmed not to be totally fucking oblivious to what i look and sound like, in combination with being a big hairy flat-chested person in an environment where everyone has been hurt by men and won’t necessarily understand that i’m not one, or that my lack of neurotypical social skills isn’t a lack of compassion or care

also i really have NO idea how to act around babies/children or talk to parents while their kids are there, which is another way i feel like i’m not a real adult (because i’ve been socially isolated through the time my age cohort started having kids so i have basically no experience with them, plus c-ptsd and misphonia make being around them very stressful)

i feel like i’m constantly making people uncomfortable while trying to act like i’m not a creepy alien who has never seen a baby & i don’t know how to communicate that i’m not like, contemptuous of parents or children or whatever, i’m just so scared of causing more harm that i go semi-verbal and say stock phrases and do things that i only realize later didn’t make sense in context

#internalized disablism cw #children cw #trauma cw #cissexism cw #misgendering cw #ableism cw #long post cw #actuallyautistic

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for-peace-war · 5 years ago

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[Setting the Stage]

This story directly precedes the first event I will be doing in my Temple of Longing series, and makes mention of @enfamouseld, @vantilles, @steppesthetic and who knows who else’s future characters.

THE TEMPLE OF LONGING.

Follows: Prologue.

Follows Part I.

Follows Part II.

GORALUS THE GUNDERMAN grimaced.

The Empire said locate the pleasure caravan—whatever that was—isolate it and send word to Termina.

So he did that.

His coterie consisted of a Bossonian legionnaire by the name of Arestes; Bellona, a dark-haired Aquilonian woman; an armored Hyrkanian outrider, and three velites who had not yet spoken and likely would not unless given direct orders to. It was not the most prestigious cohort to lead, but it would have to do.

Their prey was in sight.

Goralus scratched his beard. Soldiers—legionnaires—of the Aquilonian empire were not supposed to have beards. He didn’t care. When he was drafted into the army it had been with the understanding that they could change his name, they could tell him where to fight—they could tell him where to die, if need be. But they would not take his beard and they would not take his spear. Those two things had been beyond negotiation.

The recruiter’s broken nose was a testament to that.

Aquilonians loved to recruit Gundermen, of course. They were strong and sturdy and followed orders well, within reason. Gunderland had been a barrier for centuries against the barbarians, and after Maxentius’ empire had claimed most of what was outside of Gunderland, their spear tradition had become vital to holding what they did. Even after the empire began to fall, it was Gundermen blood that held back the tide—that kept the line, even when the line itself was falling.

He was a big lad—of true, Hyborian stock. Brown hair, brown eyes, and skin that was turning browner from the desert’s sun. His jaw set strong, he was told, and he looked like he was snarling when he smiled. So he smiled little—and he snarled often. Against his bronzed body, the chainmail he wore felt a burden, heated and tight. But they told him to wear it—so he did. At the very least his thews, sculpted with great rivers betwixt the mountains of muscle upon his legs, were freed of burden. It made fighting easier.

It made killing, easier.

“Seven total,” he said. “Light guard.”

It was a light guard, but not necessarily lacking. The big, black bodies that lined the outsides of the small carriages were armed well: heavy scimitars, spears. Up close they would be a challenge and at a distance, with their long black arms, they would be a danger. He could close with them, he knew, but could others? He had to rely on their training.

Without that, then they would all be dead, anyway.

When the Flavian cohort, Brutalus, had approached him with his orders, Goralus had not thought to ask any questions. In the Aquilonian army, you went where you were told: you did what you were meant to, and then you went home. Didn’t matter why he was there or who he was fighting: so long as he lived, he’d see his family again—he’d see home. Home, where his wife—Ramma—had just given birth to their third child, a son at long last. He had held the boy but a day before he they were sent east.

He missed his son.

He missed Ramma’s fat, swollen tits.

But it was good to be away from her too—from her smile and her warmth, and the sound of the children laughing and playing. Nothing broke the brume of his heart like that warmth, yet it wasn’t always like that. There were dark moments—dark things, that lived in his mind. Things that made his hands shake or his breathing come quick. Dark dreams and hot flashes. It had started up not long after the Pictlands, but even then—even then, it felt like at times it was all he knew. Being away from them—on the campaign, he could let that darkness out, though.

He’d sworn never to let them see what was in his mind.

Instead, he’d only let them know what was in his heart—his love for them, his family.

There were men that had deserted and fled back home, but that would never be his path. At home, he was needed. Here, he was just another body that had to be placed in a line.

Aquilonians did like their lines though. They remembered the bodies that filled them, too.

They called him triarii, but before any Aquilonian had given him a title, he had used his spear. It was the spear of his mother, Greta, who had been killed resisting Cimmerian raiders that crossed the border. Greta was a bold woman and brave; she stood as tall as a mountain in his mind. He was named after her. Gretan. The Aquilonians did not like that and changed it to Goralus for the Goralian Hills. The paymaster said it looked better on the rolls than Gretan. What did he care? He was still being paid.

And his mother was still dead.

When they killed her, she didn’t cry—didn’t beg. She just stopped moving and that was it. So he picked up her spear and killed his own Cimmerians. Maybe they weren’t the ones that killed his mother, but what did that matter? Blood had to be spilled for blood. Once it was, there was nothing more to say of it.

Truth was, he even had a few mates from Cimmeria that weren’t so bad, after all.

So he, Goralus the Gunderman, triarius of Legio XIII Termina, stood upon a dune looking at a caravan passing through sandy territory he neither owned nor cared about. The Hyrkanian had scouted around for any further guards but reported they had spotted the expected cataphractarii about two thousand fathoms from where they were and nothing else.

They had plenty of time to isolate them.

If isolate meant kill, they had more than enough.

The Bossonian lad, Arestes, cleared his throat. Goralus did not look at him. “Drink now. It’ll get hot. When we’re in it.” The water cooled them, but was near out by the time they finished drinking.

They had each been given Vendhyan coursers to cross the desert. They weren’t as famed as the Hyrkanian ponies or their Turanian cousins, but they were fast—and dependable. Goralus preferred the sturdier, heavier drays that worked fields, but he knew better than to expect one to survive the heat.

Heat. Yes, it was going to get hot—very hot, when they got into it.

“Seven in total,” he repeated. “Two guards per carriage.”

“Fourteen guards,” the Bossonian said.

Goralus grunted. “That we see.”

He had never had a problem with Bossonians. They were smaller than he would have liked, but they were dependable—reliable. The Bossonian Marches had always seen hard fighting, even after Maxentius domesticated the savages on the other side of it. Picts weren’t reliable for very much; they were more like pests to be culled than beasts to be trained. The land could be cultivated and colonized, but not the people.

Picts were animals.

He never cared much for those.

From the distance, a strong wind built. It was heavy—hungry. He narrowed his eyes and looked to the horizon. Dark clouds, fat and fearsome, were forming up.

No, those weren’t clouds.

It was a sandstorm.

Goralus grunted. “Bori’s blood.”

If the Turanians, who likely took to sand like fish did water, could slip into the storm then there would be no hope of catching them. Goralus did not know a great deal about sandstorms, but he knew that things were going to become difficult. The Hyrkanian had told him to cover his mouth when he went into one.

His orders were to locate the pleasure caravan and send word to the legion, but if they made it into that sandstorm, then that would be a meaningless directive. No, the empire wanted the caravan to end the war—and he wanted the war to end, so he could go home. The darkness had lifted. He needed to see them again.

So he changed his orders.

“We make it fast,” he said. “Quick. Ride them down. Secure their contents. Bring it back to the legatus. Understood?”

Those with him voiced affirmation.

Taking Aklat had been fast—perhaps too fast, when he thought of it. The Turanians were withdrawing from the area before the Legio XIII had fully invested it. And now this—this, felt like it could have been something more than he was looking at.

He was back in his saddle, and his spear—Greta’s spear—was fitted into place. They were seven against fourteen. With surprise and efficiency, the odds favored them. Already, the Turanians were off their center because of the coming storm.

They had no idea that the real disaster would be riding them down from their flank. It would be hard fighting to get it all done before the sandstorm arrived.

But it was better to be fighting hard, than hardly fighting, wasn’t it?

Bellona spoke as she took to her saddle “Problem, sir.”

Goralus looked from the caravan to where the Bossonian had. “Shit.”

Shit was right. Likely realizing that the storm was coming, or perhaps the reason for it in their strange, oriental mysticism, a band of Zuagirs was fast approaching from the valley between the caravan and the satrap’s army. More than likely they had cut close to the mountains, then circled about and ridden so that the caravan couldn’t slip back to the protection of the approaching cataphracts.

So much for the reserve, Goralus thought. He gestured to the Hyrkanian. “Head them off. They’ll break.” Zuagirs were buzzards. Buzzards didn’t fight to the death.

“Understood,” the outrider said—and rode off, without needing to receive further command.

He didn’t like fighting in sand, but he would have to make it work. At home, on firm ground, the footwork performed was in accordance with rich, thick Gunderland soil. Here, everything shifted—every step threatening to be the wrong one.

Well, he only had one step to take then—so he put his foot forward.

Goralus said a quiet prayer to Bori—to let him see his way through this; to let his daughters grow to be as strong as their mother—as strong as their grandmother; to bless his son with a long life; and for one more chance to hold his wife, smell the hearth upon her hair, and tell her he loved her.

But he could feel the darkness inside of him starting to well up. He felt it heavy and hungry and knew that the moment to act had come. If he was going to return home, he would do it without that need—he would do it without that hatred.

“For Aquilonia,” Bellona said. Arestes and the velites soon mirrored the sentiment.

Goralus struck his horse and was off. “Aye, lad. Aquilonia.”

#goralus the gunderman #conan #writing exercise

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fireflyeggs · 5 years ago

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First off, do not 5150 me. Please and thank you. PM me if you want but I’m okay right now. I’m hoping to take a nap.

This is literally the longest post i’ve ever made oops

I am once again in the lovely position I have been in before. I should be hospitalized but I cannot be due to my choice in education.

I am in nursing school. 3rd year. If I go to a hospital now, I will be (politely) kicked out of school. Even if I’m not kicked out, it will cause my future license to be suspended until I can meet the state board and convince them I’m mentally sound to practice.

I know people will hit me with “your mental health comes first” but honestly fuck off. I have spent tons of money and the most effort I have ever put in to anything on this degree. I’m not tossing it out because my brain is a flaming heap of trash right now.

On that note, this is why I’m considering just yeeting myself out of the world:

-see above situation

-the dean of my school has barred me from entering a class because the class is overfilled. I need it as a prerequisite next year. Best case scenario they let me take it in fall or summer. Worst case scenario I am forced to temporarily drop out and wait 6-12 months to re enter the nursing school and take the stupid class. Note: other people in my cohort had no issue getting in. I’m just getting weirdly fucked over for no reason. Note: this will render me bankrupt as well.

- due to the lovely SARS-CoV2 situation, my mental health is SHIT. It’s TERRIBLE. I stay up every night until like 2-4 AM crying. And of course I like try to reach out for help but my friends are overwhelmed by me and my therapist/psychiatrist are not readily available. And likely if I was honest with them, I would be hospitalized. See above dilemma.

-I have been laid off (like everyone else in the world). I have been offered a job as a nurse aide but it’s full time and I would probably be putting myself in isolation for the next year if I accept that. Note: I live alone.

-I have re-developed all of my bad habits which I worked hard in therapy to overcome. I’m self harming, drinking, drugging, starving, bingeing, smoking, and fucking my way through life just to get by. And mostly quietly because I get so damn shamed if I say anything. My normal healthy coping skill of going out for coffee or a walk has been killed due to rona.

-I am quickly running out of money and I do not qualify for the stimulus.

-I have been getting moderately bullied by random people to the point of considering deleting my social media (I didn’t even take an opinion, people just praying for my downfall lmao)

-I have, and I am not exaggerating, 8-12 hours of homework daily. Our teachers are pushing us to do even more because of state requirements.

-my friends (bless them) are probably sick of my whining and are overwhelmed because I am, in short, extremely mentally ill. I cannot reach out to any extended family without being told “suck it up, there are people dying” (which is true but makes me feel worse)

-I stopped talking to my ex after a year and I’m still like attached and messed up and damaged over the whole situation.

-I’m currently dating a very nice guy but he does not understand my mental illnesses and I can’t really turn to him for solace because of that. He said he would leave me if I don’t chill. So whatever I guess. Not gonna be getting this puss if I die, pal. To be fair I think his ex emotionally manipulated him with mental illness so that’s why he’s got no chill about it.

-my house is absolutely a disgusting mess and I cannot clean due to my copious amounts of homework. That sounds like an excuse but it’s legitimate

-this doesn’t particularly matter to me but I’m the most thicc I have been and pretty much everyone tells me I look bad and I’m unhealthy and gonna die so whatever. Joys of existence.

-I have like chronic health issues that are being ignored because my doctors office is closed and my issues, while SOMEWHAT serious, are not ER worthy in a pandemic.

-generally people misinterpret my actions and blame me for all of the above because I guess I’m just the literal worst person ever. Well I survived this, you’re over dramatic, you’re trying to manipulate me to feel bad (I’m not I’m just expressing my emotions as a bipolar person with no outlets), you can’t say that, you can’t like that because that one person said that 7 years ago as a joke, you can’t exist....

I’m trying to not die for numerous reasons. My family does not deserve it, my friends do not deserve it. It would be bad. Obviously. I haven’t figured out exactly what to do. My tentative plan was to finish up the semester, clean extensively, and get a cat. I’m still kind of planning on that.

The issue is that like in my current state at currently 3:16 AM, I am not very well coordinated. I am sad. I am anxious. I’m itchy (thanks lamotrigine 200). I have nothing to do and no one that I want to bother. I have already time traveled 3 days in AC. I am tired but cannot sleep (seroquel withdrawal courtesy of me, and bipolar I. Medically approved). I just want to be dead. I’m not TRYING to be dead. I just want this to end. And whatever kind of situation lies beyond my current state gets more appealing the more things that happen to me. I swear I’m cursed. Like, legitimately.

I need to emphasize. I am not trying anything. I am not acting on this. I am passively thinking about it every day. I am actively trying to do better against circumstances that seemingly want me to fail in every regard. It’s like I built a whole ass car only to be plowed over by a semi truck. Repeatidly. In every part of my life. And at this point it would be easier to just give in.

I do not know why I exist primarily to suffer. Of course there are moments of joy. It’s just like a majority of my life has been hardship. And I thought it would stop, but it doesn’t. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to cope. Sexual abuse, bullying, manipulation, depression, medications, repeated rape, unhealthy relationship in which I invest all my love, terrible jobs, illness, bipolar I, stupid college academic advising problems, lovers who screw me over, car accident, physical abuse, addictions, a fucking pandemic. And I’ve been told with most of that it’s my fault. And that which wasn’t my fault was somehow bestowed by the universe because I made myself slightly susceptible in some way.

And mark my words, someone will say that others have it worse. Which is true! But it does not diminish my pain. Nothing does. I just hope I can get a cat and/or whatever else before I drunkenly try to OD at 4 AM on a Tuesday. Or whatever.

As I said. I’m not trying. But with my illness? I never know what’s up next. I hope I don’t. I really hope I don’t.

Friendly reminder: I’m fine right now. Leave me be. If it gets worse, you would know, I can’t keep secrets.

Thanks for reading my novel lmao

#long post #extremely long post #tw suicide #im FINE okay #im just a whiny little bitch

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