#he's adopted into the family in spirit but he's not like Wade's brother or anything

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Sonic fandom when Knuckles has an entire epiphany montage where he calls the Whipple family his home: I mean. This could mean anything. Maybe Wade and Knuckles are good friends. Maybe Knuckles is friends with them.

Sonic fandom when Maddie tells a construction worker that the damage Knuckles did was done by her "big kid" so as to not admit that she has alien anthropomorphic animal teenagers living in her house, and then follows that up by calling Knuckles by "our big red friend" to Sonic, with all of this happening after Sonic says he considers Knuckles to be his roommate: OMG Knuckles series confirmed Knuckles Wachowski CANON I cannot believe we won!! He's her kid this is his home he's Sonic's brother!! After the show he gets back to the Wachowski household and gets in sooo much trouble cause Maddie is his mom

[willow-salix]

Another work of the genius that is my kid. She wrote this, I'm just sharing it. Revel in the awesomeness of this...

[AU] Four of the Tracy Brothers are all adopted by Jeff after being orphaned when he is unable to save their parents during rescues from the VERY early days of International Rescue (yeah I know the canon but whatever this is an au). Also this is total trash but I'm too lazy to write this proper proper so here ~ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

SCOTT: The first of the boys to get adopted by Papa Jeff is originally from Scotland (Scott-Land), and was orphaned after the tail end of a hurricane left his family home as nothing more than a pile of rubble - and since it wasn't anticipated, the extent of the damage done wasn't heard about until later, after a series of rescues in higher risk locations. By that time, it was too late. When J.T. finally got to the scene, he spent a few hours sifting through the debris for any survivors. By the time the sun had set, seven bodies had been discovered and he was giving up hope, until he heard the unmistakable sound of a baby crying. Wading through to where the nursery used to be, as if by some miracle, there was a perfectly in-tact crib and an infant inside, blocked from the destruction by a large ceiling tile that had fallen, and effectively acted as a shield as the rest of the home toppled down around them. Jeff took the baby in his arms and rushed to the basecamp, refusing to let go of the child during his check-up and the search for any living relatives for him to go to; but all of his living relatives were in the same house, and the little boy had nowhere to go. As J-Dog looked down at those big blue goo-goo eyes, he felt an overpowering sense of guilt, before it was replaced by total determination. He couldn't save his family, so the least he could do was give him a new one - and that's exactly what he did.

VIRGIL: The pilot of the mean, green, thicc flying machine gained all of his culture and artistic tendencies from his country of birth, Italy. A heavy rainstorm saw the canals of Venice break their banks and caused floods throughout the city (it would take them three years to get over it entirely). When Jazzy Jeff arrived, it was a matter of evacuating everyone and minimising the amount of accidents/casualties as much as possible. As roads cracked and buildings became submerged more and more with every passing second, the evacuation order soon developed into a time-sensitive rescue mission. By the time he finally reached Virgil's family, their car was teetering on the edge of a broken road, under which was several feet of water. They handed their newborn son over to him, only just in time before the concrete gave way and the car fell into the murky depths. Another member of the crew attempted to rescue them as Jeff held the child, deja-vu hitting him when his teammate came back to the surface and mournfully shook his head. They were unable to get them out in time, and, same as last time, there were no relatives to take the boy. Ever since the mother handed her son over to Jeff, he had felt a sense of responsibility over the welfare of the child. One look at the chonky little thing confirmed what he had been feeling in his heart all along: Scott now had a brother.

JOHN: Irish-born John's adoption was a little different to the other two, but a rescue all the same. Big Daddy J had a conference in the Emerald Isle, and on his way back to his hotel the same night, he came across a car that had crashed into a tree on a fairly deserted road. The only survivor was in the back seat, and was the toddler son of the two adults in the front. The child was old enough to be semi-aware of what was going on around him, so while Jeff attempted to remove him from the wreckage, he told him to "just do one thing" for him - "look at the stars, just look at the stars". The blonde boy did so obediently, and as they waited for the emergency services to arrive, he told the tot about all of his adventures in space. Even though he probably didn't understand what he was saying, tiny John was still absolutely hooked. Once at the hospital, the parents were confirmed deceased and further checks revealed that his grandparents were unable to look after him. Just because he wasn't wanted by his family, however, didn't mean he wasn't wanted by others. After cancelling his flight back the next day, Jeff once again went through all the necessary steps. When he returned back to America, his seven-year-old and his four-year-old were greeted with their new brother, and his wife and mother with a new son and grandson, respectively.

GORDON: Born and raised in Australia, Gordon's parents were adventurers that never seemed the type to settle down and stay in one place for one time. When International Rescue was called for an outback recovery, it seemed like a stupid prank when the campsite the call originated from was found to be empty. The fire had burnt out, several items had just simply been discarded on the floor, and it appeared that the tents were empty at first glance - but on closer inspection, it revealed that the bundle of cloth in the corner was actually a sleeping baby. They waited for any other people to arrive, but after a few hours, decided to take the baby to the hospital. With no records of him, there wasn't much they could do except confirm that he was healthy. All it took was one look into those big, brown, cow-like eyes and Jeffo knew that for the fourth time in ten years he was bringing home another baby.

ALAN: The youngest son, and the only biological one of Jeff and Lucille. When they first learnt of his conception, they were quick to assure the other boys that they weren't any less special than him because they weren't related by blood. The only response they recieved came from an eleven-year-old Scott remarking that yeah, they knew, because they had been chosen, which made it even more special. Each of the boys came from different backgrounds, but thanks to Jeff and his "Batman Syndrome", they were all united as a single family (until Lucille died and shit went down). The End.

BONUS: After rescuing Buddy and Ellie for the umpteenth time, they and Gordon dissolved into small talk as Virgil flew them home in Thunderbird Two. It was the first time they had rescued them in Australia, and the second-youngest Tracy couldn't help but notice that there was something odd about the couple's demeanour this time around. Usually, they were high-spirited after a rescue, talking about their next dangerous adventure or the new season of their show. They still spoke with a certain degree of excitement, but their hands were interlocked on Buddy's knee, and there was something that looked like... sadness? in both of their eyes when they looked at each other. Eventually, he couldn't help himself. "Hey, listen, I know it's not my place to ask, but... are you two alright?" Buddy opened his mouth to respond, but he was quickly interrupted. "I don't mean because of the rescue. I mean that you two are just acting a little - well, different."

Before he could make another comment about it 'not being his place to ask', Ellie gave a wan smile and sighed, ducking her head for a moment. "It's nothing. Only - the last time we were out in that direction, we had to call International Rescue out, too. It was a long time ago, when we were just starting out. I think it was when you were just starting out, too."

Gordon glanced over to Virgil, who reminded him that "International Rescue existed before us, remember?". He nodded before looking back to Ellie; a silent invitation for her to continue her story. Buddy's hand tightened around hers, and she sighed again.

"We had set up camp, had a fire going and was starting to unpack when the wind picked up. It just started latching onto everything, and soon there was this massive dust storm. We tried to stay together, radio'd for help, but we couldn't see anything, we just couldn't. There was no way that International Rescue could have gotten to us, but we didn't care. We just wanted-"

"We wanted them to save our son." Buddy finished for his wife. Gordon nodded, but internally, he was shocked. He had no idea that they had a child. He was about to ask, when Buddy started to talk again. His voice was steady despite the slight waver in it, and his eyes seemed glassy. "He was only young, so - small. We left him in the tent for shelter, tried to find a way to signal for the ship if we could. We didn't even realise we had been walking, until the storm died down and we found that we were nowhere near our camp. And when we got back..."

"Little Stevie was gone." Ellie whispered. "That was our boy, Stevie. Steve. And he was gone."

"What was the year?" Gordon found himself asking, his throat dry. The reply was instant, and it made him swallow heavily to try and remove the lump from his throat. Their dad - Jeff - had never kept anything from them about the way they came to the family. Buddy and Ellie's story, along with the recollection from Jeff and the date... there was only one conclusive answer.

Before he could stop himself, he blurted it out. "I think I'm your son."

[musicofglassandwords]

COS snippet #19

right after Xander gets kidnapped by the King

fair warning, this is a VERY long snippet

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Jay stood very still as Lyssa sat down gracefully on the lounge chair; her emotions were currently constructed like delicate sheets of glass, ready to shatter at any given moment.

When they had learned that the King had taken Xander, the entire household had been thrown into chaos, and Jay had found it very difficult to handle the fact that Xander being gone was all on him. Guilt had eaten at him, as well as misery and sorrow, but compared to the Lumens of Xekanzi, his pain had been nothing.

Kai had gone straight to the river, wading in until he was chest deep, and burnt out his anger for days and days, until the river was nothing but dry sandstone. He’d gasped with an uncontainable fury and often, when one looked out of a castle window, one could see fire lighting up the sky as the Lumen expressed his rage in the only way he could.

Iken had taken off on Ennis’ back, and the two of them had soared in the skies for hours and hours, returning only when Ennis had roared out his fury and Iken’s tears had frozen in the sky.

Vera had screamed and destroyed her room, sobbing until restless sleep had overtaken her, while Roze had sat without moving on her bed until Lyssa had gently taken her and Vera and Iken aside, and soothed them until she had convinced them of her own absence of hers.

Jay remembered seeing her head towards the roof where Ennis lay, his tail curled around him protectively and whispered to him until the massive dragon had stilled.

Years of etiquette classes had taught him to be tactful, comforting, and encouraging, but he hadn’t quite known what to do when Lyssa had finally gone and locked herself in the training room for three days straight.

When they had finally pulled her out, her knuckles had been bloody, hair stringy with sweat and her muscles sore from overuse. Kai had picked her up despite her protests, and helped her bind up her wounds.

Lyssa had an spirit harder than diamond, stronger than any heartbreak.

But she had already endured so much. Cracks had been building up within her heart all these years, and finally something in her had broken.

“Do you want to say anything before I tell you how we might go save Xander?” Jay said tentatively, sitting down across from her.

“Yes,” she said, her face tight with pain and sorrow. She inhaled deeply, taking a shuddering breath and building a wall between her tears and reality. “Because there are something you need to know.”

“I never held a grudge against my adoptive parents for giving me up,” she said slowly, her eyes cool when she looked at Jay. “I never hated them, because Xan was always there. His heart was constantly full of anger and bitterness, I knew that, but he still showed me so much love even at such a young age.”

“When I was younger, I had no idea that he wasn’t my biological brother. Everywhere he went, even in the most dangerous places, I begged to go with him. I would have followed him unto death.” she paused, “I still would.”

She was completely still, but her fingernails cut deep into her palms, tiny droplets of blood staining her white skirts.

“If I was with Xan, as long as my brother was with me. I was alright. Even though there were times where he left for days at a time in order to find us food or to get a place for us to live for a bit, I knew, I always knew that he would come back. And no matter what, he always did.”

“When you are younger, you have blind faith and blind belief in the ones you love and trust, but it doesn’t take long for something like that to dissolve when you grow older, and you realize that your heroes are just as sinful as yourself. But with Xan, that never happened. Even though I know he does cruel and ruthless things, I know he is not lost yet, and he has never been anything but loving to me. Every time we are funning for our lives, and he needs to go in order to save us, I know, I know that he will come back to me. I believe that I will hear his voice again, the one that always used to call to me whenever I was lost. And I fear what will happen if I never hear him again.”

Jay was silent, nodding as Lyssa lifted up her bowed head.

“Which is why you need to understand that between choosing the lives of you and your kinsmen and my brother, I will not hesitate to let you burn.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“Here, Lyss,” she looked up from her book, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and took the glass of cold rose tea Kai held out to her gratefully. “What are you looking at?”

“Some tricks for close combat,” she said, sitting up as he sank down beside her on her bed, and showing him the title of the book, “We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

“I know, Iken spent the last two hours begging me to be able to come,” he said,  flopping onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“Oh, I should put him to bed,” Lyssa started to rise up, glancing quickly out the window, where the sky had already turned to a tapestry of black.

“Already did it,” Kai said, running a hand through his hair, “Roze and Ver are asleep as well.”

“Thank you, Kai,” she said gratefully, tugging on the end of her braid, “I haven’t been as attentive as I should have been to them. Poor babies.”

“It’s alright, Lyss. I can handle them.”

She smiled at him, for real, her heart warm with affection for him, “Of course you can.”

His grin was lazy as she curled next to him, her book forgotten on the floor, and his hand gently brushed her shoulder.

“You’re my favorite, Kai,” she murmured softly.

“I know,” he said, an echo of a sigh in his voice, “You’re my favorite too.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The boy drowning in flames lay awake in the weak moonlight, hands fisting at his sides as pain tore through him again and again.

He never got better at handling the pain, and he swallowed a gasp as it burned in his veins.

He shifted but immediately froze when he felt Lyssa stir next to him.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered sleepily.

“Nothing,” he pulled the blanket back over her head, “Go back to sleep, kejan.”

“Is the pain really bad?” she yanked the blanket back down, pushing a pillow into his face, “I’ll go get you some water.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said stubbornly, biting back a cry as it seared his insides, shredding his nerves to bits.

“Okay,” she said, wrapping an arm around him and drawing him close to her.

And that was so much worse.

What I wish I could tell you, he thought, what I wish you could know

That you are so good and worthy of being loved, and I wish, I wish you could be joyful forever.

And forgive me

For being there for you.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

(During the battle with Arid, the king’s general)

Fierce, the wind whispered to her, fight.

Break or be broken.

And you will break someday.

But not today.

Her fingers curled over the slippery handle of the knife, and she stood up, blood streaming from her face, like poisonous tears.

“Who are you?” Arid asked boredly, “Stand down.”

His voice was uncaring, as he directed a pair of soldiers to pin her down. Behind their glittering armor, she caught sight of her brother being held up by Arid’s lieutenant, his eyes defiant.

He glanced up despite his injuries and caught sight of Lyssa, his eyes flashing black with horror. He shook his head, making a muffled sound through his gag, crying out.

Despite the cloth wrapped around his mouth, the words were audible to Lyssa.

Don’t touch my sister!

And time stopped for a moment.

She could see Xander, gagged, blood watering the earth, his eyes black and haunted. His brilliant white hair greasy and smeared with soot and red.

And she saw the little boy who had reached out to a girl barely older than a baby and protected her for years and years, until he was finally strong enough to let her go.

She saw her brother leaving her.

She saw her only family leaving her because she was too weak to chase after them.

And in the deepest recesses of her memories, she remembered sobbing her heart out after their adoptive parents had thrown them out, and Xander, barely seven years old had clumsily wiped her tears away.

“You’re still my sister,” he’d assured her, “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

I’ll take care of you.

She remembered being eleven years old, dragging Kai along with her as she followed Xander into the steel market, remembered his look of horror as he saw her behind him, saw her staring at the blood and weapons and poison around them.

Remembered him pulling her behind him, later demanding why she’d followed him.

“I wanted to go with you, bije,” she’d smiled then, the feel of the Veyan word for brother sweet on her tongue.

Her eyes burned, blood sticky on her face, pain fracturing her sanity to bits as she leaned on her broken leg.

Pain is nothing, she muttered to herself, it is nothing.

And she drew her weapon.

Stepped forward.

Her aim was always true.

And her brother was worth dying for.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Tagging: @writingqueensworld @dowings@joyful-soul-collector @thescholarsninja @stuffaboutwriting @panic-at-my-sexuality @nomadian-novelist @waterfallofinkandpages @tragedyshow @onthewingsofwords @writingonesdreams @stories-by-rie @qlpwrites @sunlight-and-starskies

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list!

[ari-the-gooose]

Adventurers of Special Stuff

Guess that ANAGRAM

I’m thinking about starting a small blog for this with some stories and art for this AU, let me know what ya think and if I should!

Mark- human ex-paladin

Jack- elf wizard

Ethan- fairy monk

Tyler- tiefling fighter

Bob- satyr bard

Wade- goblin rouge

Chica- ghost dog (pub mascot)

Kathryn- aasimar mystic

Amy- air genasi sorcerer

Mark

Born in the kingdom of Sorvic, Mark was raised in a loving home and a sucessful education. He was soon recruited for the kingdoms paladins and served for two years. On an adventure to stop a small orc clan before they reached the kingdom, they fell into a larger trap with a dark and mysterious demon and lost nearly the entire team in battle. Mark was only able to flee after his dying friend healed him so he returned to the kingdom, defeated. He was called a coward and put to shame so one day he gathered his things and left. He was never the same after fighting that demon, almost like a piece of it was always with him but with a promise to protect the kingdom on his own and renew honor, Mark began his journey into the forest of whsipers.

Jack

Born into a wealthy class of delegate, high elves, Jack was expected to continue the long standing legacy of diplomacy. He attending years of boarding schools, but was constantly expelled or failing. His parents considered him a disgrace to the family and threatened to remove him from the family name. During a party at a new boarding school, he “claims” to have gotten drunk and set a fire, thus why he doesn’t remember anything, though some suggest that they saw a demon like thing take over him and burn down a residence hall. So at the age of 18, he was disowned by his family and set out to face the world alone. It was through work at a local pub that he soon worked his way up and took ownership after the owner died, where he is now.

Ethan

Born but soon given up, Ethan does not know his true parents but was instead raised with a tiefling family. With blue wings and a soft blue cloak, he only comes out to about 4 inches tall. He is an okay fighter, but when it came to magic, he felt like it only came from his diety, Adude. Littererly, no one has ever heard of this dude but Ethan claims to have seen him in a dream with sunglasses and a skateboard looking like one rad dude. So it is now Ethan’s goal to grow the church of Adude. He grew up with Tyler and his family, but never really reaching his full fairy potention, though Tyler did try to help. Ethan was a pretty big outcast at school and would get bullied a lot until Tyler would come and beat them up but it never would stop the taunts and threats. After graduating, the two “brothers” decided to aadventure into the world just cause they felt like it was their calling.

Tyler

Pretty normal life for the most part, he was the quiet athlete in school and popular with all the girls. He had a great family life, especially with his adopted brother, Ethan. His dream was to become a world class fighter that went on adventures and found great things. He has long, curved and pointy horns with a red-ish skin color. After graduating with top grades, he decided to explore the world (really to watch Ethan’s clumsy ass)

Bob

Born from a small villiage, this satyr hates nature making him a bit unusual with his kind. But he can play over 20 instruments, but his favorite is the squeeze box. He decided to move to the big city in hopes of stardom with his one man band kinda thing but it went down hill real quick. He got a job at a pub on the outskirts of Nycri (the city) and has been helping Jack out ever since. Though he does bug Jack a lot about letting him do shows at the pub which never works out.

Wade

Even though Goblins are incredibly uncommon in the area, Wade tries to hide but is really bad at it. What he is good at though is cards so he tends to distact them and pickpocket people, though he will get caught every once in a while. His goal in life is to beat his way in cards against this sweet dwarf in town named Barbara though no one really gets why. He is a regular at Jack’s pub but often gets chased out for not paying or starting a fight (though usually accidental).

Kathryn and Amy

Two girls just facing the world and kicking ass. No one knows how they became friends but everytime someone asks they just laugh. Kathryn says she has the wisdom of Iris with her and is on a mission to bring joy to the world. Amy is a beautiful sorceress with wind power as she is a spirit genaisi. They have a rainbow and wind kinda asthetic but it is real cute. They tend to stop in everytown, spread joy and religion and be on their way.

[smallpressdistribution]

11 SPD BOOKS TO HELP YOU SEE THE UNSEEN

IN THIS WEEK’S SPDCLICKHOLE by Ayame Keane-Lee (our inimitable high school intern)

I just recently wrapped my High School’s production ofthe  Vagina Monologues in which I, admittedly, was one of the loudest cast members. In my monologue, “Reclaiming Cunt,” I yelled “cunt” and the letters within it in various tones.

I was approached by one of my cast members who told me her dad said: “The cunt girl was really good! I would never have expected that voice from her.”

This instance reminded me of who I am, an East-Asian girl, and how for the rest of my life people will assume certain behaviors from me. When I heard that this month’s #SPDhandpicked theme is THE UNSEEN it made me think about all the unseen aspects of being non-white or non-straight, or non-cis, or some kind of mixture of all three.

To me, The Unseen is all about exploring the unknown--wading in it, breathing in it, describing it.

So, for this month’s #SPDhandpicked listicle I found books that describe/explore/study the lives of people often unseen or hidden from us.

1. You're The Most Beautiful Thing That Happened by Arisa White (Augury Books)

“YOU’RE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING THAT HAPPENED pronounces while simultaneously exploring that which cannot be enunciated. White best articulates this work as entering into a conversation that centers ‘black queer female desire,’ and finding the possibilities of meaning that those labels can't encompass.”-Carrie Y. T. Kholi

2. Dreaming of Ramadi in Detroit by Aisha Sabatini Sloan (1913 Press)

“DREAMING OF RAMADI IN DETROIT is an otherworldly meditation on the elasticity of memory, the liveliness of blackness and possibilities of the essay. Aisha Sabatini Sloan manages to produce a collection of essays that are at once innovative, inspiring, sobering, and absolutely terrifying while daring every other essayist in the country to catch up.” - Kiese Laymon

3. Fanon City Meu by Jaime Luis Huenún, translated by Thomas Rothe (Dialogos / Lavender Ink)

“In some quarters, the term ‘globalization’ may yet have beneficent connotations. But in this remarkably powerful and prophetic collection of poetry by award-winning Chilean poet Jaime Luis Huenún (b. 1967), global means the planetary dissemination of inequality and rage accumulated over the centuries and deposited in a single society of new masters and slaves, who speak a mixture of languages on the honed blade of these poems that cut like a machete. Make no mistake. Huenún is not a poet who minces his words in FANON CITY MEU. With a certain resignation capable of assimilating prior defeats and not exempt from bitterness, he presents his denunciation of these conditions from within an historical past that is simultaneously a message and an exhortation from the future. - Steven F. White

4. tasks by Victor Rodriguez Núñez (co-im-press)

"A Cuban poet who has spent much of his adult life outside Cuba, Rodríguez Núñez takes to all he sees and feels in poetry a consciousness of Cuba as place, as communities, and as a country isolated from his adopted home in America, as a form of restraint and dynamism...I cannot speak highly enough of this poet." - John Kinsella

5. Shadow on a Tightrope: Writings by Women on Fat Oppression by Lisa Schoenfielder and Barb Wieser, eds. (Aunt Lute Books)

“SHADOW ON A TIGHTROPE is a collection of articles, personal stories, and poems by fat women, about their lives and the fat-hating society in which they live. Topics include: exposing the myths concerning fat; what it's like to grow up fat; a description of the medical crimes committed against fat women; stories of the daily hassles, verbal and physical harassment in the lives of fat women; inaccessibility to clothing, jobs, and public places for exercise and sports; effects on the emotional, spiritual, and intellectual selves of fat women living in a society that hates them, and how they have learned to survive.”

6. Meditations On The Mother Tongue by An Tran (C&R Press)

“In rich and vivid prose across twelve stories, men and women are displaced from their loved ones, their cultures and their homes, and look to the natural and spiritual worlds in search of anything that can offer a sense of belonging and lasting satisfaction. These are careful meditations on the desire to know one's self and be known by others, where parents and lovers alike appear as gods or as ghosts, dominating and unknowable, and where the bonds between fathers and sons and brothers, men and women, husbands and wives, are built, tested and found lacking.”

7. Kalamkari & Cordillera: Poems of India and Chile by Wanda Campbell (Inanna Publications)

"Inspired by Pablo Neruda, Wanda Campbell's KALAMKARI & CORDILLERA shows a mature writer at her peak. Compassion and tenderness exist alongside the harshest of socio-political commentary, with Campbell’s imagery exquisite throughout, her lines interwoven like the "Patola" or "silk cloth" she writes of, united in "a weft of darkness and a warp of light." Speaking of a "girl child" of Andhra, she writes: "her cradle is a sari/tied to a rafter." Beauty and ugliness; love and loss; freedom and bondage; dichotomies and all of the shades in between colour Campbell's poetic landscape from the India of her childhood to the Chile of Neruda's." - Myna Wallin

8. How Do I Look? by Sennah Yee (Metatron)

"Sennah Yee's HOW DO I LOOK? is a selfie through a webcam in the compact mirror tossed over the shoulder of a nightswimmer into a suburban chlorine pool. These poems are the hit radio lyrics that roll around in the mind before falling asleep, the silently crafted love poems for an unrequited crush written on a blog saved in drafts, the emails sent to one's future self opened at a karaoke bar years later in another country. HOW DO I LOOK? made me look back and get home safe. I look in the rear view mirror to find flowers growing out of me." - Stacey Tran

9. Living the Edges: A Disabled Women's Reader by Diane Driedger, editor (Inanna Publications)

“This collection brings together the diverse voices of women with various disabilities. The women speak frankly about the societal barriers they encounter in their everyday lives due to social attitudes and physical and systemic inaccessibility. They bring to light the discrimination they experience through sexism, because they are women, and through ableism, because they have disabilities. For them, the personal is definitely political. Here, Canadian women discuss their lives in the areas of employment, body image, sexuality and family life, society's attitudes, and physical, sexual and emotional abuse. While society traditionally views having a disability as "weakness" and that women are the "weaker" sex, this collection points to the strength, persistence, and resilience of disabled women living the edges.”

10. Instructions Within by Ashraf Fayadh (The Operating System)

"Palestinian poet, artist and cultural activist Ashraf Fayadh reminds us, through his life and work, that blasphemy (for which he has been sentenced to 8 years in prison and 800 lashes) is still a crime in Saudi Arabia, but also that poetry is powerful against the criminal madness of a deranged state: '...these pages have exhausted all languages known to earth / ...to offer a name that matches your definition of self / your name-like an inkwell pregnant with possibilities.' The Operating System does us an extraordinary service by making this magnificent poet's voice available. Read Fayadh to understand what we are fighting against, and for!" - Margaret Randall

11. Bearing the Mask: Southwestern Persona Poems by Scott Wiggerman and Cindy Huyser, eds. (Dos Gatos Press)

"A unique glimpse at a special region known to some as borderlands, this anthology of persona poems gives articulate voice to the many peoples and periods that have made their mark on this scarred and sacred land of deserts and rivers, Indian petroglyphs and fifty-foot marionettes, haciendas and Air Force bases, this ground so varied in climate and culture but so unified in spirit. The spirit of this terra incognita fits its original definition as 'unknown territory,' for unknown also implies undefined and therefore unbound, open to interpretation. The reach of these voices is both global and personal. From Years Following Her Death, Former Texas Slave Silvia King Speaks to a Kidnapped Nigerian Girl to Chester Nez Arriving at Guadalcanal, 1942, these are human voices in all their honesty and depth of caring." - Carmen Tafolla

All #SPDhandpicked books on THE UNSEEN are 20% off all month w/ code HANDPICKED

[apenitentialprayer]

Quick question, obviously the CCC says that witchcraft and belief/practicing of the occult is sinful and heretical. But I personally know devout Catholics who for cultural reasons engage in superstitious acts, to label what they do as sin and heresy seems rather harsh. What do you think? Thanks!

Howdy friend. I hope your day is going well. I’ll give you a short answer and a long answer.Short Answer: Whether or not the superstitions your friends/family participate in count as sin and/or heresy depends largely on the nature of the superstition. I think that chances are, however, it’s not sin or heresy.Long Answer: This answer is more exciting, because it includes a plot twist: I love religious superstitions and folk traditions. I love, love, love them. I love strange holiday traditions, unorthodox practices, and bizarre religious rituals. They are the flowers that decorate the tree of religion: the orthodoxy is what keeps the religion structured and healthy, while the heterodoxies fills the religion with uniqueness, vibrancy, and appeal.The problem with these heterodox ‘superstitions’ and beliefs, however, is that if you are not careful, you may wade waist-deep into heresy. I know that some of my practices might come a little too close to heresy for some people, for example. Dia de los Muertos/Samhain are probably a good examples of this. In both situations, the loved ones of the deceased may make food offerings for the spirit of the dead. Saint Ambrose of Milan would probably disapprove of this practice; when Saint Monica offered cakes to saints on their feast days, he gently asked her to cut that out. Granted, both situations are a bit more nuanced than what I am typing, but you get the idea: the line between folk tradition and heresy can get a bit blurry. (I wouldn’t consider the offerings to be heresy, but I’m a but biased)As a general rule, I’m pretty okay with most folk traditions, assuming that:1. They don’t contradict orthodox dogma2. They aid the practitioner in reaching a prayerful state of mind3. They don’t obstruct the practitioner from what is really spiritually important.There’s a Muslim tradition that, if you’re distracted while praying, it’s because a demon is trying to stop you from praising God. One method to stop the demon is to lightly spit to your left three times in order to show your disdain towards it. Is there anything heretical about this? No, not really. Is it acceptable? I’d say so. I mean, best case scenario is that you just spit at a demon. Worst case, you just made a symbolic gesture that you despise being distracted from God.There’s another tradition, a Jewish one coming from a story about Lilith, that says that amulets with the names Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof on it will protect infants from harm. According to the story, these three names are the names of angels who pursued Lilith after her fall (here, she is described as the first wife of Adam). In exchange for her freedom, she agreed to give up power over infants who wore their names. The story itself is heretical from a Christian point of view -Adam did not have a wife before Eve-, but is the practice itself bad? If the parents give the baby such a necklace simply as a reminder of God’s loving care and the protection given by His angels, I don’t really see a problem with this either.In India, there is a holiday called Raksha Bandhan. I think there’s a religious significance to it, but it’s also become a bit of a secular holiday, like Christmas in the United States. During this holiday, which celebrates the love between siblings, sisters tie a sacred thread of protection (a rakhi) around their brothers’ wrists. This custom has been adopted by Indian Christians. In fact, when Sister Rani Maria (who is to be beatified this year!) was murdered, her biological sister Sister Selmy forgave the murderer, and tied a rakhi around his wrist as a symbol of his acceptance into their family. The story of this Christ-like act of forgiveness was made possible through what would have only been a folk tradition among Christians.The point I’m trying to make here is that ‘superstitious practice’/folk ritual are not necessarily bad things. In fact, this frontier at the edge of orthodoxy serves an incredibly important purpose. It is the primeval waters in which the adherents of religious faiths express their creative imaginations concerning their Maker. These expressions may remain on the periphery, or it might eventually become accepted by the orthodoxy - further enriching the faith. Even when it dives into heresy, it serves a purpose, because again the faith is enriched as it better understands the limits of acts of piety.But take this with a grain of salt, as it comes from a borderline heretic anywayAnyway, mind if I ask you a question now? Are you the same anon who has sent me a few asks over the past couple weeks, or are you a new friend? And what sort of practices do you see people perform?